Vegas Heat (43 page)

From
Vegas Rich

1923

The old attorney stared out his grimy windows and winced. His secretary had cleaned those windows yesterday. He’d watched her swish her soapy rag over them, then polish them until he could see his reflection. Now, less than fifteen hours later, they were dirty and grimy as though they’d never been cleaned. He looked down at his desk and saw the same grainy granules of desert sand. Irritably, he blew at them and wasn’t surprised when the offending sand refused to move. He told himself he was in the desert; sand was to be expected.

Alvin Waring, attorney-at-law, worried as he shuffled the two folders—one thick, one thin—from one side of his desk to the other. Waring knew exactly what was in each folder. If he were pressed, he could rattle off the contents without missing a heartbeat.

He saw her then, and he thought about waterfalls, summer blue skies, picnics and wildflowers. He wished, in that single second of time, for his youth. The two folders on his desk made perfect sense now. He stood, his old bones creaking as he walked around the side of his desk, held out his hand and touched hers, softer than any flower petal. She smiled, her summer blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Mr. Waring, I’m Sallie Coleman. I received your letter several days ago. I would have come yesterday, but I ... I had to ... sort through some things. I don’t have much money, Mr. Waring. I used all my available cash to pay for Cotton’s funeral. I do have this,” Sallie said as she withdrew a small burlap sack from her purse. “Cotton gave it to me the first day I started to work at the bingo palace. He said it was to be my nest egg if things didn’t work out. I’m not sure how much it’s worth. Cotton said it was seven ounces of pure gold.”

“Nest eggs should not be touched. They’re for the future.” The attorney cleared his throat as he handed back the sack of gold. He wondered what it would be like to walk with this young woman through a green meadow filled with daisies. In his bare feet. Holding her hand.

Sallie backed up a step, but didn’t reach for the little sack. The summer blue eyes were questioning. “I don’t understand. It could take me years to pay off ... The gold would help me get to the end quicker. Did I say that right?”

“It makes no mind. There is no need for you to assume payment for Cotton Easter’s bills. First, he didn’t leave any bills. His estate would have paid for his funeral. There was ... is ... no need for you to assume the responsibility.”

“Yes, Mr. Waring, there was a pure need for me to be doing that. Cotton was my friend. It was hard for me here in the desert when I first got here. He helped me. He watched out for me. Cotton didn’t let anyone bother me. He was a kind man, a good man. Sometimes ... most times, he was down on his luck, but when he had money he always shared with me and a few others who were less fortunate. I don’t regret paying for his funeral. If he didn’t leave any bills, and you don’t want my nest egg, why did you write me that letter asking me to come here?”

“Sit, Miss Coleman. I have some things to explain to you. I’m going to read you Cotton’s last will and testament.”

“Mercy, Mr. Waring, isn’t a person’s will a private thing? I don’t know if Cotton would like you to be telling me his secret thoughts. Cotton always told me a man’s life and his past belonged to him alone. He said that and a man’s good name were all God gave him when he came into the world, and when he left this world, his name on his marker would be all that was left. Now that I told you that, Mr. Waring, I’ll be getting back to work. I’m having his marker erected next Sunday afternoon. The preacher agreed to say a few words. I’m going to serve a meal at the palace for anyone who wants to come.”

Alvin Waring couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was almost to the door when he barked at her to come back and sit. He gentled his tone and smiled when she perched herself on the edge of the hard wooden chair. The summer blue eyes were frightened.

“Now, little lady, you just sit there and listen to me read you Cotton Easter’s last will and testament. Before I do that, I want to tell you about Cotton. If I don’t, you won’t understand the will. Cotton came here to the desert with his daddy many years ago. He was just a small child at the time. His daddy was an educated man whose wife died before her time. With a small boy to raise, he decided to come here to seek his fortune the way his own father had done. He was very successful, almost as successful as his father. He sent Cotton back to Boston to get educated, and the minute the boy finished his studies, he hightailed it right back here and took his place next to his daddy. The main reason his daddy came here was because his father had mined the Comstock Lode. That would be Cotton’s granddaddy. The old gentleman left all he held dear to Cotton’s father. And, there was a lot that he held dear. Cotton’s daddy sold all the shares to the Comstock that his father left him at just the right time, and banked a fortune. Sold high, $22,000 a share, and he owned thousands of shares. Cotton’s daddy was a gambler and won acres and acres of land in poker games. He never touched that money. He struck it rich time and again. He had a big, old ugly Wells Fargo safe made special, and he kept his fortune in it. Didn’t trust banks or the stock market. A wise man. He bought up half the desert for fifty cents an acre. He grubstaked many a man who later paid back double for the stake. In some cases the veins and mines found their way back to Cotton’s daddy. When he died, his estate went to Cotton, who didn’t give a whit about the money. Cotton wanted his own strike. He amassed his own fortune, and it all went into the Wells Fargo safe along with his daddy’s money, and his granddaddy’s money. Make no mistake, Miss Coleman, Cotton knew exactly what was his, what was his granddaddy’s, and what was his daddy’s. I don’t think he knew or even cared about the amount. I tried to tell him, but he simply wasn’t interested. He wanted to be like all the other miners—spinning yarns and drinking rotgut, loving women on the run, gambling, and hitting the mother lode. He craved respect, and you were the only person who gave it to him, Miss Coleman. He said you nursed him when he came down with pneumonia, and that you fed him when he was hungry. He said you washed his clothes once or twice and said you were—ah, what he said was ... you were, forgive me, a lusty bed partner.”

Sallie blushed, but the summer blue eyes didn’t waver.

“Cotton left all of his holdings to you, Miss Coleman.”

“Me! Now, why would he do a thing like that, Mr. Waring?”

“Because you accepted him for who he was, and he said you respected him and asked his advice. He said nobody else, man or woman, ever asked for his advice. You followed it, too. That was important to Cotton.”

“But ... but—

“You’re a very rich woman, Miss Coleman. It’s a short will. I’ll read it to you, and you can ask me questions, if you want, when I’m finished.”

Sallie listened to the old attorney’s quivering voice, understanding only one word: rich. Other people were rich. People like herself were never rich. If she were rich, she could go back to Texas and help her family. She would have to ask how much money that would take. She wished then that her life had been different. She wished she could read and write well. Cotton had helped her a little, but she’d been too ashamed and embarrassed to let him know how ignorant she was.

The attorney’s voice trailed off. He was finished. She needed to pay attention. He had said she should ask questions. He was staring at her expectantly. “Mr. Waring, I’d like to help my parents out if that’s possible. These past few years I’ve sent little bits of money back home, but there are quite a few young ones to take care of. How much do you think that will cost? If there’s enough I’d like to maybe move my family to a little house with a yard for the children. Maybe buy a toy or two and a new outfit. Schooling too. My pa, he ... how much will all that take?”

“Compared to what you have, what you’re asking is a spit in the bucket. You’re rich, Miss Coleman. Let me put it to you another way. Do you know how much a million dollars is?” Sallie’s head bobbed up and down. In her life she’d never seen more than fifty dollars at a time. A million had to be a lot more than that. She wished she’d paid more attention to Cotton when he was doing numbers with her. All she wanted was to be able to count the money at the end of the day and know it was accurate.

“Then you multiply that by about fifty and that’s what you’re worth, possibly more, thanks to Cotton Easter. That doesn’t count the property. Right now it’s not worth much. Possibly someday it will be worth a fortune. Cotton’s daddy thought so, and so did Cotton. My best advice to you is to take some of that money and buy up the rest of the desert and sit on it until the time is right to sell it. It’s going for about sixty-five cents an acre. I can arrange all that for you if you want me to handle your affairs. If you have another attorney in mind, that’s all right, too. I’ll be sending you monthly reports on your finances, which pretty much stay the same since everything is locked up. Later, I’d like us to sit down and talk about the stock market. Will you be wanting to move into the Easter house? They gave it a name when Cotton was just a tad. His daddy called it Sunrise. You own the mountain it’s sitting on.” He dangled a set of clanking keys to make his point.

“What house is that, Mr. Waring?” Sallie gasped.

“Cotton’s daddy’s house up on Sunrise Mountain. A fine house it is, too. Cotton’s granddaddy had everything sent here from Boston. The finest furnishings money could buy. Real plumbing. There’s a well and an automobile. There’s a couple who look after the place. You can live there if you like. It’s yours.”

A house called Sunrise. Sallie wondered if she was dreaming. “How many rooms does it have?”

“Eleven. Four complete bathrooms. Beautiful gardens. Do you like flowers, Miss Coleman?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Waring, I love flowers. Do you?”

“Wildflowers especially. Bluebells, and those little upside-down bells, the yellow ones. My mother used to have a beautiful flower garden. Where do you live now, Miss Coleman?”

“In a boardinghouse. I have a big room. It has pretty wallpaper and white curtains on the windows. I can’t open the windows, though, because of the grit and sand. I’d like to see those curtains move in the early morning breeze. Window screens are frightfully expensive.”

“You don’t have to worry about things being expensive anymore. If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Coleman, what will you do? If you have a mind to tell me a little about your background, I might be able to help you. Plan your future, so to speak. Cotton trusted me. I’d like it if you would trust me, too.”

Sallie sat back in the hard wooden chair and stared directly at the old attorney. She spoke haltingly at first, and then, as she grew more comfortable with the truth and shame, the words rushed out. “I’m one of eight children. I’m the oldest girl. The boys, they took off as soon as they could. My pa, he drank too much. My mother took in washing and ironing. I helped. There was never enough food. I was never warm enough. I left when I was thirteen. I made my way here and sang for my supper. Cotton said I sang like an angel. He loved to hear me sing. The miners gave me tips sometimes. Cotton was always generous. He didn’t care that sometimes, when there was no money, that I would ... take money for doing things that would shame my mother. That’s just another way of saying I was ... am ... a whore. You didn’t expect me to say that, did you, Mr. Waring?”

“No, I didn’t. I’m not going to judge you, Miss Coleman.”

“That’s good, Mr. Waring. I won’t judge you either. Now we can start out fair. I can read and write a little. Maybe I can get someone to teach me now. There was no time for school and no nice clothes back in Texas. The good ladies in town called us white trash. Nobody cared about us. I wanted better, the way my brothers wanted better. Someday I’m going to find them, and help them if I can. I’ll be taking you up on the offer to move into that fine house. Do you know if the windows open?”

The old attorney smiled. “I’ll make sure they do. Miss Coleman, I have an idea. Do you think you could find someone to take your place at the bingo palace, for say, six months? Maybe a year. I know a lady in California who operates a finishing school for young ladies. If you’re amenable, I can make arrangements for her to ... to—”

“Polish me up?” Her tinkling laugh sent goose bumps up and down the attorney’s arms. “I suppose so. But first I have to go back to Texas. Family needs to come first, Mr. Waring. When I get back, we can talk again. Where’s that safe you spoke about? Do you give me the money or do I just open the safe and take it? Do I have to write everything down?”

“Miss Coleman, you can do whatever you want. When would you like to visit the house?”

“Today.”

“It’s a two-day trip on horseback. I can make arrangements to have you taken up tomorrow if that’s all right with you. Here is the combination to the safe and the keys to the house. These past few years a lot of the funds were put in banks once I felt it was safe. This box sitting here has all the bankbooks. They’re yours now. All you have to do is walk into any one of them, sign your name, and take as much money as you want. You’re agreeable, then, to my purchasing more desert acreage?”

“If you feel it’s a wise thing to do.”

“I do.”

“Then you have my permission, Mr. Waring.”

“How do you feel now, Miss Coleman? I’m curious.”

“Sad. Cotton was such a good friend to me. I cannot believe that he would leave me all this money. Is there something in particular he wants me to do? I guess what I’m saying is, why? Why me? He had friends. There must be family in Boston. Are you sure it is meant for me?”

“I’m sure.” Waring rose, walked around the desk, and held out his hand. He held her delicate hand a moment longer than necessary. “Enjoy your new fortune, Miss Coleman.”

“I’ll try, Mr. Waring.”

Sallie held out her hands for the small wooden box containing the bankbooks.