Murder at Thumb Butte (21 page)

“
But we also need evidence.”

“
One step at a time.” His voice was distant.

“
Okay, first step?”

McAllen stepped outside the barn and rolled a cigarette. I followed and packed my pipe with a fresh load of tobacco. Maggie joined us and pulled something wrapped in wax paper out of her coat pocket. As she pulled the paper back to expose the end of a peppermint stick, the thought struck me that Thomas Edison had invented waxed paper. Before I could let that thought take me back to the missing stock certificate, McAllen started talking.

“
I think we know the final steps. The murderer waited in the barn until Campbell closed the door and then shot him in the head before he even turned around. Then he used the halter to drag the body away from here. Once he got him to the base of Thumb Butte, he fired a shot into the air so the constable would find the body. The killer wanted the body found while Sharp was still drunk, and the memory of his threat fresh. On the ride back into town, he flung the halter off into the bushes.”

McAllen paused, so I said, “And we know the first steps. Someone saw or heard about Jeff’s encounter with Campbell at the Palace, then snuck up to his room to steal his rifle.”

“
Don’t forget that after the murder, he went back into Mr. Sharp’s room and stuck pine needles to the bottom of his boots,” Maggie added. “That took nerve.”

I swung around to look at Maggie. “Unless you know he’s passed out drunk. Could there have been more than one?”

“
Of course,” she said. “While someone met Campbell out here, someone else bought Mr. Sharp enough whiskey to get him stumbling-down drunk. The whiskey drinking kept him away from his room so they could steal his rifle, and allowed them to return later to plant the pine needles. We’re looking for a pair of murderers.”

McAllen flicked his cigarette away. “Good thinkin’, Maggie.”

She beamed, so I hoped we were evened up in the compliment category.

“
Winslow and Locklear?” I asked.

“
Don’t jump to conclusions. One step at a time.”

“
Then what’s the next step?” I asked.

“
It doesn’t seem obvious to you?” McAllen asked.

“
No.”

“
Nor to me,” Maggie added.

“
We’re standin’ next to the key to this case,” McAllen said. “The murderer moved the body away from here. The only reason to take that kind of risk is because the murderer believed that if the body was found here, it could lead back to him.” McAllen walked over and untied his horse. Just before swinging into the saddle, he said, “My bet is that Campbell met regularly with the murderer … and they met right here.”

_{Chapter 31}

When we arrived at the livery on Gurley Street, it was already approaching dusk. “What are we going to do?” I asked.

McAllen dismounted and led his horse by the reins into the barn. This barn was in good repair, and a couple of livery boys rushed over to assist us. After we had unsaddled the horses, groomed, and fed them, we all three wandered out to the street. It didn’t surprise me that McAllen hadn’t answered. I was used to his ignoring me. It meant he thought my question was too silly to deserve an answer, or he was figuring out the answer, or he just didn’t feel like talking. The latter was not a rare event.

“
I’m taking my daughter to supper,” McAllen said. “Alone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I felt, more than saw, Maggie smile. “Steve, how about a beer while Maggie changes clothes?”

“
I could use a cold beer and chatty company,” I answered.

McAllen gave me a puzzled look but turned and walked toward Prescott House. We ordered beers at the hotel’s tiny stand-up bar and drank them in the feminine parlor. Before we exchanged a word, Maggie came bounding down the stairs in a yellow floral dress that made her look grown up. She handed me the box of chocolates and toiletries. I had forgotten I had left the things in her room. Maggie then stood on her tiptoes and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. I was no longer a part of this party, so I gulped the rest of my beer and got up to leave.

“
Sir?”

I looked over at the innkeeper, who plopped about four inches of newspapers on the counter. “You forgot these.”

I seemed to be forgetting a lot lately. I had promised Sharp toiletries and reading material. Good thing someone reminded me. After dinner, I would take them to his cell. Maybe I could even get away with bringing him a bottle.

As I picked the newspapers off the counter, McAllen said, “We’ll meet at eight in the morning at Jeff’s cell.”

I tipped my hat to Maggie and her father, and, without a word, started walking to Mrs. Cunningham’s. I was glad the day was over and looked forward to a good supper and an early evening. Maybe Mrs. Cunningham had another orange.

As I stepped across her threshold, Mrs. Cunningham yelled from the dining room, “Mr. Dancy, so glad you could join us. You have just enough time to rush up to your room and wash up.” She was distributing large bowls on the table and didn’t sound particularly glad.

After I washed and changed into a fresh shirt, I picked up the box of chocolates. Maybe they would improve her mood. The dining room was crowded, all seats but one taken. I glanced around, but everyone was a stranger to me, so I introduced myself and shook hands all around. When I finally sat down, Mrs. Cunningham looked impatient.

“
If the greetings are over, Reverend Miles will say grace.”

“
Of course. Sorry for the delay.”

As the minister said an overly long prayer, I pondered why Mrs. Cunningham was acting so annoyed. Perhaps she thought I had rejected her, but this was the first time I had seen her since Maggie told me she was interested in me.

After an excellent meal, the other guests left the house, probably for an establishment on Whiskey Row. I assumed the reverend was heading someplace else. When we were alone, I handed Mrs. Cunningham the box of chocolates.

“
These are for you.”

“
What in the world for?” She held them away from her, as if they would bite.

“
Just a small token.” Her hard expression didn’t soften, so I added, “I guess I felt guilty for bargaining hard for the first week’s rent.”

“
I would have preferred the four dollars—that’s a fair price for room and board.” She said this with an edge that told me she did not welcome a box of chocolates.

What was Maggie trying to get me into? I was experienced enough with women to recognize when a woman was interested. Mrs. Cunningham was not. She was a money-grubber, and she was too irritated with me for bartering down the first week’s rent to find me attractive. I also doubted that she had confided to a fifteen-year-old girl that she was attracted to me. Maggie had another game afoot.

I reached into my pocket and held out four silver dollars. “I meant to give these to you first. I apologize. I told you I would pay the full load if we were happy with each other. You’re a great cook, and you serve excellent meals.”

She looked at me askance for only the briefest moment before grabbing the coins. “Remember, rent is due the first day of the week.” With that she whirled and marched off to the kitchen.

I stood rooted to the spot but soon followed her. When I entered, she didn’t even turn around before saying, “Guests are not allowed in the kitchen.”

“
Then come out so I can talk to you.”

“
I have chores.”

“
It won’t take long. I need a few answers. It’s important.”

“
If you’re looking for a woman, you can find one along Whiskey Row. A few cost no more than a box of chocolates.”

“
That was not my intent, and I’m insulted that you imply as much.”

That caught her off guard. She was playing the role of the offended one. By claiming I took offense at her comments, I had stripped her of her defenses. She turned away from the sink and put a fist on her hip. “Ask quickly. I haven’t got all night.”

“
What did you and Maggie discuss this morning?”

“
Mostly she argued with me because I do not allow women to go upstairs. She was very anxious to wake you up.”

“
But you eventually let her.”

“
I did not. She was talking to my son in the parlor when I called him to carry in wood. When he finally complied, she snuck up on her own. She’s a very headstrong girl.”

I laughed, which puzzled Mrs. Cunningham. “That’s for sure. I think she gets it from her father.”

“
You know her father?”

I had almost blundered. We needed to keep up the pretense that she was my niece. “Of course, he’s my brother-in-law. Maggie’s my niece.”

“
Oh … I misunderstood her eagerness to visit your room.”

“
You did. If you remember, we came down immediately and left right after breakfast.”

“
Together.” She lifted her chin as a form of punctuation.

“
Yes. I’m here to visit my sister and her. The Schmidts are staying at Prescott House. But this explains everything. Maggie was the one that insisted on the candy. She said it was an apology for an offense. I assumed she meant shorting the rent, but now I see that she was referring to her violating house rules and sneaking upstairs. Anyway, we both apologize, and we won’t be any further trouble.”

“
Very well.” She turned back to the sink and made busy washing dishes.

“
Have I done anything else to anger you?”

She half-turned back toward me. “No, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s very difficult to run a boardinghouse of this size all by myself. John is easily distracted. I just get tired.”

“
Then I’ll get out of your hair so you can finish your chores.” I stopped just before leaving the kitchen. “By the way, did John and Maggie talk long?”

“
Nearly an hour. I had to yell three times before he would leave the parlor and restock the wood bin.” She actually laughed pleasantly. “I guess that set me off this morning. Been in a sour mood all day. I apologize.”

“
No need—you made up for it with exceptional meals. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Just before I walked out of the kitchen, Mrs. Cunningham said, “Mr. Dancy, I hesitate to tell you this, but John is smitten with your niece. I think it would be a good idea to keep those two young people away from each other.”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

I left. I was dead tired. As I climbed the stairs, I realized that I was also apprehensive. I had seen the way Mrs. Cunningham clucked around her son like a mother hen. Perhaps Maggie wanted me to get her out of the way. I had a good idea why, but I was not going to be the one to tell her father.

It took me several minutes of rummaging through Sharp’s things to find the rest of the items he had requested. I shouldn’t have forgotten his request. He’d probably been fuming at me all day. I stuffed everything in a burlap sack, including the newspapers and my copy of
Roughing It
. Along the way to the jail, I stopped at the Palace and bought a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey.

At the courthouse, the watchman took my gun and carefully examined the contents of the burlap bag. Then he held out his hand for the bottle. Instead, I handed him one silver dollar, then two. Two was the magic number that got him to unlock the staircase door. Next, he did something that made me less than happy. He yelled, “George, visitor. He got a bottle and paid only half the toll.”

I had two dollars out before I reached the bottom of the staircase.

After again examining the bag, George said, “Here are the rules. Ya stay against the wall. He reaches out as far as he can through the food hole for these things and to fill his cup. Ya keep that bottle away from him. I’ll be watchin’, like always.” He handed me an enameled tin cup. “No glass. Ya got any glasses in yer pocket?”

“
No, sir.”

“
Then go on down. Ya know where he is.” He grabbed my elbow. “Hold it. There’s one more rule. That bottle ain’t goin’ back upstairs. Wanna guess where it goes?”

“
To you.”

“
That’s right. Make sure ya don’t drink more than half.”

After I walked down the aisle, I found Sharp standing at the bars. It was early in the evening, so all the other cells but one were empty.

“
Hi, Jeff.”

“
Took yer damn sweet time.”

“
Been busy trying to get you out of here.”

“
I want to be mad, but I’m too glad to see ya.”

“
Before I tell you about our day, let’s get this stuff inside the cell.”

I handed over the items I had bought or scavenged from his belongings, one at a time, with both of our arms fully outstretched. The last thing I pulled out of the bag was the bottle of Jameson. I turned it so he could read the label.

“
Ah, Steve, ya do know how to say yer sorry.”

_{Chapter 32}

I arrived back at the dungeon-like cell a few minutes prior to eight the next morning to find McAllen and Maggie already there.

“
Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

“
Not as good as I had hoped,” McAllen answered. “Jeff doesn’t know who bought him drinks that night.”