The Last Renegade (30 page)

Jeff Collins waved him in. “No need to stand way over there.”

“I’m holding the door closed.”

“The boys out there?”

Kellen nodded. “They followed me.”

“Well, they do seem to have taken to you. When you think about it, you’ll realize you only have yourself to blame. Most likely you encouraged them.” The station agent returned his pen to the inkstand and pushed aside the paper he was writing on. “What can I do for you, Mr. Coltrane?”

“I came down to take delivery of a package.”

Collins consulted his pocket watch. “The No. 5 won’t be here for another twenty minutes, give or take. You think you can hold back the heathens that long?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll see that you get it right away.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have something I want to send out. When does the next eastbound train come through here?”

“If you’re looking to send it by regular freight, that’d be No. 437. She’ll stop this evening between five and six. I never set my clock by the 437 because it seems there’s always something that pushes her off schedule. Now if you wait a day and send it with the express mail car on No. 448, it will probably get there faster. Wherever
there
is.”

“New York.”

“Something for the
New York World
? I didn’t figure you went out to the Burdick place yet. That’s what everyone says you’re writing about.”

“Word does get around, doesn’t it?”

“You probably noticed right off that we don’t have a paper. I suppose no one sees the need any longer for reading about what goes on right under our noses. Talkin’ is good enough for that.”

“It seems to work for Bitter Springs.”

Collins removed his spectacles and rubbed the lenses on his shirtsleeve. “So. Have you been out to the Burdick spread?”

“Not yet. Soon, I hope.”

“Then what kind of story are you sending to the
World
?”

Kellen was starting to wish he hadn’t been so quick to shut out the boys. He could still hear them bickering on the other side of the door. It was tempting to let them in. “I never said I was sending anything to the paper. You did.”

The station agent stopped cleaning his glasses, grunted softly, and then resumed the activity. “So I did. I suppose I’m a mite prickly these days. It seems like you might be pokin’ around, stirrin’ the pot. I’m not sure I like it. Maybe it’s because you were with Nat Church on the train, and he’s dead, and the U.P. still doesn’t know what happened, and while no one else was gutted after you got off, we’re staring at three people dead since you stepped on my platform.”

“Three?” asked Kellen.

“Emily Ransom. Mr. Weyman. And Scott Pennway last night.”

“Dan Sugar hasn’t found Mr. Weyman’s body, so it’s premature to pronounce him dead.” But not wrong, Kellen thought. “Most folks think he murdered Emily.” The station agent made a noise at the back of his throat that Kellen thought hinted at skepticism. “I heard about Mr. Pennway this morning, and what I heard is that it was an accident. Did you hear something different?”

Collins returned his spectacles to his nose and regarded Kellen over the rims. “No. I heard exactly the same as you.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. Just making an observation.”

The pending arrival of the No. 5 train ended their conversation. The shrill whistle blew, signaling the engine’s approach.
Rabbit and Finn twisted the doorknob at the same time, and when that didn’t gain them entry, they pounded on the door. Kellen let them in, and they breathlessly announced what the adults already knew.

Collins shooed them back outside as he came around the counter. “You can carry the mailbag,” he told them. “But stay off the train.” He allowed Kellen to go ahead of him. “You might as well take your package now.”

Kellen stopped him. “Do Rabbit and Finn know about Mr. Pennway?”

Collins shook his head. “No. I haven’t said anything to them yet, but I can’t put it off forever. Scott’s boy is a friend of Rabbit’s. They have to be told.”

“If they want to come up to the hotel later, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know what they’ll want to do, but I suspect you mean it as a kindness.” He faced Kellen squarely. “I know you’re not responsible for any of the things I mentioned earlier. I’m not a bad judge of character, but Rabbit and Finn are better. Still, I can’t shake the notion that you’re not quite what you seem.”

“Do you still think I’m a gambler?”

“Oh, I haven’t really changed my mind about that, Mr. Coltrane.” He smiled faintly. “It goes to the very core of who you are.”

Kellen watched the station agent turn and catch up to his grandsons. It wasn’t often that he was left without a reply, but then it wasn’t often that someone hammered him with such a deft touch.

Rabbit and Finn held out their hands for the mailbag and pretended to collapse under the weight of it when the clerk tossed it at them. They stumbled backward against their grandfather’s legs. He steadied and restrained them at the same time.

“You have anything else for us?” Collins asked. “Mr. Coltrane is expecting a package.”

The clerk nodded. “Got it right here. I’d call it a crate, not a package. It’s about the size and how it’s bundled. This is a crate.”

Kellen watched the clerk push the wooden box forward until
it rested at the edge of the mail car’s floor. It was about the size of a carpetbag, not so big that the clerk couldn’t have lifted it, but heavy enough that he didn’t want to.

“I’ll take it,” said Kellen.

“Not so fast.” The clerk hunkered down and squinted at the stamp on the top of the crate. “Are you Mr. Kellen Coltrane? The Kellen Coltrane that’s staying at the Pennyroyal Hotel?”

“Yes. Yes to both.”

The clerk glanced at Collins. “You vouching for him?”

Kellen waited for the station agent to confirm his identity, but instead, Collins’s attention was pulled to the right. Turning to follow the man’s gaze, Kellen saw Raine approaching. It was immediately apparent that she’d overheard the clerk’s question. “I’m vouching for him, Mr. Spall.” She pulled down her scarf so the mail clerk could clearly see her face. “Mr. Coltrane’s a guest at my hotel.”

“That’s all I need to know. You can take what’s yours, Mr. Coltrane.”

Kellen stepped forward and hefted the crate off the train. He could see Raine’s brow puckering as she stared at what he held in his hands. The crate was not at all congruent with what she was expecting. It served her right. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Anything else for us?” Collins asked.

“That’s it.” The clerk stood, gave the boys a salute, and pulled the sliding doors closed.

They all stepped back as the train pulled away.

“Let’s go, boys,” Collins said. “You have my work in your hands.” They bounded off, juggling the mailbag between them. “Good to see you, Mrs. Berry. I would have vouched for Mr. Coltrane, though, so I hope you didn’t come on account of that.”

“No,” Raine said. “Not at all. A mere coincidence. I went to pay my respects to Annie, and afterward, well…” Shrugging, she looked away.

“I understand. Sometimes we all just need to be somewhere else. Do you want to come in for a spell? I have coffee, and the boys will lighten your heart.”

Raine hesitated and avoided looking at Kellen.

“You, too, Mr. Coltrane,” Collins said. “I have a crowbar inside that will help you open that if you like.”

“I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

Once they were inside, Kellen set the crate on the counter, and Collins sent Rabbit after the crowbar. The station agent confided that sending both boys after it was sure to get one of them clobbered. No one disagreed, not even Finn.

Raine stood by the stove to keep warm while Collins poured coffee. She accepted the tin mug and held it between her gloved hands. She would have been the first to admit that her chill had nothing at all to do with the weather.

Kellen picked up Finn and put him on the counter beside the crate. Finn entertained them by trying to guess what was inside until Rabbit returned with the crowbar. Finn was fairly certain now that it was a telephone because he had seen a picture of one and knew it would fit in the box. He was detailing his plan to speak to President Cleveland about the government surveyor he didn’t much care for when Rabbit appeared hoisting the crowbar.

“I’ll take that,” Kellen said, smoothly lifting it out of Rabbit’s hands.

“Do you really want to open that here?” asked Raine.

“There’s no reason not to. There is something for Mr. Collins inside. You, too, if you want one.”

Finn’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not a telephone?”

Kellen chuckled. “No, it’s not a telephone. Write to Mr. Cleveland. It’s what the rest of us have to do.” He slipped the wedged working end of the crowbar under the crate’s slatted top and pried it up. He repeated this along the other three sides until the lid gave way. Then he handed the crowbar to Mr. Collins and set the lid beside Finn. He brushed aside the excelsior and grinned.

He was staring at the cover of
Nat Church and the Chinese Box
. There were two stacks of the dime novels packed closely together. He thumbed through the first few stacks to make certain they were all the same. There was no point in giving people a gift of something they already had. He took out the novel on top and held it out to Mr. Collins.

“The newest Nat Church adventure.”

The station agent blinked. “This is the one I’ve been trying to get.” He dropped the crowbar and seized the book, gripping it in two hands. “I was told it would be two months before I could get a copy. Maybe longer. How did you—” He stopped, his eyes drawn back to the cover where Nat Church was holding a black enameled box under one arm and a fetching yellow-haired damsel under the other. The caption under Nat Church’s feet read,
A True Story of White Slavery
.

“This is really for me?” asked Collins.

Kellen nodded. “You said you enjoyed the Nat Church adventures, and I’ve heard the same from others. I thought you might like it.” He looked at the cover again. “You might not want to read this one to the boys.”

“But how did you get them?”

“A friend sent them to me.”

Finn peered into the box, his eyes widening as he looked over the cover. “You
know
Nat Church?”

“No,” Kellen said firmly. He returned the lid to the crate. “My friend knows the author.”

Mr. Collins jabbed at the caption on the book with his forefinger. “Here. Right here. It says a true story. That proves what I’ve been saying all along. Nat Church is as real as you are.”

Kellen carried the crate on his shoulder all the way up to the apartment. Raine cleared a space on the table in the sitting room. As soon as he set it down, she walked away.

“Raine?”

She put up a hand, declining to talk, and continued in the direction of her bedroom.

Kellen observed that Raine’s back went up the moment he revealed the contents of the crate. She returned with him to the hotel, but she only exchanged a few curt words to him along the way. In contrast, she was determinedly polite to passersby.

“All right. You’re angry.” He took a step in her direction, but she crossed the threshold to the bedroom and firmly closed the door. “You probably think I know why. I don’t. I rarely do.” She didn’t answer or crack the door. Was she listening on the other side? How loud did he have to talk to be heard without being overheard? He approached the door, grasped the knob, and twisted it. It opened without any resistance.

Raine sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She stared straight ahead. “There’s no lock,” she said. “I never needed one. Most people respect a closed door.”

“I usually do. It seemed as though I should make an exception. Did you hear me say I don’t know why you’re angry?”

“I heard you.”

He waited. “You have to say something,” he said finally. “There are rules.” That prompted her to look at him, although her green glance was crackling. If his back hadn’t been to the wall, he thought he might have retreated a few steps.

“I don’t know what kind of fight we’re having,” he said. “It feels, if you’ll pardon the expression,
married
. At the risk of patronizing you, I am obliged to point out again that we are not married. If your dissatisfaction is with me as your hired gun, I encourage you to find another way of expressing it because walking away does not support my confidence in you.” Kellen pushed away from the wall and turned to go.

“Wait. You’re right. Don’t leave.”

He came around slowly and shed his duster, hat, and gloves. He held on to them until Raine pointed to the chest at the foot of the bed where she had thrown her things. He considered sitting, but she had advantages she didn’t know she had, and he decided he would do better to keep his feet under him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the books?” she asked.

“This is what you’re upset about? They were a surprise.”

“What about the proof of our marriage? What about that? You told me we would have something to show for all the lying I’ve done, and what I have to show for it is a crate of dime novels. I don’t care about Nat Church or the white slavers or what’s in the Chinese box. I don’t want Dan Sugar to demand proof we don’t have.”

“I should be more concerned about that than you, don’t you think? I’m the one who needs the alibi. Dan Sugar doesn’t suspect you of murder.”

“Not until he finds your body.”

“Amusing.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew how well I’ve planned it.” Raine impatiently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “What do we do now? Scott Pennway’s dead. What if Dan Sugar looks to you for the cause of it?”

“Walt knows I was with you last night.”

“Walt knows you were with me when he got here. He doesn’t know how long you were with me before that. Walt’s thinking is straightforward.”

Kellen put up a hand. “Forget about Walt for the moment. No one is saying that Pennway’s death was anything but an accident. Deputy Sugar did not hear about it until this morning, just like most everyone else.”