Squire's Quest (16 page)

"Half a dozen. More if you count the boarding houses."

"Thanks."

As he made to step past, Merlin stuck out a hand and caught his arm. "I couldn't help
hearing what you said. There was a Smeath asking about a buggy hire when I left my horse at the
livery stable. Tall, thick-bodied, turkey-necked. Maybe fifty or a bit older." He'd deliberately
described Callie's father as he remembered the man.

"Could be him." The redhead dug into his coat pocket, pulled out a card. "I'm Michael
X. Conner. Mick for short. Tell me about this fellow you met."

Merlin led him toward one of the sofas scattered around the lobby. "I didn't actually
meet him. He was ahead of me, and I couldn't help overhearing him while I was waiting to board
my horse. Can't even be certain his name was Smeath; could've been Smythe. Started with an
ess, though."

Conner's eyes narrowed. "You're being mighty helpful. What'd you say your name was
then?"

"I didn't say, but it's Lachlan. Merlin Lachlan." He sat on a chair upholstered in blue
velvet and waited until Conner was seated on the matching sofa. "I reckon I'm just naturally
helpful. Why are you looking for this Smeath fellow?" While waiting for a reply, he looked at
the card for the first time.
Tarnation. A Pinkerton.

"I didn't say. I'd like to ask him some questions, though. Him or the young woman who
was traveling with him."

"The man I saw was alone." He felt like his mind was scurrying around like a shrew
caught in a bottle it couldn't climb out of. He'd heard about how the Pinkertons rarely failed to
bring in the men they went after. They didn't bother with every-day ruffians and brigands. If
somebody was being chased by Pinkertons, he'd done something big, like kidnap a millionaire or
rob a bank.

Lemuel Smith? Could Cal's pa have gotten involved with bank robbers?

He didn't care what Smith had had done, or if the Pinkerton man caught him. The
black-haired woman in the dark wool coat was what worried him. Sooner or later Jerry or the night
clerk might think of Cal.

"I got here the day before Christmas," he offered. "You did say the last month or so,
right?"

"That's likely too late. Our information puts him in this area early in December. But
thanks for your help." Conner rose.

So did Merlin. "There's three livery stables in town. You might want to check them." No
one at a livery stable would have seen Cal, not before she'd gone to work at Lambert House. He
took a step toward the kitchen door.

"Hold on. Did you say Lachlan?"

"I did." Tempted to keep walking, Merlin decided he'd rather stay on the good side of a
Pinkerton.

"Any kin in Boston? Or in Idaho?"

"Both. My oldest sister lives in Boston. I call Boise home, even though I've not been
there for a while."

"Well, I'll be damned. You must be one of those Lachlans." For the first time the
Pinkerton's serious expression turned cheerful. "Any relation to Katie Savage?"

"My sister. Wait. Michael Conner? Are you the Mick who's Mike's godfather?"

"I am that. C'mon. I'll buy you a pint. Business can wait."

"I'd be pleased, but I've a message to deliver. Can you wait a few minutes?"

Mick could. Merlin went through the dining room and into the kitchen, where he
recognized the tall cook from Cal's description. He held a finger to his lips, spoke softly. "Abner,
I'm Merlin Lachlan. Where's Cal? I have to see her right now."

"She had to go to the mercantile. Probably be back soon."

"I can't wait. Will you tell her I've got something for her? I'll be back in an hour or
two."

"I surely will." The cook shuffled his feet. "Suh?"

Halfway through the swinging door, Merlin paused. "Yes?"

"Miz Callie, she's a good girl."

"I know she is. I'll do her no harm."
I hope.

Conner was looking for somebody named Smith, somebody who'd arrived in Cheyenne
just over a month ago.

Coincidence?

Nope. I don't believe in coincidence.

* * * *

When Callie came back from buying enough flour to carry them over until their next
delivery, she set a sponge and then busied herself straightening the shelves in the storeroom and
listing what else they'd need to order. They'd gone through staples like a hot knife through butter
during the cold spell. She'd used the last of the cinnamon this morning. No apple pie until she
could get more. Folks weren't going to like that. The currants were all gone, too, and there were
only a few dates left in the big jar.

"Such a big order," Frau Trebelhorn said when Callie gave her the list. "Are you sure we
need all this?"

"We could probably get by without the pickles," she said, "and maybe the cornstarch,
but we'd just have to order them next week."

"Very well. I'll have Herr Trebelhorn take this to the telegraph office. You must buy
cinnamon locally, even though it will be dear. Our regulars expect apple pie on the menu every
day."

"Yes'm."

Merlin walked in as Frau Trebelhorn was leaving the kitchen. She gave him a hard look,
but said nothing.

Callie knew she'd hear about it later.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, without smiling. "Somewhere we won't be
overheard."

Her belly clenched.

They followed the alley behind the hotel until they came to Thomas Street. Turning
toward the railroad tracks, they walked along in silence. With each step, her feeling of sick
anticipation grew. Finally she could stand the suspense no longer. "What happened?"

"A fellow showed up today. He's a Pinkerton agent, looking for somebody who came to
town early in December. A man name of Smith."

"Pa?"

"I think so. The description sounds like him right down to the skinny little moustache he
wore. And his accent, kind of English."

"He grew up in London."

"Uh-huh."

"He did! His father was a longshoreman, but Pa was too slight for the work. He came
over here when he was nineteen." Glancing over at him, she tried to read his expression, but she
was on his blind side. How could a body tell anything from a black eyepatch?

After a while he said, "When were you in Ogden? How long?"

"I don't know the date. It was a Thursday, I think. I've been working at Lambert House
for..." She counted on her fingers, one for each time she'd gotten paid. "For five weeks,
tomorrow. I got the job two days after we got here."

The first night she'd slept in the depot, but had known she wouldn't be allowed to stay
there again, even though the agent had allowed her to leave her satchel until she found a place to
stay. On Sunday she'd gone to church. Twice in the morning and again in the evening, more
because it was warm than because she felt the need to pray. Prayer had never done her much
good.

After the evening service, she'd hidden under a pew until the preacher locked up. It had
been cold in the unheated frame building, but safe.

Merlin's lips moved but he didn't say anything for a moment. "That puts you here on the
fourth, then. It's what, a day from Ogden?"

"Almost two, but it took us longer. The train was six hours late. Why does it
matter?"

"Just figuring. When did you get to Ogden?"

"The day before we left. We stayed in a hotel that night, and I sat in the depot all the
next day... Well, except for a little while when I went across the street to get something to eat.
The train didn't leave until evening."

"So you were in Ogden on December second."

"I guess so. Why?"

Instead of answering, he led her to a pile of ties. She hadn't realized they'd entered the
rail yards.

"Let's sit here." Still holding her hand, he moved her to his good side. Once settled, he
didn't speak. His thumb slowly stroked the back of her mitten.

She could see the muscle at his jaw hinge jumping, little twitches as if his teeth were
clenched tightly. "Merlin?"

"How long were you away from the depot?"

"A quarter-hour, maybe. Just long enough to buy an apple and some cornbread and
cheese."

"Did you talk to the agent? Visit with other folks waiting to catch a train? Any way to
prove how long you sat in the depot? "

Her mouth was dry, so licking her lips did nothing to relieve their dryness. "No. Pa
didn't like it when I talked to strangers, so I didn't. He might have come back--"

"Would he have beat you?" His voice was fierce, not at all like she'd ever heard
before.

A shrug was all the answer she could give. Pa
had
raised his hand to her, more
than once, on the way down from Virginia City, but he'd never actually beat her.

He'd threatened to, though. And once he'd hit her hard enough to black her eye.

Another long silence, until she was ready to scream at him to tell her, just
tell
her what he'd learned from the Pinkerton man.

"It's possible your father helped rob a bank while you were in Ogden."

The day, dreary and chill, went dark. Callie felt herself fall, but she didn't feel herself
land. Instead she had a sensation of floating, of swinging. And then of being held tightly,
safely.

Something warm touched her cheek, something almost like breath.

Had someone spoken her name?

"Wake up, Cal. Doggone it, wake up."

"Stop shaking me. I'm awake." But her vision was all blurry and she felt like she was
going to vomit.

"What do you know about it? Did he say anything?"

His words were like wasps, buzzing around her, stinging, hateful. She squinched her
eyes tight.

"Cal!"

"Stop! Don't shake me like that. I'm going to--"

She managed to turn her head quickly enough that the contents of her stomach splashed
onto the ground instead of all over her skirt. The painful spasms seemed to go on forever, but
they finally subsided. She wiped a mitten across her mouth and wished for water. Beer. Even
whisky. Anything to wash away the nasty taste.

"I'm sorry. Tarnation, I didn't mean--" His arms tightened around her and one hand
pulled her head gently down to rest on his shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine. Eeuww. You don't have a canteen, do you?" She wasn't fine, though. Her
body felt weak and shaky, like it might shatter if she moved too fast.

"Hold on." Bending, he dug into a drift and came up with a handful of snow. "Here. This
is probably clean. It'll make you cold, but it'll clean your mouth."

She sucked on the snow, and it did help. After a while the quivery feeling in her belly
went away. "Merlin, are you sure that man--that Pinkerton--really is looking for Pa? Does he
really think Pa robbed a bank?"

His sigh came from deep inside. "Mick--Mick Conner, the Pinkerton--got descriptions
of the robbers. One of them was tall, had thinning black hair, a narrow moustache, and spoke
with an English accent. There's a five thousand dollar reward for information leading to his
arrest."

"Five thous--" She sat up and stared at him. "How much did he steal?"

"Fifty thousand. The bank was holding funds for some investors who were dickering on
a gold mine. I guess the owners wanted cash on the barrelhead, so the investors had the money
shipped to Ogden in small parcels. It was supposed to be a well-guarded secret."

"How would Pa have found out about it?"

"I reckon there's always somebody around who'll sell information." He caught her chin
on the side of his hand and tipped it up so she had to look straight at him. "You wonder if he
might have, don't you."

Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she stared into his eye, saw nothing there but
concern. "No. I don't know. He was... I guess I'd have to call it excited when he came to the
depot that evening, about an hour before the train was due. But he wasn't carrying anything. He'd
left his valise with me. He'd probably been drinking. Yes, he had. I remember smelling it."

Her words were positive, but her heart wasn't. Pa was... He wasn't always truthful, and
he'd had a bad reputation back in Virginia City. Mrs. Flynn hadn't liked him. But he was her pa.
She owed him her loyalty.

"He didn't ship anything?"

"The freight office is around the side of the depot. I wouldn't have seen him if he
did."

He let go of her and turned to stare off along the tracks. After a while he said, "How do
you know where the freight office is?"

"When we got to Ogden, Pa and I went there. He'd brought a crate of his stuff from
Virginia City and wanted it shipped on with us. And he asked about a package he was expecting.
It hadn't come."

"I'll bet it hadn't." He was almost smiling when he said, "Want to bet there wasn't any
incoming freight for him?"

"Oh, but he paid the clerk to ship it on to..." Her heart all but stopped. "...to
Cheyenne."

"Cal, you're going to have to talk to Mick. Tell him what you just told me."

"No. I can't. He'll think I helped." Fear choked her, until her voice was little more than a
whisper. "Merlin, he's my father. I can't--"

She stared at him with eyes huge and swimming with tears. Merlin hated himself for
what he had to do.

"Cal, you have to tell the Pinkerton what you know. It's not like he's going to arrest your
pa because of anything you say. He just needs to know so he'll stop thinking you had anything to
do with the bank robbery."

"You're crazy. It'll just make him believe Pa did it." She stomped her foot so hard that
snow went flying. "And he didn't do it. I know he'd never do anything like that."

"But--"

She whipped around and took off running.

He stayed where he was. His sisters had done that, run off in tears when they were upset.
The best thing was to let them stew a while. They were more apt to listen to reason once they'd
simmered down.

"You handled that well."

Barely visible in the dark alley between buildings was a man-sized shape. "Mick? You
followed me?"