Post by California gal on Feb 14, 2009 14:33:48 GMT -8
Originally posted July 2007
“This looks like the place,” James West commented, slowing his black horse as they came up on the tall iron fence. Stone gateposts supported a gate that was hanging open, one upper hinge loose on the right side. Vines, living and dead, along with other weeds, were visible in the moonlight on and below the fence. The winter rains that usually greened California had not had much effect here.
Artemus Gordon brought his own horse to a complete halt. “Are you sure? Looks deserted to me.” The February moon’s glow was casting an eerie aura about the area, including the large house they could see further down the driveway that led through the gate.
Jim could only shrug. “Well, it’s the only house that’s approximately two miles off the main road. At least the only house we’ve come across. There are lights inside. We can ask anyway.” He looked toward his partner, saw the deep frown on Artie’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I don't know, Jim. I just don't know. I have… I can only call it a premonition. A bad one.”
Jim West laughed. “Hey, just because it looks like a haunted house doesn’t mean it is! And if this is the place, the lady we’re to talk to is over eighty years old! What can she do?”
Artemus sighed. “Yeah. I’m allowing my imagination to run wild, I think. But remember… if anything happens here… I told you so!”
“I’ll remember. Let’s go. Maybe we can get this over with and get back in town tonight to see the play after all. And who knows, perhaps Adelaide and Wanda will be waiting for us.”
“You wish,” Artie responded, starting Mesa up to keep pace with Jim on Blackjack. They had reluctantly informed their dates for tonight that they had been ordered back to duty. Their superior, aware that the pair were passing through San Francisco on their way back from another assignment, had intercepted them at their hotel with this command. More of a personal favor than a command, Artie opined. Seemed Colonel Richmond had served under General Fairbanks many, many years ago.
Riding through the gates did not help Artie’s mood. If ever a house was haunted, this was the one. He saw broken windows on the upper floor, sagging timbers off the eaves. Even in the moonlight the need of paint and repairs was evident. The vegetation on the expansive grounds had been allowed to go wild. Perhaps once a showplace garden had flourished here.
Chances were, he informed himself, this poor old lady, widow of the late general, was existing on a puny military pension which did not permit her to keep up the old homestead. Surprising that she had not sold the place and moved into the city, instead of remaining out here in the Marin headlands. This was a pretty remote area. Above the sound of the evening breeze whistling through the numerous trees, Artie could hear the murmur of the surf. The Pacific Ocean was not far away.
Jim dismounted, glancing around. He hated to admit it, but Artemus’s sense of foreboding was striking him as well. Yet he also knew that the very atmosphere, the darkness, the moonlight, the sound of the breeze and the surf, were conducive to such feelings. During the daytime, in bright sunlight, all would be different. Throw in the fact that both were disappointed to have had to cancel their evening plans… well, easy to feel apprehensive and moody.
The first step creaked loudly under Jim’s boot, but he prevented himself from looking at his partner. Haunted houses always creaked, did they not? Now if I heard chains clanking, and a ghostly moan, I might start to really worry. The only sounds were those of the sighing breeze and a distant rumble of waves. He had had plans to take Adelaide for a ride in a hired buggy to view the moon shining on those waves. Perhaps that could still happen.
“Whoops.” Artie stepped aside quickly as he felt and heard a board on the porch start to give way under his foot with a crunching sound. Looking down, he saw how a portion of the slat had slivered. “Man, this place is falling apart, Jim!”
“Probably too rundown even for haunts,” Jim grinned, grabbing the heavy brass knocker on the ornate door and letting it fall a couple of times.
Neither were prepared for the sight that greeted them when the door opened. Jim knew his own jaw dropped as the tall, willowy blonde woman gazed back with a serene smile. She wore a servant’s uniform, dark blue dress with a white collar and cuffs, the skirt covered by a white apron tied around her slim waist.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, smiling with luscious rose-pink lips. The smile reached her clear blue eyes. “May I presume that you are Mr. West and Mr. Gordon? Mrs. Fairbanks is expecting you. Please come in.”
Both men belatedly jerked their hats off as they stepped inside. They saw that the interior pretty much matched the outside. The runner on the hallway floor was threadbare, the paper on the walls faded and peeling. A sense of long lost grandeur was everywhere, including a fancy grandfather’s clock which appeared to no longer operate, displaying the time of midnight or noon on its now frozen hands, pendulum still. A single lamp was glowing in a wall sconce. Further down the hallway, through the dimness, they could see a curving staircase.
The lovely maid took the cloaks they had donned against the California winter evening chill, hanging them on a tree inside the door, along with their hats. “Please follow me,” she instructed, turning to lead the way toward the staircase. She halted before reaching the stairs, however, pushing open a set of double doors, then stepping to one side. “Mrs. Fairbanks, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon have arrived.”
“Oh, come in, come in, gentlemen!” a thin voice called. “Katri, please bring tea. The special tea as we discussed earlier. This is a special occasion, indeed. We are honored by two of dear Colonel Richmond’s finest agents.”
She was seated in a wheeled chair placed next to a monstrous stone fireplace that covered more than half of the far wall. A large fire was roaring on the hearth, the heat emanating all the way back to the doorway. Well, Artie mused, old people have thin skin and thin blood. Likely she notices the damp chill of these coastal nights… even California can be chilly in the winter, especially once the sun went down. Nonetheless, the room was too warm for his own comfort. With any luck, they would not have to remain long.
“Mrs. Fairbanks,” Jim said cordially, bowing slightly from the waist, “we are very honored to meet you. Your husband was one of our nation’s heroes.”
“Thank you so much. Please sit down. And would you mind addressing me as Leticia? With two such handsome men in my parlor, I really don’t want to dwell on formalities.” She smiled sweetly.
Her hair was snow white, tending to thinness, with some pink scalp showing through. She seemed to be shrunken, wrapped in afghans with a shawl over her shoulders, appearing to possess little corporeal physicality. Any robustness and flesh had withered with the years. Her face, however, though heavily lined by age, displayed the fine bones that suggested beauty at one time. The eyes were bright and blue, evincing none of the confusion that one sometimes saw in a person of her years.
The two men sat down on the sofa across from her, Jim giving his partner a glance when Artemus quickly claimed the side farthest from the hearty flames. Two large logs were on the hearth, so no chance that the fire was going to burn itself down in the near future. Best to get this over with and get out of here before we fall asleep from the heat, Jim decided.
“Mrs. Fairbanks… Leticia… Colonel Richmond indicated you had some information for us. Something important.
“Yes, indeed I do. But nothing that cannot wait while we get acquainted. Ah, here is Katri with our tea. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I have it imported from India. Almost the only luxury I can allow myself these days. The dear general introduced me to it so many years ago, after he found it during his travels. You know that he was a world traveler.”
“Yes, we do,” Artie replied, struggling to prevent himself from staring at the blonde Viking who was daintily pouring the steaming amber liquid into cups from a silver teapot. He was sure the pot was silver. Something the old lady could sell for a fancy price, he judged. Sometimes familiar possession were more important than money, especially to the elderly. The cup and saucer he was served was of delicate bone china, decorated in blue forget-me-nots and pink rosebuds, undoubtedly hand-painted, also expensive.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for not offering sugar or lemon,” Mrs. Fairbanks smiled rather deprecatingly. “I am so very fond of the flavor of this tea that it hurts me to see it diluted.”
“This is fine,” Jim said, taking a sip. All they needed was hot tea in the warmth of this room! “Very fine flavor indeed.” He took another sip regardless of its hotness. The heat of the room made one thirsty.
“That will be all for now, Katri,” the old woman said, almost snappishly, Artie thought. Had she noticed that the young woman had stepped back and kept her eyes on the two visitors? “I’ll ring when you are needed.”
“Yes’m.” Katri did a neat little curtsy, nodded to the two men, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Excellent tea,” Artie said, drawing a pleased smile. “You say it is from India?”
“It is blended there. Grown in the hills of China, I believe. An import house in San Francisco obtains it for me. Unfortunately, I cannot enjoy it as often as I would prefer. The expense dictates I must save it for special occasions, such as tonight.”
“We’re honored,” Jim murmured. He wished the bounds of polite society would allow him to remove his jacket, or at least loosen his collar. The old woman looked cool as a cucumber, swathed in her afghans and shawl, with only a tiny portion of a lace collar appearing at her withered neck. “Can you give us the information you wish us to relay to Colonel Richmond?”
“How is the dear colonel these days? I remember him so well as a young lieutenant. Dashing fellow he was, too. I knew he would go far in the world.”
“He’s fine,” Artie replied. The heat was beginning to affect his thinking processes. The tea was hot, but it was wet, and soothed his parched-feeling throat. He took another swallow. “We’ll be glad to take whatever message you wish us to deliver.”
Jim looked at his partner. Artie’s words sounded odd. Almost slurred. Funny, he even looked slurred. Fuzzy around the edges. This heat is getting to me! Need to get this business done and out into the fresh air! “Yes, that’s true. If you can tell us… tell us…” Jim frowned. Tell us what? What the devil are we doing here? “Artie…”
“Damn it, Jim,” Artie cried out in alarm, or tried to. His words came out in a jumble, his suddenly thickened tongue not working properly.
“I knew you’d enjoy my special tea,” Leticia cooed somewhere off in the fiery furnace. “Katri!”
Artemus Gordon opened his eyes into the chilly darkness. He lay still, staring at the odd sight of something rising and falling within range of his vision. A cold and hard surface was under his cheek, a constant roar in his ears. He started to pull his arms under him, so as to raise up, but something caught at them, prevented him from doing that.
“Damn!”
His wrists were manacled, he realized, as he lifted his head to look around. He was lying on his stomach in the sand, with the pounding surf just yards away, the waves undulating up and down. The chain between the manacles was fastened to a stake buried in the sand, a metal stake with a “cap” on it that would prevent sliding the chain off the top. James West was sprawled on the opposite side.
Artemus scrambled to his knees, drawing closer to the stake to do so, then edged around to get nearer to his partner. “Jim! James! Come on, pal, wake up! We got problems!” He could not quite reach West with his hands because, as he had been, Jim was stretched out at the full length of the chains on his wrists, just out of Artie’s reach. Both, Artie took in, had had their boots removed. The boots with hidden explosives and other tools. Said footwear was in a heap at the base of the high cliffs, yards away and completely out of reach.
Artie twisted himself around and used his stocking-clad foot to nudge his partner’s shoulder. For one long horrendous movement, as Jim lay still and did not respond, Artemus Gordon feared the worst. But then Jim groaned and moved, lifting his head and staring around blearily.
“What…?”
“Jim, wake up. Come on, pal. We have big troubles here.”
The cool dampness of the air helped rouse Jim West. As Artie had been, he was surprised by the manacles as he worked himself up onto his knees. “What the devil is this?”
“A diabolical scheme, partner. The tide is coming in. From the looks of those cliffs and the sand around here, the water can get pretty deep, not to mention ferocious, when one considers winter surf in these parts. And when it does, unless we can get loose, we’re going to be going swimming underwater for a long, long while.”
“Yeah.” Jim noticed his missing boots. “Someone who knows us. But who?” That frail old lady?
Artie shook his head. “We’re not going to find out unless we can free ourselves.”
Artemus Gordon grabbed the iron post with both hands to try to dislodge it. “Damn it! It’s in there solid! Could be ten or more feet deep, embedded with a sledgehammer, I’d wager.” He touched the blunted top of the post, the moonlight showing the marks of the blows.
Jim moved closer, tried his hand at moving the post. He jerked up on his chains, but the links were stopped by the broader flange at the top. “We’ve got to get it out of there, Artie. It’s our only chance.”
“I agree,” Gordon said, glancing at the oncoming waves. They were already rolling in closer than just a few minutes ago. He had no idea how much time they had, only that it was running out. “Let’s get at it then.”
Their hands were the only available tools, tools hampered by the chains and manacles. After a little practice, the two men settled into a rhythm scooping out the wet sand and throwing it aside, moving the chains concurrently up and down on the post. At least with the sand being as wet as it was, it did not tumble back into the excavation as much as dry sand might have, even though the wetness also worked against their efforts by making the sand more difficult to dig out with their fingers and nails. Periodically they paused, not only for a breath, but to attempt to move the rod. It did not budge.
The waves continued to wash in, nearer and nearer. In Artie’s ears, their crash against the shore was as loud as any dynamite he had ever heard. Through the waves he could hear the mournful howl of a foghorn, which meant the ever-persistent fog in this part of the coast was likely out over the ocean, would be rolling in toward the land soon. Not that it made much difference at this point.
Neither man had attempted or even thought of yelling for help. Each knew innately that this small beach, probably not more than a hundred yards long and fifty feet deep, was in a remote area, nowhere near anyone who could offer assistance. Yelling would be a waste of time, energy, and breath. No ready access to the cliff top, such as a ladder, was visible, which meant that the rocks remained to be scaled even if they should be successful in freeing themselves.
The shock of the cold water on his toes caused James West to dig more frantically. He was no seaman, had never even spent much time fishing in the ocean, but he knew that tides could be unpredictable, at least to the inexperienced. A true sailor might be able to discern how fast this one was going to rise, how strong the surf would be, whether it would indeed cover the beach all the way to the cliffs. Being winter, that was all the more likely. All Jim knew was that they were in danger, as serious a danger that they had ever been in. Someone had planned well. Someone wanted them to die, and probably preferred them to be awake when death sought them.
All manner of questions coursed through his mind as he worked, but now was not the time to ask them, let alone seek answers. All would be moot if they drowned here. The next wave lapped completely over his foot and leg, and Jim saw that the same was happening to Artie. They dug faster, or as fast as they could with the chains that hampered their movements. The deeper they got, the more problems the manacles caused as they were required to slide the links further up and down the bared portion of the pole while lying on their stomachs.
Artemus suddenly rose to his knees, sitting back on his heels as he lifted his sandy hands to wipe his sleeve across his damp brow. “Damn, Jim, we’re not going to make it!”
“We have to! Come on, pal! Dig!”
“We’re going to need some help,” Artie said firmly, “and I think we’re going to have to rely on Neptune.”
“What?” Now Jim halted his efforts, staring up at his friend, who was gazing at the rapidly oncoming waves.
“Jim, the water may help loosen the pole by loosening the sand, once it gets to the hole we dug.”
West shook his head. “We can’t rely on that.”
“I know. I know! But Jim… we aren’t going to budge this damn thing. I don’t know how much deeper we need to go, but I’d say at least two or three feet. It’s like cement down there. With these manacles on, I don’t know if that’s possible.”
James West did not want to admit defeat. “Artie…”
“We keep digging as far as we can, Jim. But we’re not going to beat the waves. We have to hope that I’m right, that once the water hits the hole, it will loosen the sand down there enough.”
“The waves are getting pretty big. We might not be able to withstand the force.”
“Together we can, pal,” Artie said firmly. “Together. One way or another.” He extended his manacled right hand.
Jim gripped that hand with his own for a moment, smiling as he felt the gritty sand on their skins. “One way or another, pal. Come on, old man Neptune! We need your help. Only don’t kill us with kindness!”
They continued to dig, laying back down on their stomachs to reach down into the hole, sliding their chains down, and then up again. The coordination of the movement up and down was almost as important as the quantity of sand they were able to scoop out and lift up. The water sloshed at their legs, then their sides, cold and gritty with sand, occasionally washing in some kelp that caught on their limbs. Artie felt the current tugging at his soggy socks as it moved out toward the sea again. You can have my socks, Neptune. Just give us a little hand here.
When the first wave flowed into the hole, Jim experienced a spasm of dismay as he viewed how the force of the water pushed some of the now loose sand they had so agonizingly removed back into the hole. Digging was not possible now. If they remained on their stomachs, for one thing, the water would be breaking over their heads.
So they sat up, facing each other, grasping the pole with both hands, one atop the other. No words were needed as they began to push and pull on the pole. More waves crashed in, slapping against their bodies, almost knocking them over, evidencing the power of the ocean. At Artie’s suggestion, they locked their legs against one another and continued to work on the pole. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling.
Jim was just about to scream in frustration when a wave slammed into him, knocking him over, strong enough that even their interlocked legs did not help. He heard Artie’s yell, but then both realized, first, that the pole itself was going to prevent either of them from washing away, and more importantly, that wave, possibly in combination the weight of Jim’s body pulling against it, had caused the pole to move.
With a cry of excitement, Artie threw himself into it as Jim righted himself and joined. Another wave hit, this time he was ready for it, as was Gordon, both only by the hardest staying erect, hanging onto the pole. The waves were driving well passed them now, toward the cliffs, and not receding quite as far. Both were aware that within minutes they could be sitting in it, surrounded by, perhaps overwhelmed by, the moving water, the force of which would make it all the more difficult to maneuver the post.
“It’s coming, it’s coming!” Artie shrieked triumphantly.
And indeed it was. Battling against the waves, both men got to their knees, then to their feet, lifting the pole out of the sand. A large wave knocked them both down as they struggled to slide the chains off the other end. Finally they were free of the post, but another battle was yet to be waged, one against the power of the sea. Grabbing each other for support, soggy and cold, they staggered, stumbling to their knees a couple of times, through the powerful current toward the cliffs.
The water had not quite reached their discarded boots. By tacit consent, both sat down and tugged the footwear on over their wet feet, not an easy task. Ascending the cliffs shod was going to be easier than attempting to scale it barefooted. Climbing the nearly shear wall was not going to be easy in any case. But it had to be accomplished. Before long those waves would be crashing against the rocks, and likely hurling them with it if they were not out of reach.
Using his hands as a stirrup for Jim’s foot, Artie gave his partner a boost up to a projecting rock, where Jim steadied himself before reaching down to pull Artemus up near him. From then on, it was pretty much hand over hand, seeking rocks for handholds and footholds. Below them the angry ocean collided against the cliff, strong enough that they could feel the reverberation in the stones they were pressed against.
The cliffs were probably forty or fifty feet high, but felt like forty or fifty miles to the two exhausted men who threw themselves on the grassy surface at the top. For several long minutes, both lay still, breathing deeply, giving their thanks to whatever powers had assisted them. Finally Jim sat up, looking at his hands in the moonlight. Sand and dirt mixed with the blood oozing from the scrapes and scratches. Some fresh water to wash them off would be nice, but he was not complaining.
“You okay, pal?” he asked his prone partner.
Artie rolled over and sat up as well. “Damn, Jim. That was…” He could not say it. He could almost feel the cold water closing around his head, stifling his breath. Even while climbing the cliff, a couple of times a foot or hand had threatened to slip loose to hurl him down in to the churning water.
“Yeah.”
“I just have two questions, James,” Artie said after a moment. “Where are we, who the hell was that old woman, and why did she do this?”
“That’s three questions,” Jim pointed out sardonically. But he shook his head, then looked around. “My guess is we’re on the Marin coast. Maybe a little further north.” A broad field extended behind them. He could see the dark shadows of some cattle at the far side. “Civilization is around somewhere. We just have to find it. And getting ourselves moving might not be a bad idea. I’m cold.” Not to mention wet and tired and without weapons, which had been removed from the holsters located under their jackets. Pretty much all they had was the explosive putty in his boot heels.
“You and me both.” Artie staggered to his feet, pausing a moment with his hands on his knees to regain his balance. Funny, it was almost the same as stepping off a ship, where one felt as though the ground continued to sway as the ship’s deck had on the sea. “Oh, one other thing, pal. I told you so.”
Jim laughed, and it turned into a shiver as a cold ocean breeze struck his damp clothes and hair. The fog was out there now. He could see the massive bank of it shining in the moonlight. Before long, the fog would close off the moon and lower the nighttime temperatures.
They started out across the field, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as their muscles loosened and warmed. The small herd of milk cows gazed at them curiously but did not move. At the far side of the meadow they found a fence, a gate, a path which they followed. Eventually it led them to a sturdy farmhouse, lights gleaming at this early hour of the morning. This was a farmer’s home, after all. Labor did not always wait for the rising sun.
A lot of talking was required to convince the German farmer that they were not thieves or vandals pounding on the door. Both agents were grateful that they still possessed their identification, soggy as it was. Artemus’s proficiency with the German language helped as well. In the end, the farmer’s wife served them breakfast while drying their damp coats in front of the stove. She also daubed a pungent salve on their damaged hands. Afterwards, her husband drove them to the nearest town in his wagon, where they were able to hire a couple of horses.
“You know,” Artie commented as they rode along a narrow road that would take them back to the old house, “someone planned this well. I have a suspicion that our horses will be turned loose, to be found eventually. Could be our… unknown friend… planned to go to the beach later and remove the manacles before tossing our bodies into the sea. By the time we washed up, little would have remained of the scars the cuffs might have caused on our wrists.”
“You have such pleasant thoughts, Artie,” Jim responded, shaking his head. “But you’re undoubtedly right. Our deaths might have remained a mystery, with all sorts of speculation whether it had been accidental or deliberate. No bullet holes, no crushed skulls. Who could say?”
“Which brings back two of my questions. Who the devil was that old lady? Why did she do this?”
“She could well be Leticia Fairbanks,” Jim said. “She didn’t seemed demented, but who knows. Some perceived grudge against the colonel? Something dating back to her husband’s service? Hard to believe. Colonel Richmond always spoke warmly about his former commanding officer.”
“One thing is certain. She had help, and more than just the lovely Katri could provide.”
“Yeah, Katri’s obviously no delicate flower, but I can’t see her wielding the sledge hammer needed to drive that pole into the ground through the chain links.”
“Someone—someone male most likely—carried us down that cliff.” Artemus knew they were pretty much talking to be talking, but oftentimes doing this helped clarify their thinking.
They left the rented horses a quarter mile from the house, and approached on foot. To their amazement, as they neared the big iron fence they could see their own horses grazing in the yard. The steeds had been untied from the iron post where Jim and Artemus had secured them last night before entering the house. The gate was now closed, though one side still hung precariously from the lower hinge; it was not locked.
“That’s interesting,” Artie murmured as they ducked behind a bush of wild lilacs at the roadside.
“Yeah, but interesting how? Are the dear lady and her lovely servant still inside? Or did they merely loosen the horses out of the kindness of their hearts, being the dedicated animal lovers they are, before departing the premises.”
“If that’s the case, they sure weren’t worried about being suspects in our deaths!” Artemus leaned back slightly, peering left and right. “Wonder what’s around back?”
“Let’s go see.”
They were soon apprised that the tall iron fence circumscribed the entire house, enclosing a stables and several other smaller buildings. They also found out that the gate at the rear was stronger than the one in front, as well as being locked securely with strong chains. After a few minutes of discussion, both agreed they would be better off scaling the fence in the rear rather than boldly enter through the front.
“After all,” Artie pointed out with a wry grin, “how much more damage can we do to our frocks now?”
Fortunately, this fence did not possess the spikes at the top as some similar fences did, whether for decoration or protection. They did discover, however, just how sore the night’s exertions had left them, especially their battered hands. Making it safely to the other side, both men immediately crouched behind a hedge that separated the house from the outer buildings. The hedge, like the other vegetation, was overgrown, thus providing excellent protection.
“I don’t see anything,” Jim said after a long moment.
“Whatever that means.”
“Yeah. Got to believe that if someone was still in there, the horses wouldn’t be out front.”
“I agree. I’m wishing now we’d come in the front and got the spare weapons from the saddlebags… if they are still there.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised that they are,” Jim said, “maybe even the ones taken from us last night. That would serve to confuse the authorities when the horses were found wherever they planned to leave them.”
“It confuses me!” Artemus cracked.
At a nod from Jim, the two men both rose and ran toward the back door of the house, which opened into a kitchen. The room resembled what they had viewed last night, in terrible disrepair but having once been a state-of-the-art workroom for a cook and other servants. Artemus went to the big iron stove, put his hand on the metal, then lifted one of the grates.
“Still some warm coals. This is where that delicious imported tea was brewed.”
“Yeah.” Jim went to the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the next room, pushing it open just enough to see the shrouded forms of tables and chairs. No sound emanated from anywhere in the house. “I think it’s all ours, Artie.”
And it was. They searched from top to bottom, from the dusty attic down to the spider-web-infested cellar down below. Their capes and hats were still hanging in the hallway near the door. Although they saw signs of recent habitation, no actual persons were spotted, nor any real clues, unless one counted the silver teapot and the delicate porcelain cups that were still in the parlor. The embers in that fireplace were still glowing.
“I suppose the heat was to cause us to drink more tea,” Jim mused. The cup where he had been sitting was on its side on the floor, a damp spot under it. Artemus, it appeared, had been able to place his cup and saucer back on the small table beside his seat before falling unconscious. The cup still contained cold tea.
“I would say so, though I would have thought that having it extra chilly in here would have served the purpose even better. Maybe something in the tea, combined with the heat, was designed to cause us to drink more.” Artie picked up his used cup, sniffed at it. “I don’t smell anything, but I think it would be a good idea to find something to put this tea in to have analyzed.”
“Who the devil was she?” Jim murmured, looking around. He could see marks on the carpet where the wheeled chair had been moved. The chair itself was not in sight. “Why would an old lady like that want to kill us? Or at least be complicit in the scheme?”
“Leticia Fairbanks,” Artie said. “Presumably the window of the colonel’s former commander. I think he’s going to want to know about this. And maybe he has some useful information.”
Useful information was indeed waiting for them back at their hotel in the city, in the form of a telegram from Colonel Richmond. They had stopped in the nearest small town to the old house, the village of Petaluma, to talk to a white-haired constable, who informed them that as far as he knew, the old Hawthorne place was deserted, and had been for nigh onto ten years. Old man Hawthorne had died intestate, leaving several distant kin to wage a battle that was still ongoing.
When Artemus expressed surprise that the place was relatively intact, with the furniture and other possessions not having been vandalized or stolen, the constable chuckled. “That’s because it’s ha’nted. No one will go near the place, day or night.” He peered at the disheveled men. “You didn’t have a few too many and wander in there, did you?”
They paid a youth the constable recommended to take the two rented horses back to the stable near the German farmer’s home, then rode on to San Francisco, arriving near noon, weary and hungry. Breakfast, though substantial, had been a long while ago. The telegram from Colonel Richmond forestalled immediate plans for rest and restoration.
“Learned Mrs. Fairbanks died weeks ago. Might be some sort of trap. Stay away.”
“Great,” Artemus sighed, shaking his head. The clerk had told them the message had been delivered last night literally within minutes after their departure. Those few minute had nearly meant their lives.
After asking for baths to be readied, the two agents went up to their rooms, obtained fresh clothes, and then spent the next hour or so luxuriating in the hot water that laved away the encrusted salt and sand. By pre-arrangement, James and Artemus met in the hotel dining room. Artie had the small bottle they had found to carry the tea.
“We drop this off, then… what?” Artie asked after their meal order had been placed with the waiter.
“I think we need to go back to the old house.”
“What? Why?”
“Artie, remember your idea that whoever arranged this planned to go back to the beach, free our corpses to give them a burial at sea? Presumably, those folks have returned to the scene of the crime and found we escaped. In fact, if we had been in condition to realize that early this morning…”
“We might have nabbed them when they returned to the house,” Artie sighed. Jim was right though. They had been too exhausted and cold to be thinking clearly this morning. “You really think they’ll return to the house? What are you looking for?”
Jim had been gazing around the fairly crowded dining room. “Just thinking. They could be here, and we wouldn’t know it.”
“You do have such pleasant thoughts.” Artie could not help but look about him as well. He saw well-dressed guests of the hotel, along with citizens who simply patronized the establishment because of its reputation for good food. Ordinary people. He saw no one leering in their direction, although he did spot one handsome woman several tables behind Jim, looking their way with some interest. That did not make her a criminal! Plus, she certainly was not old Mrs. Fairbanks.
“We didn’t go over the house as thoroughly as we could have,” Jim went on after their soup was placed before them. “Whether or not the culprits return there, it’s still possible they left something of interest.”
Artemus Gordon was doubtful. “Maybe. I’d argue more forcefully, but frankly, I don't know where else to start! I suppose we could ask neighbors what they saw, if anything.”
“In case you did not notice, no other residences were within a quarter mile of the place, maybe further.” Jim spooned some of the excellent clam chowder into his mouth.
“Wonder if the Hawthorne holdings encompass all that surrounding land, or if the ghostly reputation has prevented anyone from settling there. Still, it may be worthwhile to ask. After all, they hauled us out to the beach—presumably in a wagon—in the middle of the night.”
“You’re right, as usual. All right, you can cozy up to the neighbors. I’ll…”
Both looked up, abruptly conscious that someone had stopped by their table. Artemus instantly recognized the woman he had seen gazing their way. She was in her thirties, he judged, and more than lovely, with dark golden hair and clear blue eyes, of a rather petite stature, and attired in a gown that Artie recognized as being of the latest mode and not inexpensive. Both men got to their feet.
The woman smiled rather apologetically. “Please forgive me for my boldness. I don’t usually do such a thing. But are you James West and Artemus Gordon?”
“We are,” Jim replied. “Is there something we can do for you?” Extremely handsome woman. The kid gloves she wore disguised whether or not she wore a wedding ring.
“I believe you knew my late husband, Captain Philip Herron.”
The two agents exchanged glances and Artie spoke, “Indeed we did, Mrs. Herron. He was a very good friend of ours. We were both saddened to hear of his death three years ago. Accept our belated condolences.”
“Thank you. I do miss him, but time heals… to some extent. Are you here in San Francisco on business?”
“Just passing through pretty much,” Jim replied pleasantly.
“Then you’re not going to be here long? I was hoping… well, I have rented a home south of here, near Pacifica, and I’m having a dinner tomorrow evening. Just a few friends. I would be so honored if you two could be there. It would be lovely to talk about Philip. He never told me much about his military service. I have his medals, so I know he was quite gallant.”
“He was, to be certain,” Artemus assured her. “In fact, he saved my life at Cold Harbor. You know, Jim, we really don’t have to hurry back to Washington.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jim said with a smile. “Mrs. Herron, we would be delighted.”
“I’m so pleased.” The lady spent a few minutes giving them directions to her home, then offered her hand to each, smiling warmly. “It will almost be as though Philip had come back to me.”
“Funny,” Artemus Gordon said softly as they watched the woman join two men who were waiting for her near the restaurant’s entrance, the men Artie had seen seated at her table, “I remember Phil as being closemouthed, but I really never got the idea he was married.”
Jim shrugged as a waiter swept away their empty bowls to place the steaming entrées before them. “Maybe he wasn’t. Could have married after the war. When did we see him last?”
Artie thought a moment as he cut into his prime rib. “About a year after Appomattox. At Fort Laramie, I believe.”
“I think you are right. That was five, six years ago. Anything could have happened. I never saw the obituary, just heard about his death. Typhoid, as I recall.”
“Yes. I suppose you are right. Fine looking woman. Looks like the kind of woman Phil would have chosen.” Yet Artemus could not divest himself of an apprehensive feeling. Just like last night when they had approached the old house. No “ha’nts” involved here. A lovely woman invited them to a fete at her home. They could use some relaxation after last night’s experience. Settle down, Artemus. Stop looking for trouble! Not everyone is out to murder you. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted.
Finishing the meal, the two agents procured their horses from the hotel stable, and after making one stop to leave the tea sample with a trusted chemist, headed north again. Upon reaching the area of the house, they stopped to talk to residents of farms in the general area. One man stated he had indeed heard a wagon in the wee hours, but because it passed on by, he had not gotten out of bed to see who it was. No, he had not seen anyone around the old Hawthorne place. No one ever went there. Place was haunted, you see. The man winked as he said this to let them know he didn’t really believe in ghosts himself.
“Something occurred to me,” Artemus said as they approached the old mansion once more.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sure it’s just an odd coincidence, but… think of this. Colonel Richmond thought he heard from an old, old friend, Mrs. Fairbanks, the widow of a member of his regiment. The widow of his commanding officer, actually.”
“So?”
“So, not long afterwards, we are approached by the widow of an old friend of ours, a member of our regiment.”
“Coincidence, Artie. I can’t see any connection. Mrs. Herron has fifty or so years to go before she reaches Mrs. Fairbanks’ age. At least the Mrs. Fairbanks we met. Actually, the only similarity is they both have blue eyes.”
“And both of petite stature,” Artemus reminded his partner. “Jim, I’m sorry to keep harping on this, but it’s this gut feeling. You know about my gut feelings.”
“I think you should try taking bicarbonate of soda more often.” James West did not want to admit that his partner’s worries were affecting him. He knew all too well how on-target Artemus Gordon’s intuitive feelings often were. He had been wrong as times. Nevertheless, when he was right, he was spectacularly right, as last night.
Yet comparing the comparatively youthful Mrs. Herron to the old lady of last night bordered on paranoia as far as Jim was concerned. Despite that Phil had never informed him of his marriage, that did not mean it had not occurred. He was going to need more proof before suspecting that handsome younger woman of foul deeds.
As before, they approached the Hawthorne house cautiously. The first thing noticed was that the front gate now stood open. That was enough for them to dismount and walk toward the house with guns drawn, all senses alert. On the porch, they stood at either side of the door, Artie reached over to grasp the latch to push the door open, remaining to the side. Nothing happened.
As soon as they stepped inside both men recognized the odor. The odor of death. Wordless, they began checking rooms. Artemus opened the door to the parlor. “In here, Jim. My God!”
Jim sprinted down the hall, halted in the open doorway. Artemus was on one knee beside the body of the lovely Katri. She was no longer attired in the maid’s uniform, but the bodice of the pale blue gown she now wore was gory with her own blood. Blue eyes stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“Throat cut,” Gordon said grimly, standing up.
“Why?” Jim murmured, stepping further into the room now. “Why would they kill her?”
“Who knows? I think we are dealing with some extremely dangerous people, Jim. The method they tried on us last night was not exactly humane. I’m thinking they are also determined, and nothing and no one is going to stand in their way.”
“Meaning that somehow poor Katri became a liability?”
“Who knows?” Artie repeated, shrugging. “I’d like to say she was an innocent party, but I got the idea last night she knew all about the ‘special tea’ to be served. We may not know until we run ‘em down. I’d say she’s been dead three or four hours. Happened around midmorning… some time after we were here.”
“And none of the neighbors we’ve talked to thus far saw anyone.” Jim expended a harsh breath. “Let’s check the house thoroughly again, then go report this to the constable and get a doctor or coroner out here. Maybe someone in town saw Katri and whoever she was with.”
The constable and the doctor-coroner returned to the house with them, both expressing horror and outrage before they viewed the corpse, and even more after they saw the youth and beauty of the victim. Neither had any recollection of ever seeing her previously, and as the constable stated sadly, she did not look to be a woman that one would easily forget. The doctor quickly confirmed Artemus’s estimation of the time of death. They used a sheet to transport poor Katri out to the doctor’s wagon, then the three law officers spent more time scouring the house, all to no avail. Nothing remotely resembling a strong clue to the murderers was to be found.
A couple of fruitless hours were then spent talking to neighbors all around the area. One more woman claimed to have heard the wagon in the middle of the night, this time returning toward the house. But absolutely no one could remember seeing anyone, let alone strangers, in or near the Hawthorne house. Most admitted that they avoided the place, day or night. A couple claimed that in past years they had been among those who witnessed the activity of spirits within the old walls, another reason to shun the environs.
The early darkness of winter had settled in by the time the two men reached their San Francisco hotel. Artie mentioned that they should send a telegram to the colonel. He would write it as they ate supper.
“I’m too tired to eat, pal,” Jim sighed as they paused in the lobby. “I think I’ll just go up to bed.”
“Good lord, man, it’s not even seven!” Artie grinned with the admonition. He was weary himself.
“I know, I know. I may not even sleep, but laying on that bed sounds too damn tempting. You mind?”
“No. I’ll probably just get a bowl of soup myself and hit the sack. I will write the telegram though and arrange for it to be sent. Maybe we can get an early start in the morning, even find out some things, before heading south for the dinner party.”
“Huh, almost forgot about that. Another reason to get a good night’s rest. Last night’s enforced sleep was not very restorative.”
Artemus laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder, then headed for the desk to ask for some writing paper. Jim went to the stairs, thankful that their rooms were on the second floor. Another hot bath would feel good on his aching muscles, but he was too tired to even consider that.
He had just gained the second floor when a woman emerged from a room near the top of the stairs. Courtesy bade Jim to pause, and he touched his hat. She was well dressed in a fine green gown that set off the green of her eyes, the fiery copper of her hair. Hair that was barely confined by combs and pomades into a stylish up-do. In her middle twenties, he judged. A very lovely woman with a slightly snubbed nose and a generous, sensuous mouth.
Jim turned to watch her descend the stairs, vaguely disturbed. He wondered if his vanity was injured. She had barely glanced at him, in fact, had seemed somewhat startled to see him there. However, she rushed on by him without acknowledging his salute.
Could be she was meeting someone in the dining room. The fact that she left her room without a cloak or any sort of outer clothing would indicate she was not leaving the hotel. Maybe he should got get that bowl of soup after all…
With an audible sigh, Jim shook his head and went on to his room. Just because a pretty woman snubbed him did not mean he had to chase after her. Likely that someone she was meeting was her husband. Lucky man.
He smiled as he entered the room. Hell, she might be as wild as that hair. Mean tempered too. She just… again he shook his head, starting to pull off his clothes. He could not think of another time in his life when a single glance had been like a blow to solar plexus. Probably another good reason not to pursue her. Many women had been in his life, women who came and went. That was the way he liked it. That was the way it needed to be in his line of work.
This time, he told himself as he undressed in the dark, leave the women aside. He was going to have to watch himself with Mrs. Herron. Perhaps vanity was involved again, but he was fairly certain the officer’s widow had looked upon him with interest. Alice Herron was not as young and pretty as the redhead, but damned attractive. And experienced.
Damn!
Jim West threw himself on the bed, realizing he was still resisting the urge to go to the dining room, if only to see who the redhead met. He could ask Artie later but… You don’t have to conquer every woman you meet, James. Was that really it? Injured pride? Bruised vanity? He soon became aware that unless he got that green-eyed woman out of his thoughts, he was not going to get much rest tonight.
THE NIGHT OF THE SHATTERED HEART
“This looks like the place,” James West commented, slowing his black horse as they came up on the tall iron fence. Stone gateposts supported a gate that was hanging open, one upper hinge loose on the right side. Vines, living and dead, along with other weeds, were visible in the moonlight on and below the fence. The winter rains that usually greened California had not had much effect here.
Artemus Gordon brought his own horse to a complete halt. “Are you sure? Looks deserted to me.” The February moon’s glow was casting an eerie aura about the area, including the large house they could see further down the driveway that led through the gate.
Jim could only shrug. “Well, it’s the only house that’s approximately two miles off the main road. At least the only house we’ve come across. There are lights inside. We can ask anyway.” He looked toward his partner, saw the deep frown on Artie’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I don't know, Jim. I just don't know. I have… I can only call it a premonition. A bad one.”
Jim West laughed. “Hey, just because it looks like a haunted house doesn’t mean it is! And if this is the place, the lady we’re to talk to is over eighty years old! What can she do?”
Artemus sighed. “Yeah. I’m allowing my imagination to run wild, I think. But remember… if anything happens here… I told you so!”
“I’ll remember. Let’s go. Maybe we can get this over with and get back in town tonight to see the play after all. And who knows, perhaps Adelaide and Wanda will be waiting for us.”
“You wish,” Artie responded, starting Mesa up to keep pace with Jim on Blackjack. They had reluctantly informed their dates for tonight that they had been ordered back to duty. Their superior, aware that the pair were passing through San Francisco on their way back from another assignment, had intercepted them at their hotel with this command. More of a personal favor than a command, Artie opined. Seemed Colonel Richmond had served under General Fairbanks many, many years ago.
Riding through the gates did not help Artie’s mood. If ever a house was haunted, this was the one. He saw broken windows on the upper floor, sagging timbers off the eaves. Even in the moonlight the need of paint and repairs was evident. The vegetation on the expansive grounds had been allowed to go wild. Perhaps once a showplace garden had flourished here.
Chances were, he informed himself, this poor old lady, widow of the late general, was existing on a puny military pension which did not permit her to keep up the old homestead. Surprising that she had not sold the place and moved into the city, instead of remaining out here in the Marin headlands. This was a pretty remote area. Above the sound of the evening breeze whistling through the numerous trees, Artie could hear the murmur of the surf. The Pacific Ocean was not far away.
Jim dismounted, glancing around. He hated to admit it, but Artemus’s sense of foreboding was striking him as well. Yet he also knew that the very atmosphere, the darkness, the moonlight, the sound of the breeze and the surf, were conducive to such feelings. During the daytime, in bright sunlight, all would be different. Throw in the fact that both were disappointed to have had to cancel their evening plans… well, easy to feel apprehensive and moody.
The first step creaked loudly under Jim’s boot, but he prevented himself from looking at his partner. Haunted houses always creaked, did they not? Now if I heard chains clanking, and a ghostly moan, I might start to really worry. The only sounds were those of the sighing breeze and a distant rumble of waves. He had had plans to take Adelaide for a ride in a hired buggy to view the moon shining on those waves. Perhaps that could still happen.
“Whoops.” Artie stepped aside quickly as he felt and heard a board on the porch start to give way under his foot with a crunching sound. Looking down, he saw how a portion of the slat had slivered. “Man, this place is falling apart, Jim!”
“Probably too rundown even for haunts,” Jim grinned, grabbing the heavy brass knocker on the ornate door and letting it fall a couple of times.
Neither were prepared for the sight that greeted them when the door opened. Jim knew his own jaw dropped as the tall, willowy blonde woman gazed back with a serene smile. She wore a servant’s uniform, dark blue dress with a white collar and cuffs, the skirt covered by a white apron tied around her slim waist.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, smiling with luscious rose-pink lips. The smile reached her clear blue eyes. “May I presume that you are Mr. West and Mr. Gordon? Mrs. Fairbanks is expecting you. Please come in.”
Both men belatedly jerked their hats off as they stepped inside. They saw that the interior pretty much matched the outside. The runner on the hallway floor was threadbare, the paper on the walls faded and peeling. A sense of long lost grandeur was everywhere, including a fancy grandfather’s clock which appeared to no longer operate, displaying the time of midnight or noon on its now frozen hands, pendulum still. A single lamp was glowing in a wall sconce. Further down the hallway, through the dimness, they could see a curving staircase.
The lovely maid took the cloaks they had donned against the California winter evening chill, hanging them on a tree inside the door, along with their hats. “Please follow me,” she instructed, turning to lead the way toward the staircase. She halted before reaching the stairs, however, pushing open a set of double doors, then stepping to one side. “Mrs. Fairbanks, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon have arrived.”
“Oh, come in, come in, gentlemen!” a thin voice called. “Katri, please bring tea. The special tea as we discussed earlier. This is a special occasion, indeed. We are honored by two of dear Colonel Richmond’s finest agents.”
She was seated in a wheeled chair placed next to a monstrous stone fireplace that covered more than half of the far wall. A large fire was roaring on the hearth, the heat emanating all the way back to the doorway. Well, Artie mused, old people have thin skin and thin blood. Likely she notices the damp chill of these coastal nights… even California can be chilly in the winter, especially once the sun went down. Nonetheless, the room was too warm for his own comfort. With any luck, they would not have to remain long.
“Mrs. Fairbanks,” Jim said cordially, bowing slightly from the waist, “we are very honored to meet you. Your husband was one of our nation’s heroes.”
“Thank you so much. Please sit down. And would you mind addressing me as Leticia? With two such handsome men in my parlor, I really don’t want to dwell on formalities.” She smiled sweetly.
Her hair was snow white, tending to thinness, with some pink scalp showing through. She seemed to be shrunken, wrapped in afghans with a shawl over her shoulders, appearing to possess little corporeal physicality. Any robustness and flesh had withered with the years. Her face, however, though heavily lined by age, displayed the fine bones that suggested beauty at one time. The eyes were bright and blue, evincing none of the confusion that one sometimes saw in a person of her years.
The two men sat down on the sofa across from her, Jim giving his partner a glance when Artemus quickly claimed the side farthest from the hearty flames. Two large logs were on the hearth, so no chance that the fire was going to burn itself down in the near future. Best to get this over with and get out of here before we fall asleep from the heat, Jim decided.
“Mrs. Fairbanks… Leticia… Colonel Richmond indicated you had some information for us. Something important.
“Yes, indeed I do. But nothing that cannot wait while we get acquainted. Ah, here is Katri with our tea. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I have it imported from India. Almost the only luxury I can allow myself these days. The dear general introduced me to it so many years ago, after he found it during his travels. You know that he was a world traveler.”
“Yes, we do,” Artie replied, struggling to prevent himself from staring at the blonde Viking who was daintily pouring the steaming amber liquid into cups from a silver teapot. He was sure the pot was silver. Something the old lady could sell for a fancy price, he judged. Sometimes familiar possession were more important than money, especially to the elderly. The cup and saucer he was served was of delicate bone china, decorated in blue forget-me-nots and pink rosebuds, undoubtedly hand-painted, also expensive.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for not offering sugar or lemon,” Mrs. Fairbanks smiled rather deprecatingly. “I am so very fond of the flavor of this tea that it hurts me to see it diluted.”
“This is fine,” Jim said, taking a sip. All they needed was hot tea in the warmth of this room! “Very fine flavor indeed.” He took another sip regardless of its hotness. The heat of the room made one thirsty.
“That will be all for now, Katri,” the old woman said, almost snappishly, Artie thought. Had she noticed that the young woman had stepped back and kept her eyes on the two visitors? “I’ll ring when you are needed.”
“Yes’m.” Katri did a neat little curtsy, nodded to the two men, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Excellent tea,” Artie said, drawing a pleased smile. “You say it is from India?”
“It is blended there. Grown in the hills of China, I believe. An import house in San Francisco obtains it for me. Unfortunately, I cannot enjoy it as often as I would prefer. The expense dictates I must save it for special occasions, such as tonight.”
“We’re honored,” Jim murmured. He wished the bounds of polite society would allow him to remove his jacket, or at least loosen his collar. The old woman looked cool as a cucumber, swathed in her afghans and shawl, with only a tiny portion of a lace collar appearing at her withered neck. “Can you give us the information you wish us to relay to Colonel Richmond?”
“How is the dear colonel these days? I remember him so well as a young lieutenant. Dashing fellow he was, too. I knew he would go far in the world.”
“He’s fine,” Artie replied. The heat was beginning to affect his thinking processes. The tea was hot, but it was wet, and soothed his parched-feeling throat. He took another swallow. “We’ll be glad to take whatever message you wish us to deliver.”
Jim looked at his partner. Artie’s words sounded odd. Almost slurred. Funny, he even looked slurred. Fuzzy around the edges. This heat is getting to me! Need to get this business done and out into the fresh air! “Yes, that’s true. If you can tell us… tell us…” Jim frowned. Tell us what? What the devil are we doing here? “Artie…”
“Damn it, Jim,” Artie cried out in alarm, or tried to. His words came out in a jumble, his suddenly thickened tongue not working properly.
“I knew you’d enjoy my special tea,” Leticia cooed somewhere off in the fiery furnace. “Katri!”
W*W*W*W*W
Artemus Gordon opened his eyes into the chilly darkness. He lay still, staring at the odd sight of something rising and falling within range of his vision. A cold and hard surface was under his cheek, a constant roar in his ears. He started to pull his arms under him, so as to raise up, but something caught at them, prevented him from doing that.
“Damn!”
His wrists were manacled, he realized, as he lifted his head to look around. He was lying on his stomach in the sand, with the pounding surf just yards away, the waves undulating up and down. The chain between the manacles was fastened to a stake buried in the sand, a metal stake with a “cap” on it that would prevent sliding the chain off the top. James West was sprawled on the opposite side.
Artemus scrambled to his knees, drawing closer to the stake to do so, then edged around to get nearer to his partner. “Jim! James! Come on, pal, wake up! We got problems!” He could not quite reach West with his hands because, as he had been, Jim was stretched out at the full length of the chains on his wrists, just out of Artie’s reach. Both, Artie took in, had had their boots removed. The boots with hidden explosives and other tools. Said footwear was in a heap at the base of the high cliffs, yards away and completely out of reach.
Artie twisted himself around and used his stocking-clad foot to nudge his partner’s shoulder. For one long horrendous movement, as Jim lay still and did not respond, Artemus Gordon feared the worst. But then Jim groaned and moved, lifting his head and staring around blearily.
“What…?”
“Jim, wake up. Come on, pal. We have big troubles here.”
The cool dampness of the air helped rouse Jim West. As Artie had been, he was surprised by the manacles as he worked himself up onto his knees. “What the devil is this?”
“A diabolical scheme, partner. The tide is coming in. From the looks of those cliffs and the sand around here, the water can get pretty deep, not to mention ferocious, when one considers winter surf in these parts. And when it does, unless we can get loose, we’re going to be going swimming underwater for a long, long while.”
“Yeah.” Jim noticed his missing boots. “Someone who knows us. But who?” That frail old lady?
Artie shook his head. “We’re not going to find out unless we can free ourselves.”
Artemus Gordon grabbed the iron post with both hands to try to dislodge it. “Damn it! It’s in there solid! Could be ten or more feet deep, embedded with a sledgehammer, I’d wager.” He touched the blunted top of the post, the moonlight showing the marks of the blows.
Jim moved closer, tried his hand at moving the post. He jerked up on his chains, but the links were stopped by the broader flange at the top. “We’ve got to get it out of there, Artie. It’s our only chance.”
“I agree,” Gordon said, glancing at the oncoming waves. They were already rolling in closer than just a few minutes ago. He had no idea how much time they had, only that it was running out. “Let’s get at it then.”
Their hands were the only available tools, tools hampered by the chains and manacles. After a little practice, the two men settled into a rhythm scooping out the wet sand and throwing it aside, moving the chains concurrently up and down on the post. At least with the sand being as wet as it was, it did not tumble back into the excavation as much as dry sand might have, even though the wetness also worked against their efforts by making the sand more difficult to dig out with their fingers and nails. Periodically they paused, not only for a breath, but to attempt to move the rod. It did not budge.
The waves continued to wash in, nearer and nearer. In Artie’s ears, their crash against the shore was as loud as any dynamite he had ever heard. Through the waves he could hear the mournful howl of a foghorn, which meant the ever-persistent fog in this part of the coast was likely out over the ocean, would be rolling in toward the land soon. Not that it made much difference at this point.
Neither man had attempted or even thought of yelling for help. Each knew innately that this small beach, probably not more than a hundred yards long and fifty feet deep, was in a remote area, nowhere near anyone who could offer assistance. Yelling would be a waste of time, energy, and breath. No ready access to the cliff top, such as a ladder, was visible, which meant that the rocks remained to be scaled even if they should be successful in freeing themselves.
The shock of the cold water on his toes caused James West to dig more frantically. He was no seaman, had never even spent much time fishing in the ocean, but he knew that tides could be unpredictable, at least to the inexperienced. A true sailor might be able to discern how fast this one was going to rise, how strong the surf would be, whether it would indeed cover the beach all the way to the cliffs. Being winter, that was all the more likely. All Jim knew was that they were in danger, as serious a danger that they had ever been in. Someone had planned well. Someone wanted them to die, and probably preferred them to be awake when death sought them.
All manner of questions coursed through his mind as he worked, but now was not the time to ask them, let alone seek answers. All would be moot if they drowned here. The next wave lapped completely over his foot and leg, and Jim saw that the same was happening to Artie. They dug faster, or as fast as they could with the chains that hampered their movements. The deeper they got, the more problems the manacles caused as they were required to slide the links further up and down the bared portion of the pole while lying on their stomachs.
Artemus suddenly rose to his knees, sitting back on his heels as he lifted his sandy hands to wipe his sleeve across his damp brow. “Damn, Jim, we’re not going to make it!”
“We have to! Come on, pal! Dig!”
“We’re going to need some help,” Artie said firmly, “and I think we’re going to have to rely on Neptune.”
“What?” Now Jim halted his efforts, staring up at his friend, who was gazing at the rapidly oncoming waves.
“Jim, the water may help loosen the pole by loosening the sand, once it gets to the hole we dug.”
West shook his head. “We can’t rely on that.”
“I know. I know! But Jim… we aren’t going to budge this damn thing. I don’t know how much deeper we need to go, but I’d say at least two or three feet. It’s like cement down there. With these manacles on, I don’t know if that’s possible.”
James West did not want to admit defeat. “Artie…”
“We keep digging as far as we can, Jim. But we’re not going to beat the waves. We have to hope that I’m right, that once the water hits the hole, it will loosen the sand down there enough.”
“The waves are getting pretty big. We might not be able to withstand the force.”
“Together we can, pal,” Artie said firmly. “Together. One way or another.” He extended his manacled right hand.
Jim gripped that hand with his own for a moment, smiling as he felt the gritty sand on their skins. “One way or another, pal. Come on, old man Neptune! We need your help. Only don’t kill us with kindness!”
They continued to dig, laying back down on their stomachs to reach down into the hole, sliding their chains down, and then up again. The coordination of the movement up and down was almost as important as the quantity of sand they were able to scoop out and lift up. The water sloshed at their legs, then their sides, cold and gritty with sand, occasionally washing in some kelp that caught on their limbs. Artie felt the current tugging at his soggy socks as it moved out toward the sea again. You can have my socks, Neptune. Just give us a little hand here.
When the first wave flowed into the hole, Jim experienced a spasm of dismay as he viewed how the force of the water pushed some of the now loose sand they had so agonizingly removed back into the hole. Digging was not possible now. If they remained on their stomachs, for one thing, the water would be breaking over their heads.
So they sat up, facing each other, grasping the pole with both hands, one atop the other. No words were needed as they began to push and pull on the pole. More waves crashed in, slapping against their bodies, almost knocking them over, evidencing the power of the ocean. At Artie’s suggestion, they locked their legs against one another and continued to work on the pole. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling.
Jim was just about to scream in frustration when a wave slammed into him, knocking him over, strong enough that even their interlocked legs did not help. He heard Artie’s yell, but then both realized, first, that the pole itself was going to prevent either of them from washing away, and more importantly, that wave, possibly in combination the weight of Jim’s body pulling against it, had caused the pole to move.
With a cry of excitement, Artie threw himself into it as Jim righted himself and joined. Another wave hit, this time he was ready for it, as was Gordon, both only by the hardest staying erect, hanging onto the pole. The waves were driving well passed them now, toward the cliffs, and not receding quite as far. Both were aware that within minutes they could be sitting in it, surrounded by, perhaps overwhelmed by, the moving water, the force of which would make it all the more difficult to maneuver the post.
“It’s coming, it’s coming!” Artie shrieked triumphantly.
And indeed it was. Battling against the waves, both men got to their knees, then to their feet, lifting the pole out of the sand. A large wave knocked them both down as they struggled to slide the chains off the other end. Finally they were free of the post, but another battle was yet to be waged, one against the power of the sea. Grabbing each other for support, soggy and cold, they staggered, stumbling to their knees a couple of times, through the powerful current toward the cliffs.
The water had not quite reached their discarded boots. By tacit consent, both sat down and tugged the footwear on over their wet feet, not an easy task. Ascending the cliffs shod was going to be easier than attempting to scale it barefooted. Climbing the nearly shear wall was not going to be easy in any case. But it had to be accomplished. Before long those waves would be crashing against the rocks, and likely hurling them with it if they were not out of reach.
Using his hands as a stirrup for Jim’s foot, Artie gave his partner a boost up to a projecting rock, where Jim steadied himself before reaching down to pull Artemus up near him. From then on, it was pretty much hand over hand, seeking rocks for handholds and footholds. Below them the angry ocean collided against the cliff, strong enough that they could feel the reverberation in the stones they were pressed against.
The cliffs were probably forty or fifty feet high, but felt like forty or fifty miles to the two exhausted men who threw themselves on the grassy surface at the top. For several long minutes, both lay still, breathing deeply, giving their thanks to whatever powers had assisted them. Finally Jim sat up, looking at his hands in the moonlight. Sand and dirt mixed with the blood oozing from the scrapes and scratches. Some fresh water to wash them off would be nice, but he was not complaining.
“You okay, pal?” he asked his prone partner.
Artie rolled over and sat up as well. “Damn, Jim. That was…” He could not say it. He could almost feel the cold water closing around his head, stifling his breath. Even while climbing the cliff, a couple of times a foot or hand had threatened to slip loose to hurl him down in to the churning water.
“Yeah.”
“I just have two questions, James,” Artie said after a moment. “Where are we, who the hell was that old woman, and why did she do this?”
“That’s three questions,” Jim pointed out sardonically. But he shook his head, then looked around. “My guess is we’re on the Marin coast. Maybe a little further north.” A broad field extended behind them. He could see the dark shadows of some cattle at the far side. “Civilization is around somewhere. We just have to find it. And getting ourselves moving might not be a bad idea. I’m cold.” Not to mention wet and tired and without weapons, which had been removed from the holsters located under their jackets. Pretty much all they had was the explosive putty in his boot heels.
“You and me both.” Artie staggered to his feet, pausing a moment with his hands on his knees to regain his balance. Funny, it was almost the same as stepping off a ship, where one felt as though the ground continued to sway as the ship’s deck had on the sea. “Oh, one other thing, pal. I told you so.”
Jim laughed, and it turned into a shiver as a cold ocean breeze struck his damp clothes and hair. The fog was out there now. He could see the massive bank of it shining in the moonlight. Before long, the fog would close off the moon and lower the nighttime temperatures.
They started out across the field, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as their muscles loosened and warmed. The small herd of milk cows gazed at them curiously but did not move. At the far side of the meadow they found a fence, a gate, a path which they followed. Eventually it led them to a sturdy farmhouse, lights gleaming at this early hour of the morning. This was a farmer’s home, after all. Labor did not always wait for the rising sun.
A lot of talking was required to convince the German farmer that they were not thieves or vandals pounding on the door. Both agents were grateful that they still possessed their identification, soggy as it was. Artemus’s proficiency with the German language helped as well. In the end, the farmer’s wife served them breakfast while drying their damp coats in front of the stove. She also daubed a pungent salve on their damaged hands. Afterwards, her husband drove them to the nearest town in his wagon, where they were able to hire a couple of horses.
“You know,” Artie commented as they rode along a narrow road that would take them back to the old house, “someone planned this well. I have a suspicion that our horses will be turned loose, to be found eventually. Could be our… unknown friend… planned to go to the beach later and remove the manacles before tossing our bodies into the sea. By the time we washed up, little would have remained of the scars the cuffs might have caused on our wrists.”
“You have such pleasant thoughts, Artie,” Jim responded, shaking his head. “But you’re undoubtedly right. Our deaths might have remained a mystery, with all sorts of speculation whether it had been accidental or deliberate. No bullet holes, no crushed skulls. Who could say?”
“Which brings back two of my questions. Who the devil was that old lady? Why did she do this?”
“She could well be Leticia Fairbanks,” Jim said. “She didn’t seemed demented, but who knows. Some perceived grudge against the colonel? Something dating back to her husband’s service? Hard to believe. Colonel Richmond always spoke warmly about his former commanding officer.”
“One thing is certain. She had help, and more than just the lovely Katri could provide.”
“Yeah, Katri’s obviously no delicate flower, but I can’t see her wielding the sledge hammer needed to drive that pole into the ground through the chain links.”
“Someone—someone male most likely—carried us down that cliff.” Artemus knew they were pretty much talking to be talking, but oftentimes doing this helped clarify their thinking.
They left the rented horses a quarter mile from the house, and approached on foot. To their amazement, as they neared the big iron fence they could see their own horses grazing in the yard. The steeds had been untied from the iron post where Jim and Artemus had secured them last night before entering the house. The gate was now closed, though one side still hung precariously from the lower hinge; it was not locked.
“That’s interesting,” Artie murmured as they ducked behind a bush of wild lilacs at the roadside.
“Yeah, but interesting how? Are the dear lady and her lovely servant still inside? Or did they merely loosen the horses out of the kindness of their hearts, being the dedicated animal lovers they are, before departing the premises.”
“If that’s the case, they sure weren’t worried about being suspects in our deaths!” Artemus leaned back slightly, peering left and right. “Wonder what’s around back?”
“Let’s go see.”
They were soon apprised that the tall iron fence circumscribed the entire house, enclosing a stables and several other smaller buildings. They also found out that the gate at the rear was stronger than the one in front, as well as being locked securely with strong chains. After a few minutes of discussion, both agreed they would be better off scaling the fence in the rear rather than boldly enter through the front.
“After all,” Artie pointed out with a wry grin, “how much more damage can we do to our frocks now?”
Fortunately, this fence did not possess the spikes at the top as some similar fences did, whether for decoration or protection. They did discover, however, just how sore the night’s exertions had left them, especially their battered hands. Making it safely to the other side, both men immediately crouched behind a hedge that separated the house from the outer buildings. The hedge, like the other vegetation, was overgrown, thus providing excellent protection.
“I don’t see anything,” Jim said after a long moment.
“Whatever that means.”
“Yeah. Got to believe that if someone was still in there, the horses wouldn’t be out front.”
“I agree. I’m wishing now we’d come in the front and got the spare weapons from the saddlebags… if they are still there.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised that they are,” Jim said, “maybe even the ones taken from us last night. That would serve to confuse the authorities when the horses were found wherever they planned to leave them.”
“It confuses me!” Artemus cracked.
At a nod from Jim, the two men both rose and ran toward the back door of the house, which opened into a kitchen. The room resembled what they had viewed last night, in terrible disrepair but having once been a state-of-the-art workroom for a cook and other servants. Artemus went to the big iron stove, put his hand on the metal, then lifted one of the grates.
“Still some warm coals. This is where that delicious imported tea was brewed.”
“Yeah.” Jim went to the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the next room, pushing it open just enough to see the shrouded forms of tables and chairs. No sound emanated from anywhere in the house. “I think it’s all ours, Artie.”
And it was. They searched from top to bottom, from the dusty attic down to the spider-web-infested cellar down below. Their capes and hats were still hanging in the hallway near the door. Although they saw signs of recent habitation, no actual persons were spotted, nor any real clues, unless one counted the silver teapot and the delicate porcelain cups that were still in the parlor. The embers in that fireplace were still glowing.
“I suppose the heat was to cause us to drink more tea,” Jim mused. The cup where he had been sitting was on its side on the floor, a damp spot under it. Artemus, it appeared, had been able to place his cup and saucer back on the small table beside his seat before falling unconscious. The cup still contained cold tea.
“I would say so, though I would have thought that having it extra chilly in here would have served the purpose even better. Maybe something in the tea, combined with the heat, was designed to cause us to drink more.” Artie picked up his used cup, sniffed at it. “I don’t smell anything, but I think it would be a good idea to find something to put this tea in to have analyzed.”
“Who the devil was she?” Jim murmured, looking around. He could see marks on the carpet where the wheeled chair had been moved. The chair itself was not in sight. “Why would an old lady like that want to kill us? Or at least be complicit in the scheme?”
“Leticia Fairbanks,” Artie said. “Presumably the window of the colonel’s former commander. I think he’s going to want to know about this. And maybe he has some useful information.”
W*W*W*W*W
Useful information was indeed waiting for them back at their hotel in the city, in the form of a telegram from Colonel Richmond. They had stopped in the nearest small town to the old house, the village of Petaluma, to talk to a white-haired constable, who informed them that as far as he knew, the old Hawthorne place was deserted, and had been for nigh onto ten years. Old man Hawthorne had died intestate, leaving several distant kin to wage a battle that was still ongoing.
When Artemus expressed surprise that the place was relatively intact, with the furniture and other possessions not having been vandalized or stolen, the constable chuckled. “That’s because it’s ha’nted. No one will go near the place, day or night.” He peered at the disheveled men. “You didn’t have a few too many and wander in there, did you?”
They paid a youth the constable recommended to take the two rented horses back to the stable near the German farmer’s home, then rode on to San Francisco, arriving near noon, weary and hungry. Breakfast, though substantial, had been a long while ago. The telegram from Colonel Richmond forestalled immediate plans for rest and restoration.
“Learned Mrs. Fairbanks died weeks ago. Might be some sort of trap. Stay away.”
“Great,” Artemus sighed, shaking his head. The clerk had told them the message had been delivered last night literally within minutes after their departure. Those few minute had nearly meant their lives.
After asking for baths to be readied, the two agents went up to their rooms, obtained fresh clothes, and then spent the next hour or so luxuriating in the hot water that laved away the encrusted salt and sand. By pre-arrangement, James and Artemus met in the hotel dining room. Artie had the small bottle they had found to carry the tea.
“We drop this off, then… what?” Artie asked after their meal order had been placed with the waiter.
“I think we need to go back to the old house.”
“What? Why?”
“Artie, remember your idea that whoever arranged this planned to go back to the beach, free our corpses to give them a burial at sea? Presumably, those folks have returned to the scene of the crime and found we escaped. In fact, if we had been in condition to realize that early this morning…”
“We might have nabbed them when they returned to the house,” Artie sighed. Jim was right though. They had been too exhausted and cold to be thinking clearly this morning. “You really think they’ll return to the house? What are you looking for?”
Jim had been gazing around the fairly crowded dining room. “Just thinking. They could be here, and we wouldn’t know it.”
“You do have such pleasant thoughts.” Artie could not help but look about him as well. He saw well-dressed guests of the hotel, along with citizens who simply patronized the establishment because of its reputation for good food. Ordinary people. He saw no one leering in their direction, although he did spot one handsome woman several tables behind Jim, looking their way with some interest. That did not make her a criminal! Plus, she certainly was not old Mrs. Fairbanks.
“We didn’t go over the house as thoroughly as we could have,” Jim went on after their soup was placed before them. “Whether or not the culprits return there, it’s still possible they left something of interest.”
Artemus Gordon was doubtful. “Maybe. I’d argue more forcefully, but frankly, I don't know where else to start! I suppose we could ask neighbors what they saw, if anything.”
“In case you did not notice, no other residences were within a quarter mile of the place, maybe further.” Jim spooned some of the excellent clam chowder into his mouth.
“Wonder if the Hawthorne holdings encompass all that surrounding land, or if the ghostly reputation has prevented anyone from settling there. Still, it may be worthwhile to ask. After all, they hauled us out to the beach—presumably in a wagon—in the middle of the night.”
“You’re right, as usual. All right, you can cozy up to the neighbors. I’ll…”
Both looked up, abruptly conscious that someone had stopped by their table. Artemus instantly recognized the woman he had seen gazing their way. She was in her thirties, he judged, and more than lovely, with dark golden hair and clear blue eyes, of a rather petite stature, and attired in a gown that Artie recognized as being of the latest mode and not inexpensive. Both men got to their feet.
The woman smiled rather apologetically. “Please forgive me for my boldness. I don’t usually do such a thing. But are you James West and Artemus Gordon?”
“We are,” Jim replied. “Is there something we can do for you?” Extremely handsome woman. The kid gloves she wore disguised whether or not she wore a wedding ring.
“I believe you knew my late husband, Captain Philip Herron.”
The two agents exchanged glances and Artie spoke, “Indeed we did, Mrs. Herron. He was a very good friend of ours. We were both saddened to hear of his death three years ago. Accept our belated condolences.”
“Thank you. I do miss him, but time heals… to some extent. Are you here in San Francisco on business?”
“Just passing through pretty much,” Jim replied pleasantly.
“Then you’re not going to be here long? I was hoping… well, I have rented a home south of here, near Pacifica, and I’m having a dinner tomorrow evening. Just a few friends. I would be so honored if you two could be there. It would be lovely to talk about Philip. He never told me much about his military service. I have his medals, so I know he was quite gallant.”
“He was, to be certain,” Artemus assured her. “In fact, he saved my life at Cold Harbor. You know, Jim, we really don’t have to hurry back to Washington.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jim said with a smile. “Mrs. Herron, we would be delighted.”
“I’m so pleased.” The lady spent a few minutes giving them directions to her home, then offered her hand to each, smiling warmly. “It will almost be as though Philip had come back to me.”
“Funny,” Artemus Gordon said softly as they watched the woman join two men who were waiting for her near the restaurant’s entrance, the men Artie had seen seated at her table, “I remember Phil as being closemouthed, but I really never got the idea he was married.”
Jim shrugged as a waiter swept away their empty bowls to place the steaming entrées before them. “Maybe he wasn’t. Could have married after the war. When did we see him last?”
Artie thought a moment as he cut into his prime rib. “About a year after Appomattox. At Fort Laramie, I believe.”
“I think you are right. That was five, six years ago. Anything could have happened. I never saw the obituary, just heard about his death. Typhoid, as I recall.”
“Yes. I suppose you are right. Fine looking woman. Looks like the kind of woman Phil would have chosen.” Yet Artemus could not divest himself of an apprehensive feeling. Just like last night when they had approached the old house. No “ha’nts” involved here. A lovely woman invited them to a fete at her home. They could use some relaxation after last night’s experience. Settle down, Artemus. Stop looking for trouble! Not everyone is out to murder you. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted.
Finishing the meal, the two agents procured their horses from the hotel stable, and after making one stop to leave the tea sample with a trusted chemist, headed north again. Upon reaching the area of the house, they stopped to talk to residents of farms in the general area. One man stated he had indeed heard a wagon in the wee hours, but because it passed on by, he had not gotten out of bed to see who it was. No, he had not seen anyone around the old Hawthorne place. No one ever went there. Place was haunted, you see. The man winked as he said this to let them know he didn’t really believe in ghosts himself.
“Something occurred to me,” Artemus said as they approached the old mansion once more.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sure it’s just an odd coincidence, but… think of this. Colonel Richmond thought he heard from an old, old friend, Mrs. Fairbanks, the widow of a member of his regiment. The widow of his commanding officer, actually.”
“So?”
“So, not long afterwards, we are approached by the widow of an old friend of ours, a member of our regiment.”
“Coincidence, Artie. I can’t see any connection. Mrs. Herron has fifty or so years to go before she reaches Mrs. Fairbanks’ age. At least the Mrs. Fairbanks we met. Actually, the only similarity is they both have blue eyes.”
“And both of petite stature,” Artemus reminded his partner. “Jim, I’m sorry to keep harping on this, but it’s this gut feeling. You know about my gut feelings.”
“I think you should try taking bicarbonate of soda more often.” James West did not want to admit that his partner’s worries were affecting him. He knew all too well how on-target Artemus Gordon’s intuitive feelings often were. He had been wrong as times. Nevertheless, when he was right, he was spectacularly right, as last night.
Yet comparing the comparatively youthful Mrs. Herron to the old lady of last night bordered on paranoia as far as Jim was concerned. Despite that Phil had never informed him of his marriage, that did not mean it had not occurred. He was going to need more proof before suspecting that handsome younger woman of foul deeds.
As before, they approached the Hawthorne house cautiously. The first thing noticed was that the front gate now stood open. That was enough for them to dismount and walk toward the house with guns drawn, all senses alert. On the porch, they stood at either side of the door, Artie reached over to grasp the latch to push the door open, remaining to the side. Nothing happened.
As soon as they stepped inside both men recognized the odor. The odor of death. Wordless, they began checking rooms. Artemus opened the door to the parlor. “In here, Jim. My God!”
Jim sprinted down the hall, halted in the open doorway. Artemus was on one knee beside the body of the lovely Katri. She was no longer attired in the maid’s uniform, but the bodice of the pale blue gown she now wore was gory with her own blood. Blue eyes stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“Throat cut,” Gordon said grimly, standing up.
“Why?” Jim murmured, stepping further into the room now. “Why would they kill her?”
“Who knows? I think we are dealing with some extremely dangerous people, Jim. The method they tried on us last night was not exactly humane. I’m thinking they are also determined, and nothing and no one is going to stand in their way.”
“Meaning that somehow poor Katri became a liability?”
“Who knows?” Artie repeated, shrugging. “I’d like to say she was an innocent party, but I got the idea last night she knew all about the ‘special tea’ to be served. We may not know until we run ‘em down. I’d say she’s been dead three or four hours. Happened around midmorning… some time after we were here.”
“And none of the neighbors we’ve talked to thus far saw anyone.” Jim expended a harsh breath. “Let’s check the house thoroughly again, then go report this to the constable and get a doctor or coroner out here. Maybe someone in town saw Katri and whoever she was with.”
The constable and the doctor-coroner returned to the house with them, both expressing horror and outrage before they viewed the corpse, and even more after they saw the youth and beauty of the victim. Neither had any recollection of ever seeing her previously, and as the constable stated sadly, she did not look to be a woman that one would easily forget. The doctor quickly confirmed Artemus’s estimation of the time of death. They used a sheet to transport poor Katri out to the doctor’s wagon, then the three law officers spent more time scouring the house, all to no avail. Nothing remotely resembling a strong clue to the murderers was to be found.
A couple of fruitless hours were then spent talking to neighbors all around the area. One more woman claimed to have heard the wagon in the middle of the night, this time returning toward the house. But absolutely no one could remember seeing anyone, let alone strangers, in or near the Hawthorne house. Most admitted that they avoided the place, day or night. A couple claimed that in past years they had been among those who witnessed the activity of spirits within the old walls, another reason to shun the environs.
The early darkness of winter had settled in by the time the two men reached their San Francisco hotel. Artie mentioned that they should send a telegram to the colonel. He would write it as they ate supper.
“I’m too tired to eat, pal,” Jim sighed as they paused in the lobby. “I think I’ll just go up to bed.”
“Good lord, man, it’s not even seven!” Artie grinned with the admonition. He was weary himself.
“I know, I know. I may not even sleep, but laying on that bed sounds too damn tempting. You mind?”
“No. I’ll probably just get a bowl of soup myself and hit the sack. I will write the telegram though and arrange for it to be sent. Maybe we can get an early start in the morning, even find out some things, before heading south for the dinner party.”
“Huh, almost forgot about that. Another reason to get a good night’s rest. Last night’s enforced sleep was not very restorative.”
Artemus laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder, then headed for the desk to ask for some writing paper. Jim went to the stairs, thankful that their rooms were on the second floor. Another hot bath would feel good on his aching muscles, but he was too tired to even consider that.
He had just gained the second floor when a woman emerged from a room near the top of the stairs. Courtesy bade Jim to pause, and he touched his hat. She was well dressed in a fine green gown that set off the green of her eyes, the fiery copper of her hair. Hair that was barely confined by combs and pomades into a stylish up-do. In her middle twenties, he judged. A very lovely woman with a slightly snubbed nose and a generous, sensuous mouth.
Jim turned to watch her descend the stairs, vaguely disturbed. He wondered if his vanity was injured. She had barely glanced at him, in fact, had seemed somewhat startled to see him there. However, she rushed on by him without acknowledging his salute.
Could be she was meeting someone in the dining room. The fact that she left her room without a cloak or any sort of outer clothing would indicate she was not leaving the hotel. Maybe he should got get that bowl of soup after all…
With an audible sigh, Jim shook his head and went on to his room. Just because a pretty woman snubbed him did not mean he had to chase after her. Likely that someone she was meeting was her husband. Lucky man.
He smiled as he entered the room. Hell, she might be as wild as that hair. Mean tempered too. She just… again he shook his head, starting to pull off his clothes. He could not think of another time in his life when a single glance had been like a blow to solar plexus. Probably another good reason not to pursue her. Many women had been in his life, women who came and went. That was the way he liked it. That was the way it needed to be in his line of work.
This time, he told himself as he undressed in the dark, leave the women aside. He was going to have to watch himself with Mrs. Herron. Perhaps vanity was involved again, but he was fairly certain the officer’s widow had looked upon him with interest. Alice Herron was not as young and pretty as the redhead, but damned attractive. And experienced.
Damn!
Jim West threw himself on the bed, realizing he was still resisting the urge to go to the dining room, if only to see who the redhead met. He could ask Artie later but… You don’t have to conquer every woman you meet, James. Was that really it? Injured pride? Bruised vanity? He soon became aware that unless he got that green-eyed woman out of his thoughts, he was not going to get much rest tonight.