Northwoods Nightmare (19 page)

“Don't forget to demand they do something about the white problem, too.”

“That was petty.” Angeline shut up.

Fargo would have kept on arguing to try to get his point across. She needed to understand that both sides bore blame for the mutual bloodletting. That mindless hate was reaping a bitter harvest.

The camp was as they had left it: bundled sleepers, dozing horses, McKern with a tin cup glued to his hand. Smiling, he rose and came to meet them. One look at their faces and his smile faded.

“What's wrong, missy? You look as if your best friend died.”

“Close. Another brother.” Angeline held out her arms to him. “Help me down, will you? I'm not in the mood to have Mr. Fargo do it.”

McKern gave Fargo a questioning look, and Fargo nodded. “Sure, ma'am, whatever you want.”

Fargo waited until she was walking off to dismount and ask, “Has anyone been up and about? Anyone left camp that you know of?”

“Not a soul, pard. It's been so quiet I could hardly keep my eyes open. Now what's this about her other brother?”

As they walked toward the fire, Fargo explained, ending, “It has to be one of them.” He swept an arm at the sleepers and the tents.

“I don't know. Maybe she's right about the Knifes. Lord knows, they've killed a lot of whites.”

“You, too?” Fargo said, and sighed. He poured coffee and drank half the cup in two gulps, then squatted on his boot heels.

“I bet that right about now you regret ever taking this job,” McKern commented.

“I told them the risks before we left. They didn't believe it was as dangerous as I claimed.”

“That's how most are. They go through life with blinders on, thinking bad things only happen to other folks.”

Fargo was raising the cup when McKern gave a start and started to level his Sharps.

“I wouldn't, were I you,” said a familiar voice behind Fargo, and there was the click of a gun hammer.

Something hard jabbed Fargo's nape. A rifle muzzle, unless he was mistaken. “What the hell are you up to, Cosmo?”

The manservant came around and stood where he could shoot either of them if they so much as twitched. He was dressed in a shirt and pants but the shirt wasn't tucked in, as if he had thrown them on in a hurry.

“Let's not play the innocent, shall we? I saw you leave, so I followed you. I know what you did.”

“What who did?”

“You killed Kenneth Havard. Don't deny it. I saw you huddle with Angeline before I went to bed, and it made me suspicious. So I stayed up and watched out my tent.”

“Listen, you've got it all wrong.”

“Don't insult my intelligence. I can pull this trigger as easy as anything.”

McKern came to Fargo's defense, saying, “How do we know it wasn't you who killed him?”

“What possible motive would I have?”

Fargo answered him. “To get more of the inheritance for yourself.”

“You know about Theodore's will? Someone has been talking out of school. I don't like that. I don't like that at all.” Cosmo raised the rifle and sighted down the barrel.

Fargo threw his coffee in Cosmo's face. As he did, he sprang to one side in case the rifle went off. It did, booming loud in the confines of the canyon, the slug kicking up dirt where Fargo had been squatting.

Fargo's natural inclination was to draw his Colt and shoot the son of a bitch dead. But the rifle was a single-shot. And Fargo wanted answers about Strath, about Santee, and about Kenneth Havard. So instead of shooting him, Fargo swatted the rifle barrel aside and slammed the barrel of his Colt against Cosmo's temple.

Cosmo oozed to the ground, his eyelids fluttering.

The shot roused the sleepers and brought everyone on the run, some rubbing sleep from their eyes, others brandishing weapons. A confused babble arose as they all asked questions at once.

Theodore Havard came shouldering through, imperiously shouting for quiet. Edith was in his wake, tying a robe.

Angeline came running, too, still dressed. She stayed well back, as if afraid her parents would see her and wonder why she had all her clothes on.

Theodore saw the prone form lying in the grass, and stopped in dismay. “Cosmo!” he cried. Dashing forward, he dropped to his knees and put a hand on Cosmo's shoulder. “What is the meaning of this? What happened here?”

“He tried to shoot me,” Fargo said.

“What? Why? And you did this to him?” Theodore bent and shook Cosmo lightly but Cosmo didn't respond. Turning a mask of fury on Fargo, Theodore cried, “If you've killed him, I will see that you pay! So help me God I will!”

Edith had folded her arms and was regarding her husband with undisguised contempt. “Quit making a spectacle of yourself.”

“Hush, woman,” Theodore snapped. “When I want your advice I'll ask for it.” He bent over Cosmo again. “Look. There's a bump on his temple. Damn you, Fargo.”

Edith said, “Stop your blubbering. For God's sake, pretend you're a man. Try to act like one for once.”

Whipping around, Theodore pointed a bony finger at her. “Bitch. Don't think I don't know how happy this makes you. To see him hurt. To see him lying here. In your eyes he is only getting his just deserts.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, my dear husband.”

Theodore appeared about to throw himself at her but instead he turned to Fargo. “I'm waiting for you to explain.”

Fargo figured it might as well be now as in the morning. “He thinks I killed your older son.”

Theodore recoiled. “Kenneth? You've seen him? Where is he? Are you saying he's dead?”

Surprise was writ large on every face, with one exception.

Fargo noticed and was troubled. He told them about Kenneth. He left out the part about Kenneth not wanting to talk to his parents, and ended his account with his clash with Cosmo.

“Dear God,” Theodore said in bewilderment. “Kenneth was alive all this time? And now I won't get to talk to him, to hug him, to tell him how much I love him.”

“Oh, please,” Edith said. “You never did any of that when he lived at home. But then, you never were good at showing affection.”

Theodore stood, his fists bunched. “Speak for yourself. When did you ever show me any love? From the day we married you were a cold fish. And you only became colder.”

“Don't blame this on me.” Edith nodded at the figure at his feet. “Put the blame where it belongs.”

“How dare you? You were the same before he came as you have been after. If you must look for fault, go look in a mirror.”

Cosmo groaned and stirred, and Theodore dropped down and gripped his arm.

“Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Como blinked and winced. “Except for the pounding in my head.” He went to sit up.

Theodore bent. “Here. Let me help.”

Fargo was watching Edith. Disgust twisted her face, disgust and something else: hate. Hate so potent, her eyes seemed to glow red in the light of the fire.

“God, I loathe the two of you.”

“For the last time, woman, shut the hell up.”

Edith's lips compressed into a slit. She stared at the sky, and then at the ground, and slid her hands into the pockets of her robe. “Not anymore. I've taken all I can.”

“What's that?” Theodore had Cosmo halfway to his feet and wasn't looking at her. “What are you on about now?”

“There is only so much a person can bear. You pushed me into the abyss a long time ago, but I was too timid to do anything about it.”

“What are you blathering about? What abyss?”

Cosmo straightened and gingerly touched his temple. “I flatter myself that I understand her, Theodore. Much to my sorrow.”

“What else did you expect?” Edith shot back. “God, what a hypocrite you are.” Her right hand bulged in her pocket, as if she were making a fist.

“Now, now, my dear,” Cosmo said soothingly in that urbane manner of his. “Your problem is that you jump to conclusions. You mistake things that aren't for things that are.”

“Save your drivel for my idiot husband. I'm not as gullible. And I'm stronger than you or anyone else ever imagined. I've learned I can do what I have to, and the consequences be hanged.”

“I'm afraid you're not making much sense.”

“Then let me speak plainly. I hate you. I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone. I hate my husband. I used to care for him but he has killed my love as he has killed our marriage. We're a man and wife in name only. He has shamed me beyond all endurance.”

“Typical woman,” Theodore said. “Overreacting.”

Edith grew red in the face and the bulge in her pocket rose slightly. “You miserable worm. Let me tell you something. When I made up my mind, when I finally decided to do what I should have done years ago, it was a relief. I held everything in for so long, you can't imagine how I felt.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Freedom,” Edith said. “To be free of you and the shame. To be free of him”—and she nodded at Cosmo—“and the insult. Fargo was a stumbling block. For all his sinful ways, he's a man of his word. I knew he'd try to stop me. Or take me to the authorities, after.”

“After what?” Theodore said impatiently. “What in God's name are you talking about?”

Cosmo had a worried expression. “I think I know but I pray I'm wrong. Reconsider, Edith. What would it get you except years behind bars?”

“Satisfaction. I was going to do it in secret, as I did Kenneth, but now I don't care anymore. Now I just want to be free.”

“What was that about Kenneth?” Theodore asked in exasperation. “And free of what?”

“You,” Edith said, and her hand came out of her robe pocket holding a nickel-plated five-shot Smith & Wesson .32 caliber revolver. She didn't hesitate. She didn't threaten or posture. She shot her husband in the face. Whether she aimed or by chance, the slug caught Theodore in the left eye and blew his eyeball apart. Before anyone could stop her, she swung toward Cosmo.

“No. Please. I truly cared for him.”

“Care for him in hell.”

The shot snapped Cosmo's head back. As his legs gave way, blood and fluid leaked from a hole in the middle of his forehead.

Fargo took a step but Edith turned, sweeping her revolver from side to side, covering as many as she could. “I'll shoot. So help me I will.” She began to back away.

“Mother!” Angeline pressed through the ring and gaped in horror at her father. “What have you done?”

“What I should have done long ago,” Edith replied. She waved her pistol at those in her path and they hastily moved aside. “If I had, maybe your brother would never have left home. He wouldn't have come here and taken up with a red savage.”

“You know about that?”

“Who do you think it was stuck that knife in his throat?” Edith rejoined.

Angeline put a hand to her forehead and swayed on her feet. “Dear God, no. Not you?”

“No son of mine was going to take a squaw for his wife. I told him that. I begged him to forget her and come back with us but Kenneth wouldn't have it. He said he loved her. Loved her more than his own family. More than his father and more than me.”

Confused, bewildered, Angeline said, “But how—where—when—?”

“When did I talk to Kenneth? After he arranged with Fargo to bring you to him. Apparently he told Fargo he didn't care to talk to your father or me, but he changed his mind. About me, at least. He came down and got me, and I went back up with him. That's when I learned of his squaw.” Edith's eyes moistened but she blinked the tears away. “I tried to get him to see reason. I did everything but get down on my knees and beg. But he refused. He intended to spend the rest of his life living with Indians. Can you imagine?”

“So you
killed
him?”

“It was the last straw, coming as it did on top of everything else. Before I knew what I was doing, I had my knife in my hands and I buried it in his neck.”

Angeline let out a loud sob. “Oh, Mother. How could you? Your own son? Your firstborn?”

“What do you know?” Edith rasped, and wagged her pistol. “What do any of you know about a mother's love? About a wife's devotion? About the heartbreak when your son and your husband turn their backs on you.”

“What now, Mother? You can't kill all of us.”

Edith continued to back away. “I haven't thought that far ahead. But I know that now that your father is gone, and that despicable creature who took my place, I stand to inherit a great deal of money. Enough to ensure I never spend a day in jail.”

Fargo realized she was moving toward the horse string. So did Angeline.

“Mother, I can't let you go. You must answer for what you've done. I owe that much to Kenneth and to Father.”

“Stay where you are. I mean it.”

To distract her, Fargo broke in. “Listen to your daughter. You'll never make it back to San Francisco alone. Hell, you won't even make it out of the canyon.”

“I might surprise you,” Edith said.

Suddenly Angeline ran toward her, crying, “No, Mother! No! It ends here!”

Fargo took two long bounds and was reaching for Angeline's arm when the nickel-plated .32 cracked.

Angeline stopped and bleated, “Oh my!” She covered her stomach with both hands. She looked at him in disbelief and said, “I didn't think she would do it. Oh, Skye.” And just like that, she collapsed.