The River Rose (42 page)

Jeanne felt herself grow more peaceful and relaxed than she had been all day long, watching Marvel. There had been no sign of Max Bettencourt, and no sheriff. Maybe Max had just left Memphis when he realized that he had much more to deal with than just bullying his wife.

Marvel was saying, "Perhaps, Mrs. Topp, we may ask our butler Ezra to make us a rice flummery. I do love rice flummery so." Jeanne smiled at Marvel's endearing imitations of adult conversation.

The door opened, and as quick as a snake, Max Bettencourt stepped in and locked the door behind him, and pocketed the key. Jeanne never locked her door, so the key was simply left in the keyhole. "Hello, Wife," he said, casually leaning against the door. "Hello, Daughter."

Jeanne and Marvel froze, then Marvel scrambled to her feet, her eyes as wide as silver dollars. Jeanne ran to stand protectively in front of her. "What are you doing here? Get out!"

"No." He walked over to her desk and opened the drawers. "I know you, Jeanne, I know you've got some money around here. You're just like a little mama rat, always stashing money somewhere in your little nest."

He was slurring his words, his face was a flushed, and his gait was unsteady. Jeanne realized he was drunk. She had given her last dollar to Roberty that morning for peaches. At the time she thought that she should go to the bank and get more cash, for she always kept some on hand. But she didn't go into town, and now she bitterly regretted it, for she thought that if she could give Max some money he might go away. "I don't have any money in here, Max," she said defiantly. "You're always telling me how stupid I am, but I'm not stupid enough to keep cash here."

His head wavering a little, he turned to stare at her. "Quit lying to me. I know you got some pocket money, some working money somewhere. Where is it?"

"Clint keeps a little money for things for the boat. Why don't you ask him for some?" Jeanne retorted. "Now get out of here and leave us alone!"

He spit out, "I'm not going anywhere. I warned you, Jeanne, I'm your husband and what's yours is mine. In fact,
you
are mine. You're my wife and before I'm through you're going to remember that." He stalked over to her, reached around, and grabbed Marvel's arm. "C'mon, you little brat. Get out. And don't you go whining to that old man or the little boy, or they're going to get hurt, you get me, kid?" He hauled her to the door, opened it, and shoved her outside. Then slowly, leering at Jeanne, he locked the door again. "So, you gonna get in that bed or you want me to drag you?"

Jeanne started backing up, and he rushed her. She tried to push him away, but he brutally backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. He reached down, grabbed her shoulder, pulled her up, and shoved her hard toward the bed, tearing her blouse almost completely off her. One final push, and she sprawled across the bed. Finally she came to her senses and started screaming, "No! Get off me, take your filthy—"

The door burst open, completely off the hinges. Clint charged in like a maddened bull. Max Bettencourt's eyes bulged, and he reached in his trouser pocket for his .22 derringer. He managed to pull it out and point it, but he was fumbling, and it was too late. Clint reached him and grabbed his arm to wrench it down. They grappled for a few seconds, and then the gun went off.

Bettencourt flinched, then reeled backwards. Clint made a whipping motion, and ended up with the small gun in his hand, a wisp of smoke rising from one of the barrels. With the other hand he reached for Bettencourt's neck, but Max shrieked, "You shot me! You've killed me!" He fell back across the bed, and quickly Clint looked around to see Jeanne standing across the room, holding Marvel in front of her. Vince and Ezra were standing at the door.

Clint bent over Bettencourt. A lurid red stain was spreading on the left side of his white shirt. Clint tore his shirt open. "Quit crying like a baby, you little weasel. You shot your own idiot self in the shoulder. Get up. Get up!"

He grabbed Max by the back of the collar and hauled him to his feet. "I'm going to bleed to death!" Max yelled, and then started alternately cursing and moaning. Clint pulled him out into the hall, with Ezra and Vince following him. Roberty and Leo were out in the hall. Leo pushed in front of Roberty, every hackle raised, his eyes glowing a baleful yellow, snarling and foaming as soon as Max was propelled through the door.

Clint half-pushed, half-carried Bettencourt down the stairs, across the deck, and down the gangplank. He pushed Max down into the filthy Mississippi River mud, and Max writhed like a beaten dog at his feet, howling. Clint looked down; he was still holding the gun, and with a quick movement he turned and threw it out into the river. Then he growled to Max, "If you ever touch her again, I will kill you and throw you in that river, just like I did your little girlie gun. There's no one on this earth that would miss you, Bettencourt. Now get out of my sight!"

Clint bounded up the steps back to Jeanne's cabin. Jeanne was sitting in one of the armchairs, with Marvel on her lap. Jeanne clutched Marvel close, but her eyes were unfocused and filled with horror. Clint knelt by the chair and tried to take Jeanne's hand that was clasped around Marvel's waist. He couldn't pry it loose, and it was cold and trembling. He looked closer at Jeanne and saw an angry red mark across the ride side of her face, and her lip was bleeding. He went down to the galley and saw Ezra there, already chipping ice and placing it in a muslin cloth, thickly folded with many layers. Clint said harshly, "Where's the brandy?"

"Got it right here," he answered, reaching into his trouser pocket and handing Clint the small brown bottle. Clint grabbed a glass, rushed back to Jeanne, and poured three fingers of alcohol. Jeanne was still staring into space, and now Clint could see that her face and lips were beginning to swell. Anger, dark and vicious, rose in him again, but he swatted it away and said, "Jeanne? Jeanne, listen to me. Drink this. Drink it right now."

She started, then stared up at him. Her hand shaking as if she were palsied, she took the glass and sipped, then took a bigger mouthful and shuddered convulsively when she swallowed.

Marvel's face was buried in Jeanne's shoulder, and she was sobbing fitfully. Clint knelt by them again and started stroking her hair. "It's all right, little girl, it's all right. Jeanne, you're going to be okay. He's gone, and I promise you he's never coming back." He went on talking soothingly and quietly to both of them, lightly putting his arms around them, encircling them protectively.

Ezra came back with a bowl full of ice chips and a small yellow bottle. He wet the muslin cloth with it, muttering to Clint, "Witch hazel. Silly skeery name, but hit's good fer bruises." Gently he patted the ice pack to the corner of Jeanne's mouth and then placed it against her cheek and held it there. Jeanne seemed not to notice.

Finally, bit by bit the frightening blank shocked look went away from Jeanne's face, and she relaxed. She reached up to hold the ice pack herself and murmured, "Thank you, Ezra."

Slowly Marvel's sobs stopped, until she was hiccupping. She sat up and looked around the room mournfully, as if to make sure where she was. Clint kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Angel girl, don't be scared any more. I promise you that from now on I'm going to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Okay?"

"Okay," she said weakly.

Clint stood up and for the first time paid attention to the room. Roberty knelt next to Leo by the sagging door, his arms around the dog's neck, tears streaming down his face. Vince stood helplessly by Jeanne's chair, swallowing convulsively, his expression a mix of anger and regret. Ezra was preparing another cloth, soaking it in witch hazel.

Clint said, "Vince. Vinnie! Take care of that door. Roberty, I need you to go make some nice hot cocoa for Marvel. Ezra . . ." He pointed. There was a bloodstain on Jeanne's bed, and a trail of blood smears out the door.

Vince, Ezra, and Roberty all hurried out. Clint held out the glass of brandy to Jeanne. "My sweet love, drink the rest of this, please. You—you scared me. This will help, I promise."

"All right," she said, and took the glass.

Clint watched her take a sip, and then she looked up at him and tried to smile. Clint said in a deep voice, "Jeanne, I love you, and I'm so sorry. Marvel, I love you, and I'm so sorry."

Then he turned and went to the bed. He grabbed the far side of the mattress and folded it up double, then walked out the door with mattress, sheets, quilt, pillows, and all. He took it down to the main cargo deck and laid it out at the muddy riverside. Later he would burn it all.

He went back upstairs, went into his room, and got clean sheets, a blanket, both of his pillows, a light cotton blanket, and picked up his mattress. Returning to Jeanne's room, he made up their bed. "This is mine, I hope you two don't mind. Tomorrow I'll go get you all new things."

"It's fine," Jeanne said, her voice stronger. "Thank you."

Ezra was down on the floor, with a bucket next to him that smelled the faint chemical odor of boracic acid. He was scrubbing the bloodstains with a brush and mopping up the excess water with a rag, muttering darkly to himself.

Vince was already working on the door. Clint stocked the boat with an extra of everything: pipes, fittings, nails, screws, bolts, all kinds of tools, and even such things as window fasteners and hinges and extra doorknobs and locks. When Clint hit the door with his shoulder, it had bent the hinges and the doorplate was shattered. Clint went to help him.

Roberty came in with Marvel's cocoa. She took a sip of it and smiled tremulously at him. "Not too hot. Thank you, Rob."

"Welcome, Marv," he said affectionately. Then he went and joined Ezra, down on his knees scrubbing.

After about half an hour Clint and Vince had the door repaired and the new doorknob and lock replaced. Clint put the new key into the lock and said, "Keep it locked from now on, Jeanne. I swear to you that he's never coming back. But it'll make you feel safer."

Jeanne murmured, "Clint? Clint, do you think—is he—"

"He's not dead," Clint rasped. "Unfortunately. I saw where the bullet hit him, I honestly did, Jeanne. His shoulder's probably all busted up, but he's going to be fine. Now I'm going to help Ezra and Roberty. You two just sit here and relax. Jeanne, another little shot of that brandy wouldn't hurt you a bit, you're still as pale as a ghost."

He went out to help them, for Vince was already starting on one of the steps, where Roberty and Ezra were scrubbing. "Thet varmint's blood must be thinner'n water, he's done made a mess ever step of his sorry way," Ezra grunted.

"Rotgut thins your blood," Clint said with disgust. "I'm surprised his wasn't whiskey-colored."

Ezra was right, there were blood spatters on almost every step, across the cargo deck, and down the gangplank. Clint did catch himself glancing at where he'd thrown him down, for it was a lot of blood. But of course, he'd seen when he threw out the mattress that Bettencourt was gone. Clint said, "Roberty, I need you to do a favor for me. Go burn that mattress and all of that stuff. You've scrubbed enough, I'll take over."

With a look of fierce joy on his face, Roberty said, "Yes, sir!" and hurried into the engine room to get coal oil and matches.

They had been working for about an hour when four shadowy men appeared at the gangplank. Three of them hung back, while one came forward into the lantern-lit deck. Vince, Ezra, and Clint were all down on their hands and knees, scrubbing. When Clint saw him, he slowly got to his feet.

He was a tall, rangy man with a slouch hat shading his features. He was dressed in dark clothing. Around his waist was a cartridge belt lined with bullets, and at his side was a holster with the handle of a six-gun sticking out of it. A five-pointed silver star was on his chest. He looked up at Clint. "Are you Clint Hardin?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm Deputy Sheriff Elias Fields. Clint Hardin, I'm placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Max Bettencourt."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
O
NE

Jeanne spent a completely sleepless night. She couldn't even bring herself to get into her nightclothes, she just threw herself down on the bed beside Marvel and laid there in misery, the side of her face pounding and her lips stinging. The sheriff had told them that no one could go to the jail with Clint, and that he would be arraigned at nine o'clock in the morning. The only sensible thing Jeanne did that eternal dark night was to decide to go to Nathaniel Deshler's office and try to retain him for Clint's defense. She didn't have any idea if he even practiced criminal law, but she knew that he would help her and Clint. If he couldn't take the case, she was confident that he would know a good lawyer that would.

Just as dawn was breaking Jeanne got up and decided to go to the galley and make herself some coffee. Ezra, Vince, and Roberty were already up, with coffee and tea already made and breakfast almost finished. She sat down wearily on one of the stools, with Leo's head in her lap, and allowed them to wait on her. After a cup of good strong coffee she felt her mind clear somewhat, and was able to eat the fluffy cheese omelet that Ezra had made for her. "I'm going to Nathaniel Deshler's office first thing," she told them. "I don't even know what time his office opens, but I'm going to leave at seven o'clock just in case."