Pamela Morsi (29 page)

Gussie looked skeptical, but she didn’t dispute him.

“I suppose so, but that would surely be in extreme cases,” she said.

Amos felt his own situation could easily be considered extreme.

“All I am asking is that you give my offer due and sincere consideration. Though we may not feel … overly ardent toward each other, I believe that we could complete a fine partnership together that would be beneficial to us both.”

Her expression was doubtful.

“Simply tell me that you will think upon it,” he urged.

“All right, I will think about it,” she agreed.

“Good. Now I really need to be going,” he said, rising to his feet and retrieving his hat. “There is a special
called meeting
of the Monday Morning Merchants.”

“Today?” she asked, surprised. “How strange that nobody mentioned it yesterday.”

Amos shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I was unable to attend the little fund-raising event in the park. Was it successful?”

“You weren’t even there?”

Gussie’s tone revealed her disbelief.

“No, I … I had a … a patron in my shop,” he said.

“All afternoon?”

“It—it was a s-surgical case,” he lied nervously, stumbling over his words.

He bowed formally, taking his leave.

“Good day, Miss Gussie,” he said. “I will be speaking to you again very soon.”

R
OME KNEW THAT THE GENTLEMEN OF THE
M
ONDAY
Morning Merchants Association were not going to be at all pleased to hear how their former member, Will Barclay, and the most notorious woman in town had bamboozled them. The piece of land Richardson had donated for the lagoon was absolutely essential to the grand design of the sewer system plan. Finding a new site or coming up with money to meet a purchase price would cost the investors dearly. Rome only hoped that the gentlemen would be willing to allow Pansy her moment on the podium and that bit of revenge would be enough for her.

Most everyone arrived with good-natured grumbling. The Monday Merchants should definitely never meet on Mondays or in the morning, everyone agreed jokingly.

That small piece of humor vied for attention with jovial reminiscences of the previous day’s so-very-successful kissing booth. Huntley Boston took a good bit of ribbing about standing in line all day with the whippersnappers so that he could kiss Betty Ditham.
The banker accepted the teasing with good grace and no explanation.

Pete Davies was still protesting that it had to be some sort of thievery to make a man purchase what he already owned by right. The other husbands, however, didn’t seem to have either complaints or regrets.

Huntley was just calling the meeting to order when two latecomers entered the room. Rome hardly noticed Wade Pearsall, but he did take note of Amos Dewey’s sober countenance. Perhaps the barber was still reeling from the scene at the park yesterday. He had been morally opposed to the gentlemen buying kisses from their wives. Rome could only imagine what he’d thought when he’d seen what was going on between Miss Gussie and himself.

Miss Gussie.

Just bringing her name to mind eased his worries somewhat. He had left her house last night walking on a cloud. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. And he couldn’t believe how blind he had been. All this time the perfect woman for him, the perfect mate for his life, was next to him every day on her own porch, and he had been too mule-brained to see her. Certainly it wasn’t going to be easy, he reminded himself. Miss Gussie had for years now seen him only as a loyal employee. And she’d thought herself set on Amos Dewey. But clearly that had changed. He’d felt her love for him, her need for him, her oneness with him last night. He knew she was not a woman to give her heart so lightly.

He’d gone straight from her house to see Pansy Richardson. He wanted no lingering ties to any woman in his past. This afternoon, as soon as his business here was completed and his ice deliveries were all caught up, he was going to stop by her house as usual. But
unlike times past, today he would talk less about business than about love. He was going to ask Gussie Mudd to marry him. He could hardly wait.

But before he could do that, he must explain to the men in this room, who’d invested their hard-earned dollars in the town’s future, that they had been cheated. Rome hated to dampen the high-spirited mood, but he had no choice.

There were not enough seats for everyone. Some sat. Others stood, and along the back of the room most leaned indolently against the walls. Once Huntley had the room quieted down, he turned it over to Rome.

“Mr. Akers, who is responsible for our very successful fireworks fund-raising yesterday, has asked to speak to us this morning,” the banker said.

He gestured to Rome, who moved to the front of the room. He had no notes. In truth, he had no plan of how he was going to tell these men what was going on. He simply had to blurt it out and let the chips fall as they may.

“I’m not here to talk about the fireworks for our picnic,” he declared immediately. “And what I have to tell you is not very good news at all.”

The smiles around the room became more serious expressions as the men listened.

“I have just discovered why construction has not begun on the lagoon system,” he said. “And why our repeated letters to Judge Barclay in Austin have gone unanswered.”

“Has something happened to the judge?” the mayor asked, concern in his voice.

“I suppose you
could
say that something has happened to him,” Rome answered. “He has conspired to swindle us.”

“What!”

Murmurs of disbelief spread about the room.

“It seems that Grover Richardson never got around to signing over the lagoon-system land to the city,” Rome explained. “The judge and Mrs. Richardson have kept quiet while you invested your money in laying the lines. Once we were thoroughly committed, they could ask top dollar for the lagoon land and we’d have to pay it or lose what we’ve already put in.”

The reaction to the news was as bad as Rome had expected, perhaps worse. There were several men present whose modest fortunes could be wiped out by the scheme. Almost everyone there would lose money. Investing in a modern, sanitary sewer system for the city of Cottonwood was considered a civic duty for local businessmen.

The questions flew fast and furiously. How did it happen? How were they going to stop it? Should they call the sheriff? Could they simply seize the land? And the inquiry most dear to the hearts of a group of businessmen: Who was to blame?

Several looks were shot in Wade Pearsall’s direction. He’d been in charge of the project since the judge left. The merchants were silently wondering why he hadn’t noticed something, why he hadn’t ferreted out the facts.

Rome couldn’t help but feel sorry for the fellow. He had done the very best that he could. He was not an especially bright man, but he was eager. Personally, Rome doubted if any of the Monday Merchants could have discovered the truth on their own. They all knew and trusted Judge Barclay. One friend, untrue, could cause more trouble and heartbreak than a dozen strangers.

Several of the men stood quietly, almost in shock,
stoically contemplating what this could inevitably mean to them.

Others were openly angry, eager to smash a fist in the nearest doorjamb or somebody’s face.

Most couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop questioning. Couldn’t stop hoping that something could be done.

The mayor stood off to one side of the room, his hand upon his cheek, repeating the phrase “Oh, my heavens! Oh, my heavens!” over and over again.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Rome called out, trying to get their attention once more. “You have not heard all I have to say and you’re missing an important piece of the puzzle.”

Slowly the room quieted.

“I just found out about this last night,” he said. “Mrs. Richardson told me herself.”

“That scheming, low-morals hussy! We should run her out of town on a rail!” Pete Davies declared.

There were voices of agreement throughout the room.

“Not if she is the one person who could possibly help us,” Rome asserted. “And I think that’s what she wants. I think she wants to help us.”

“She wants to help us get rid of our money, it seems like,” Clive Benson declared adamantly.

He was not alone in his opinion.

“Let us listen to what Rome has to say,” Huntley insisted, quieting the room once more.

“Mrs. Richardson wants her reputation back,” Rome said to them. “She is the last member of the Richardson family, the founders of this community, and she wishes to be treated that way. She wants to speak at the Fiftieth Anniversary Founder’s Day Fourth of July Picnic.”

That revelation silenced the men for a long, thoughtful moment.

“That’s all she wants?” Huntley Boston asked, his relief visible. Not only was he personally invested in the sewer system, but the bank held notes on many of the businesses of the men around the room who stood to lose heavily as well.

“That’s all she’s indicated to me,” Rome told him. “She says she wants to speak at the picnic.”

“So we let her speak at the picnic and she signs the land over to us.” Joe Simpson’s statement was phrased more as a question.

“No, she didn’t say that,” Rome clarified. “She said she wanted her reputation back and she said she wanted to speak at the picnic.”

“Speaking at the picnic, that’s easy,” Perry said. “But getting a reputation back—it seems to me that’s not within our power.”

“Yeah,” Pete Davies agreed. “We could name her the town virgin and it sure as heck wouldn’t make it so.”

Rome hated being in agreement with the man.

“She believes that we could make some difference,” he said. “She thinks that if we start treating her better and insist that our wives treat her better, that equals the restoration of her reputation.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t,” old man Penderghast piped up. “Folks smiling in your face don’t mean nothing if they are still talking about you behind your back.”

Rome shrugged. In truth, he was of the same opinion.

“But maybe it makes you feel better if they just try to hide their contempt,” he said.

“I don’t get it,” Joe said. “She’s got the whole town over a barrel and all she wants is for us to make nice to her. Why would she go to all this trouble just for that?”

“I don’t know that she did,” Rome said. “The way
she told it, the swindle was the judge’s idea. He needs money and it’s a way to get back at Madeline. He knew how much of the money she got was invested in the project.”

“But she went along with it,” Clive pointed out. “She was willing enough to take advantage of us.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Rome answered. “The whole town has treated her like an outcast.”

“She did that to herself,” McCade said. “With her loose living and outrageous behavior.”

Rome nodded. “She did it to herself and this is her way of trying to undo it.”

“Well, is she going to give us the land?” Perry asked. “Is she going to sell it to us at a price we can afford?”

“She didn’t make any promises,” Rome admitted. “My guess is that she will let construction begin on the lagoon, but keep control of the land to hold you to her bargain. I don’t speak for her here. That’s only my opinion. All she required of me was that I ask you if she could speak at the picnic.”

“And how much of a share of this swindle are you getting for your help?”

The question came from Wade Pearsall. It stunned Rome into silence, and the rest of the room as well.

“How much is that whore paying you for your part of this deal?” the man asked again.

“I am telling you all this because she asked me to do so,” Rome stated. “I know nothing about it beyond what I’m telling you. And what I’m telling you, I learned last night.”

“Yeah, you learned it last night,” Wade said. “Last night in her bed.”

The room was completely quiet.

“Vera and I have been watching that house,” Wade went on. “We’ve seen a man coming and going at late
hours. We knew something was going on, but we could never see his face. Last night we saw him clear in the moonlight. It was you, Rome Akers. You’re her lover and you have been for months. Are you going to deny it?”

Rome stood there staring at the man, wondering what to do, what to say. Rome was her lover, or he had been until last night. The affair was over. But was a thing like that ever over? Could a man just accept the favors of a woman and walk away unchanged, untouched, without consequences?

“Do you deny that you’re her lover?” Pearsall demanded once more. Rome glanced around the room. Every eye was upon him. Every expression was questioning. If Judge Barclay, whom they had known and relied upon, could have proved to be untrustworthy, was it so hard to believe that an upstart among them, a man without business or property, might be equally as guilty?

“How much money do you have invested?” Wade asked.

Of course, Rome had not contributed so much as a penny. What money he’d saved was in the bank, gathering interest so that he could buy his way into Mudd Manufactured Ice. He’d not felt obliged to put his pittance on the line. Miss Gussie had put in more than her share. He’d kept his savings in cash because she had not. But how could he explain that? How could he make them believe that?

“You tell us that you haven’t been her lover and that you stand to lose as much as the rest of us,” Wade said. “Then maybe we’ll believe that you’re not in on this flimflam like she is.”

Rome understood Wade’s venom. He understood Wade’s motive. They were going to have to deal with
Mrs. Richardson. And Judge Barclay was in Austin, too far away to be a scapegoat. Someone had to be blamed. Wade would be a good person at whom to point the finger. He’d been in charge of the project. He should have checked the paperwork to see that everything was in order. He should have tried harder to find out what the holdup was with Barclay in Austin. He should have found out months ago what was going on. It would be easy to find fault with him.

Pearsall was determined not to be at fault. It was Rome who was going to be held responsible. It was Rome whose reputation was to be traded for thirty pieces of silver.