Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series) (7 page)

With some difficulty, Cash unlocked the jaws which were frozen shut.

"Eureka." Miles said as the gold tooth twinkled in the light. "The man here is not the long lost Lazarus but—"

"Solomon McAllister," another voice came from above. The marshals looked up at a silhouette walking into focus, pistol pointed at them.

"Lazarus McAllister, I presume," Cash said.

"Actually, Lazarus Davenport—mother's maiden name—but either way, at your service."

The imposter dropped the fake western drawl in favor of his cockney accent. "Hannah thought making up cards for my appearance as a man of wealth would help smooth things with my father. He could have hardly cared that his son had returned let alone a man of privilege. Father's only concern was how much money I planned to siphon off him."

"Which was your intent all along?" Cash said.

There was venom in his voice. "Throw your guns up here."

Cash and Miles unbuckled their Peacemakers and tossed them clear of the grave. Cash reached for his pocket. Lazarus pulled the gun's hammer back.

"Smoke," Cash said.

"Slowly marshal."

Cash took the cigar and lit it.

"Why kill the gravedigger?" Miles asked.

"I didn't. Stroke of luck actually. He saw me and had a heart attack. No loss really, he was just a scamp who pilfered the bodies."

"And Solomon?" Cash said.

"I guess it doesn't matter if I tell you since you will be hearing distant drums soon enough." Lazarus relished his role as executioner, dropping his gun slightly and placing his left hand on his hip. "I put enough arsenic in his coffee to drop an elephant."

"And your sister went along with it," Miles said.

"She didn't think I was going to kill him She just wanted Solomon off her back."

"So do you really think you're going to continue fooling people?" Cash said.

Lazarus let out a forced chuckle. "Of course not and I won't need to. Most of the money has already been sent to my bank in England. In three days I will be on a ship and once home I'll sell the rest of the property from there."

"You forgot one thing. Your father is still alive."

"Yes, but his seizure has left him incapacitated, and with Solomon running the businesses, it was his signature—now mine—that controls the assets. I will enjoy destroying my father. He made life a living hell for mother and me. And all the more enjoyable to know he will die with his kingdom in tatters and his golden children dead. His life's work a complete failure."

"Someone will come after you," Miles said.

"Hardly, there's a big pond between us, no money to pursue and my country would frown on one of its own being extradited on such flimsy evidence. So really gentleman, you two are the only obstacles left. But one question, who called you in to investigate?"

Cash puffed his cheroot watching the smoke drift idly up the dirt walls. Miles tapped the coffin with the shovel.

"It doesn't really matter and I can probably guess—"

Cash flipped the cigar up high and out of the grave. Lazarus' eyes flicked, following the orange flame as it seared the darkness. With the flick of his wrist, a knife slid down the inside of Miles' sleeve and appeared in his hand. A split second later, it was sticking in the Prodigal Son's eye. Blood oozed forth, Lazarus fell back, triggering a shot into the nighttime sky.

Cash and Miles scaled the pit's walls. But there was no need to hurry. Lazarus died instantaneously, the red blood soaking his skin.

"I guess letting him know earlier we had discovered something and would be digging up the body forced his hand." Cash said.

"True enough, but next time let's keep somebody to watch. We almost made the big jump ourselves."

"Agreed."

"I can't thank you enough for taking this investigation on the side," the old man said struggling to sit up in his bed. "How did you figure out Lazarus had killed Solomon and assumed his place."

"Little things really," Cash said. "For one, Solomon didn't seem to know his way around his own office drinking tea while a pot of Arbuckle's sat untouched. There was also the photograph of your sons together as children bearing a remarkable resemblance."

"Amazing what time will do. I had forgotten about how much they looked alike. Wouldn't have mattered. My eyes aren't what they used to be. It certainly is true, growing old is a goddamn inconvenience and not for the faint of heart."

Cash continued, "When I was interviewing 'Solomon,' he spoke of his mother's death as if he had firsthand knowledge which, of course, he did.

"Based on our information, Hannah met her long-lost brother Lazarus at the stage coach in Cheyenne. The rest is conjecture. Seeing her brother's uncanny resemblance and knowing Solomon was ready to take over because of her mountain of debt, she hatched the plan to retain power by helping Lazarus become Solomon. She didn't see Lazarus' hatred for the family and never expected he would kill to claim his inheritance. Hannah's guilt led to her suicide. An autopsy will confirm Solomon's murder."

A young woman entered the room with a dinner tray. McAllister twisted and wriggled to sit up straighter. She used a steak knife to slice away at the chunk of rare meat in front of him as bloody juices filled the plate.

"Thank you gentleman. Your payment is on the table there, and once again, I appreciate you resolving this private matter for me" he said, gnawing on his food.

Cash took the envelope and both marshals stopped before the doorway looking back at the woman who sat on the bed next to McAllister, revealing a pregnant belly underneath her clothes.

Without looking up, the old man offered a parting word, "It's never too late for new beginnings, is it gentlemen?"

Lenora Wilkes looped her hand around Marshal Cash Laramie's arm as they exited the Spaulding restaurant and into Cheyenne's bustling Friday night. It was a rare night off for the painted lady and Cash thought she sparkled as he led her past the colorful store displays. They stepped around a lanky city worker lighting the gas lamps along the main thoroughfare when Lenora tightened her grip.

"Cash! Look—" Her words died in her throat as she pointed across the street.

But he was already on the move, sprinting toward a young girl who had absent-mindedly stepped right in front of the oncoming evening stage. Cash charged before the team of horses, whisked the girl up in his arms, and tumbled over, ramming his left side into the earth. The girl remained protected in his arms as he landed with a thud at the foot of the general store steps.

"Whoa!" The driver snapped the reins back, skidding the stage to a halt.

The dark-haired girl popped from Cash's hold. "Oh no, my flowers." She raced to the center of the street where a bouquet of yellow and purple daisies was mashed into the ground. A crowd of townsfolk milled about murmuring.

Lenora hurried to Cash's side. "Are you hurt?"

"Fine," Cash grumbled as he stretched his six-foot frame up and brushed the dust from his corduroy trousers with the back of his rumpled black Stetson. His eyes narrowed as the stagecoach driver ran to them. "You almost killed her."

The short, thickset man wiped sweat from his brow looking at Cash's badge. "Sorry, marshal. I didn't see her until the very last second." Unlike the girl, the man's voice betrayed his near miss at a killing.

He walked over to the girl who cradled the sad-looking, crushed daisies in her hands. Gently, he touched her shoulder. "Miss, I'm very sorry."

The girl dropped the flowers on the dirt staring wistfully after. "Uncle Clem is going to be mad."

Confusion passed over the driver's face, followed quickly by a resolution. "Why, miss, how much for the whole lot?" He reached into his pocket for some change.

The girl wiped a solitary tear from her ashen cheek. "Two bits."

Cash cleared his throat. The driver scrunched up his face and brought out double the amount. "Here you go, miss."

He patted the girl on the head and tilted his hat at Lenora and Cash. "Ma'am. Sorry, marshal." With a step that seemed just a bit too quick to Cash, the driver scrambled onto the coach. He put reins to the horses and the crowd dispersed, already losing interest.

Gaping at the ruts in the street and how the tracks careened around where she had stood not a minute before, the weight of what just happened leveled on the girl. Her shoulders sagged as she lowered her head. "That would have been bad," she said in a small whisper. "My uncle sure would have—"

She looked into the lawman's blue eyes. "Thank you."

Cash smiled.

"My pleasure, little lady," he said, tipping his hat. "What's your name?"

"Melanie."

Lenora knelt, wiping the matted hair from the child's eyes. "Where do you live, Melanie?"

She pointed east out of town. "That way." Cash bent down beside Melanie and caught Lenora looking at the back of the girl's neck. Frowning, he craned his head to get a better view. In the glow of the gas lamps, black-and-blue bruises were clearly outlined with another series of marks visible above the front collar of her sullied dress.

Cash's jaw flinched, a fire blazed within him. He forced a smile on his face. "Well lucky for us, we're headed that way. How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm seven." The girl reached for the Arapaho arrowhead around Cash's neck and turned it over in her hand. "You Indian or something?"

Cash grinned. "No, ma'am." He picked up the girl holding her in the fold of his shoulder.

"Then why do you wear it?"

"It was given to me by my stepmother."

"I wish I had an arrowhead."

Cash set her in the middle of the buggy he had readied for an evening ride with his girlfriend. Lenora gathered her dress and climbed in beside the girl. Melanie looked the woman up and down. "You sure are pretty."

Lenora brushed the side of the child's face, tucking a lock of hair behind the girl's ear, covering in the process a particularly long bruise. "And you are, too."

Melanie sized up Lenora's bountiful blonde tresses, bright red dress with a plunging neckline, and cameo pendant on a black satin choker that Cash had bought for her birthday. "Not like you."

The marshal laughed as he released the break and guided the horse and buggy out of town.

Melanie lived along Buzzard Creek, an area known for its shotgun houses and hardscrabble inhabitants. Melanie's home was better than most but still looked broken down with peeling shingles and a second thing—an outhouse stationed within yards of the house reeking of its foul odor. Cash parked the buggy upwind.

Outside the front door, a tall burly man chopping wood stopped mid swing. A beanpole of a woman walked out and stood next to him. Her gray, bagged eyes, carrying a faint resemblance to Melanie, slitted at the prostitute but then seemed to warm to Cash's wide grin. When her gaze locked on the star pinned to his chest, her eyes turned cold again.

"Evening, folks," Cash said, nodding to the couple. "The name's Cash Laramie and this is Miss Lenora—"

Melanie interjected, "This is my Uncle Clem and Aunt Flossy."

The man who towered a good foot over Cash, planted the ax into the wood and wiped his brow with a blue handkerchief. "Clem Stewart." He gave his niece a sidelong look. "What has Melanie done?"

"Nothing," Cash said. "She had a close call in town with the stagecoach and we wanted to make sure she got home safely."

"Well, she's home," Clem stated matter-of-factly.

Cash turned to Melanie. "Little lady, do you mind going inside for a minute, I'd like to talk to your uncle and aunt." He stepped down, walked around the horse, and swung the girl to the ground.

"It sure was nice to meet you, Miss Lenora," Melanie said.

"You too, sweetie."

The girl rushed past her aunt into the house.

Cash strolled over to Clem, pushing his Stetson up on his forehead. "Where did the girl get the marks?"

"What marks?"

"The bruises around her neck." He paused, adding emphasis, "I'm betting a thorough examination would reveal a lot more."

"Exammination," Clem mispronounced as his eyes slashed like whips. "Look gov'ment man, I pay my goddamn taxes for this sad strip of land, minding my own business. I just—"

"Where'd did she get the marks?" Cash interrupted, a darker inflection in his voice.

"She's been learning to ride side saddle and Billy over there bucked her a few times," Flossy said, pointing to a sickly brown mare tied to an oak tree along the creek.

"Cash," Lenora whispered from behind. The lawman turned to see his girlfriend nodding her head toward Melanie who was peeking out and listening from the lone open window.

Cash wheeled back to the tense lines in Clem's face. "We're not done here, Stewart."

"Cash," Lenora said, "the girl's aunt and uncle were lying."

"I know." Cash guided the horse and buggy along the main stretch leading back into Cheyenne.

"What are you going to do? Talk to Chief Penn?"

"Maybe." Cash thumbed a lucifer afire and lit his cheroot. "I've seen cases like this before. Unless there's proof, nothing will happen. Sometimes even with proof, nothing happens. A child is considered the property of the parent, or in this case, guardian. Stewart is right, a judge or jury 'round here would take a huge disliking to the government sticking in their nose."

Cash angled the buggy to the side of the road as another carriage passed. "But don't worry, I will go back out there to check on Melanie."

Lenora crossed her hand over Cash's stomach and leaned her head against his shoulder. The lights of the city came into view. "Why would anybody hurt a little girl like that?"

Cash's face hardened as he rolled his cheroot to the corner of his mouth. "Because some people just ain't no damn good."

Cash spent the next day on the second floor balcony of the Beckett Hotel and Saloon where he lived, filling out reports from a recent case the locals had dubbed The Masked Devil. He continued to watch the street when around noon, Melanie appeared with a bucket of flowers. She then began to canvass the street, honing in on lone older women or young couples where the man had a hard time saying no with his young lady present. It was still a hard sell, and, as afternoon gave away to dusk, she still had half a bucket of wilting flowers left.