All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One) Page 10

  But I wasn’t out. I heard the swing and slam of the back door. Moaning, I rolled onto my hands and knees, propelled by the sound of running footsteps, and pure anger. Someone had hit me and I damn well wanted to know who. My head whirled with nauseating dizziness. I pulled myself up, clinging to a chair and then the table, impelled by some crazy urge to chase the attacker.

  Clutching my head in my hands, I staggered out the door into the night. Cold air sucked through my light gown with the shock of ice water and I started to run towards the front of the house. Each step jarred unbearably, but I couldn’t seem to stop the forward motion. My feet took on a life of their own.

  A hand grabbed my arm and whirled me around. I screamed, then heard Max’s voice cry out roughly, “What are you doing out here?”

  I must have fainted or collapsed, because next thing I knew I was being carried in Max’s arms. He was half-running, my head flopping miserably over his arm.

  “Stop. Stop, please,” I gasped when I could. He slowed for the back steps, then quickly took me in the kitchen and sat me on a chair.

  I grabbed my head again, sobbing angrily, “If I’d had a broken neck, you’d have killed me for sure.”

  His voice matched mine. “What in hell were you doing out there?” He snapped on the light and turned back to me. “I ought to wring your neck.” He stopped abruptly, and leaned over to look at the top of my head. “You’re bleeding,” he said furiously, as if it were all my fault.

  To my great humiliation, I started to cry. Racking sobs, tears streaming down my cheeks, nose running, the whole ugly bit. He gave me a baleful look, then disappeared down the hall. When he returned, he carried a towel, a washcloth and a handful of tissue. Handing me the tissue, he filled a pan with steaming water from the tap, and brought it to the table. I blew my nose and pulled myself together. Gently, he began to sop my head wound, working methodically, letting a lot of water dribble down my neck. I didn’t care.

  He gave my head a final pat with the towel, then pressed my shoulder. “Better now?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “Forget it. Sometimes that’s the only way to let go. Sorry if I sounded sore. I wasn’t.”

  “I know. Sometimes it’s the only way to let go.” I managed a tart smile. The dazzler he turned on me changed quickly to a frown as he ran his fingers over my forehead.

  “You’ve got a goose egg here, too. Just what were you doing?”

  I tried to remember. “I heard the dog scratching on the door. At least, that’s what I thought I heard. No, I know that’s what I heard, and came down to feed him.”

  “What dog?”

  I looked at him blankly. “A black and white one. Haven’t you seen him? I gather he blew in about the same time I did. We’re—uh—friends.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” he said doubtfully.

  “He’s not very brave; people like to kick him. Anyway, when I heard the dog scratching I felt terrible about ignoring him and came down to get him some food.”

  I struggled for the correct sequence of events. “There was a noise or something when I reached for the cupboard, but before I could do anything, I got hit.”

  “What hit you?”

  “Why, whoever it was hit me.”

  “You mean a person hit you? Somebody was in here? Thea, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Say something? How could I?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” I said indignantly. “I heard him go out the door and run away. That’s why I went out. I wanted to see who it was.”

  “That was stupid.”

  “I’m sick of you calling me stupid. I was doing perfectly fine until you grabbed me like a maniac. And what were you doing out there, anyway? How do I know it wasn’t you in the house prowling around?”

  “And bopping you on the head?” Flickers of amusement played around his hard mouth. “Sorry again. My alibi: I woke and heard someone, or something, running towards the trees. You know, straight out that way.” He pointed to the front of the house. “I took time to pull on these.” He looked down at the jeans and boots which were all he wore, then groped for details. “I walked out towards the road, but nothing was there. I figured it was just a deer, and headed back to the bunkhouse. Then I saw you.” He frowned. “Come to think of it, even half asleep, if I’d thought what ran by the bunkhouse sounded like a deer, I’d never have bothered to investigate.”

  He gazed at me thoughtfully. I plucked at my gown wondering why I’d even packed the threadbare thing, much less worn it. But I needn’t have worried that the sight of my luscious body seen through a faded Mickey Mouse would cast Max into throes of uncontrollable passion. His thoughts were elsewhere.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His hands and arms were deeply tanned up to the point where he rolled his sleeves, as was his neck down to a deep V on his chest. The rest of his muscular torso was quite pale, making it appear as if he wore a skin-colored shirt heavily embroidered with hair to the navel. Embroidery my fingers were itching to trace.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, his mind more gainfully employed than mine. “People don’t break and enter much around here.” He glanced around the kitchen. Two purposeful strides took him to Minnie’s office. He snicked on the light.

  I caught his urgency and rose to follow, reeling a bit with the sudden motion.

  The office was a complete shambles. Drawers had been removed from the desk and the contents scattered on the floor. Minnie’s scrapbook, papers, and the emptied cigar box were tossed carelessly on the sofa. Loose photographs were strewn across the table and floor.

  “Oh, no!” I gasped. “The pictures!”

  “Don’t touch anything,” he said and held me back.

  We stood in the doorway and stared at the damage. Max put his arm across my shoulders. “Do you always prowl around at night?” he asked lazily. His eyes swept the room with the same intent concentration he used outdoors.

  “Of course not. I told you. I came down to feed the dog.”

  “And last night?”

  “I was the hungry one that time.” I sounded defensive.

  “Why didn’t you turn any lights on?”

  “You can see better without. If I’d turned on a light I’d have been blinded for as long as it took to do what I had in mind in the first place. Do you think I made this mess?”

  His hand rose to the sore place on top of my head, fingered it lightly. “No. No, I guess I don’t. Whoever it was probably used a flashlight to search with and as a weapon.”

  His arm dropped to my waist I could feel the warmth and strength of his fingers as they flexed, drawing me closer to his side. I was more than glad to lean on him.

  “Do you think they were looking for something?” I said.

  “You mean money? It looks more like malicious vandalism to me.” His expression was grim. “Same thing with the fences and wells.”

  “Maybe Minnie will be able to tell if anything is missing.” Max gave me a stricken look. “Minnie!” He raced for the stairs while I moved like a somnambulist behind him. He took them two at a time, knocked softly at her door and entered her room. I was halfway up the stairs when he reappeared.

  “She’s okay,” he said, descending. “Sound asleep.”

  I shivered. Had he thought she might not be okay? “Are you sure? Why didn’t she hear us?”

  “Evidently a bomb wouldn’t wake her if she sleeps with the bad ear up.”

  I’d forgotten about her ear. He took my arm and guided me back to the office, this time through the Victorian parlor. Nothing had been disturbed there.

  “She’s snoring like a threshing machine,” he said. “I can’t think of any reason to wake her now, can you? It’ll be morning soon enough.” Still clasping my elbow, he led me around the litter of pictures and papers on the office floor. But I couldn’t stand the sight of Minnie’s beloved scrapbook lying open, face down on the sofa with the pages all askew.

&n
bsp; I picked it up along with the cigar box. Then I scooped up some of the pictures and put them back in the box, relieved to find that the photo of the masked men was among them.

  “If it were vandalism, Max, wouldn’t they have wrecked more than just the office? What if they were looking for something in particular?”

  “What would they want?”

  “Oh, no,” I moaned, horrified with this new idea. “Minnie’s manuscript!”

  “Where did she keep it?”

  “I don’t know. She was working on it in here today.” I picked my way to her desk and looked helplessly at the mess on the floor. There wasn’t anything that remotely resembled a manuscript. “It must have been here.” I rifled through a stack of unused typing paper. Nothing. “It’s gone, Max. Someone has stolen her manuscript. Do you suppose she has a copy?” With a sickening feeling, I saw my lovely project going down the drain. “Potts. I bet Potts stole it.”

  “Look, I don’t think we should touch any of this. And why Potts? What about your friend Enright?”

  “You know Potts would hate having things like that rattlesnake story revealed to the world, and who knows what else she’s telling?” After another helpless look around, I threaded my way back through the debris and fought a strong urge to clean things up. But Max was right, it should be left for Minnie to see. I turned off the light.

  The sight of the homely old refrigerator humming away as if nothing had happened, reminded me of my original errand. I got the leftover chop and poured some milk in a dish. Max eyed the meat with interest and followed me out the back door.

  I held the chop out of his reach and continued my train of thought. “Your Parson Potts is a sanctimonious fool, as well as a violent man. Just the combination to kick off an irrational act.”

  Max sat on the step looking unconvinced, while I whistled softly for the dog. The thump of a tail sounded from under the porch, and the dog appeared, pulling himself ignominiously along on his belly.

  Max laughed. “Now that’s a sorry specimen, if I ever saw one.”

  “He is not.” I set the food down and scratched the dog’s ear. “Potts kicked him.”

  “You’re hung up on Potts. I’d like to go back to my original suggestion.”

  “You mean my friend, Jim Enright?”

  “Exactly. Politicians aren’t crazy about skeletons popping up unexpectedly.”

  “Actually, I said as much to Jim myself.”

  “Oh?”

  I wasn’t sure if his inflection implied approval or doubt. “He said there weren’t any secrets around Hijax, and that many Wyoming politicians have colorful history in their background. Do you think that’s true?”

  He took his time answering. “I suppose so. I can’t imagine anything happening within fifty miles of here that the whole town didn’t know about the next day. And plenty of politicos boast about their granddaddy the horse thief,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I don’t believe for one minute that either one of the Enrights is happy about losing the lease on Minnie’s land. I’ve thought all along that either Jim, or Helby himself, was cutting the fences and damaging the wells.”

  “Something for which you have no proof,” I reminded him. “And if they were guilty of such a thing, why? To scare Minnie away?”

  The dog finished the milk, wagged his tail in thanks, and crawled away with the bone. My head throbbed when I bent to pick up the dishes.

  Max stood aside to let me pass, then held the door open and followed me in.

  “Or to scare me away,” he said, “hoping that if both Minnie and I left they’d have a chance to buy the land or at least get back the lease.”

  “Then why ransack her office?”

  He leaned, half-sitting on the table and rubbed his face. I could hear the rasp of stubble across his palm.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he said. “But if anyone has something to hide, the Enrights do. They’ve been here forever.”

  “Potts has too, hasn’t he?”

  “But the Enrights had power. Big power; the breeding ground of corruption.”

  “Now who’s being melodramatic?” I placed the dishes in the sink. “At least we know something about Potts’ character,” I insisted, not wanting to give up my pet theory. “I can’t see Helby sneaking around cutting wires or hitting people on the head. He seems too dignified and…and fragile.”

  “Put your money on Potts, if you like. I’ll stick with land hunger.” He pushed away from the table and stretched, sending shimmers of light racing across his bare arms and chest.

  Was he even aware that he was a half-naked man and I was a woman, and we were alone in a deserted bordello? Alone except for a sleeping Minnie and the wraiths of passions spent. And unspent.

  He stepped close and cradled my face in his large hands. “Nothing makes much sense now. We can worry about it in the morning.” He peered deeply into my eyes.

  My breath quickened. I let myself drown in his gaze, ready to cling and twine. My eyelids drifted shut.

  “No sign of concussion,” he said, and tilted my head for a brisk wound inspection. “Looks okay, stopped bleeding. You going to be all right now?”

  I swayed, grasping for composure. His hands still cupped my face and his fingertips massaged the tender flesh behind my ears. His eyes lingered warmly on my mouth. But now it was my turn, damn his hide.

  I made a slight, but unmistakable, move away from his caressing fingers. “I’m fine,” I said, letting a chill frost my words. “But it’s time you left. I’ll tell Minnie what’s happened here and perhaps see you in the morning.”

  He dropped his hands and glowered. Muttering something it was probably just as well I didn’t hear, he strode to the door.

  Hand on the doorknob, he hesitated and looked back. “No more roaming around, okay?” He let his face soften into a megawatt smile that illuminated the dark sharp planes of his face with a wicked flash of brilliant teeth. Adonis bestowing gifts.

  I didn’t trust that smile. Too glorious to be sincere. And why was he just standing there?

  “Go on up,” he insisted when I didn’t move. “I’ll turn off the lights when you get upstairs.”

  I hesitated, wondering why I was suddenly wormy with suspicion. Because he’d nicked my womanly pride? Or was there something else? I turned and went quickly up to my room, closing the door with a solid thump for his benefit. Silently, I opened it again and stepped into the hall.

  The downstairs lights flickered out. Enveloped in darkness, I listened for the slam of the door and the soft crunch of receding footsteps. Then I crept to Minnie’s door. I wanted to hear for myself the steady rhythm of her snoring. Reassured, I scurried back to my room.

  Eight

  I was waiting in the kitchen, coffee made, when Minnie came downstairs the next morning. She wore a nondescript house dress sprinkled with small flowers, and white anklets over her hose. The soft, loose flesh of her arms looked pale and inappropriate against the dress’s cheeriness. I hated to add fuel to her morning grumpiness, but a blunt telling seemed the best course.

  “Someone ransacked your office last night, Minnie.”

  She started when I spoke, her mouth pursed in surprise.

  “Max and I.”

  “Max and you?” Her eyes hardened.

  “Yes, I…Look, it’s a long story, and I’ll gladly give you all the details, but I’m worried that your manuscript might have been taken.”

  Like a startled deer, Minnie headed for the office with me trotting close behind. She hesitated at the threshold, gaped at the mess, and began to massage her temples in earnest, as if the sight had given her a sudden headache. I could hardly blame her. In the harsh light of morning the ravaged office seemed more threatening than it had the night before.

  “My scrapbook,” she said in a small dazed voice. She picked it up from the sofa where I’d left it and cradled it in her arms. “Helby’s pictures.” She dropped into a chair, her face ashen.

  “I picked some of them up.” I ge
stured at the photos still strewn across the table and floor, “but we thought we should leave things pretty much as they were for you to see.” I paused, but could wait no longer. “Your manuscript, Minnie.”

  “What?”

  “Your manuscript. It’s not here. I’m afraid whoever did this stole it.”

  She shook her head, as if to clear the cobwebs, and massaged her temples. “Don’t worry about the manuscript. Do you think I’m fool enough to keep it lying around where anyone could get at it?”

  I felt as if a thousand pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

  The back door slammed, and Max’s voice drifted into the office.

  “Got any coffee around here?”

  Minnie rose to her feet. “I think it’s time you two told me exactly what happened last night.”

  Max and I managed our explanations well enough, earning a number of raised eyebrows and pointed references to the convenience of our chance meeting in the middle of the night, which we studiously ignored.

  Minnie did seem concerned about my getting hit over the head, and I briefly became Exhibit A while the two of them examined my wound.

  “Maybe she should have had a stitch,” Max muttered doubtfully when I winced.

  “No.” Minnie probed with sharp fingers. “See? It’ll go back. I’ve seen worse.”

  Thus was I delegated to the outer realms of martyrdom.

  Minnie refused Max’s offer to find a phone and report the break-in. “Don’t you go telling that sheriff anything. What goes on out here is none of his business, nor yours either, Max Holman.”

  When the pickup roared out of the yard, she smoothed the flowered dress over her rotund middle and turned to me.

  “All right, Thea, let’s get to work.”

  “Max is right, Minnie. You really should report this to the sheriff, and everything else. The fences, windmills, the note. Everything.”