Dorothy Garlock (13 page)

“Oh, don’t!” Her voice was panicky. “They’d know and be awful mad.”

“Would they hurt ya?”

“They’d be awful mad,” she repeated and edged around the tree.

“Tess, don’t run off. I won’t do anythin’ to cause ya trouble.” Boone didn’t understand the unfamiliar feelings that were spiraling through him. He desperately wanted to be with her again, talk to her. His mind worked frantically to find a way. “You can signal when you’re here. I’ll be here five more days, then I’ll be gone for a while. Wear something white and stand there by the tree.”

“Marvin comes here sometimes.”

“To spy on the house?”

“He likes her. He likes to look at her and listen to the music.”

Boone snorted. “He met Annabel in the store.”

“He likes her,” Tess said again. “He was fit to be tied when he came back from town. He swears he’ll have her. He usually gets the women he wants. Tell her that … he ruins girls.”

“He’ll not ruin Annabel. I’ll kill him first. Ya can tell him that.”

“No! I can’t tell him I talked to you. He’d be sure to … to … do something.”

“What would he do?”

“I’ve got to go. Bud will be back from the … from the—”

“I know they’ve got a still, Tess. I don’t care if they have a dozen stills.”

“’Bye.”

“Tess?” Boone placed his hand on her arm and she didn’t flinch away. “If things get too rough for ya, come over. If I’m not here, Annabel will be and a fellow named Spinner. He’d do his best to help ya, and he’d get in touch with me. I’d come, Tess. You can count on it.”

“Who was the man who came in the big car?”

“Annabel’s pa. He’s a straight shooter. If ya get in trouble, ya could count on him to help ya.”

She searched his face with large amber eyes, then said, “’Bye.”

Boone watched her run lightly down the path until she was out of sight. Something about her had gotten to him. Whether it was her softness, her sincerity or an odd kind of sadness, he didn’t know. He had felt an instant attraction to her that day in the woods, then when he saw her in the kitchen with Annabel, his heart had thumped. Tonight, it had thumped with gladness when he realized that it was Tess standing beside the tree.

Good Lord! What was he thinking? What was she thinking? He rubbed his hand over his whiskered cheek. He didn’t look any better than any hillbilly who roamed these hills. Somehow he had known that she was a few years older than Annabel … but not that old. She didn’t look it. One thing was sure: She was too old to have brothers dictate her every move.

She was afraid of them!
Did they knock her around? By God, he’d better not find out that they did. He’d pick the bastards off one at a time and beat the holy hell out of them.

Boone turned and walked slowly back to the barn, where Jack was waiting. He’d have to warn Jack and Spinner to be on the lookout for Marvin Carter and not leave Annabel alone here at the house. The son-of-a-bitch had been here at night to listen to the music. One night he’d catch him and he’d not be pleasuring himself for a month of Sundays.

Boone debated telling Murphy about Marvin’s liking for Annabel and decided against it. The Irishman had the temper of a treed wildcat when Annabel was threatened in any way. He might march over to the Carters, drag Marvin out and beat the daylights out of him. Stubborn and short-tempered, Murphy could stir up a mess of trouble.

Deep in thought, Boone shook his head. If they had an open clash with the Carters, it would make life miserable for Tess, and he suspected that that little woman had all the trouble she could handle.

Chapter
9

C
ORBIN ATE HIS DINNER IN THE HOTEL DINING ROOM and visited with a drummer who sold ladies’ underwear and swimsuits and liked to talk about it.

“I’m making a swing up through St. Louis and on to Chicago. I doubt I’ll get many orders in this hick town for the kind of lingerie I sell.” He lifted his brows several times in a lecherous gesture. “What I’m showing is more for the modern girls, if you know what I mean. Lace and see-through stuff is what sells in the city.

“The crotch on the panties is about this wide,” he said in a low confidential tone, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “With the short skirts the girls are wearing these days, it makes for a high old time for some lucky fellow whose girl is wearing R. L. Daniels underwear. If you know what I mean.” The man lifted his brows up and down again in the gesture that was beginning to irritate Corbin.

I know what you mean. You crude son-of-a-bitch.
Corbin continued to eat his dinner and tried unsuccessfully to block out the salesman’s voice.

“Last year our swimsuits were worn by the girls in the Miss America Pageant in Atlantic City. The girl that won, a Miss Malcolmson, was a looker. Her waist was no bigger than this.” His curved fingers formed a small round hole. “Some thought she’d cinched her waist in to make it so small. But I don’t think so. Her titties weren’t pushed up. They hung there just right.”

“Did you see her?” Corbin was bored with the conversation and, knowing that he was under no obligation to listen to the blowhard, placed his napkin beside his plate.

“Well, no. But a friend of mine did. He was within a few feet of her and—”

“Excuse me.” Corbin picked up his cane and went to the counter to sign the bill for his meal, then made his way out onto the hotel porch.

Later in the month it would be hot and sultry, but today was a beautiful warm summer day. Corbin went down the walk to the riverfront. The river fascinated him. He stood for a long while watching the water out in the channel moving on its way to the sea. As a lover of history, he knew the part this mighty river had played in the development of the country.

From its banks Lewis and Clark had launched their expedition to the Pacific Ocean and Zebulon Pike had been dispatched to the Southwest to explore the Arkansas and Red rivers and obtain information about the Spanish territory. LaSalle, the French explorer, had claimed all the region watered by the great river and its tributaries for France, naming the region “Louisiana.” Later it was purchased by the United States for less than three cents an acre. A bargain, if there ever was one.

Corbin shook himself out of his reverie and took one last look at the water rolling on past him out of that far land, then turned back toward town. He happened upon a small barefoot boy who had come to the bank with a long cane pole. Corbin stopped and watched him attach a wiggling worm to the hook on the end of a string and waited until the line was thrown out and the cork was bobbing on the water.

“What are you fishing for?”

“Anythin’ I can get.”

“Is this a good place?”

“Yes, sir. Caught me six bullheads here yesterday.” The boy lifted a heavily freckled face to look at him, and his grin revealed widely spaced teeth.

“Well, good luck.” Corbin patted him on the head and walked on.

His life had suddenly become very empty. He felt hollow inside. For some time now he had longed for a wife and children: a freckle-faced boy to go fishing with, a pretty little girl to run to meet him when he came home, a soft, sweet-smelling woman to hold in his arms at night.

There wasn’t anyone who depended upon him and he had no one to depend upon. He loved his sisters who lived in Springfield and he knew that they loved him. But they had their own families and he was only on the fringe of them. He thought of the Jones family back in Fertile and the loving care Julie Jones had given her brothers and sisters. He longed to be part of such a family.

“Howdy, sir.” He was greeted cheerfully by the pharmacist who, Corbin had been told, was the conductor of the Henderson municipal band. He was carrying a large instrument case. “Glad to see you giving that leg some exercise.”

“I don’t dare let it stiffen up on me.”

“Come to the concert this afternoon. We’ll play you a tune to jig to.”

Corbin laughed. “I’m not ready to jig, but I plan to be there.”

He walked on down the street and looked into the windows of the five-and-dime store. He lingered at the picture show next door to read the poster attached to the wall. GLORIA SWANSON IN “HER GILDED CAGE,” PLAYING ON TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY AND SATURDAY. Corbin had seen the show when it came to Fertile last year.

The tall shoeshine chair was empty and the window blinds down when he passed the barbershop. He crossed the side street to the limestone bank building. A black marker two feet high on the corner was a reminder that the river had overflowed ten years back and that muddy river water had flooded the town.

Corbin’s mind wandered to the assignment given to him by Marshal Sanford. Who in this town was connected to a murder-for-hire scheme? Who in this small, peaceful town was connected to brothels and opium dens? Even the jolly bandmaster could be one of the criminals. Murderers came in all ages, shapes and sizes and from all walks of life. It was a depressing thought.

The day stretched ahead.

Not wishing to go back to the hotel, where he would risk running into the underwear drummer, Corbin walked to the tree-lined city park. The square, fronting Main Street, had been set aside by the founders back in 1850. A Civil War cannon occupied a place of honor on the corner. A pyramid of cannonballs was stacked neatly beside it. Branching out from the bandstand in the center of the park were rows of green-painted benches and a scattering of sturdy picnic tables.

A few cars were angled facing the park. A half dozen families were finishing picnic dinners. Some of the womenfolk were busy packing baskets and taking them back to the cars. Children chased each other in a game of tag; boys rolled hoops and girls played jacks on the sidewalk surrounding the park.

The scene was peaceful, families enjoying the day in the park. Children’s laughter and the voices of the women calling to them were cheerful sounds, but they made Corbin feel lonely. He stood watching until a young boy ran into him. He reached to steady the lad.

“What do you say, Jimmy?” the mother called.

“Sorry,” the towheaded boy shouted as he ran to catch up with his friend.

His mother threw up her hands. “All he’s got on his mind today is play.”

“I envy him,” Corbin replied and tipped his hat. Corbin found a bench set well back beneath a large oak tree, eased himself down on it and took a deep breath. He missed his two- or three-a-week runs. He’d give anything to be able to take off down the road and run and run and run.

Running had been his way of relieving stress since his school days, during the war and while he was police chief of Fertile. Waiting for his leg to heal was frustrating. Even if he were able to run, he shouldn’t and wouldn’t. If folks thought that he was well enough to run, he would lose his excuse for staying here.

Corbin felt the thin leather envelope tucked inside his shirt. Inside the envelope were the notes he’d been making about each of the people he’d met here so far. He had jotted down his impressions of the two barbers and the lawman. He had ruled out the hotel employees. Their jobs were too menial for the man he was seeking. He wanted to find out more about Craig Travis, the sergeant who was in his division in France. He planned to call upon him this next week and to accept the invitation to dinner if it was extended again. He also wanted to know about the man they called Alex Lemon who was sleeping with another man’s wife.

Corbin was almost certain that Boone wasn’t his man. Nor were the Carters, the clan who lived in the hills surrounding the town. From what he’d heard about them, they were not smart enough to play with the big boys in Chicago.

Time passed while Corbin’s thoughts tumbled over each other. The park benches were beginning to fill up with people. He wondered if Annabel would come to the concert. He was unaware of a smile that hovered about his lips when he thought of her, or that he had stored her image in the dark regions of his mind to bring out and enjoy

But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee—

Why couldn’t he get those lines of poetry out of his mind? He had no business thinking about that woman. He had no business thinking about anything but doing the job assigned to him, then getting the hell out of here.

Even as he was thinking about her, he saw her coming down the sidewalk clinging to the arm of a man wearing a black suit and a brown felt hat that tilted jauntily forward. Corbin was surprised to feel a sharp pang of utter dejection on seeing her with the well-dressed man.

She was wearing a blue dress of soft material that swirled around her calves as she walked. A narrow matching blue ribbon had been slipped beneath her hair in back and brought around behind her ears and tied on top of her head. Her feet were light, her head high and she was taking two steps to her companion’s one.

As they neared, Corbin could see that she was smiling and talking excitedly. She appeared to be as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. The man held her close to his side in a proprietary manner. His head was canted toward hers, and he was paying close attention to what she was saying.

Watching her, Corbin saw the instant she spotted him. She lifted her hand and waved. He tipped his hat in greeting. Annabel tugged on the man’s arm and pulled him toward where Corbin sat on the bench. He got to his feet and took off his hat as they approached.

“Hello, Mr. Appleby.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Donovan.”

“I’ve been telling my father about the lovely meal you treated us to at the hotel.”

Her father.
Corbin straightened his shoulders to keep them from slumping in relief.

“It was nothing compared to what you did for Jack.”

“This is my father, Murphy Donovan. Papa, Mr. Appleby, Jack’s friend.”

“Glad to meet you,” the men said in unison as they shook hands.

On closer inspection of Murphy, Corbin saw a man of considerable strength, rough-hewn and obviously proud of his daughter. Who could blame him? Annabel, with the friendly demeanor, sweet body and beautiful face, was a girl any man would cherish. He turned to see that she was smiling at him as if she were genuinely glad to see him.