Heart Of The Lawman

It struck him that he was only a few miles from the Lavender Lady Mine. Since he was so near he decided to go check on it. A lot of men had remained out of work since the big strike that closed the Lady.

And brought him here.

Flynn’s mouth twitched at one corner. If it hadn’t been for the mining strike he wouldn’t have been in Hollenbeck Corners.

And he wouldn’t have had to be Marydyth Hollenbeck’s escort.

All these years it had stuck in his craw. He had never had to take a woman to prison before. And now he was taking care of that woman’s daughter. -

It was a hell of a thing.

Flynn leaned away from the side of the cabin and gathered Jack’s reins. He had enough daylight left to make it to the mine and still be back home before Rachel needed to go to bed.

Flynn saw the yawning black hole of the shaft from a long way off. There was something about a mine that made his flesh crawl. He supposed he was a bit of a coward when it came to working underground.

“Easy, boy.” Flynn steadied Jack and peered into the rocky outcrop that ringed the Lady. The horse was acting spooky and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

A few years ago he would have bolted into the rocks and got prepared to fend off Apaches, but since Geronimo was gone that was no longer a worry.

Still, he couldn’t quite shake off the notion that eyes were trained on his spine.

Flynn rode Jack close and did a quick once-over on the mine. It appeared to be in fairly good shape—from the outside. He gnawed on the inside of his mouth while he thought. If the Lady could be reopened it would surely help Hollenbeck Corners.

“Well, that’s another thing I can speak to old Moze about.” Flynn spoke and Jack worked his ears back and forth in response. That was the only kind of conversation they ever had: Flynn talked and Jack listened.

Flynn heard the distinct sound of a twig snapping. He swiveled in his saddle and drew his Colt at the same time. Nothing but lonesome prairie and cactus met his eye. He sat for a moment while his pulse ticked off the time. Then when he heard and saw nothing, he kicked Jack up and headed back to Hollenbeck Corners.

But he kept his gun drawn.

That evening went much like the one before it. Mrs. Young left after saying her usual dozen words, Flynn and Rachel spent a quiet evening and then she went to bed. At one o’clock in the morning she woke up crying for her mama. By three o’clock in the morning Flynn had decided that he would go see Moses as soon as Mrs. Young showed up at seven.

Flynn was riding down the hill when he came upon Clark’s Dairy wagon.

“Morning, Flynn.”

“Morning, Amos.”

“Did you hear the news?” Amos asked with a happy grin.

“Can’t say as I have.” Flynn rested his wrist on the saddle horn while Jack took a disagreeable nip at Amos’s old bay wagon horse.

“My cousin in Tombstone was getting ready to start delivering milk yesterday when his wagon fell through the street,” Amos said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Flynn tried not to laugh along with Amos.

“No, don’t be. My cousin was still on his own land—when they got the wagon out they found a vein of silver. He’s gonna be a rich man.” Amos chuckled again.

Now Flynn laughed. “I guess I better start taking care where I walk, eh?”

He had heard tales that there was a honeycomb of tunnels beneath Tombstone and Hollenbeck Corners.

“Yeah, I’m hoping I’ll have the same kind of luck.” Amos Clark smiled and touched his finger to his white cap. Then he clicked his tongue and the bay started off at his plodding gait toward the mansion.

Flynn laughed one more time before he urged Jack on down the slope. Hollenbeck Corners was becoming civilized. It seemed like only yesterday that Geronimo was raiding; now they had door-to-door milk delivery and two daily newspapers and a fire pumper•but no sheriff. The mayor and citizens had decided that John Slaughter, marshal of Cochise county, was near enough. And besides, J.C. was the only man who had ever been murdered, and everybody knew who was guilty even before the trial.

Or so they said. Flynn had never been that sure. All through the proceedings and even after he had taken Marydyth to Yuma, something had nagged at him.

Times were changing in the territory. Every day it seemed that things became more modern and the world to the east had more of an effect. With news arriving on a regular basis, people in the territory were becoming more political and talk in the saloons was often about what was going on in Washington.

Flynn guided Jack down the main street and stopped at a tall, narrow building with an impressive wooden false front. Sunlight rippled across the fancy gilt lettering in the picture window of the law office. Moses was mighty proud of that window. He had paid a pretty penny to have it shipped by rail from back east and installed by a glazier from Tucson.

Flynn dismounted and loosely wrapped the reins around the hitching post. “Don’t go hightailing it back to the barn on me, or I’ll take Harold Benson up on his offer. And you’d make a piss-poor livery horse.” He softened the threat with an affectionate pat.

He stepped up to the boardwalk and made his way to Moze’s office. He heard the sound of two men’s voices from the inner office as soon as he opened the outer door and walked inside.

Flynn didn’t want to be listening to the conversation so he busied himself pouring a cup of coffee from the gray graniteware pot on the potbellied stove in the corner of the room. His back was to Pritikin’s private office, but the men’s voices suddenly grew too loud to ignore.

“I’m tellin’ you, Ted, I have no authority in this matter. You’ll have to deal directly with Flynn O’Bannion.”

Flynn turned. Now it wasn’t somebody else’s business, it was his. He took a step toward the partly open door. Through the crack Flynn could see Moses behind the desk; on the other side, all he could see was the toe of a boot with a fancy double-eagle design.

“Who needs to deal with me?” Flynn drawled as he entered the doorway.

Moses Pritikin’s head swung around. The lawyer’s sharp eyes were as clear and quick as a red-tailed hawk’s, set in a face tanned and cured by a half century of Arizona wind and sun. His hair, white as cow’s milk, was a shock against his swarthy, angular face.

“Speaking of the devil. Come in, Flynn, come in.” Moze’s overlarge hands always seemed to stick too far out of his shirtsleeves, and today was no exception as he gestured.

Flynn crossed the threshold and finally got a look at the man inside those double-eagle boots. Ted Kelts, J.C.’s former partner, was sitting in the red leather chair opposite Pritikin’s desk.

“Ted here is interested in buying the Lavender Lady Mine,” Moses said.

Pritikin’s office was on the skinny side of small from the get-go, and the massive desk he had squeezed into it left scant room for more than one client at a time. Flynn sidled into the room as best as he could and found a place against the wall.

“The Lavender Lady?” Flynn asked after he took a sip of the too-strong, bitter coffee.

Ted Kelts nodded. “I’ve been thinking it would be good to open the mine. A lot of men in town are out of work. Prices on copper are a bit better now.” Ted Kelts grimaced. “I’d kind of like to see what the old girl has left hiding under her skirts.”

“Funny you should ask about the Lady, Kelts. I was just out there yesterday looking it over,” Flynn said.

“You don’t say. How’d it look?”

Flynn shrugged. “I’m no miner. I don’t like being underground.”

“Well, I am a miner. Sell her to me,” Ted said with a smile.

Flynn studied his face for a long time. “I don’t think so.”

Ted’s dark eyes flashed in anger. “But why not?”

“I’m thinking of reopening it myself.” Flynn studied his face. “And Victoria really wanted me to keep all the Hollenbeck holdings in one piece.”

Ted nodded. “Yes, I understand, Mr. O’Bannion, but J.C. had decided to sell to me—before he was murdered by that woman. By all rights I should own the Lavender Lady.” Kelts fingered the gold chain on his watch fob. “Moses tells me that you have complete control now.”

Flynn pushed the Stetson hat back on his head with his index finger. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a chaffer with Ted Kelts over some hole in the ground.

“Victoria put me in charge of all the Hollenbeck family holdings,” Flynn said, but there was no pleasure in his admission.

Kelts smiled and leaned toward him. “Let’s discuss terms, O’Bannion. How much do you want for the Lavender Lady?” His navy brocade vest puckered at his middle, but Ted tugged the cloth down tight until it was smooth and wrinkle free. He was a tall, rangy man, strong as a bull, with hard muscles that had been honed by swinging an eighteen-pound sledge for years before he hit his first strike. “I’m sure Victoria intended to take care of this oversight before she had her last stroke. It would be a matter of you signing the papers, O’Bannion, righting a wrong, you might say.”

Flynn’s gaze followed the sharp crease along the fancy pin-striped trousers to the handmade Justin boot propped up on the knee of his opposite leg. If price was the issue, Ted Kelts could afford whatever was asked.

His eyes slid up to meet Ted’s gaze. “’Tain’t for sale.”

Kelts stiffened. “What do you mean it ain’t for sale? Everything and everybody has a price. Just name yours.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, the Lavender Lady ain’t for sale.” The more he talked to Ted Kelts, the less he liked him. “Not today or any day.”

Ted uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. “You’re a cattle man, O’Bannion. I know you’re running your own head along with Hollenbeck stock. Why would you want a broken-down mine to worry over? It’s probably worthless anyway, but I’d be a whole lot more able to get it open again than you would.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Flynn said.

“Then—why won’t you sell?” Ted looked perplexed.

“I’m riding for the Hollenbeck brand now. Victoria made it plain she wants Rachel to have all the Hollenbeck property—just as it is. And just for future reference, I haven’t got a price.”

Kelts snapped his head around and looked at Moses. “Is this legal?”

“Legal as Victoria’s money and my skill could make it.” No small amount of pride sparkled in the dusky depths of Moze’s eyes and he was working hard not to grin. “I’d like to see somebody find a loophole in one of my documents. Damned near ironclad. Write them so nobody can break them,” he added under his breath.

Ted sat motionless as a tombstone. His eyes narrowed for half a second, then he stood and tugged his vest down. “Well, I guess that’s my answer—for today, O’Bannion. But I’m a man who usually gets what he goes after, so I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”

Flynn leaned away from the wall and nodded. “About anything you want, Kelts, but when it comes to the Lavender Lady, the answer will still be no. That is my last word on the subject.”

“I didn’t get where I am by giving in easily.” Ted extended his hand to Flynn. “No hard feelings?”

“I wouldn’t fault a businessman for doing what comes natural to him.”

“Glad to hear it.” Ted pulled his watch chain and drew a fancy pocket piece from his vest. “I’ll take my leave now.” Ted nodded at Moses and Flynn. “Thanks for the coffee, Moze.”

“Don’t mention it. By the way, Ted, I heard you was headed back east?”

Kelts frowned and slipped the watch back where it came from. “News does travel fast in Hollenbeck Corners. Yes, I have some business in Washington.”

“Taking up politics, are you?” Moses smiled like a fox.

“The thought has crossed my mind.” Ted smiled and turned to Flynn. “Think about what I said, O’Bannion.”

When Ted closed the outside door, Flynn eased himself down into the solitary leather chair.

“More coffee?” Moses offered.

“Naw.” Flynn shook his head. “This stuff would rust a horseshoe, Moze.”

Moses blinked and stared at his own cup. “Really?”

Flynn shook his head and set down his cup. With Kelts gone, his thoughts settled firmly on the letter in his pocket.

“Whiskey, then?” Moses offered as he opened his desk drawer and brought out a brand-new bottle of Cutter and Miller.

“A little early for that, wouldn’t you say?” Flynn frowned at the attorney.

“You tell me? You look like a dog chewing on a tough piece of hide.” Moses leaned back and laced his fingers behind the shock of unruly white hair. “Maybe you need a woman. Beatrice has a new girl over at the sportin’ house. Name is Annabelle—ain’t that a hoot•such a fancy name for a whore? Has hair the color of molten copper.”

Flynn’s frowned deepened. “I didn’t come here to get directions to the cathouse, Moze.”

“And here I-was thinking that maybe you had lost your way. I happen to know you haven’t visited Beatrice and her girls for two years,” Moses went on, ignoring Flynn’s glower. “It ain’t healthy, Flynn. A man can get all backed up—ruin your digestion—shorten your life. It’s a medical fact. Dr. Goodfellow over in Tombstone told me so.”

“I don’t need a woman,” Flynn repeated with a flinty voice.

“I haven’t seen a look so mournful since the last lynchin’ bee over in Millville. If it isn’t a woman you need, then what has put that hangdog look on your face? Trouble with your cattle? Little Rachel?”

“No trouble with Rachel or the cattle.”

“Why don’t you get rid of those critters? They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Easy for you to say. That’s what I do for a living now, Moze. A grown man has to have a livelihood.”

The lawyer snorted. “You don’t need the money.” Moze’s hand fell to the desktop and he shook his head in amazement. “Guardianship of Rachel pays you a nice annuity—I write out the bank draft, remember?”

Flynn shifted in the chair and scowled at Moses but he didn’t say anything.

“You haven’t touched it, have you?” His brows rose until they nearly touched his hairline, and his eyes widened. “It’s all just sitting there in the bank, isn’t it?”

Flynn shook his head. “I didn’t come here to talk about that damned money. I didn’t want it in the first place.”

“You are a strange duck, Flynn O’Bannion.” Moses shook his head in disbelief.

“Look, it’s bad enough to be living in the Hollenbeck house like it was my own.” Flynn’s voice trailed off. It was hard to put into words the way he felt about caring for Rachel, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take money for it.

Moses laughed and rocked back in his chair, then laced his hands behind his head again. “You are a dying breed. All right, if that isn’t what’s stuck in your craw, then tell me what is.”

Flynn drew the envelope from his shirt pocket and held it out.

“What’s this?” Moses unclasped his fingers and leaned forward across the mammoth desk.

“Look at the address.” Flynn shoved the paper closer.

Moses took the letter. His eyes flitted across the tattered envelope. When he glanced back up at Flynn he was frowning; all traces of humor were gone. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

Because I felt like I was violating Marydyth Hollenbeck’s privacy just looking it. Because I have never been able to forget the hatred in her blue eyes or how she held her head high when she walked through the gates of Yuma.

“You’re the Hollenbeck attorney,” Flynn answered with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “I brought it to you.”

“Victoria Hollenbeck’s attorney—not Marydyth’s.” Moses handed the envelope back to Flynn. “This is your domain. You better open it.”

Flynn drew back his hand as if the letter were afire. “It’s probably.personal.”

“Maybe, but it looks like it has taken the long way round coming here—how personal could it be when the sender didn’t even know the Black Widow had been sent to prison?”

A muscle in the side of Flynn’s jaw began to work. He hated the name the townspeople had pinned on Marydyth. For Rachel’s sake.

“It doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Moses snatched up the envelope and ripped open one end. A page fluttered to the top of the desk. He carefully unfolded the brittle paper. It was a heavy cream-colored stationery. He held it up to the light. Flynn could see the distinctive watermark of a clipper ship. Then Moses squinted his eyes, ducked his chin and started to read.

A hard knot formed in Flynn’s gizzard. He didn’t feel right about any of this.

“Well, now this is a fine kettle of fish,” Moses said as he let the paper slip from his hand.

“You look like somebody died.”

Moses never spoke, he just slid the single page across the desk. “Read it for yourself.”

Flynn picked up the letter, his eyes darting quickly over the large handwriting. He looked up from the page and swallowed hard.

“What are you going to do?” Moses asked.

“So it’s all up to me, huh?” Flynn stood up. He would have liked to pace, but the cramped office wouldn’t allow it. “What would you do if you had to deal with it?”

Moses grimaced and read the letter again. “Claims complete responsibility for the murder in Louisiana.” He mused aloud as if he had not even heard Flynn’s question. “Could it be possible?”

“If it is, then Marydyth Hollenbeck…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

Moze swallowed hard. “Now, let’s not be too hasty. At the worst it may mean that she didn’t kill her first husband, Andre. This second part could be a confession of guilt, I suppose, if you are inclined to interpret it that way.”

“And it could just as easily not be. Is that what you’re saying?” Flynn searched the attorney’s face with narrowed eyes.

Moses sighed and placed the letter in the middle of his desk. “Any way you look at it, it’s a judgment call, Flynn. The decision and the responsibility are all yours, I’m happy to say.” The words fell harder than the judge’s gavel had on that fateful day. “Victoria made it real clear—any and all decisions regarding Rachel and the Hollenbecks are yours alone.”

Flynn picked up the letter and stared at it. “Did you notice the signature?”

“Yes, I did. I have to admit it shocks me. I thought Murdering Mary was all alone in the world. If she had an uncle, then why didn’t she tell anybody?”

Flynn glanced up. “Kind of sticks in your craw, don’t it?”

“I don’t want to even entertain the notion that we might’ve separated Rachel from her mother and sent an innocent woman to prison,” Moses replied. “In fact I don’t like to think about that a’tall.”

Chapter Three

Flynn gave Jack his head as they rode out of town. The bay enjoyed the run and Flynn was glad to let him pick his own trail so he could wrestle with the problem of the damned letter.

If he decided to interpret the letter as a full confession for both murders, Andre Levesque’s and J. C. Hollenbeck’s, then Rachel could have her mother back.

The memory of the child’s latest nightmare brought a shiver coursing through him.

And if it isn’t a confession? the voice of the cynical retired U.S. marshal prodded. Years of training, years of single-minded devotion to the law, made it difficult for Flynn to forget that big if.

The letter was vague on J.C.’s murder. That was God’s honest truth. But it was blunt and to the point about the first one—about Andre, Marydyth’s first husband.

But if Marydyth were innocent of killing Andre Levesque and she had an uncle, then why didn’t she defend herself at the trial?

Flynn shook his head, realizing finally what it was that had bothered him about that damned trial.

Day after day Marydyth had sat there in silence. She had grown more pale and drawn as the damning evidence was revealed, and not once had she raised a finger or uttered a single word to defend herself.

She had stood there dry-eyed and silent while the town judged her guilty.

Why?

That question hammered at Flynn’s brain. It was a question he had no answer for.

He rode for hours, and with every mile the letter nagged at him. It would be so easy. If Flynn chose to read between the lines, he could give Rachel what she needed most in the world.

If he chose to.

Was it possible that he wanted to see Rachel reunited with Marydyth so badly that he could, or would, turn a blind eye to the weakness in the wording of that letter?

“Hell no, I wouldn’t,” he declared with hearty conviction. “And I’d have harsh words with any man who thought otherwise.” The sound of his raspy voice started Jack’s ears working back and forth again. “If I believed Marydyth killed J.C., I’d let her rot in Yuma and damn her to perdition without a second thought,” he assured himself and his horse.

But do you really believe that? the stubborn voice asked. Or are you like Moze?—afraid that you escorted an innocent woman to prison and mighty unwilling to face that possibility? Even if it means leaving her there?

Later that afternoon, Flynn had made a big loop around Hollenbeck Corners and ridden through Sheepshead. He had checked on the herd and felt satisfied that the grass would hold through the summer. While he rode, he had argued with himself over and over, and still he had not made a decision about the letter.

He pulled his Stetson hat from his head and used his bandanna to wipe the moisture off the inside of the sweatband. A white ring of crystallized salt had stained outward onto the brim.

If he believed the letter was genuine, then he was beholden to see the territorial judge about Marydyth’s sentence. But he hadn’t quite come to that decision—just yet.

The sun was a red-gold disk when Flynn unsaddled Jack and rubbed him down. The expansive adobe stable behind the Hollenbeck house was cool and dim. It was big enough to hold four horses and two buggies but Jack lived all alone inside. The smell of hay, dust and cracked corn surrounded them.

It was a comforting odor, a familiar one that had drawn him to this spot many times since he came to live in Hollenbeck Corners. Flynn rolled himself a smoke and let it dangle unlit from his mouth.

Flynn brushed the horse and ran an empty gunnysack over him to give him a shine. He tossed down his unlit cigarette, picked up each of Jack’s hooves, one by one, and carefully cleaned them, taking particular care with each frog.

An hour had passed while he kept his hands busy, and still he had not come to a decision. Flynn walked toward the mansion, still lost in thought. He was near one of the tall colonnades at the back of the house when the smell of smoke reached his nostrils.

He turned his head and lifted his nose like a feral animal. He inhaled deeply, narrowing his eyes and allowing the scent to guide him to the source. The smoke was coming from the direction of the stable.

Flynn ran to the well and grabbed up a bucket of water. It sloshed over his Levi’s as he ran. When he threw open the double doors a column of smoke roiled out. One bucket doused the smoldering manure and straw, but as the smoke wafted around his head a tendril of suspicion wove around his mind.

It was damned hard to start a fire with a cold cigarette.

Flynn made sure the blaze was well and truly out before he went to the house. A nagging sense of unease was his constant companion. He hadn’t started that fire, so who had? The stable was behind the house, a damned long way from any road or alley. If someone had been smoking around there, then they were hiding.

As soon as Flynn opened the door a streak of calico ruffles and bouncing russet curls flew at him.

“Unca Flynn!” Rachel squealed. She hugged his knees so tight he thought they both might go end over teakettle into the hallway.

“Whoa, little lady.” He untangled her arms and lifted her up. Her cheeks dimpled when he tickled her.