Black Ransom (19 page)

Another problem Cora had to deal with was the growing curiosity from the hotel desk clerk, who one day had finally questioned why he'd watch “Mrs. Dodds” leave each day and yet he never saw her “husband” wander from their room. Anticipating this question, Cora had readied a persuasive answer, explaining that “Mr. Dodds” had taken ill shortly after their arrival and needed a few days of rest in bed. The clerk seemed to accept the story, adding with squinting eyes, “That's a shame. Reckon that 'splains why the two of yuh ain't left town yet.”

Cora smiled demurely and said, “Yes.” Without realizing it, the clerk had provided the perfect answer to a question yet to be asked by others so inclined.

Meanwhile, Ehron Lee was growing restless and irritable being stuck inside the room. It had only been three days since their arrival but seemed much longer with the boredom weighing heavily on him. All he had to occupy his time were his thoughts and endless games of solitaire. He managed to suffer through only because of his conditioning at Rockmound. Yet his present situation was even more frustrating since he
wasn't
behind lock and key and
could
get out and walk about if he chose. There were no high walls or gun-toting guards to hold him back. This time he was a prisoner of his own decision, which under the circumstances he wouldn't be wise to challenge.

But the memory of the suffocation he too frequently felt in his cell was still fresh, and already he was becoming short-tempered and often was sharp with Cora. Although these outbursts were unintentional and brief, prompting Ehron Lee to apologize and explain that he was just venting his frustrations, Cora always felt trepidation after each eruption as it was a suggestion of a rage she hadn't wanted to accept was part of Ehron Lee's character.

She came to Ehron Lee late on the afternoon of the third day to say that she'd learned Evaline Harrison was scheduled to perform at a church social that evening. Before Ehron Lee could protest that any kind of a public gathering was the worst place to lure her away from, Cora suggested that Evaline would probably be arriving early to prepare for her recital. Ehron Lee considered. He couldn't know for sure that she'd be going early or whether the girl would be alone or accompanied, but this looked to be the best opportunity they would get. Besides, they had to make their move soon. Time was at a premium. And he knew he couldn't endure being cooped up much longer. He was eager to be free of his self-imposed imprisonment and away from Bolton.

“How far from the house to the church?” he asked.

“Not very,” Cora responded. “Maybe a ten-minute walk.”

Ehron Lee didn't speak, but the glint in his eyes urged her on. He was impatient to hear more.

Cora reluctantly obliged. “The church is on the other side of some woods, set apart in a field. There's a side road from town that can get to it. But from where the judge's house is, she'd most likely use the trail through the woods to go to the church.”

“Any chance she might ride that trail?” Ehron Lee questioned.

Cora shook her head. “Don't reckon she would. It ain't that far a walk from the house.”

“Good,” Ehron Lee said, satisfied. “Wouldn't wanta have to chase down no horse. Probably bring the whole county after us.”

Just then Cora's face took on a look of concern.

“What if—she ain't alone?” she asked warily.

Before Ehron Lee could respond, at that exact moment, a shifting of light in the gloom of the curtained room cast a shadow across a portion of his face that seemed to distort his expression into a frightening, predatory image. As the shadow settled, his complexion darkened and his eyes seemed to turn black.

“Be their bad luck,” he said tautly.

Cora had discerned from her years as a companion to lawbreakers that few words needed to be spoken when it came to intent. A nod, a gesture, or even a look could register just as potently as a slug fired from a Colt .44. Ehron Lee had spoken his few words—a trick of the light or perhaps a sinister intervention had done the rest. Either way Cora understood what he intended, and she barely suppressed a shudder.

Cora knew he could not afford to harm the girl. He needed her to carry out his plan. But if by chance a companion happened to be with her tonight, Ehron Lee had just made it clear that he would not be leaving behind a witness.

It was difficult for Cora not to let her apprehension surface at the sudden malevolence in Ehron Lee's attitude. He said his piece without any rise of emotion but it made no matter. He had confirmed what he was capable of . . . what he
would
do if necessary, and it frightened her. He was so determined to avenge himself on the two men responsible for his imprisonment and whom he also blamed for losing his wife and child that killing an innocent in the process seemed to be of no concern to him. It was as if in an instant he had shifted into a different person, devoid of the warmth and compassion she so much wanted to believe still existed in him. Now he was someone she did not recognize.

Someone Cora could admit she suddenly was afraid to know.

Ehron Lee pulled some folding money from his pocket.

“You settle up with the hotel,” he said. “I'll follow and meet yuh at the stable in ten minutes.”

Cora took the cash Ehron Lee thrust at her and nodded.

Ehron Lee then reached for an envelope on the bureau. On it was handwritten:
For Judge Harrison
.

Ehron Lee instructed her carefully. “Take this note. 'Fore yuh come to meet me, go into some store along the way and mosey 'round a bit . . . and when you're sure no one is lookin', put it somewheres. Someplace where it won't be seen right aways but where it's sure to be found. With Harrison's name on it, it's sure to get to him.”

Cora had difficulty hiding her uncertainty. She felt her body stiffen, then made herself relax as best she could.

“You're really goin' to go through with this?” she said, her words more of a statement than a question.

Ehron Lee responded to her comment with quiet astonishment, then he studied Cora for a moment, and finally offered an understanding nod.

“Reckon this is just startin' to come real to you, ain't it?” he said.

Cora didn't answer. But she silently acknowledged the truth in his remark. She had lived with outlaws. She had cared for them, fed them, and tended to their wounds if need be. But she had never participated in any of their crimes. Ehron Lee was right—maybe none of this had seemed real to her, until now. Perhaps she would have run if she could, but the time had come and there could be no backing away.

Ehron Lee spoke to her straightly, his eyes fit tight into hers. “Know you gotta have some backbone, Cora. Whatever happens, I'm countin' on yuh not to let me down.”

Cora answered with more conviction than she felt, “I won't.”

She started to turn away, and then she stopped herself. Her eyes flashed back toward Ehron Lee, and holding her ground, she spoke what she felt she had to say; for what she was about to participate in, and the threat it posed to her as much as Ehron Lee, she was entitled to that much—consequences be damned.

With effort, she kept both her posture and her voice steady. “I just want you to know one thing, Ehron Lee. I spent a good part of my life with lawbreakers, my own brother among 'em, and though I ain't done no more wrong than look after 'em, I reckon my soul is still smudged. Just want yuh to know that 'cause of that, I'll see this through, but if'n there'd been any way to stop you . . . I surely woulda.”

She waited for Ehron Lee's reaction. She didn't know any more what to expect from him. Perhaps it might be an aggressive response. But he didn't move from where he was standing. His eyes stayed on her, but the look on his face was vacant. Finally, after tense seconds passed, his lips curved in a thin smile and he nodded.

“I already figgered that,” he said.

* * *

While Cora kept the desk clerk occupied by paying their hotel bill, Ehron Lee quietly slipped outside. He doubted the clerk would ever be able to give a description of him, if it came to that—and as for Cora, it was doubtful any suspicion would fall upon her after their deed was committed. And even if it did, that would hardly matter.

Both would be long gone from Bolton come nightfall.

Cora walked into the general store, which was about midway between the hotel and the livery stable. She briefly perused the merchandise and waited until the store clerk left the cash counter to deal with a customer before she took the envelope that contained the ransom note and, with fingers she struggled to keep steady, surreptitiously buried it among some purchase orders sitting on the counter. She then walked out casually and continued along the boardwalk toward the stable.

Ehron Lee had the horses saddled and ready. The stable owner paid them no attention as he was writing something down in a ledger in a back office. Before they mounted, Ehron Lee gave Cora a scrutinizing look. He could perceive her reluctance even as she struggled to maintain a façade of confidence. He made no comment as he knew that was the best he would get from her.

Pacing their mounts at an easy, steady gait, they rode off through the dusty streets of town, Cora leading Ehron Lee toward where the woods opened upon the country church.

It was a good location. Cora had been correct: The path leading to the church was too narrow for any access other than by foot. But the dense brush off to the left of the trail had a deep side cutoff, which provided good cover for the pair, along with an uninhibited view. This was where they would position themselves, seated atop their horses, while they waited for Evaline Harrison to come walking toward them down that path.

SEVENTEEN

THE WHITE, BLINDING
glare of the overhead sun reflected on their grisly discovery. It was a sight not unfamiliar to either man.

“Ain't gonna get anythin' outta him now, sir,” Sergeant Liam O'Brien said morosely to Superintendent Watson as both men stared into the shadowy walls of the pit.

Watson was silent for a long while, his focus fastened on the body sprawled face up in the mud and the filth.

“Looks dead all right,” he finally muttered. “Dead as John Wilkes Booth.”

“If you'd be askin' me, I'd say he damn well got scared to death,” O'Brien offered, running the palm of his hand over his white-whiskered chin.

Watson didn't acknowledge, though the sergeant had obviously reached the correct conclusion. The evidence lay beneath them.

The white, scarred face, now hideously sunburned and blistered, stared up at them from the pit, the features twisted in a rictus of horror; the good eye, though sightless and glazed, was open wide; the mouth frozen in what looked to be a mute scream. The fingers of both hands were gnarled, twisted like claws, encrusted both in blood and mud, as if he had tried in his desperation to climb his way out of the hole.

Watson drew a breath and said lowly, “Better off for him, but leaves me without an answer.”

“Do yuh think he really knew anythin', Superintendent?” O'Brien queried.

Watson turned his head and looked at the sergeant without answering.

O'Brien went on, gesturing with both hands into the pit. “Well, I mean, look at the man. Never seen such a horrid look on a man's face. And desperate enough to rip his hands to shreds tryin' to pull himself free. I'd be thinkin' that if he coulda been tellin' you what you wanted to know, he'da done it.”

“Doesn't really matter now, does it?” Watson said in a tone of resignation.

He turned and started back to his office. O'Brien watched him go, then called for a couple of the guards standing nearby to come and remove Woody Milo's corpse from the pit. The men walked over, reluctantly but obediently. Pulling a body from the punishment pit was a duty none of the guards, tough and hardened though they were, relished.

George Watson shut himself in his office and poured a stiff drink of whiskey from the bottle he always kept handy. Glass in hand, he dropped into the chair behind his desk and gazed absently at the amber liquor. Then he turned and stared steadily at the photograph of his wife. He didn't want to contemplate what she might be experiencing, held hostage by a vicious brute like Ward Crawford. He couldn't imagine the fear and uncertainty she was going through at the moment.

He felt no sorrow for Woody Milo, nor regret for the terrible death that he himself was responsible for—burned alive in a hellish pit, for unlike usual procedure and hoping for some quick answers from Woody, Watson had ordered that no planking be placed over the hole, exposing Woody and his skin condition to a full assault of the sun's rays.

Instead Watson was bitter. He was angry and frustrated. What he had considered his ace in the hole had died in the hole, and now he found himself with only the one recourse. He would have to wait for that second note and meet with the kidnappers of his wife . . . on whatever terms they dictated.

Yet as he tossed back the liquor with a swift twist of his hand, he remained determined that neither his pride nor his position would be completely compromised by their demand. He would not sacrifice his wife to Ward Crawford and his killer scum.

But neither would he ride blindly into a bullet.