Miner's Daughter (20 page)

Impossible. The only way Tony could even
imagine Mari capitulating to an affair of the flesh would be if
marriage were attached, and that was impossible. Ludicrous.
Laughable. They were so far apart socially, it wasn’t even funny.
Tony had known men who’d fallen for actresses, but he’d never known
a fellow to marry one.

Of course, technically, Mari wasn’t an
actress, but a mine owner.

He gulped, that notion having put a liaison
with her in a totally different light.

But marriage? To Mari Pottersby? Tony Ewing?
He’d never even thought about marrying anyone. He had a couple of
friends who’d got married, but they’d done so more for financial
reasons than anything else. Oh, he guessed Harvey Morgan had liked
Alicia Britton all right, but Tony hadn’t detected anything so
exalted as deathless love between them. He shook his head and told
himself not to be foolish.

There was no need to think about marriage
merely because he found Mari Pottersby attractive. Lots of women
were attractive. A man didn’t have to marry all of them in order to
appreciate them.

The Marigold Mine elbowed its way into his
mind, and Tony frowned when he thought about what would happen a
month or so from now, when the Peerless crew deserted Mojave Wells,
and the little community went back to its old ways. And Mari went
back to working in that black pit. His heart lurched sickeningly,
and the notion made him shudder.

“What’s the matter, Tony?”

He glanced over to find Mari peering at him
with concern. He said, “Nothing. Just thinking about the
picture.”

She nodded. “I’m a little nervous about
acting in it.”

“No need to be. You’ll do fine.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Sure.” Because a curious sensation of loss
had started crawling through him, and all because he’d thought
about Mari slaving away in that dratted mine, he added, “If you
want any coaching or anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you. I thought you said Martin was the
one to help with the acting stuff.”

Dammit, he hated having his own words used
against him. “He is, but I’ll be happy to help, too.”

“I see. Thank you.”

They breakfasted in Arcadia, which was a
pretty little community. Mari was impressed by all the greenery
surrounding her. Tony could understand that, since she probably
didn’t see any green growing stuff for months at a time on that
ugly desert where she lived. After breakfast, the drive back to
Mojave Wells went smoothly. No tires blew out, the engine didn’t
overheat, and nothing rattled off the chassis when they left the
paved civilization of the Los Angeles area for the dirt roads of
the desert.

The nicest part for Tony, though, was when
Mari nodded off to sleep in the car and slid sideways in the seat.
He drove for miles and miles with Mari’s head on his shoulder and a
smile on his lips.

Martin knew to the second when Tony and Mari
returned to town, even though he’d been inside the Mojave Inn for
hours, trying to figure out how best to solve the latest hitch in
the progress of
Lucky Strike
. There were so few automobiles
in Mojave Wells that as soon as he heard the throb of the Pierce
Arrow’s engine, he dashed outside to greet the returnees.

He ran down the hotel’s porch steps in spite
of the blistering heat and hurried to open the driver’s door.
“Tony! I’m so glad you’re back. There’s— Oh.”

Rubbing her eyes and looking as if she’d just
awakened from a deep sleep, Mari, holding onto Tony’s arm, blinked
at Martin. Then she glanced down, saw how close she was sitting to
Tony, and scooted backward across the seat, blushing up a storm.
Tony, frowned at Martin, and Martin could tell he’d interrupted
something, although he didn’t know what.

Before responding to Martin’s worried speech,
Tony turned to Mari and said gruffly, “It’s all right, Mari. You
only went to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to
. . . to . . .”

Martin got the feeling she wanted to
apologize for sleeping against Tony. He also got the feeling Tony
wasn’t at all sorry that she’d done so.

“Don’t be silly,” Tony snapped. “I didn’t
mind at all. You were tired and needed a rest.”

Martin saw her swallow, open her mouth, shut
it again, and decided he might as well speak. “I say, Tony. I’m
sorry to barge in on you like this, but we need to talk about some
queer things that have happened since you left.”

“Let me get Mari settled first, will you?”
Tony said peevishly

Martin wished he’d been less precipitate
about approaching the returning travelers. But, honestly, he hadn’t
meant to interrupt anything. Besides, the last he’d seen of these
two, they’d been at each other’s throat.

That should have been a clue, now that he
came to think about it. When people honestly disliked each other,
they avoided conversation. These two seemed to go out of their way
to get together and squabble. With a sigh, he said, “After you’re
settled and everything, come into the parlor. We’ve got to talk
about this.”

“All right.” Tony had gone to Mari’s side of
the car and opened the door for her.

Martin was both amused and interested to note
that Tony took Mari’s arm to help her from the motorcar. If there
was any woman on God’s earth who didn’t need help entering or
leaving an automobile, it was Mari Pottersby. She was probably the
most independent female Martin had ever known, which, of course,
meant she’d be perfect for Tony, who was likewise independent.

In fact, Martin had been surprised when
Tony’d agreed to Maurice Ewing’s request that he go to California
and monitor his father’s investment. Martin and Tony had been
friends ever since their college days, and offhand Martin couldn’t
think of another time when Tony’d done his father’s bidding.

Tony’d explained it to him, though, and his
reason made sense. Desiring to remove himself as far as possible
from his father’s sphere of influence, Tony had determined to use
this opportunity to become acquainted with the West Coast. Ever
since Martin had met Tony’s train at the Los Angeles Depot, he’d
been encouraging Tony to move to California. L.A. was a great
place. Martin was only sorry Tony didn’t have more interest in the
pictures.

Still, a fellow couldn’t have everything.
Martin would be happy to have his old friend nearer than New York,
even if they would never be business partners. It would be lovely
if, along with discovering a practically perfect place to live,
Tony were also to find his life’s partner here.

But that was jumping the gun. As Martin
walked back to the Mojave Inn’s parlor, he told himself to tackle
one problem at a time. Anyhow, Tony and Mari’s relationship was
none of his business. Martin didn’t have time for romance, so he
certainly wasn’t the appropriate person to advise Tony about its
pursuit. Besides, Martin had a feeling Tony could take care of
himself with the ladies.

About ten minutes after Tony and Mari’s
arrival in Mojave Wells, the door to the hotel’s parlor opened,
Martin glanced up from the catalog he’d been poring over, and Tony
Ewing stalked in, looking like a thundercloud about to burst.
“What’s the matter, Tony?”

“Nothing,” Tony snarled.

Martin lifted an eyebrow. Tony noticed,
dropped into an overstuffed chair near the one Martin occupied and
sighed heavily. “All right, it’s Mari. She’s the matter.”

“How’s that?” Martin forced himself not to
grin. He recognized the same symptoms in his friend that he’d seen
in others. If Martin were of a diagnostic turn of mind, he’d have
said Tony was coming down with a case of lovesickness, but he’d
never say so. He appreciated both Tony’s temper and his musculature
too much to rile him.

“Dammit, the woman’s impossible.”

“That’s not awfully informative, Tony. What
makes her impossible?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tony slapped his driving
gloves on the table beside his chair. “She’s just so damned
proud.”

Nodding judiciously, Martin murmured, “Too
much pride can be a bad thing.” He was neither surprised nor
annoyed when Tony swiveled his head and glared at him. If Martin
remembered correctly, it was better to say nothing when a man was
in a state like the one in which Tony appeared to be.

“It’s better to have pride than to have no
self-respect at all,” Tony retorted, as if Martin had accused Mari
of being a coward or a sniveling weakling.

“Absolutely,” Martin said in an effort to
redeem himself.

“But not like hers.”

Deciding he’d be better off not speaking at
all in response to this comment, Martin only nodded.

“Dammit, she won’t let a person do anything
for her.”

Interesting. Martin cocked his other eyebrow.
“Did you try to do something for her?”

Tony threw his arms out, almost knocking over
the lamp sitting on the table. Martin caught it before it crashed
to the floor. “Dammit, I only told her I was going to drive her
home, and she wouldn’t let me!”

“Oh. That does seem a little, um, excessive.
And you chalk that up to pride, do you?”

“What the hell else could it be?”

Since he didn’t have any idea, Martin said
so. “I don’t know.”

“It’s because she was embarrassed about going
to sleep on my shoulder.” Tony slouched in the chair, sticking his
long legs out in front of him “Silly girl.”

“I guess I can understand her point.”

It was the wrong thing to have said. Martin
knew it at once and sighed inside. He’d forgotten that when a man
was in Tony’s condition, nothing was the right thing to say.

“Dammit, I don’t!” Tony bellowed. “I don’t
understand it at all. What’s wrong with going to sleep if you’re
tired?”

“Um, nothing?”

“You’re damned right. Stupid chit. What was I
supposed to do? Shove her away?”

“Um, no.”

“That’s right. Dammit, if the woman needed
sleep, why shouldn’t she sleep? And it was only an accident that
she sort of leaned up against me.”

Studying Tony’s disgruntled features, Martin
decided that had been a bald-faced lie, but he wouldn’t mention it.
He did, however, feel compelled to say something, if only to ease
his own conscience. “Well, now, Tony—and don’t take this wrong,
because I know you’d never do anything untoward—but I’m sure a
pretty girl like Mari Pottersby, especially one who, like her, has
few resources and no parents, might feel especially vulnerable when
alone with a man.”

Tony vaulted out of his chair, fists bunched,
and glowered down on Martin as if he were some sort of repellent
monster. “What the hell do you mean by that, Martin Tafft? Do you
think I’m the kind of bastard who’d take advantage of a helpless
female? Dammit, Martin, you’re my friend, but I swear to God I’ll
belt you a good one if you don’t take that back.”

Interesting. In the space of seconds, Mari
Pottersby had gone from being too proud and independent to being
helpless. The phenomenon of love puzzled Martin mightily. He held
up a placating hand. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it,
Tony. I know you’re not the kind of man who’d do anything unsavory
to a girl, and especially not one like Mari. I’m only trying to
point out how it’s possible that she might feel . . .
vulnerable.”

Tony towered there for another few seconds,
looking as though he really wanted to punch something. Martin hoped
he’d choose another target than his own cherished body if he
succumbed to the urge. Then Tony’s shoulders slumped, his hands
unclenched, and he sat again, drooping like a wilted flower. “Yeah.
I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be so touchy. Don’t
know what’s wrong with me.”

Martin suspected he knew, but he didn’t say
so in order to avoid another outburst on his friend’s part.
Instead, he said, “Say, Tony, I need to talk to you. We’ve got some
problems.”

An hour later, Tony looked at the remains of
Peerless Studio’s camera equipment in befuddlement. They sure did
have some problems.

“How in hell did it get both cameras?” Tony
scratched his head as he examined the wreckage of the expensive
machinery. The cameras had been stored in a locked shed behind the
hotel.

Martin shook his head. “I don’t know. We
locked ‘em in here yesterday, after you and Mari left for Los
Angeles, and they were found like this at eight o’clock this
morning. We were going to do some site testing today to get the
lighting and filters ready for shooting in the mine.”

Tony squinted around the shed. It wasn’t a
handsome place or a new one, but it appeared about as secure as
anything else in Mojave Wells. Yet there were the crushed cameras,
and there was the beam from the ceiling still lying on top of them.
“How in heck did the beam fall? Do roof beams just fall down by
themselves? Was there an earthquake or something?” Tony’d heard
about earthquakes, but he hadn’t yet experienced one.

“I don’t know, and no, there wasn’t an
earthquake. I called Phin.” Phineas Lovejoy was president of
Peerless Studio. “He’s got an insurance fellow coming out early
tomorrow to look at the mess.”

“Shoot. How much will it cost to replace
them?”

“Almost a thousand dollars. I’m hoping
insurance will cover most, if not all, of the cost.”

“My old man’s not going to be happy about
this.” Tony wasn’t eager to tell him the news either. Maurice
wasn’t known for his easy-going disposition. He’d be more likely to
throw something. Like, say, a tantrum. Or his butler out the
window. Tony experienced a moment of gratitude that he’d be out of
ashtray-hurling distance when he made the call.

“Nobody’s happy about it.”

Walking farther into the shed and maneuvering
around the wreckage—it was difficult to avoid stepping on the
accident site because the shed space was small—Tony glanced around
some more. “Has anyone gone over this with a good light yet?”