Tarnished Angel (24 page)

    Ross shared his friend's pain. It was damned hard to be betrayed, especially by someone you trusted.

    His high spirits of a few minutes before gone in the face of this new complication, Ross said, "We did all right without Lai Hua before, and we can again. We'll get that payroll, and we'll get every Till-Dale payroll after it until that Dale girl puts herself into a spot where we can get her instead. After that, we'll have Dale right in the palm of our hands. When this whole business is done, we'll get out of this territory and blow the red dust of this country out of our hair. Hell, I've had just about enough of it gritting between my teeth for a lifetime."

    Abruptly realizing Jake was no longer listening, Ross walked over to the fire and picked up the coffeepot. He listened to the sound of retreating footsteps behind him, turning just as Jake walked into the yard. Ross poured a cup of the steaming coffee and replaced the pot over the fire. He lifted the mug to his lips, seeing not the dark, steaming liquid, but a pair of incredibly blue, incredibly beautiful eyes.

Chapter IX

    Charles had awakened an hour earlier to the sunlit silence of his orderly room. The quarters he maintained to the rear of his office were not luxurious, but they were clean and adequate. For the past few years, since his arrival in Tombstone, he had occupied the former offices of Dr. Henry Harlow, who had been driven from town by the relatives of some of his former patients. The patients themselves had been in no condition to register their complaints.

    It had taken Charles almost a week, with the help of two hardworking Orientals, to clean the office and private quarters, but he had been more than satisfied with the results. Instinctively neat, he had maintained his quarters at that level of cleanliness without the fastidious need for perfection that was the mark of the obsessive.

    His well- muscled chest bared to the warmth of early morning, Charles walked across the room, unconsciously stretching the stiffness from his broad shoulders and strong arms. The stiffness was due to physical inactivity. He made a mental note to reserve some time before sunset for a ride into the countryside. He needed exercise. Perhaps it would be a good idea to invite Devina to join him. He had never asked Devina if she enjoyed riding, but he was certain she rode well. Her father would have seen to it that she received lessons whether she had wanted them or not. Harvey Dale would not have neglected that aspect of her social education.

    Charles walked to the window, pushed the shade aside, and looked out onto Fourth Street. It was still early and little moved past his line of vision. He turned an assessing glance back to the room. He was pleased with what he saw. He had managed to find a very comfortable bed in Tombstone's only furniture store, as well as a table and chairs, a desk, and a leather couch. Just a few months before, he had purchased an elaborately carved wardrobe, which now filled the only remaining space in the room, and he was well satisfied with his selection.

    He had also purchased several photographs from
Camilus
Fly, Tombstone's photographer. He was certain Fly's work would one day be regarded as a pictorial history of the area, and Charles was pleased to own copies of some of his best work. He had had the photographs framed, and they occupied the wall space over his couch.

    A smile curved Charles's lips. These Spartan living accommodations were a far cry from the life he had led back east. A large mansion overlooking the Hudson had been the home of his boyhood memories, and he had grown up taking for granted the luxuries made available to him by the railroad fortune of his father, J. Oliver Carter. But J. Oliver Carter was dead now, as was Charles's mother. The company was in good hands, and the mansion had been sold. The proceeds from the sale, as well as Charles's inherited wealth, lay in an account in the family bank. He had not bothered to have the funds transferred to the Arizona Territory, and he had not missed them. These simple living conditions suited him very well. He had other matters on his mind matters which took precedence and which had not yet been settled to his satisfaction.

    His pleasant boyhood memories of New York seemed so far removed from the life he lived now that he almost looked back on the child he had been as someone else.

    An unconscious smile again curved Charles's lips. He supposed the fact that Devina Dale and he had both spent a good part of their lives in New York was responsible for the easy familiarity that had sprung up between them. He had exercised great care not to allow a stronger emotion to develop. He didn't want that, not yet. He had cultivated Devina's friendship for a far different reason.

    Not that he wasn't truly attracted to Devina. For all her stiff posture, unrelenting self-possession, and rigid sophistication,   Devina was really a dear girl. He was not immune to her beauty or her stimulating intelligence. Nor was he immune to the warm, human side of her nature, which he suspected she concealed from most of her other acquaintances.

    He had noticed with considerable surprise that Devina maintained her reserve even with her father. Charles wondered why. Harvey Dale's pride in and love for his daughter were glaringly obvious. It was also obvious that he would do anything to make her happy. Charles supposed this ridiculous party that Devina was planning was further demonstration of Harvey's desire to please her. But if for some reason Harvey sought to buy his daughter's love and acceptance, Charles knew instinctively Harvey's efforts were for naught. Devina Dale was not the type of woman who could be bought.

    Charles had cautiously guided his relationship with Devina. He did not want to get so close to her that he might unconsciously reveal himself. He was beginning to think that this reluctance was a true hindrance in gaining Devina's confidence, and gaining Devina's confidence was essential to him.

    Charles was suddenly aware that he was frowning. He had attempted to avoid doing so in Devina's presence. For all her spontaneous nature, he had noticed a distinct change in her reaction to him, a definite withdrawal, when his manner became too intense. He had noticed an actual paling of her skin, a frantic look in her eye, if he looked at her severely. Her reactions had made him all the more certain that his instinctive suspicions were true.

    His position as Devina's unofficial escort had earned him an important dividend. Harvey Dale appeared to believe Devina's social life was in good hands when she was with him. Harvey also trusted him to guarantee his daughter's safety. He had worked hard to be accepted by Harvey Dale. It was time to make good use of that acceptance. He had already found out that a new payroll was due to be shipped in a little less than a week.

    Charles cast a quick look toward the clock on his dresser. He had approximately two hours until his first appointment of the day. Mrs. Rigger, pregnant with her third child, was in an extremely run-down condition. He worried for her. He had prescribed medication to build her up. He hoped it had produced results since her last visit.

    Charles walked to the washstand. He did not have time for a   visit to the baths this morning. A quick shave and a fast sponge-down would have to do.

    Minutes later Charles opened his wardrobe and scanned the garments hanging neatly within. He realized his insistence on finely tailored garments was a carryover from his moneyed youth, but that was not the only reason for the wide variety of fashionable clothing hanging before him. He was an extremely good customer of Bart
Hattisch's
tailor shop and of Tombstone's clothier, Glover Company. He knew his patronage in both those establishments was probably surpassed only by that of Harvey Dale himself. Charles had deliberately cultivated that aspect of Harvey Dale's regard.

    With that thought in mind, he carefully selected an inconspicuous but well-tailored coat and matching trousers in blue serge. Choosing a contrasting necktie in shades of gray, he turned to the fine lawn shirts he had picked up from
Lum
Chee's
laundry the day before. Within minutes he was fully dressed and walking through his outer office. His concessions to the more informal style of his new frontier home were the hand-tooled boots he wore and the handsome dark Stetson he took from the rack as he opened the door and stepped outside.

    Without a trace of vanity, Charles realized he presented an excellent appearance. It suited his purpose to do so at this time.

    No sign of the sense of purpose that had dominated his mind since awakening that morning was evident in his expression as Charles walked up Fourth Street and turned onto Allen. He shot a quick glance toward the offices of Till-Date Enterprises, a twitch of annoyance moving his brow as he viewed Walter
Jobe
unlocking the front door. So Harvey had not yet arrived. Damn! It would be just his luck that Harvey would be detained today, of all days.

    Annoyance made Charles increase his pace as he crossed Allen Street and turned down toward the
Maison
Doree
. He'd have a leisurely breakfast, very leisurely. He'd maintain his vigil from the window of the restaurant, which just happened to be directly across from Till-Dale's offices. He'd wait until Harvey Dale arrived. He had two hours at his disposal.

    He was making himself comfortable at a small linen-covered table when Harvey Dale's impressive figure came into sight. Charles glanced up at the white-
aproned
, heavily mustached waiter who appeared at his side.

    "Just coffee, Nate. I'm in a rush today."

    Nate nodded and walked away, but Charles had no eyes for the fellow's silent acknowledgment.

    "Lai Hua, hand me that other list, please."

    The fine line of her brows drawn into a frown of concentration, Devina stared at the sheet of paper in her hand. She looked up as Lai Hua handed her a second sheet.

    "Thank you, Lai Hua. Would you call Molly, please?"

    Devina was uneasy. Almost a week had passed since Father had suggested the party, and it had been several days since he had encountered her in the Oriental section of town. True to his word, her father had not mentioned the incident again; but, perversely, Devina almost wished that he had. She had so many questions. Why had he been so infuriated when he found her in China Mary's store? Why was his hatred of Orientals so deep? Or was it a dislike of China Mary herself rather than a dislike of her entire race? Did it have anything to do with the tension the robberies had evoked? Did it have anything to do with the robberies themselves?

    No, that was a foolish thought. The man who had held her prisoner was obviously the leader of the thieves, and he was not an Oriental. She was off on the wrong track, again.

    Father's stiffness after their meeting in China Mary's store had finally faded, and his enthusiasm for the party had returned. It had, in fact, grown stronger. She was uncertain of the feelings his sudden enthusiasm raised inside her. It was as if he sought to prove a point with the affair, a point that escaped her.

    She had finally obtained a rather extensive guest list from him. She had carefully scanned the list and found the balance of guests acceptable more men than women, but that was usually the case. She had composed a formal invitation and had it printed at Henry
Hasselgren's
Commercial Printing Shop. The result had been extremely pleasing, and the invitations had already been sent.

    In the meantime, she had drawn up a tentative menu for her guests. Her greatest difficulty had been with Molly, who had resisted any attempt at other than the most commonplace dishes. As a result, Devina had insisted on hiring a cook for this special occasion. Her father had thought the idea an excellent one, and  he had insisted she pull out all the stops in the composition of their guests' repast.

    Devina checked the paper Lai Hua had just placed in her hands. Yes, she had enjoyed following her father's orders in regard to the menu: chicken gumbo, one of her personal favorites; fillet of sole amandine
amandine
; lamb à la
milanaise
; pâté
financière
French peas and corn; roast suckling pig with applesauce; celery hearts and lettuce à la vinaigrette; vanilla cream puffs and queen cakes a'
l'israélite
; fruit, walnuts, and almonds.

    Devina smiled. Perhaps not the lightest of menus, but it was surely varied enough to suit the rather unpredictable tastes of this frontier society. The Continental touch was her own attempt at culture, which she was certain would go completely unappreciated.

    She had arranged to have music for dancing and listening, additional tables for the votaries of whist. The lanterns had arrived and been ignored by her father, but she had been very pleased with them.

    She had, of course, visited the seamstress and ordered her gown. Devina's smile widened with true enjoyment for the first time. She was well aware that she was usually considered the best dressed woman at any affair she attended. This affair would be no different. She had even gone to the trouble of swearing Mrs.
Lotts
to secrecy about the unusual styling of the garment she had promised to have ready with days to spare. Yes, Devina was sure she would truly set this town on its ear.

    Now she needed to organize the responses so as to get an idea of the number of guests she could expect. She secretly believed that only a major tragedy or act of God would keep her invited guests from attending there had been that much talk about the party in town.