All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One) Read online

Three

  “Oh, excu—” I gasped, not able to finish. He grabbed me in a vice-like grip, holding me off the floor while his eyes swept across my unbuttoned neckline and the flimsy material of my dress. His thoughts were evident: woman, the devil incarnate; and sin, sin, sin. A blush crawled up my face like some nasty animal.

  “You’re from the city, aren’t you?” he growled, as if that doomed me to the seven pits of hell. “Have you been saved?”

  I could feel the impulse in his hands, wanting to shake the city sin from me with great flicks of his heavy arms. Furious, I jerked out of his grasp. He opened the door, but stopped for a parting shot.

  “We’re God-fearing people around here,” he said, shaking a fat finger at me. “We don’t allow destructive forces to contaminate our young ones. You better mend your ways, Miss.”

  He shut the door just as Minnie came out of the parlor. “What’s the matter with you? And where’s Potts? I wanted to show him—”

  “The man is crazy,” I said.

  “Crazy? What did he do, start preaching at you? He’s not crazy, foolish maybe and usually harder to get rid of than a burr. Now, when I want him, he disappears.” She gave a little snort of disgust. “Eat you out of house and home, too, if you let him. Always comes calling at dinner time so you got to feed him.” She smiled.

  The smile traveled all over her face, bringing the dimple into play that brightened her plain features into a startling attractiveness. It helped restore my poise.

  Her fingertips brushed my arm like butterfly wings. “Don’t let Potts bother you,” she said. “He’s a harmless old man.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “He’s lived here forever. In his young days he was quite a heller, according to my sister Lil. No worse than a lot of others, but still pretty much what you’d call a rough number. Somewhere along the line he got religion and the name Parson. Guess it stuck. Nobody calls him anything else.”

  “I don’t care for the man. Anybody who’d kick a dog—” I stopped, realizing Minnie hadn’t witnessed the incident.

  But her thoughts weren’t on the animal, they were far away in another world. “He knew me when I was little. He used to ride me around on his back like a horse. In these very rooms…” Her voice drifted away, feather soft.

  The hall glimmered with the luster of fading sunlight and newly polished wood. I followed Minnie into the great room and watched as she trailed her fingers across the backs of the dark leather chairs.

  Her voice was a whisper. “They used to stand me on the bar and clap their hands while I danced.” She swayed to an unheard rhythm.

  Hairs prickled on the back of my neck. My eyes drifted shut. I listened for rowdy voices, the thump of an out-of-tune piano, shrill cries of women vying for attention, and a tiny girl reveling in the commotion. The stench of stale cigars burned my nostrils and throat. My eyes flew open. But only Minnie was there, floating down the room with a light-footed two-step. Then she stopped, and pressed her fingertips to her temples in a shy, kneading gesture.

  “I probably don’t really remember,” she said. “I was only two years old; but it seems like I do. My sister Lil filled my years with so many stories. Those stories are all the family I have.”

  My hand went out to her, compelled by an urgent need to make a connection, to defy the loneliness that seeped from the very bones of the old house. But the spell was broken.

  She brushed past me. “Why are we standing here like fools? There’s work to be done.”

  I was too tired to sort through her mercurial switches between politeness and blunt Iowa hardrock. I stood my ground.

  “Actually, Minnie, I’d like to get my luggage out of the car. If you could show me where I’m to sleep?”

  “Oh no!” She whirled, truly dismayed. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry. It’s been hours!” She rushed past me out the front door and insisted on carrying both the suitcase and tote bag.

  “Whatever was I thinking about?” she muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

  I didn’t have the heart to remind her she’d been thinking about Parson Potts eating her into the poor house. Besides, I was in complete sympathy with her impulse to starve the old reprobate.

  She soon had me placed in a small but lovely room at the top of the stairs.

  “Minnie, this is beautiful.” I was impressed. “Did you do all the decorating yourself?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get it done. The place was a mess. Been sitting as good as empty for nearly sixty years. Took a couple of weeks just to get rid of the mouse and rat turds. But the Enrights took good care of it.”

  “Enrights?”

  “Helby Enright, the old gentleman you met earlier. He leased the land from Lil ever since she left all those years ago. She put it in the lease that Halfway Halt had to be taken care of, too. They had a hired hand living here sometimes, but mostly it was boarded up.”

  She brushed her palm across the marble top of the cherry wood dresser, and smoothed the yellow flowered comforter. “I like things nice, and this furniture is from the old days.”

  “You mean from here? Original furnishings from Halfway Halt when it was…uh…in business?” I still wasn’t sure how sensitive Minnie was about her sister’s occupation.

  “I don’t really know.” A breath escaped her mouth, something between a sigh and a chuckle. “My sister was many years older than I; the oldest in the family. Ma was nearly fifty when I was born. Guess I killed her; she died soon after. Lil was the only mother I ever knew.” Two fingers smoothed the skin on her temple in a gesture I was beginning to recognize.

  “This place—the land—was my folks’ homestead,” she said. “Dad built the house one of the few times he had money. Lil quit the…uh…” her chin rose defiantly, but then she ducked her head and followed my euphemistic lead, “her business and took me to Iowa, you know. Actually, she was run out of Hijax. I was very young, two or three. In Iowa she ran boarding houses and did bookkeeping for folks.”

  Ah, yes, I thought, the old familiar story: reformed prostitute with a heart of gold.

  “That was Lil’s bed. I like to think she brought it from Halfway Halt and now I’ve returned it. Anyway, they’re the things she prized the most. I’m glad you like them.”

  It was difficult to believe that round, sweet-faced Minnie could have anything to do with madams, or red light districts, or houses of ill repute. Still, one had to wonder. What was Minnie other than a writer? What about those Iowa “boarding houses?” And the men hanging around here? I’d met three before I’d even said hello. The thought brought a smile. There were hardly three less likely men to be whorehouse habitués. Two were lucky to be getting around without walkers and the other, I felt certain, would have no problem coming up on his own with whatever delights tickled his libido. I was more curious about how the notorious madam, Jersey Roo, fit into the family maze.

  But lethargy was taking over. Questions could wait. With more apologies, Minnie left me to my unpacking. Refreshed, but not revived, by a shower and shampoo, I grabbed a brief nightshirt and crawled into the marvelous brass bed. I barely had time to contemplate the wonders of sleeping in a bed-of-joy before I was deep in sleep.

  After such an early bedtime I wasn’t surprised to wake in the middle of the night. I lay there contentedly and sorted out the day’s happenings while listening to the rumblings of the old house. Did it have a ghost? What kind of spirits would haunt Halfway Halt? Visions of scantily clad nimbuses giggling and scampering from room to room entertained me until my growling stomach begged for attention. Thoughts about the leftover bowl of peaches in the refrigerator took over; even the stringy meat had gained some appeal.

  Would Minnie approve? Or would my raiding the fridge come under the same category as Potts eating her out of house and home? Potts, the old hypocrite, cadging meals, kicking dogs and spewing religious clichés all in the same breath. At least he seemed eager to talk to her. Hadn’t Minnie said nobody wanted her in Hijax?
What exactly did she mean by that? Tight-mouthed snobs, she called them.

  Helby Enright and his son Jim seemed friendly enough. Then there was the clod who’d tried to run me off the road. Friendly was not a good description of him.

  My stomach continued to grumble. Would Minnie approve was no longer the question. Would she hear? I slipped out of bed. The upstairs hall opened to the stairwell, surrounding it in a U shape. My room was at the right end of the U’s base with a bathroom next to it, and another room at the far end. Minnie’s, perhaps? Closed doors indicated four bedrooms on each leg of the U. I tried to be generally quiet, rather enjoying myself now, and trod on the ends of the stairs which—a childhood discovery—are less squeaky than the middle.

  Halfway down, I heard a noise from below. I paused, wanting to identify the sound. Then, of course—the dog. I’d almost forgotten him, poor thing. He was probably lying by one door or another, as hungry as I, and feeling quite forlorn. I doubted if Minnie ever remembered to feed him. I skipped down the rest of the stairs. It wasn’t terribly light, but I had no difficulty picking the way. I turned into the kitchen and froze in the doorway.

  Someone was there, not two feet from me. My heart slammed against my chest. I flicked on the light.

  “What the hell.”

  Fortunately, the man was just as blinded as I in those first few seconds, but I recovered first.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  He staggered back, a hand covering his eyes, but the tall, broad-shouldered shape was familiar. He looked worse than when I’d first seen him on the road after our near collision. His plaid shirt-tail hung out of the low-slung jeans and the dark beard-shadow had turned to stubble. He leaned against the doorjamb and dropped his hand. The hat was gone, but the eyebrows were unmistakable.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded again. My knees started to shake as his eyes wandered lazily over my thinly-clad body.

  “Uh…water,” he said hesitantly, his voice rough and slightly slurred. “I want—”

  But I wasn’t about to give him a chance to say anything. “You’re drunk.” My voice rose to a screech. “Get out of here, get out.”

  “Look, lady.” He lurched away from the door and reached for me.

  I whirled away. My hand grabbed something from the counter and threw it. It hit him harmlessly on the chest and clattered to the floor. A pancake turner.

  I wanted to run, but couldn’t. I just kept yelling, “Get out of here. Get out or I’ll scream.”

  He steadied himself on the back door, glared at me, then turned and lurched out. I stood motionless, until the porch screen closed with a soft chunk, most likely the same sound I’d heard on the stairs. Then I bolted the kitchen door, ran through the hall to the front door, checked its lock, and raced up the stairs.

  I knocked on the door I thought was Minnie’s, gulping to slow the ragged breaths that tore at my throat. I put my ear to the panel and heard steady snoring. I knocked again, but the snoring continued unabated.

  I wished I’d flicked the upstairs light on. My eyes strained to see past the darkness gathered around the stairwell and the rows of closed doors. The harder I tried to see the more the doors looked as if they were opening and the shadows swirling with movement. Outside, the wind quickened, and moaned through loose boards and shingles. A cool draft curled around my ankles.

  To hell with Minnie. I ran to my room, jumped into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin.

  I always wondered what I would do in a crisis, now I knew—blab my fool head off and run. If you can’t hit them, talk them to death, that’s me. But it wasn’t funny. My teeth were clenched and my legs quivered.

  I should have wakened Minnie. And where was he? Why had he followed me here? I hadn’t heard a car, or had he walked in? That seemed more sinister. Was he still prowling around? I should do something. I ought to wake Minnie.

  Ought or not, I knew nothing would get me out of that bed again, not even to shove something in front of the door, which is what I really wanted to do. Instead, I crept further down in the bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

  Impossible as it seemed, I must have slept. When I burst from my cocoon, sun filled the room with heat, and with a rush, my fears returned. I threw on jeans and a skinny knit top, anxious to put my worry onto Minnie’s shoulders, where it belonged. I raced downstairs and, in a nightmarish repeat, stopped short in the kitchen doorway.

  Four

  Last night’s intruder sat calmly at the table nursing a cup of coffee between his hands. I opened my mouth to protest, then saw Minnie at the stove staring glumly into a frying pan.

  She glanced up and grunted a greeting. “Help yourself to the coffee and have a seat. Get the butter and jelly, and set up the toaster.” The added, “Please,” was an afterthought.

  I was glad for something to do. I felt incredibly stupid. But how was I to know the man belonged here? Chicagoans scream first and ask questions later.

  Minnie said, “Thea, this is Max Holman; he works for me. Hired hand.”

  He glanced at Minnie with something that I supposed was a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

  “We’ve met,” I said, grudgingly ready to make amends.

  “Coffee?” he interrupted, holding out the pot.

  “Yes, please.” I eyed him warily. He didn’t appear hung-over, just sat there, shaved and combed, looking as innocent as Adam. An innocence, I might add, I’ve always held suspect. He wore another plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up his arms. There was nothing very handsome about him. Thirty, maybe; a tad weatherworn. The stubborn square jaw gave him the look of a “heavy”, the bad guy, the one who always wears black gloves and a black hat. At least the edgy tension was gone, that sense of pent-up energy waiting to explode that I’d noticed on the road.

  I sipped my coffee and began again. “We had quite an adventure last ni—”

  “Toast?” He offered the fresh, warm slices he had just buttered.

  A classy act. Very smooth and natural. If it hadn’t been for the harsh words he’d thrown at me yesterday, telling me to go back where I came from, I wouldn’t have been suspicious, wouldn’t have thought his interruptions were intentional, that, for some reason, he didn’t want Minnie to know he’d been in the house late last night.

  “Eggs this morning,” Minnie announced triumphantly. She brought the frying pan to the table and flopped three eggs on Max’s plate and two on mine.

  I’ve never been able to face an egg early in the morning, but these were things to be pitied. They actually looked crisp. As usual, Max Holman was watching and ready.

  “More toast?” With an expressive roll of his eyes he offered another slice.

  I took it, struggling to hold back a childish burst of giggles. With another eloquent grimace, he began to eat the horrors on his plate, and I approached a state of near hysteria. Excusing myself for a drink of water, I lingered at the sink until I could return and munch my toast with some composure, not entirely happy with how quickly he’d turned me into a giggling co-conspirator. Well, he hadn’t won me over yet.

  “Eat your eggs, now,” Minnie lectured me. “Nothing but skin and bones. Need something to stick to your ribs.”

  The eggs were beyond me, but Max Holman came to the rescue. He switched our plates when Minnie got up to refill the coffee pot, and quickly devoured the mess.

  “What are you doing today?” Minnie asked abruptly. I jumped. She had a way of making me feel as if I were back in the schoolroom—on the wrong side of the desk. But she was talking to Max.

  He lit a cigarette, and tilted his chair against the wall before answering.

  “Fix the well in the winter pasture; the stick’s broken. Think I better check the south one, too.”

  “How about the fence that was down?”

  “Fixed it yesterday. Looks good. Just the north end left to check and that can wait until the wells are fixed.” He ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Minnie,
cows don’t trample fences that often and the wells…”

  “You just don’t like to fix fence, is all’s wrong with you. You’re soft.”

  He brought the legs of the chair down with a bang and I waited (more eagerly, I suppose, than was proper) for the explosion I expected to follow. But he ignored her jabs and changed the subject. Because I was there?

  “The old psalm-singer come calling last night?” He stood and stretched, then rested his hand on Minnie’s shoulder, saying softly, “Don’t let that old guy bug you now, hear?”

  “He doesn’t.” She sighed. “But he wasn’t very cooperative. I’ve been trying to find out more about that hanging, but he clammed right up.”

  “Hanging?” Max asked. “What hanging?”

  “Here in Hijax, nineteen-thirty.” Minnie’s eyes narrowed, intent on his face. “They lynched some sheepherder on trumped up charges. You know anything about it?”

  “For chrissake, you’re not going to hash over that old scandal, are you? I’d think people would be sick of it by now. What’s that got to do with your book, anyway?”

  “They ran my sister, Lil, out of town over it.”

  Max’s boiling glance swung from Minnie to me, but I avoided his eyes, and stared instead at a tiny pulse that thrummed on his neck. The volcano was stirring. He grabbed his hat and walked out.

  Minnie stared after him. Then, as if surprised to see me sitting there, she said, “Well, why don’t you go with Max this morning? You’ll want to see some of the countryside, and he can show you around the place.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she rushed on.

  “I need to finish up some typing before I let you see my manuscript. I think you’ll be pleased with it. When you get back we’ll go through the pictures Helby brought over. See if any will work for the book.”

  Before I could come up with a counter suggestion Minnie ran to the door and hollered out at Max.

  “Wait for Thea. She wants to see the place.” She patted me on the shoulder and said, “Run along now and have a good time.” It seemed foolish to protest.