Longarm and the Dime Novelist (8 page)

Longarm and Delia were well into their second bottle of French merlot and their empty plates had been removed. “Mind if I smoke?” Longarm asked.

“Of course not. Just please don't blow the vile vapor into my face.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Delia. So tell me more about your first day in Reno.”

“I like this beautiful city. It has some very nice ladies' shops and I enjoyed a wonderful lunch by the riverfront. It was a little nippy, but still pleasant.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “I'm assuming you didn't wander around shopping and sightseeing. Tell me what you found out about the murders and the abduction of the girl. Has she been found, yet?”

“No, she hasn't.” Longarm emptied their bottle, leaned back in his chair, and told Delia about how they'd arrested Dub Robertson, who was carrying a suspicious amount of cash and then how the man had been shot through the back bars of his jail cell.

“Before he could even tell them what he'd done to that poor girl? How tragic!”

“It might be even more tragic than it is already.”

“What do you mean?”

Longarm tapped the ash from his cigar into a silver ashtray. “I met a woman, a seamstress actually, who loved Dub Robertson and swears that she had given him money to go to Carson City and buy her an engagement ring and a sewing machine.”

Delia's eyebrows arched upward. “This woman
paid
the killer to buy her a ring?”

“Yes. And a sewing machine.”

“Well,” Delia said with a faint smirk on her lips, “I'll have to give it to the seamstress for coming up with an original story.”

Longarm extracted the ad for the sewing machine and showed it to Delia. “I found myself actually believing the story.”

“You did?”

“Yes. If you had been there with the seamstress and seen her tears, seen her face and how she reacted, I think you would have believed her as well. As a matter of fact, why don't you pay Miss Shirley Morton a visit at her shop and see if you have the same reaction?”

“Give me directions and I'll do that.”

“I will.” Longarm blew a cloud of smoke over their heads. “And Miss Morton told me something else that was pretty shocking.”

“I'm all ears, Custis.”

“She claims that the sixteen-year-old Pierce girl was a seductress and nothing like the innocent virgin she portrayed herself to be.”

“A federal marshal's daughter is seducing men?”

“Married men and single. Apparently, her latest conquest is a mine owner that lives up on the Comstock. His name is Maxwell Pennington.”

“Oh, come on! Surely you don't believe that.”

“I don't know what to believe,” Longarm admitted. “But I intend to check out the stories. I will go to Carson City first and see if the jeweler or the merchant who was supposed to deliver a sewing machine to Dub Robertson even exist. If they do and what Miss Morton says checks out, then I'll go on up to Virginia City and pay a visit to Maxwell Pennington.”

“It seems like a long shot to me.”

“Maybe it won't after you meet the seamstress. I'm telling you, Delia, the woman is a real Christian and she is heartbroken. She really loved Dub Robertson and felt that she could save his soul and make him into an honest man and loving husband.”

“Perhaps she has been trapped in her little shop far too long.”

“Go see her first thing in the morning,” Longarm urged. “But my mind is made up and I'm going to take a stage to Carson City tomorrow.”

“I want to go with you even if I still don't believe the seamstress.” Delia thought hard a moment and said, “But what about the girl? The so-called seductress? What . . .”

“I have no idea if she is dead or alive. I think that my only thread to follow in this case is to pay a visit to the mine owner. Miss Morton said that his mine was not producing much gold anymore.”

“And I don't think you paying the man a visit will produce anything, either.”

Longarm smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders. “It's the only lead I have so I'll follow it.”

“Did the sheriff say if he tried to find out who shot the suspect through his jail bars?”

“No, he didn't.”

“Well, don't you think that he should have tried to bring that man to justice?”

“I most certainly do.” Longarm frowned. “Actually, something isn't right there but I have no idea what it is.”

“Is the sheriff honest or was he just hoping that someone would shoot Dub Robertson so that it would save the city the cost of jail and a trial?”

“Again, I'm not sure.”

Delia leaned back in her chair. “Sounds like you stirred up a whole lot of questions without answers.”

“Goes with the territory,” Longarm replied. “Sometimes getting to the truth is like peeling an onion one layer at a time.”

“Can I use that metaphor in my next dime novel?”

“Why not?”

Delia stood up. “Let's go for a little walk to get some fresh air and then let's go to bed and get some real exercise.”

“I like the way you think, Delia. I really do.”

She took his arm. “If the light is on in the seamstress shop, I'll go in and have a word with her.”

“She might not be willing to talk to you.”

“She talked to you, didn't she?”

“Only after I showed her my badge. What are you going to show her?”

“Money.”

“Might work,” Longarm said.

“Can't hurt to try,” Delia added as they started up Virginia Street.

It was almost noon and Longarm and Delia were waiting for a stagecoach leaving for Carson City. The day was fair, cool, but sunny with bright blue skies. Longarm decided it was a fine day for traveling the roughly thirty miles between the two busy Nevada towns.

“So what did you think of Miss Morton and what she had to say?” Longarm asked.

Delia smiled. “At first she wasn't even willing to talk to me about Dub Robertson and Emily Pierce. But when I told her that I was a successful dime novelist and I was willing to pay her fifty dollars for information, she quickly came around. It was clear that she blames Miss Pierce for everything that happened to Mr. Robertson.”

“Yes,” Longarm agreed. “But I found it hard to believe that a sixteen-year-old girl, the daughter of a United States marshal, could be such a seductress. Reno is a good-sized town, but even so that kind of behavior could not have been kept a secret.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Delia told him. “A clever girl like Emily would probably have been able to keep a dark side of her life a secret.”

“I don't buy it,” Longarm said bluntly. “But I've been known to be wrong on occasion. Did Miss Morton have any more information on the young mine owner that Emily was supposedly having an affair with?”

“No, she only knew what Dub Robertson had told her.”

Their stagecoach suddenly appeared from around a corner and the owner of the business said, “Looks like you'll be the only passengers today. If I wasn't hauling mail and supplies to Carson City, this trip would be a loss for me with just two passengers.”

“Well,” Longarm said, “I'm glad you're not losing money.”

“You going to return tomorrow?”

“No,” Longarm told the man. “We'll be taking the Virginia and Truckee Railroad up to Virginia City after we finish our business in the territorial capital.”

“I also own the stage line that runs from Virginia City back here to Reno so we'll see you when you return and I hope you both have an enjoyable trip. It's cool this time of the year and the recent snows mean that there isn't going to be the kind of dust that passengers have to put up with in the summertime. Say, not that it's any of my business, but you two wouldn't be on your honeymoon, would you?”

Before Longarm could answer, Delia slipped her arm through his and smiled sweetly, “No, but thanks for planting the idea.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Longarm helped Delia into the coach and when it left Reno he said, “What the hell did you say a thing like that for?”

“Oh,” Delia replied, “I sometimes say things without thinking them through first. And besides, we
do
make a striking couple.”

Longarm shook his head and turned his attention to the passing landscape. He wouldn't tell Delia, but she was a deceitful heartbreaker and he'd spent enough time with the dime novelist to know that marrying her would be a terrible mistake. Maybe in ten or fifteen years from now when her looks had began to fade she might turn out to be a good woman, but until then she was going to be hell on men.

“Well,” Delia said, as the sun slid behind the Sierras that towered over Nevada's territorial capital, “here we are.”

“Yes,” Longarm replied, consulting his pocket watch. “I'm sure that most regular businesses are closed by now so we might as well get rooms at the Ormsby House and enjoy a good meal. I can pay a visit to the Mint Jewelry Store owned by a Mr. Teagarden and see if Dub Robertson really was going to buy an engagement ring.”

“And while you're doing that, I can visit the mercantile and verify what the woman said about Dub Robertson coming here to buy a sewing machine. I'd say that, by noon, we will know if the seamstress was telling us the truth or not.”

“Agreed.”

When the stage rolled to a stop, Longarm helped Delia out of the door and pointed up the street. “The Ormsby is the best hotel in town and I'll meet you there in an hour or so.”

Delia nodded. “I'm sort of hoping that Miss Morton was lying.”

“And why would you hope for that?”

“Because it would mean that the story behind the murders and abduction of a young woman becomes even more mysterious and therefore more enjoyable for my readers.”

Longarm didn't quite know what to say to that so he asked and received directions to the Mint Jewelry Store. It was only half a block up the street, and when he entered the establishment a pale and slender but dapper-looking man in his forties put on an engaging smile. The jewelry shop itself was impressive with expensive carpeting and very good original oil paintings. Along each wall display cases were filled with rings, bracelets, watches, and other fine items on display in sparkling glass cases lined with black velvet. In a quick glance, Longarm knew that this was a successful and well-respected business.

“Good afternoon! My name is Elias Teagarden and I'm the owner of this shop. How can I help you today?”

Longarm shook the man's hand while deciding that Mr. Teagarden looked exactly like a jeweler.

“I'm afraid that I'm after information rather than jewelry,” he said, showing the man his federal officer's badge and then replacing it in his coat pocket.

“Information?” Teagarden wasn't smiling as broadly now that he had learned that there was no money to be made by Longarm's arrival. “What kind of information?”

“It's pretty straightforward. I need to know if a Mr. Dub Robertson was supposed to buy an engagement ring before he was arrested and then shot to death in a Reno jail cell.”

A shadow passed across Teagarden's dark eyes. “As matter of fact, Dub Robertson was supposed to buy an engagement ring for Miss Morton. They couldn't afford anything expensive, but they left a fifty-dollar deposit and I designed a very nice engagement ring with a quarter carat diamond and a sensible but attractive setting. It was a very good value and I was genuinely sorry to hear that the deceased Mr. Robertson was charged with murder and then himself was murdered.”

“So Miss Morton and Mr. Robertson did visit you?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“About three weeks ago. I recall that my first impression of the couple was not favorable. The gentleman was poorly dressed and in bad need of a haircut and shave. The lady was . . . well, quite plain. I immediately knew that whatever they wanted to buy here would be inexpensive. But when they told me that they were willing to spend one hundred dollars, I revised my poor opinion. They were not impressive people, but I especially liked Miss Morton and realized that she was a woman of character.”

“And what made you change your mind?”

“It was clear that she was religious and she spoke quite proudly of the way that her betrothed was winning the battle against his demons. I could see that Mr. Robertson had led a . . . well, difficult and probably disreputable life and he was trying hard to redeem himself. In the short time that they were here and I drew a few sketches of rings that I could design with a small diamond but which would be very nice . . . I could see that the couple really were in love and quite dependent upon each other.”

“How dependent?” Longarm asked.

“Clearly she was trying to get Mr. Robertson to adopt the life and morals of a good Christian and it was just as clear that Miss Morton was not a woman who would have many chances at matrimony. After we agreed on a design and I showed them the diamond I would use for the price they could afford, they left hand in hand and I was touched. So having told you all this, you can understand why I was greatly saddened when I learned the sad outcome.”

Over the years Longarm had become a good judge of character, and as the jeweler had related the experience of the couple and their desire for a ring he could see that Teagarden was honest with a big romantic streak . . . a man perfectly suited for his profession.

“I am investigating the murders and the abduction of Miss Emily Pierce. Do you have anything to add to what you've already told me?”

“I can only say that, if you judged Mr. Robertson by his appearance, you would certainly have thought he was capable of the crime for which he was arrested. But if you took a little time and saw him with Miss Morton, you would change your negative feelings and realize that Mr. Robertson was a man who had made a great many mistakes but could be redeemed. I believe that had he lived to marry Miss Morton, he could have made something of himself.”

“Thank you,” Longarm said.

“Would you like to see it?”

“What?”

“The ring that should now be on Miss Morton's finger.”

“Yes, I would.”

The jeweler only had to reach under the counter between them to retrieve the engagement ring with a quarter-carat diamond. He held it up before Longarm's eyes so that it could be admired. The small diamond sparkled and the gold and silver setting in which it had been placed also had two small but pretty red rubies.

“I threw the rubies in at cost,” Teagarden admitted. “They are not very big nor are they of the highest quality, but Miss Morton had mentioned that rubies were her birthstone and so I added them as a surprise.”

“I'm really sorry that she will never wear that ring.”

“Me too, Marshal, and not because of the money. I can sell this little engagement ring for more than one hundred dollars, but somehow, it won't give me much satisfaction or pleasure.”

“I understand. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Marshal. I hope you find that missing girl and that she is still alive. And I also hope you find out who really ambushed and murdered Marshal Pierce and his wife on the road between here and Reno.”

“You sound as if you are very sure that it wasn't Dub Robertson.”

“As sure as I am of death and taxes.”

“Thank you,” Longarm said as he left with a troubled mind.

“You're most welcome and if you ever decide you might like to sell that fine railroad pocket watch and gold chain, please come to me first and I'll make you a very fair offer.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“So,” Longarm said when he and Delia had been seated at the table and the waiter had taken their order. “What did you discover at the mercantile concerning a sewing machine?”

“It was there and the proprietor confirmed that he had ordered it for Miss Morton to be picked up upon arrival. When he learned that Dub Robertson had been arrested for murder and abduction and then was assassinated in a Reno jail cell, he immediately sold the Singer sewing machine to another customer.”

“Then everything that Miss Morton told us was the truth.”

“Apparently so, poor woman.”

“Which leads me to think that Dub Robertson wasn't the man who ambushed Marshal Pierce and his wife and then abducted his daughter.”

“So,” Delia said, “I guess that we're stuck.”

“No,” Longarm argued. “We've eliminated the prime suspect, who is deceased, and that means that we just have to dig a bit deeper and discover who else might have committed the crimes.”

“What about Emily Pierce? Miss Morton is sure that she had something to do with this crime.”

Longarm thought about that for a moment before speaking. “I can find it plausible that Emily was having a secret life unbeknownst to her parents. I can even believe that a sixteen-year-old girl would be having clandestine affairs with older, married men. But I find it impossible to believe that she would go along with having her parents murdered for whatever amount of money they were carrying that day between here and Reno.”

“Daughters, like sons, have murdered their parents before.”

“I know that but it still doesn't add up for me.”

“Then who would have done such a terrible crime and where is Emily?”

“Maybe we'll find those answers up in Virginia City,” Longarm replied.