Robert B. Parker's Blackjack (15 page)

V
alentine came for dinner at seven. He was wearing fancy clothes that impressed Allie, complete with his cutlass clipped onto his belt. His topcoat was burgundy velvet and his shirt was made of fine polished cotton and was open around his neck, exposing partial tattoos on his chest. He showed up with a box of gifts that included wine, an after dinner liqueur, a bouquet of flowers for Allie, and a box of cigars for Virgil.

Before supper we sat on the back porch watching the orange and red blazed sunset that prompted Valentine to wade into a Navy story about chasing a pirate ship down the coast of Mexico. It was an elaborate tale about Mexican pirates and American seamen that provoked Virgil to ask him which boat he was on. He told the story with great fervor, describing the environment—the weather, the ocean, the sailors, the captains, and the deckhands. The yarn had Allie captivated. He went on and on until the adventure led him to a final battle that was explained in dramatic detail, right up to the burning of the pirate ship at a place Allie thought sounded funny.

“Teacup?” she said crinkling her nose.

“No,” Valentine said with a laugh. “Teacap-an. Boca Teacapan. The outlet of the Estero de Teacapán of the lagoons of Agua Grande in Sinaloa and Agua Brava in Nayarit to the Pacific.”

“Well, that just wore me out,” Allie said, fanning herself with a Chinese fan, another of the gifts from Valentine.

“How about some food, Allie?” Virgil said. “I’m sure Val is hungry, aren’t you?”

“I am at your mercy,” he said to Allie. “My cup already runneth over with good fortune.”

“There is no need to get into the details about all that,” Virgil said. “How long before we eat, Allie?”

She smiled sweetly.

“Just a bit, it’s all ready,” she said. “Let me go and get to work on finishing the preparations . . . won’t be but a few minutes.”

“You need some help, Allie?” I said.

“Oh, no, Everett,” she said. “You boys just stay out here and enjoy yourselves.”

She put her hand on Valentine’s knee.

“I’m sure you and Virgil have a lot to catch up on,” she said. “And we are so glad you are here.”

“Thank you, Allie,” he said.

With a final pat of Valentine’s knee Allie was up and through the back door. Valentine watched after her as she moved off down the hall, then looked to Virgil.

“She’s lovely, Virgil . . .” he said. “Simply.”

Virgil was quiet for a bit. Then . . .

“She is,” he said.

Valentine smiled and did not say anything else. He looked off, watching the sunset, and after a moment of extended silence he got out of his chair and walked down the few steps. He walked away from the porch a little. He looked down at the sandy soil with the
occasional cluster of short grass. He walked in a circle as he looked down. He kicked at the dirt a bit, thinking, then looked back toward the falling sun with his back to us.

“I am sorry, Virgil,” he said.

He looked over to Virgil. Virgil was looking at him. Valentine looked away, back toward the sunset.

“I regret the day I left you and Mother.”

I looked over at Virgil. He didn’t look at me or say anything. He was looking at Valentine, who was looking away.

“I know I made things hard for her by leaving you two,” Valentine said. “And then getting myself in trouble all the time, doing the things I did, I know . . . made her . . . ashamed of me, and that has never settled well with me, Virgil . . . never.”

He looked back to Virgil. Virgil was looking down now, and he did not look up and meet Valentine’s eyes.

“Not everything I did was ignoble and dishonorable,” Valentine said. “I know it seemed that way.”

Valentine turned and walked back to the porch. He stood at the bottom of the steps, looking at Virgil.

“I missed her . . . and you, but I knew if I stayed there he would have killed me. I think he saw so much of himself in me that it made him angry. I thought in some way if I was not there, things might be easier for her, and you . . . most likely I was wrong about that.”

Valentine put a boot on the bottom step.

“I suppose I could have stayed, should have stayed to be there for her, and you. But I would have shot and killed him . . . And in hindsight that might have been the thing to do, the noble and honorable thing to do.”

Allie lifted up the kitchen window and poked her head out.

“Hey, out there,” she said. “It’s suppertime.”

A
llie had been taking some well-deserved cooking lessons from an elder woman with the ladies’ social and it was paying off. Her dinner that consisted of a chicken, potatoes, carrots, and bread was nicely prepared and tasty.

After we ate I helped Allie remove the dishes and reset the table for dessert.

Valentine’s fine red wine and prior reflection on the past had softened Virgil some. At least for the moment, the combination of the two allowed Virgil a bit of breathing room in respect to his forbearance that previously had been less than tolerable.

The talk during dinner was dedicated for the most part to the country and its changing times. We discussed everything from silver mining to time zones, to the ever-expanding rail system, the U.S. Mail, and the chain-stitch single-thread sewing machine.

It was not until we polished off Allie’s apple pie and poured the after dinner liqueur did we discuss the courtroom proceedings we sat through earlier in the day.

“That all went so fast today,” Allie said. “I hardly knew what happened.”

“Callison is a no-nonsense judge,” Valentine said.

“That he is,” Virgil said.

“Did not take him long to decide,” I said.

“No,” Virgil said, “it didn’t.”

“I think I know what happened, but all that legal gibberish got me confused there toward the end.”

“Trial is set,” I said. “It, too, will happen quick, Callison will move it right along.”

“Well, I can’t believe that ol’ Judge Callison, though,” Allie said. “The ol’ coot.”

“Why is that?” Virgil said.

“Well,” she said, “it did not seem to me, nor any of the women, smart women, I might add, from my social that were there with me today, that there was enough evidence in this case to bring Boston Bill to trial.”

“I don’t think he had much of a choice, Allie,” Virgil said.

“No,” I said. “He did not.”

“It was a preliminary, Allie,” Virgil said. “That supported the warrant and the fact that Boston Bill was on the run and Val apprehended him, and the fact that he is the prime suspect and there are no other suspects at this time other than her husband, who is dead, the trial will be in order.”

“It does not mean he is guilty,” Allie said.

“No,” Virgil said. “It does not.”

“Also, there have to be other suspects,” Allie said. “You can’t just say because they were having . . . relations . . . that Bill and her husband are the only suspects.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Allie,” Valentine said. “I was saying that before.”

“Thank you, Valentine,” she said.

“Does seem like the prosecution has some ace up their sleeve,” I said.

“A vendetta in the making,” Valentine said.

“They are confident, it seems,” Virgil said.

“Callison,” I said, “was not about to let them get what they want without the prosecution bringing in the witnesses and material evidence.”

“The promise to provide witnesses with testimony that they felt would seal the deal,” Valentine said, “is what most certainly persuaded the good judge.”

“Now what?” Allie said.

“Callison won’t waste any time,” Virgil said.

“Soon as the witnesses arrive, the trial will get under way,” I said.

“Do you think he did it?” Allie said. “Do you think Boston Bill killed that Denver woman?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What was described sounded just awful,” Allie said. “That poor, poor woman.”

“It did,” I said.

“I can relate to her,” Allie said. “It’s confusing for a woman in this country. This is a man’s world, and without a man, a woman has few resources to work with, to ply her trade.”

That thought settled across the table for a moment, then Valentine said with an uplifting tone, “Most assuredly, Allie.”

She smiled, removed her napkin from her lap, and placed it on the table.

“Well, then,” she said with a chirp in her voice that was meant to change the direction of the conversation. “Enough of that sort of rigmarole. How about a recital?”

“That would be lovely,” Valentine said.

Virgil looked to me as Allie got up from the table and walked to the piano.

“Any requests?” she said.

She paused and turned back to the three of us sitting at the table.

“Valentine,” she said. “I can’t play that many by heart, I only know a few, but I can read music.”

“Whatever your heart’s desire, Allie,” he said. “Whatever your heart’s desire.”

V
irgil was getting more and more comfortable with Valentine. I was not sure if he would ever be completely at ease with him, but there was at least a growing feeling that there was enough space for the two of them in the same room. After Allie’s fifth tune, I excused myself and left Virgil, Valentine, and Allie and walked to the Colcord Hotel. Earlier in the day after the preliminary hearing I had a chat with Daphne Angel that concluded with a proposal from me that we get together after my scheduled dinner, and she agreed.

When I stepped into the lobby of the Colcord and went to the bar in the dining area, our designated meeting place, Daphne was nowhere to be seen. The place was empty except for an older couple sitting at a corner. They looked to be having a romantic moment, giggling as if they were youngsters. I bought a beer at the bar, then stepped out the door and onto the back porch. I walked over to the railing and looked off out into the darkness beyond the spilling light of the hotel, and for some reason I thought about Ruth Ann Messenger, about what really happened to her. The details that were presented during the
preliminary hearing came to mind, about how she was discovered with her clothes ripped off her body and how badly she had been beaten.

Who could have done this,
I thought,
and why?

Boston Bill Black and Roger Messenger both had personal enough reasons to kill Ruth Ann. Her husband was obviously ashamed, embarrassed, belittled, had been made to be the fool and was drinking heavily, had basically become a mess over Ruth Ann flaunting her relationship with Black. And Black found himself in a situation with a woman that was obsessive and wanting a relationship.

But why would either of these men do away with her in the way she was killed?

It did not add up. Leaving blood on the steps of the inn, then ripping her clothes from her body and then beating her.

Which one of these guys was the killer, which one of these men savagely beat her to death . . . or was it someone else?

“Boo.”

I turned to see Daphne standing behind me in the doorway.

“Sneaked up on you.”

“Glad you did.”

She looked stunning. She was wearing a dark gray dress with a silvery lace shawl that dropped down some, exposing her bare shoulders.

“What do you see out there?” she said, nodding out to the dark.

“Oh, I was just . . . just standing here . . . thinking.”

“Penny?”

“Not worth it.”

“No?” she said.

“Naw . . .”

“Maybe I should be the judge of that,” she said with a smile as she moved over to me by the rail.

“You think?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

She placed both of her hands on the rail and looked out.

I looked down at her hands. She followed my look, then covered up the two fingers of her right hand that were stained.

“Ink of the trade, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Maybe try a pencil.”

“Not good enough for permanence.”

I smiled and she laughed.

“Sorry, I was running a little behind,” she said.

“Better than running in front with someone chasing you.”

“Depends on who’s doing the chasing,” she said with a smile. “And for what purpose.”

I laughed. She grinned.

“Well, no apologies necessary here,” I said.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she said, blushing.

“Well, I instigated it,” I said.

“I guess I have been cooped up too long,” she said.

“Well, I am glad I got you out.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Mr. Pritchard is fair and generous, but he can be demanding.”

“Had you working this late?”

“Well, prior to the preliminary hearing we went and visited with Bill today.”

“I heard about that,” I said.

“Mr. Pritchard is . . . well, upset?”

“And you?”

“It’s hard,” she said. “I . . . well, I don’t know what to say really, other than today set me back. Not to be insensitive. On the contrary, I’m very sensitive to what’s happening, this is just awful . . . but I keep records for Mr. Pritchard’s multiple businesses and I am always on a deadline it seems, and, well, there just is not enough time in the day.”

“All work and no play,” I said.

“There you go again.”

I smiled.

“Believe me,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

I intentionally left alone the fact that she mentioned the hearing and the talk of Bill. I figured there might be an opportunity to maybe learn something about Bill and Pritchard that might be of interest, but I avoided furthering the conversation in that direction. Mainly because reminding her of the details regarding Bill’s incarceration and Ruth Ann’s murder was not part of my bid for good favor.

“No appreciation necessary,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

“I can see that,” she said. “But you are right, too much work leaves little time for taking care of the fun stuff.”

“What you get for being good with numbers,” I said.

“We all have a cross to bear, it seems,” she said.

“You sure don’t look like a bookkeeper.”

“What do I look like?”

“Beautiful.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Hitch.”

“Everett,” I said.

“So what do other bookkeepers look like, Everett?”

“To be perfectly honest, you are the only official bookkeeper I have ever met.”

She smiled, looked out into the dark, and took a deep breath.

“What a beautiful evening,” she said.

“It damn sure is,” I said.

She looked at me and smiled.

“Nice to see you,” she said.

“Nice to see you,” I said.

“And how are you?”

“Better now,” I said.

She turned her body, looking at me in the eyes, and grinned.

“Good,” she said.

I held up my mug and said, “What can I get you?”

She looked back to the bar, then back to me.

“I would love to get out of here.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Surprise me,” she said. “I have been in this hotel too long. I work out of my room and I eat their food and, well, it’s nice, but a little too nice, and . . .”

“’Nough said.”