Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love (21 page)

“No. I don’t know,” I lied.

I touched the envelope in my coat pocket, wishing I’d already read it. I sensed it had something to do with all of this. Remembering the gun under James’s … uh, Butch’s … mattress, it all began to make sense.

“You all right, ma’am?” said the detective, noticing my troubled demeanor. “Look, I’m going to give you my card. I’m staying right around the corner. If you see any of these people, you come let me know, all right? I can’t stress enough to you, these boys are armed and dangerous. Just remember, if you see them again and don’t contact me, they call that ‘aiding and abetting a criminal.’ You could be tried in a court of law.”

“I understand, Detective.”

He tipped his hat. “Then good day, ma’am.”

Good day, my arse. There wasn’t anything good about this day, except, well, maybe the ring on my finger. Watching Detective Dimaio trudge off, I felt deflated. Butch had betrayed me. Was everything he told me a lie? Remembering his lips on mine, I felt my heart begin to ache in the deepest places, the places full of my hurts and disappointments in men.

I had no idea what to do. Should I turn him in? What good would that be? If I did so, would it change history and screw up a hell of a lot of other things? There were no answers to my questions.

Despite being pissed-off, I decided I could not turn him in. I liked him too much. I would have to warn him, but for all I knew, he and his partners in crime could be halfway around the world by now. I had not told the detective of their possible voyage to South America, or that Butch was considering going back out west first.

After checking into a small inn on Central Park South, I sat in the lobby and tore open the envelope from James. The letter said:

Dear Ariel,

We are going to be leaving sooner than planned. When I see you at the Boathouse in Central Park tomorrow, I will explain everything. Please be sure to meet me right at 4:00 p.m.

Love,

James

Although I was dog-tired, I didn’t sleep much that night.

The next day, time crawled as I waited to see him. Normally, to relax at times such as these, I watched reruns of
Sex in the City
, but there was nothing in the inn resembling my 32” flat-screen HDTV. God, I missed that. Instead I read, and napped on and off, to pass the time.

At three-forty-five, I wrapped a scarf around my neck, buttoned up the collar of my camel’s-hair coat, and headed off to Central Park. It was a short distance to the Boathouse, and by the time I arrived, the wind had whipped up. The ice on the lake looked dark and ominous. A figure appeared, and I recognized him instantly by his sandy-colored hair and black coat. We ran toward each other and locked in an embrace.

“Woman, I’m sure glad you came.”

I remembered myself and pulled away, angry. “Why didn’t you tell me,
Butch?
That’s your
real
name, isn’t it?”

“How did you find out?” He looked crestfallen.

“A detective named Dimaio paid me a little visit,” I said.

“Damn. I should have known! That Pinkerton son of a bitch has been a thorn in my side for a long, long time now. He’s been tailing us everywhere.”

“So, what, you just decided to pick up and leave?”

“Ariel, let me explain. I gave you that letter yesterday as a heads-up that we might be leaving
sooner
than we originally thought. I was goin’ to tell you who we really were. Then this morning we bumped into an acquaintance who said someone was here in New York looking for us. After that, Harry needed to go to the post office to send a postcard to his folks in Pennsylvania—that’s where he’s from. Imagine our surprise when we saw a picture of ourselves, larger than life, on a poster that said, ‘Wanted: Dead or Alive.’ We knew they’d be back on our trail, but not this soon. Stupidest thing we ever did, gettin’ that picture taken in Fort Worth. Now everyone’s goin’ to know what we look like, and we figured it’d only be hours before we were recognized. We’ve already packed up our things and left Mrs. Taylor’s. When we met the other day, I couldn’t risk tellin’ you who I really was. I couldn’t help myself though, fallin’ in love with you the moment I saw you at the theater. I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this.” He took a deep breath and continued. “That’s why I didn’t want to get too close. But then, there you were, comin’ up to my room last night, so beautiful in that petticoat and nothin’ much else, and you kissin’ me. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to have told me right off the bat that you were a hardened criminal who robbed banks and trains and hurt people,” I said.

“I never hurt nobody. I swear to God, Ariel. I never shot a man in all my life.”

“What about Harry? Or should I say, the Sundance Kid? And
he
hasn’t hurt anyone, either?”

“Hey, now. I don’t keep track of all his comin’s and goin’s, but far as I do know, he’s never killed no one neither. Look, we’ve got to leave the country right away. If we don’t, they’ll either kill us or throw us in jail. And my guess is the former, not the latter.”

“How many other lies have you told me, Butch Cassidy?” I hissed. “Is anything you’ve told me the truth?”

“Everything else is the complete truth.”

“Everything else isn’t much,” I said. “But I admit I can’t really see you hurting anybody.” Of course, I’d read in the history books that he’d truly never killed anyone, so it was cheating to say so.

“And I didn’t want to hurt you, but I probably will anyway,” he said, dropping his head in defeat.

“Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to lose you,” I said.

He took me into his arms, and I felt tears in my eyes. There was no way of hiding this hole in my heart. “Look, Ariel, I’m gonna shoot straight with you now and trust you with some real personal information. Can I do that?”

“Oh, good.
Now
you’re shooting straight with me.”

“Please, Ariel, I’m serious. Can I trust you?”

“I suppose you can. After all, I could’ve told the detective all about you and your plans, but I didn’t, right?”

“And I damn well appreciate that. Look, the reason we’re goin’ to South America—actually, it’s Buenos Aires, Argentina—is that me and Sundance, we’re goin’ to go straight. Our plan is to buy us some land and become farmers. Start over. With a clean slate.

I felt a glimmer of hope. “Then take me with you.”

“It hurts me to say this, darlin,’ but I can’t do that. It’s no kind of life for a woman like you. And you deserve more than the likes of me. You deserve someone who can give you a home and a safe, secure life. I can’t give that to you, least not for now. Besides, what do
you
know about farming? And you can’t just disappear from here.”

“Yes, I can,” I cried. “It’s … it’s hard to explain, but I don’t have much holding me here. I can do this, if you’ll let me.”

“Shit. I bet you ain’t never even ridden a horse before.”

“I practically grew up on them, in Ohio, so I know how to ride. I really do.” I knew also how to fall off. In fact, it’s what had landed me in this situation in the first place, but he would never believe
that
story. “Take me with you, Butch. Please?”

He smiled at me with his eyes. “I do love you, girl, but you must know this could never work. Trust me. This is a life on the run. Do you know what that means? Even if we start over and go legitimate, there’s no guarantee they won’t find us down there. We could be lookin’ over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. No, that’s no life for a woman like you.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, narrowing my eyes. You just don’t want to be tied down. That’s the real truth of it, isn’t it?” I’d dated plenty of these kinds of guys, and my angry words spewed out like oil from a gushing well. “Why don’t you tell me the
real
reason, Butch? Is it as you said the other night, at Mrs. Taylor’s? You’re a ramblin’ man’? Well, tell me now, is it?”

“I won’t lie to you. There might be a bit of truth in that, but I can’t take you with me for lots of other reasons. For starters, again, I can’t give you the life a lady like you needs and deserves.”

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t.”

“You do, honey. But you just don’t know it yet.” Butch answered softly.

“I care about you. I care about what’s started between us.”

“Okay,” he said, “here’s the plan: I’ll either come back in six months to see you, or I’ll send for you. I promise.”

Six months? I didn’t even know where I’d be in six minutes, or six hours, or six days. I had no idea how long this visit would last.

Butch pressed on. “I’ll write, but I’ll be needin’ to use another name. You’ll still know it’s me on account of where it’s comin’ from.”

“But I want to go with you now.”

“Maybe later, Ariel. I can’t let you do that just yet. I just can’t.”

His words were devastating. I felt helpless, lowering my eyes to hide my emotion. He grabbed me in that moment and kissed me hard. It was rare, magical, and I surrendered to him, wanting that kiss to never end.

“I promise you,” he said, easing away. “In six months’ time, I’ll either be back—or send for you. I’ll give you a safe place to write me. If you leave New York for any reason, you can let me know where you’ll be. And I’ll find you. That’s my solemn vow.”

Diving into and drowning in those deep blue eyes, I knew he was telling me the truth. It was some consolation, since I did not want to lose him.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said. “We’re on the steamer
Herminius
, and it leaves at seven. I don’t have much time to meet Harry and Etta.”

“I love you, Butch,” I said.

One large tear escaped down my cheek, and he wiped it away with the edge of my scarf. “I love you too, darlin’. I’ll see you in six months’ time, I promise. And you’d better wait for me.”

Then he turned and walked away.

I whispered, “I’ll try to wait for you, Butch. I will. If I can.”

A light snow was falling as I headed back to my inn. This was all too confusing, too complicated. At first, I’d really enjoyed these journeys into the past. The men I met
there
were far more interesting and fun than any men I met in the present. Yes, in the beginning, it had all been one great big adventure. But now, I was realizing that dead men were not so easy to love. A dead man could break my heart just as easily as a living one could. Who was I kidding? These were
not
happy little trysts that I could walk away from unscathed. Not anymore.

I grabbed the crystal heart around my neck, despising this thing given me by Serenity, “the relationship psychic.” Soon, I would rid myself of this necklace, but I was afraid to do it here since it might be my only ticket back to the present—and the present was beginning to sound better and better to me right about now.

I was dismal, cold, lost. Loneliness was no longer just a word. In that moment, it defined me.

Would Butch be lost to me forever, just like the others? Would I be swept away before he and I could meet again? Would I ever find something that lasted, past, present, or future? I no longer wanted the advice of some psychic, but simply to live life without fear on my own. I wanted to break whatever the hell spell the crystal heart had put over me.

The sky had darkened, turning as gray as my mood. And then an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. It was impulsive, even insane, but it felt right. I knew what I had to do, and had an hour or so to do it.

I ran back to my room and grabbed my things. Whatever time I did have left here I would spend with him.

But as I hurried out the inn’s front door, heading downtown, I found myself face to face with Pinkerton’s Detective Dimaio.

“’Evenin’, ma’am,” he said. “Funny coincidence bumping into you again. I was just walking down the street, and there you were. I don’t suppose either of those boys ever contacted you again, did they?”

“No, sir.” I glanced past his shoulder. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen them.”

“Looks like I caught you on your way out. Goin’ somewhere?” he said, eyeing my valise.

“Uh …” I stammered. “My mother is sick, back in Pennsylvania—that’s where we’re from. So I’m leaving tonight to go see her.”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me for having bothered you, ma’am.”

“No bother, Detective. But now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go right away. My train leaves in half an hour.”

“When will you be back?”

“I suppose when my mother’s feeling better.”

“Well, once again, sorry to have bothered you, Miss Richards, and have a safe trip home,” he said.

Home was a century away. I flagged a carriage and hoped it would get me to the waterfront on time. Damn. Where was a taxi when you really needed one?

Upon arrival at the harbor, I booked passage on the
Herminius
. Butch would be surprised. Real surprised. It was close to seven, almost departure-time, and I boarded as fast I could. I asked the steward for James Ryan’s room. He checked his list and said it didn’t show a James Ryan on board. Of course, with the Pinkerton detective tracking him, he would’ve given a different name. I would have to look for him myself.

Along the gunwale, the ship’s crew was untying the lines. I was certain Butch was onboard. I sure hoped he was. I was searching for him frantically when a great commotion broke out on the pier, punctuated by gunshots. Turning to see what the ruckus was all about, I could not believe my eyes. Below, two figures were unharnessing the horse from a carriage with several large trunks unloaded beside it. Detective Dimaio was crouched low, firing his gun at a third figure.

Firing at Butch!

I saw now that Butch was in the process of stealing the detective’s horse, while Harry and Etta disconnected the mount tethered to the carriage that had brought them to the harbor. The couple hopped onto the horse, which reared up in response, and then they rode bareback past my spot on the ship. Butch had also secured his own ride, and followed after them.

It was pure chaos. People scattered along the pier like marbles on a wood floor. On deck, passengers gaped open-mouthed, pointing. Detective Dimaio fired shot after shot, and finally threw some poor slob from
his
horse and tore off after Butch.