Silver Dreams (23 page)

Elizabeth finally understood the meaning of blood boiling anger. She stepped toward him, her fists clenched. “How dare you?” she shouted. “You disgusting little man! I have no intention of going anywhere with you!"

Max caught her elbows from behind and kept her from attacking. "Calm down, Betsy."

"Did you hear what he said? He openly accused us of...of..."

"And he couldn't be more wrong, could he?" Max said.

Hildebrand faced Elizabeth with a leering grin that made her hands itch. "Tell you what I'll do for you, Miss Sheridan. You come along like a good girl, and I won't mention this to daddy."

She squirmed against Max's hold. "I'll tell
you
something, Mr. Hildebrand. You leave here right now and I won't tell my father what a lowlife, snake-in-the-grass, unprincipled, slimy piece of bat dropping the Pinkertons sent on this mission!"

Max leaned close to her ear and whispered. "Excellent diplomacy, Bets. You might be laying it on just a little thick. After all, if you'll remember..."

She craned her neck to glare at Max. “Are you siding with that weasel?”

“Of course not. I’m trying to keep you out of jail.”

Reluctantly she let him lead her to a chair and push her into it before he returned to Hildebrand. "Miss Sheridan obviously does not wish to go back to New York with you,” Max said. “And seeing that she's of age, and fully capable of making her own decisions, I don't see that you have any right to coerce her. As a matter of fact, I'm certain that what you're trying to do is illegal."

"Mr. Whoever-you-are," the detective responded in that sniveling, self assured voice, "I don't give a damn about the legality. Especially since Mr. Sheridan told me he'd cover any expenses related to the safe and swift return of his precious daughter, who, to my way of thinking is no better than a common tramp.”

Max balled his hand into a fist and drew back.

“Max, no!” Elizabeth hollered. “I know how you’re feeling, but it won’t do for you to land in jail instead of me.”

“It would be worth it,” Max said.

“Listen to her,” the detective said. He pushed Max close

to the wall and leaned into his face. “You and I get in a scuffle and you’ll cool your heels behind bars.”

Elizabeth sensed Max was near his breaking point. They both were. She stood and tip-toed to the washstand. Hildebrand couldn’t see her, but Max watched her every move. His eyes narrowed in confusion. Before he could react or warn her about the folly of her action, she picked up the basin ewer and cracked it over Hildebrand’s head.

The detective slumped to the floor. All that remained of the jug was the porcelain handle. Elizabeth dropped it and slapped her hands to rid them of crockery dust. She'd never once inflicted physical pain on another human being. "Oh dear, look what I’ve done. I suppose I should feel worse than I do."

Max lifted his gaze from the prone figure of Francis Hildebrand to Elizabeth's face. "Something tells me we need a change of plans.”

Chapter Twelve

"I sort of wish you hadn’t done that, Betsy,” Max said.

Elizabeth began wringing her hands. Her knees trembled. She couldn’t look at the man on the floor. "I just had to do something. I wasn't going back with him."

"And it didn’t occur to you that the Pinkerton Agency might frown on one of their detectives being conked in the head with a water pitcher?"

"I didn't have time to think. I was afraid. You weren't getting anywhere. Obviously talk doesn't work with a scoundrel like Hildebrand."

"You didn't give me a chance. I wasn't going to let him take you back to New York."

She grabbed Max's wrists. A surge of gratitude had suddenly calmed her. "Oh, Max, really? You can be awfully sweet sometimes."

“Sure, Bets. I’m a sucker for a woman with a dangerous weapon in her hands.” He gave her a half smile. “Now, what are we going to do with Francis here?"

She bent over the detective's still form. "Is he all right, do you think? I mean, he's not..."

"Let's hope not."  Max pressed two fingers against a vein in Hildebrand's throat. "No, he's not dead."  He felt the back of the detective's head for evidence of serious injury. "No blood, but a goose egg is forming back there. Our little buddy is going to have quite a headache when he wakes up. And a strong hunger for revenge."

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut against the imagined wrath of Francis Hildebrand. "He’ll have me arrested for sure."

"I doubt it. It's my guess that the desire for a fat paycheck from your father will keep him from alerting the sheriff. But I don't think much will deter him from delivering you to New York as fast as possible."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We?" Max sighed wearily and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm going to help you. And I can just imagine what my boss will say if word of this gets back to him. I'll be lucky to be covering the beat at the dog pound. But what we're going to do is tie Hildebrand up, keep him from making any noise and pray we're out of town long before he hits the street with both guns firing."

"Guns?"

"It's just a figure of speech...I hope. Find something to tie him up with."

"The curtain ties.” She unwound the long velvet cords from their ornate brass hooks.

"We’ll need a gag."

She picked up her lemon-soaked handkerchief from the bedside table. "How about this?"

"Perfect. It must give you quite a feeling of accomplishment knowing you've tortured two men with lemon verbena in one night. Hildebrand can suck on it until his tongue is numb."

Working together, they bound the detective's hands and feet and tied the handkerchief around his mouth. “Where will we put him?” Max asked.

“The wardrobe,” Elizabeth said. She quickly removed her clothing before they stuffed Hildebrand inside.

Max shut the cupboard doors and locked them with the skeleton key. He stood back and admired their work. “He won’t get out of there."

“But Max,” Elizabeth said. “What am I to do for the rest of the night? I can’t stay here.”

“No, I suppose not.”

She pulled a valise from under her bed and began tossing her belongings inside. That done, she looked over at Max who was watching her with blatant amusement. "Quit grinning like that," she said, thrusting a crumpled wad of bills at him. "And please get me another room, as far away from Francis Hildebrand as possible. And for heaven's sake, don't use my name."

His grin only widened. "Clearly a sign of a guilty conscience, Bets."

"No, it isn’t. I've just decided I'm through being bullied by men for the rest of this night!"

He opened the door and stepped into the hall. "I'll get the room for you," he said. "But from the looks of that man in the closet, I don't think it was him that did the bullying."

After Max procured a new room for her and left for his boarding house, Elizabeth slept fitfully for the few hours remaining of darkness. All of the Fair Day explorers had agreed to reunite at sunup at the freight station across the street from the Teller House. They had arranged transportation on a wagon headed to Georgetown, the last settlement before the trek up the Devil's Fork and the outfitter’s where they would purchase supplies.

Elizabeth was in front of the hotel early since she couldn't risk a wake-up visit by her brother at her former room. As she waited in the damp, foggy dawn, she worried that Ross's activities the night before might make him less than responsible about showing up on time. What a disaster it would be if they all had to wait on Ross, and the freight wagon left without them. She sighed with relief when she saw Dooley and Ross approach. They weren't alone however. Twirling a rainbow-striped parasol as protection against the first rays of sun, Ramona Redbud walked with them.

"Surprise, honey," the woman said as they all walked across to the freight station. "I'm going with you."

"You are? How did that happen?"

Ramona kept the parasol over her head while she reached down to haul one of Elizabeth's valises into the wagon bed. “I never stay in one place too long so here I am, moving again, and I couldn't be happier."  She glanced in Ross's direction. "When your divine brother asked me to come, I just couldn't say no."

Elizabeth looked at her brother. “Ross?” She was answered with a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders. So much for his concern over the split of potential profits, she thought. He'd been furious when he suspected Max might be cut in on their deal. Yet, suddenly he was perfectly willing to add another person to the venture. Obviously her brother was motivated by forces greater than greed.

Actually, Elizabeth didn’t mind that Ramona was coming along. Another woman could be a welcome addition on their journey, and Ramona had proven to be a cheerful sort. She had certainly supported Elizabeth's right to be at the Silver Spike, and even though that decision hadn't turned out to be the wisest one she could have made, it still was nice to have a champion.

From a reporting standpoint, Ramona's presence was a golden opportunity. What could be more riveting than a firsthand interview with a Colorado soiled dove? Even Elizabeth’s father would have to admit that such an article was an attention grabber...and paper seller.

Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and sat on top of a tarp next to Ramona. Ramona cast a scrutinizing look at Elizabeth's attire and expressed her opinion with a flit of her long fingers. "Oh, sugar, you're gonna have to give up those clothes."

Elizabeth thought she looked fine. She'd thrown on a wool skirt which was perfect for traveling and a long sleeved white linen blouse, always appropriate for any occasion. "What's wrong with my clothes?" she asked, noticing for the first time the brightly colored strips of cotton which made up Ramona's skirt and the low-cut elastic neckline of the woman's pink Mexican blouse. Ramona's long hair was tied at her crown with an equally colorful kerchief, leaving her neck exposed.

"You'll roast like a Christmas goose in that getup.”

Elizabeth imagined her woolen attire already growing scratchy. “I hadn’t realized.”