Hell's Belle (27 page)

"Don't know
what to make of it, to be honest."

Marquardt snorted. "I
told you I was onto something with those Bells. I told you!"

Excellent. Cookson
would buy him a steak and kidney pie next chance he got. In the meantime,
they'd best find out what the bounder was doing nosing about the train yard.
"You stay here and summon a cabby. I'm going closer. Maybe I can hear what
they're saying over there."

Cookson had long
ago perfected a technique of losing, chasing, retrieving, and once more losing
his bowler hat. He had every bumbling maneuver down pat and used the technique now
to surreptitiously move in close enough to eavesdrop.

"Big palomino
gelding. Young fellow's riding him, not a saddle tramp. A stuffy lad, works as
a shopkeeper. About this tall. Dark hair, beak nose."

The train butch
scratched his chin, then shook his head. "I think I'd remember somebody
riding a horse he don't belong on. From what you're sayin', he wouldn't fit
that horse at all."

"Exactly! He's
damned lucky to stay in a saddle for an hour. I never thought when I loaned out
the nag he'd disappear on me."

"Shame. Hey, Kenton,
you recall seein' a city fella clingin' to the pommel of a big
buttermilk?"

"Naw, I ain't—"

"Hey, I think
I know the man you're looking for!"

Cookson's head
jerked as a man missing the lower half of his left leg hobbled over, leaning on
a crutch. "I saw a big buttermilk hitched outside Miss Adeline's place
yestereve and a young fella was out on the porch havin' a pee overt' side. He
nudged that horse's nose. Like he owned it, you know? Seemed like he was
fussin' about the watering trough. Course Miss Addy's always kept that trough
mighty high."

"Like the price
of her corn liquor!" Kenton laughed.

"Where is this
Miss Addy's place?" Del inquired.

"Well now.
Addy didn't want her frail sisters competing with a dozen other such houses, so
she took a place on the other side of the river there."

Cookson strained to
catch the exact directions amid all the finger pointing and arguing over the
best route the rancher should take to arrive at his destination. Finally he
shook the cripple's hand and leapt up into his carriage. Cookson dashed through
the swirling dust over to where Marquardt stood. He'd found a cab driver and
loaded their bags.

"Follow that
gentleman there in the carriage," he ordered, climbing in.

"You mean the
cowboy in the buggy?"

Marquardt shot him
a look warning that by now they should be used to these American ruffians
translating the King's English into vernacular neither particularly understood.
"Indeed, if you are referring to the large man in the two-wheeled
conveyance."

"That's what I
said. The buggy."

* * *

Del almost couldn't
believe his persistence had finally paid off. There stood Caramel, just as the
stranger predicted. And if the rest of what he'd been told about Miss Adeline's
place was anything close to accurate, Del couldn't imagine how Lucius Bell had
ended up there.

Whereas in
Wadsworth Del had set tongues to wagging for a month just by having a couple
whores at once with some chocolate syrup, that kind of foolery would be nothing
here. What constituted high times or wild doings in Wadsworth wouldn't raise an
eyebrow around this place. Miss Adeline's clientele would find Del's romp
deadly dull.

The train butch had
confided that Miss Adeline had come from the Barbary Coast, with a flotilla of
exotic fallen angels. She'd established a house of the darkest repute,
frequented by jaded politicos and wealthy businessmen. A place where a man paid
a woman to do things his wife would die in mortification even hearing about. A
place where masculine amusements cost a lot more than a shop clerk should have
available. Unless, of course, if said clerk had dipped into the shop's till or
cheated at poker…or in some other way had scraped up more money than his
regular activities should provide.

Del drove into the
alley along the back of the row of houses and found a place to tie up the horse
and buggy. He strolled around the block, taking in the scenery. These were
large stately homes. Which meant any of them could be the house of ill fame—with
lots of bedrooms, plenty of parlor space, and room for multiple gaming tables.

This block was
nothing like the raucous, music spewing, rough planking enclave of Wadsworth's
virgin alley. Nor that of most other western towns. Most saloons were little
more than wood siding and batwing doors, with a cheap painted sign out front
and a long hitching rail. Whiskey and dust.

Del watched a cab
slow and pull to the side several houses down. The first man to step down wore
a bowler hat and traveling suit. His companion was similarly garbed. Now those
two, Del thought, belonged here. They were in their forties or perhaps early
fifties, with big side whiskers and fancy clothes. They could afford women who
rented by the hour. They could afford the plush rugs, high-stakes poker tables,
and watered-down gin. How the hell did Lucius Bell figure
he
fit with
the likes of them?

Del grew
increasingly certain Lucius had rushed Twila out of town the other day because
he'd stolen the emporium operating funds. If the damned fool thought to have
Twila blamed for that thievery, he'd better think again. Broken dishes or
spilled tea was one thing. Wasn't unusual for a boy to get into mischief, then
blame it on some hapless scapegoat. Heck, Del and Jordy had torn up half of
Wadsworth growing up, and rarely took the strap they had coming.

Jordy…

Maybe that's why
his neck snapped. Maybe all the wrong Zoyer had done finally caught up with him
in that one, fateful instant. It had been merciless justice. Swift and final.
Gave a man pause just reflecting on that possibility.

But Del walked on,
his focus now turned to Caramel and the porch of the house he'd come to visit.
A burly man sat on a bench. The house guard dog, Del knew. This was a fancy
place. No one got inside if he looked like he couldn't pay, or looked to be itching
for a brawl or looking to organize a temperance rally.

Del could get past
this watchdog. Maybe even charm some information from the bardog as he stood
sipping whiskey at the bar inside. Del could get in, because he was the kind of
prospective customer saloons and bordellos were invented for. Only he had an
unfamiliar, sudden aversion to going inside.

Maybe it was the
very grandeur of the whorehouse. Too rich for even his own foolish blood.

"Hey
boy," he replied when Caramel whickered in recognition. He stood next to
the rail, stroking the horse's mane, sensing that any second now the burly
guard would amble over and inquire as to Del's business. Not that horse thieves
often resorted to taking nags in front of witnesses, but it was his job to ask.

Del almost wished
the fellow would, so he could give the idiotic answer he deserved.

That thought
brought an awareness that Del was secretly damned angry. The slow, long-burning
kind of pissed that might flare up in an instant and be misdirected. He didn't
need a fistfight with a watchdog. Sometimes men like that kept stout hunks of
wood or even handguns within easy reach. Del hadn't worn his pistol to come
after Twila and Lucius. And in fairness, Lucius was one of the people Del was
furious with. Lucius, and Jordan, and Betty Lee.

Del couldn't hit a
woman, and Jordy was dead. But young Lucius was alive and showing off inside
this brothel. He should catch any punches to be thrown, not the guard paid to
watch the front door.

"Fine
animal," came a deep voice. "Young pup who rode up on him doesn't
look man enough for the saddle. Reckon you do, though. Your gelding, ain't
he?"

Del turned to the
guard with growing respect. The man knew horses. "Yeah. Loaned him to my
wife's cousin. No direct kin to me, thank Jesus. The young fool still
inside?"

A nod.

"He was
supposed to meet us at a home across town yesterday. She's been worried sick
about him, and I've spent the whole afternoon hunting him and my horse. Ought
to tan his hide for scaring my wife like that."

The guard snapped
one suspender. "Nope. You ought to take your horse and move along. Got an
ordinance here about horses remaining on the public street overnight. Anybody
sees fit to file a complaint, I'll have Johnny Law coming around. And neither
of us needs that, do we?"

Del grinned.
Ordinance about horses on the street, his ass! But if he left young Lucius to
make his own way home to Wadsworth, wasn't that just what he deserved? After
running off without so much as a word, gambling or whoring his father's money,
making Twila half sick with concern?

Some dim part of
Del's mind choked on that last part. Twila wasn't really all that worried about
the boy. But he bet she'd be upset if she knew the truth, and he didn't need
her upset. She was already a little green due to carrying, probably had too
much fancy food and excitement at the social. She definitely didn't need any
more hubbub. In fact, Del knew she needed exactly what he did—to get home to
their cozy house with its big new hearth and just forget everyone else existed
for a spell.

"Well, we
don't want any accusations that you allowed someone to steal this fine animal,
so if you'd get me a pencil and some paper, I'll scribble out a note for my
cousin-in-law. I'd go inside and talk to him direct, but—"

"Your wife wouldn't
much like it."

Horses and people.
This fellow as a genius. Who also produced a wrinkled scrap of paper and the
stub of a pencil out of a grimy pants pocket.

Del quickly wrote
that he and Twila had taken Caramel and were headed home. He hoped Lucius
wouldn't be terribly inconvenienced having to take the train or hire a ride
back. He scrawled his name at the bottom, then "Lucius" on the
outside after folding the paper over. "It's been a pleasure meeting
you," he told the watchman, meaning it.

"Couldn't have
met me," the man returned with a slow smile. "You were never here to
Miss Addy's."

No, Del realized as
he swung up into the saddle and rode Caramel around to the alley. He never
was
at Miss Addy's. He'd visited a porch.

Pretty remarkable.

So was the fact
that as much as he'd resented Betty Lee telling him he couldn't go to Minerva's
for the weekly poker games, Twila never asked about the place. Never so much as
mentioned it, even when one time the boys kind of blurted out something off
color at the supper table. He'd never gone back to Minerva's after the infamous
whipped cream extravaganza. Hadn't played poker with his men in a bawdy house
since he got hitched.

Del tied Caramel's
reins to the back of the buggy and stared up at the sky, wondering at the cold
truth he'd just come face to face with. Twila never forbade him to do anything.
Had never said he couldn't go off with his men and play cards if he wanted.
Somehow he'd limited himself. And he didn't resent it. He accepted it, knew
he'd done it because he'd sensed a change approaching, a shift that had been
coming on even before Jordy's sudden demise, accelerated after it.

Del didn't want to
play poker and wisecrack with whores anymore. He didn't care to spend his
leisure time that way. He spent his evenings and days off with Twila. Reading
or dozing in the front room. Sometimes walking the edges of his property,
sitting on the riverbank and dreaming. Funny, but he'd been wanting to take her
fishing.

That was maybe
going to have to wait. He didn't need her puking the first time he threaded a
worm on a hook.

He set out for the
Vogel place, scanning the passing surroundings for shadows. He hadn't brought
his pocket watch, either, but estimated it was now quite late in the afternoon.
Maybe too late to set out for home. Could be Twila wouldn't feel up to a buggy
ride and they'd be forced to stay over another night. Del frowned, hoping that
wouldn't be the case. He'd dearly love to leave young Lucius stranded, not
linger another night and give the whelp the chance to turn up on the Vogels'
doorstep and save face.

Del also admitted
there was more to it than that. He wanted to go home to their place, cuddle,
together on the settee by the hearth or under a pile of blankets in their warm
bed, and tell her again how much he loved her. How proud he was to have married
her, and how he looked forward to the bright future with their coming child.
Pick her some wildflowers, maybe take a stab at silly poetry. Or hum aloud so
they could dance together again—this time with Twila in her nightgown.

For some reason, he
had a particularly fond image in his mind. Of Twila's bare feet dancing
alongside his in the light of the front room fire. She'd think he'd gone loco,
and that was just fine. He was indeed crazy. In love with his bride.

Lucius accepted the
folded note, frowning as he carefully laid down his cards. "Just a second,
gentlemen." He saw the terse words his new cousin-in-law had scratched out
for him and shrugged. He threw the paper to the floor and took up his hand
again—a straight. His rare streak of luck continued.