The Lady Doctor's Alibi (11 page)

“She eats her own food,” Josephina said.

“I suppose that’s it,” Clint said. “I think this breakfast is going to put an extra spring in my step, at that.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Josephina said. “It has been a long time since I ate Auntie’s cooking.”

“I should thank you, Josephina,” Clint said. “Even when you’re not cooking for me yourself, you’re keeping me well fed.”

For the remainder of the meal they kept silent and just ate.

Rufus Holmes knew where to go to recruit men for the jobs he needed done. And with Lillian Graham’s money behind him, he knew he’d be able to hire the best.

He went directly to the docks. He could have grabbed half a dozen dockworkers or sailors off the docks cheap, but Rufus Holmes was not going cheap anymore.

Not ever.

He started across the street to Auntie’s restaurant, then stopped short when he saw Clint Adams coming out with a Mexican girl. He had seen Adams at the Graham house only briefly, from hiding, but he knew him when he saw him. He knew Adams was the Gunsmith, but that didn’t matter much. With enough money he could hire enough men to take care of even the Gunsmith.

He backed up, stepped behind a buckboard that was standing in the street, and crouched down. The men he wanted would be eating in Auntie’s, but he’d never expected to find Adams eating there as well. He waited to see which way Clint and the woman would walk when they left, but before they could leave, Auntie herself grabbed them. Rufus waited . . .

 

“You make sure you bring your friend back,” Auntie told Josephina, then turned to Clint and said, “and you make sure my girl comes back to see me.”

“I will, Auntie,” Clint said.

“I take that as a promise, me.”

“I’ll remember,” Clint said.

As they left Auntie’s and started down the street, Josephina said, “She will keep you to your promise, you know.”

“I’ll just have to bring you back here at least once, before I leave town.”

“And when will you be leaving?”

“Not for a few days, at least,” he told her.

“Good,” she said, “because once you leave, I do not think I will eat at Auntie’s again for a long time.”

“It’s kind of silly that neither of you eats the other’s cooking,” he said. “Does she like your cooking?”

“She loves Mexican food, and loves my cooking.”

“Seems to me the solution would be to go into business together,” Clint said. “That way you can cook for the public, and for each other.”

Josephina looked at him funny, then fell silent as he walked her home.

 

Rufus watched as Clint Adams walked away with the Mexican girl he thought looked like Josephina, who owned her own cantina. He waited until they were out of sight, then crossed the street to Auntie’s.

“Rufus!” she yelled as he entered. “Where you been, you? When you don’t eat here, my business goes down.”

“Hello, Auntie.”

Rufus knew a lot of hard men from the docks, and they all loved Auntie. This woman did not have any enemies that he knew of. It was amazing to him that someone could be liked by everybody—including him.

“I’m lookin’ for Franco. Have you seen him today?”

“Not yet,” she said, “but he eats here five days a week, and so far he only been here four.”

Franco Colon was death for hire. Rufus enjoyed hurting people, but when you needed someone killed, you looked for Franco. They had worked together many times before, but even though they were friends, Franco was the only man Rufus Holmes was afraid of. He could kill with a knife, a gun, or his hands.

And he had other friends.

“If you see Franco,” he told Auntie, “let him know that I’m lookin’ for him. I got work for him.”

“I don’t want to hear about your business,” she said, shaking her head, “but I tell him if I see him.”

“Tell him if he sits still for at least an hour, I’ll find him,” Rufus said. “Tell him that.”

“I tell him, but that boy, he don’t sit still for long.”

Franco knew he had a lot of enemies, and sitting still would make him a target.

“I’ll find ’im,” he told Auntie. “Just give him the message.”

“I’ll give it to him. You gonna stay and eat?”

“Not today, Auntie,” he said, “but soon.”

“Yeah, soon,” she said, “if I don’t go out of business, me.”

“Auntie,” he said, “you ain’t never goin’ out of business. Not the way you cook.”

“You better be right,” she told him, “or I’m gonna blame you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I just need a few days to handle some business, and I’ll be eatin’ here.”

“You be careful, Rufus,” she said.

“I’m always careful, Auntie.”

Clint walked Josephina back to her place, where she had to prepare to open for business that day. He promised to see her later.

“What are you going to be doing today, hombre?” she asked.

“Like I told you,” he said, “I’ve got to find out who killed the doctor.”

“So you are going to see your lady doctor, eh?” She gave him a stern look.

“She’s not my lady doctor,” Clint said, “but yes, I have to go and check on her.”

“Well, you just remember what last night was like with Josephina when you see her,” she said. “You think of me, eh?”

“I’ll be thinking of you all day, but you think about . . . this,” he said, kissing her soundly and then releasing her.

“Cabrón!” she said, pushing him away.

“I’ll see you later.”

He started away, then turned while she was unlocking her door.

“Clint?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Josephina, tell me something.”

“Sí?”

“Do you know a man named Rufus?”

“A big gringo, who likes to hurt people,” she said. “Sí, I know him.”

“Well?”

“I know him when I see him,” she said, “but I do not
know
him. Comprendes?”

“I understand,” he said. “So what
do
you know about him?”

“Just what I said. He likes to hurt people, and he is paid to do it.”

“What about murder?”

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking puzzled. “What about it?”

“Have you heard any word that he does murder for hire?”

“No,” she said, very definite about it. “I have never heard about him killing people. Hurt, yes, but kill, no.”

“And how well do you know what goes on down on the docks?”

“I know what I hear,” she said, shrugging, eyeing him curiously. “Why?”

“If you were going to have somebody killed,” he said, “who would you hire?”

“A man or a woman?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Who and why matter to me, hombre. If it was a man who cheated on me, or a puta who stole my man, I would want to kill them myself.”

“Okay, but let’s just say you don’t want to do it yourself. Who would you hire?”

“There is only name I can think of,” she said. “The thing he enjoys the most is killing. Rufus, he likes to hurt people, but . . .”

“What’s his name?”

She turned, looked at him, and said, “You must be very careful of this man. He is not like Rufus. He does not kill for pleasure. It is his business, and he is very good at it.”

“I’m always careful, Josephina,” he said. “What’s the name?”

She sighed and said, “Franco.”

When Clint arrived at the doctor’s office, he could see the relief on both Lissa and Marietta’s faces.

“Are you all right?” he asked Lissa.

“Yes, yes,” she said, “just glad to see you. With you here, I know I won’t have to shoot anyone.”

“What about Boone?”

“He’s fine,” she said. “He doesn’t talk very much, though.”

“That’s okay,” Clint said, “he’s not here to talk. He’s here to protect you.”

“Doctor?” Marietta called from the doorway. “Buenos días, Clint.”

“Good morning, Marietta.”

“Coming, Marietta,” Lissa said. She touched Clint’s arm and followed Marietta into the other room. Clint took the opportunity to talk to Boone.

“Boone, you want to go and get some breakfast?” he asked.

“The ladies and me went out and ate,” Boone said. “But thanks.”

“Well, if you want to go home for a few hours—”

“I got nothin’ goin’ on at home, Clint,” Boone said. “I’ll just stay.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Listen, what do you know about a man named Franco?”

“Franco?” Boone asked, surprised. “How’d you hear about him?”

“I asked who the murder for hire man was in town and got his name.”

“Well, yeah, he does murder for hire—or that’s what we hear. We’ve never caught him in the act, which is about the only way we’d be able to get him. Why are you getting’ mixed up with him? You have enough trouble with Rufus Holmes.”

“Yeah, but I heard that Rufus Holmes is not a killer,” Clint said, “and we’re looking for a killer.”

“So you pick Franco?”

“If Lillian Graham goes to Rufus and wants someone killed, who would Rufus go to?”

Boone paused, then shrugged and said, “Probably Franco. We know they’ve worked together.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I better go and talk to the sheriff.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m not sure,” Clint said. “I did have plans just to ask more questions, but maybe we should go and find Franco and have a talk.”

“You think the sheriff is gonna go with you?” Boone asked.

“I don’t know him that well,” Clint said. “Do you?”

Boone thought a moment before speaking.

“The sheriff don’t like to push,” Boone said. “You do. It’ll be interesting.”

“Would you rather I wait so that Rufus and Franco come here together?”

“Hey,” Boone said, raising his shotgun, “I got two barrels.”

Clint liked that Boone didn’t scare.

“I’ll talk to the sheriff and let you know what happens.”

“Like I said,” Boone replied. “Interesting.”

“I’ll say good-bye to the ladies before I leave,” Clint said.

“By the way,” Boone said, “are you and the lady doctor . . . ?”

“No,” Clint said. “Why, you interested?”

“No,” Boone said, “curious. My days with the ladies are over. It’s just me and my shotgun now.”

“I hope you’re very happy.”

Boone grinned, rubbed the shotgun’s barrel, and said, “Oh, we are.”

 

Clint went to the doorway of the other room, watched Lissa and Marietta moving around the beds. Lissa stopped to lean over the little girl, touch her face, and smile.

“How’s she doing?” Clint asked when Lissa came over to him.

“She’s doing well,” Lissa said, “and so am I. I saved the leg.”

“You must be a hell of a doctor,” Clint said. “First my foot, then her leg.”

“Oh yes,” Lissa said, “you were definitely in danger of losing that foot.”

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll be back later. By the way, I think the deputy might be interested in you—if you can woo him away from his shotgun.”

She smiled and said, “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Clint went to the sheriff’s office and found the man there, apparently brooding over a cup of coffee.

“Problems?” he asked.

“I had to let the kid go.”

“Wasn’t working out?”

“The badge went to his head,” Brown said.

“That happens.”

“Get yerself a cup.”

Clint went to the stove, poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat opposite the sheriff.

“What’s on your mind?” the lawman asked.

“A man named Franco.”

“A bad man,” Brown said. “Boone was after him when he was sheriff, and I’ve been after him since I got to wear the star. What’s your interest in him?”

“His specialty is murder.”

“I thought you were figurin’ on Rufus doin’ that for the widow?”

“I’m getting’ the word that Rufus doesn’t kill,” Clint said.

“Anybody kills,” Brown said.

“So you don’t believe it?” Clint asked. “You think he hires out for murder?”

Brown shrugged.

“Well, when I asked who does hire out, Franco was the name I got. And Boone says Franco and Rufus have worked together.”

“He’s right, they have. But that don’t mean they are this time.”

“Well, I’d like to ask him.”

“Rufus? Go ahead, I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Not Rufus. Franco.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“Find him, and ask him,” Clint said. “I was hoping you’d help me with the first part.”

“To find him, you’d have to go down to the docks,” Brown said. “You want me to go with you? You know what kind of target I’d be with this tin on my chest?”

“Take it off.”

“They’d still know who I am.”

“Fine,” Clint said. “Don’t come with me. Just tell me where to look.”

Brown gave it some thought.

“If you want to find anybody on the docks, there’s only one person to ask.”

“Who’s that?”

“She has a business down there,” Brown said.

“A woman?”

Brown nodded.

“They call her ‘Auntie.’ ”

When Clint entered Auntie’s later that afternoon, most of the tables were empty. The woman’s face betrayed surprise when he walked in.

“You came back already?” she asked. “My cookin’ was that good, me?”

“Your cooking was excellent, Auntie,” he said, “but that’s not why I’m here. I want to talk.”

“Talk?” she asked. “You want some chicory coffee while we talk?”

He didn’t like anything mixed in with his coffee, but he said, “Sure.”

“You go to that back table and wait,” she said.