The Town Council Meeting Read online

  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

  He checked the rest of the house, but after the kitchen he knew.

  She was gone.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Clint got to the barn and saddled Eclipse. He looked around, but he hadn’t noticed earlier how many other horses were in the barn. He looked around, saw the tracks on the ground. Could have been any of the horses the hands had ridden into town, but then he saw the small boot marks—her boot marks. She’d quickly saddled a horse, led it out, walked it about a hundred yards from the house and barn, then mounted up and rode.

  He had two choices. He could follow her trail, track her, see where she was going, or he could go back to town and work on his theory about Arnie Coleman, the foreman. Maybe he could convince the judge without Barbara that Coleman had a motive, since he was the only one who knew his boss’s business.

  And maybe Barbara had lied to him. If she knew her husband’s plans, then she could have told somebody else. And that would mean that Coleman wasn’t the only one who knew.

  Suddenly, Barbara was a bigger suspect than Coleman, otherwise why run? And who or where was she running to?

  Clint mounted Eclipse and started tracking.

  Parker Stark saw a rider coming toward him. He reined in and waited, finally saw that it was Barbara Kennedy. He could tell because of her fiery red hair. She was riding hard and slowed when she spotted him. By the time she reached him he had dismounted. He reached for her horse, then went around to help her down. Immediately, they moved into a tight clinch, kissing.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I was comin’ to see you.”

  “No, no,” she said, “it’s Clint Adams. He’s at the house.”

  “What’s he doin’ there?”

  “I caught him in Ed’s office, going through his things,” she said.

  “What was he lookin’ for?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Something that would clear him, I guess.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pretended I was drunk, pretended to pass out,” she lied. “But he stayed all night, anyway. So this morning I sneaked out. I don’t know when he’ll notice.

  “Pretty soon, I’ll bet,” Stark said. “Okay, this is what I want you to do. Keep riding. I don’t know how good a tracker he is, but just in case he tracks you all the way, go to the Triple R.”

  “What do I do when I get there?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Talk to Rivers for a while, about anything. He’ll probably offer you coffee or tea or somethin’. Take it. Spend at least half an hour there.”

  “But he’ll think—”

  “That’s right, he will.”

  “But . . . what if he’s right behind me?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll slow him down.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “No,” he said, “at least, not here.” He didn’t tell her about the deal he’d made with Rivers. He’d made that deal in case his deal with her didn’t pan out. A man needed to cover his bases.

  He helped her get mounted and said, “Don’t stop again until you reach the Triple R.”

  “All right, darling,” she said. “I’ll do as you say.”

  He watched her ride away. She was an Eastern woman trapped in the West and eager to get out. She thought he was her way to get out, but she also thought he was going to go back East with her. What would a man like Parker Stark do in Philadelphia or New York? In the beginning all he’d wanted from her was her lusty body. Now all he wanted was some of her dead husband’s money. With money he could have any lusty body he wanted—and younger.

  He looked around for likely cover, first to hide his horse, then to secret himself while he waited with his rifle.

  Barbara Kennedy’s tracks were easy to follow. She was making no attempt to hide them. Apparently she didn’t care if Clint knew where she was going. She probably just wanted to get there with plenty of time to do whatever she had to do.

  He was crossing a dry wash when the first shot came. He launched himself from his saddle, grabbing for his rifle at the same time. He latched onto the weapon, and they both were flying to the ground as a second shot was fired. When he hit he rolled, held on to the rifle, and found cover behind a small boulder. It wasn’t much, but just enough if he folded himself up.

  Eclipse ran off to a safe distance and stopped. The horse did not panic when shots were fired. It had happened all too often.

  He maintained his position and waited.

  THIRTY-THREE

  After a couple of more shots it became clear to him that somebody was keeping him pinned down while not seriously trying to hit him. He’d been right out in the open when the first shot came. At the very least it would have been easy to hit his horse.

  Whoever it was, they were just trying to slow him down, give Barbara a chance to do what she had to do. She had an accomplice, and she had a goal. One person was trying to pin him down while she got to another.

  Once he knew this he knew he had a good chance to get away. All he had to do was run for Eclipse, or get Eclipse to run to him, or meet the horse halfway. And hopefully, the marksman would not decide to put the horse down.

  He gathered his legs beneath him, held tightly to his rifle and got ready. He whistled at the horse, who lifted his head and started for Clint at a gallop. Clint figured he had one shot at grabbing the saddle and swinging into it while the horse was still on the move. If he missed, he’d make too easy a target—one that might be too good to resist.

  He took a deep breath and started running.

  Eclipse came up on him quickly—almost too quickly. He heard the shots but ignored them. Somehow he managed to grab his saddle horn, swing himself into the saddle, and not lose his rifle. Once he was aboard he left the shooter behind. He rode back the way he had come for about a mile, then circled around, came back, and picked up Barbara’s trail again. He was prepared for another attempt to bush-whack him—or delay him—but it never came.

  Apparently, he’d been delayed enough.

  Barbara Kennedy rode up to Andy Rivers’s house, still unsure what she was going to say to him. Stark wanted her to kill at least half an hour with the man. She was going to have to do some quick thinking.

  Rivers came out of the house himself to greet her, descending the stairs.

  “Barbara, what a nice surprise,” he said, taking hold of the horse’s bridle. “To what do I owe this visit?”

  “Actually,” she said, “I just had to get out, Andrew, and I found myself in your neighborhood.”

  “Well, step down and we’ll have some tea. How does that sound?”

  She would have preferred a drink, but tea would take longer, kill the time Stark wanted her to kill.

  “Thank you, Andrew,” she said. “Tea sounds lovely.”

  He helped her down from her horse, taking the opportunity to put his hand on her ass. She hoped she wasn’t going to have to have sex with him in order to stay in the house for half an hour.

  She’d been introduced to Rivers by her husband, of course, and had seen him several times over the years of living with Big Ed, but they had never had any kind of in-depth conversation. Since he was a man—complete with a man’s ego—maybe he’d think she was already looking for a replacement husband.

  Rivers called one of his hands over.

  “Take care of Mrs. Kennedy’s horse,” he said, handing the man the reins, “and see if you can locate Stark for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come along, Barbara,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back, and then allowing it to slide a bit lower, “let’s have that tea.”

  Clint followed Barbara Kennedy’s tracks directly to another ranch. From his vantage point he couldn’t tell whose ranch it was, but he was sure it had to belong to either Matt Holmes or Andy Rivers. He saw a metal arch over the gate that said Triple R, so he assumed that the ranch belonged to Rivers. He suddenly remembered that Holmes’s ranch was cal
led the Double H.

  He sat his horse near a copse of trees, secure that he could not be seen from below. He watched as a man led a horse to the barn. He assumed it was the horse Barbara had ridden there.

  What business did she have with Andy Rivers? Or was it even business? Could have been pleasure, but Rivers was well into his sixties. It had to be something other than a friendly meeting. Why would she be friendly with her husband’s enemy? Had she helped Rivers kill her husband? Or perhaps used the man to get her husband killed? And if Rivers had wanted Kennedy dead, for any reason, he would have sent in Parker Stark.

  So maybe Stark was the man to talk to now? Or Arnie Coleman?

  Clint decided to wait and see how long Barbara spent in the Rivers house. Once she left he wouldn’t follow her, though. It was about time for him to head back to town and the council meeting.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “You know,” Ben Lawson said to the judge, “even if Adams gets into town without bein’ seen, he’s got to get in the back door again. That’s not gonna be easy with one of Yatesman’s deputies out there.”

  The judge was standing at the bar with Lawson, having a beer.

  “What do you care?” the judge asked. “That would just mean you win your bet.”

  Lawson looked over at the mayor and Chambers, who were involved in a hand that he and the judge had folded from.

  “I don’t care,” Lawson said, “I’m just sayin’.”

  Lawson picked up his beer and walked back to the table with it.

  The judge knew the lawyer was right. Clint Adams had to get back into the saloon by the back door—unless he tried to get in a window.

  A window . . .

  Now there was the germ of an idea.

  The judge had Sammy bring Jennifer down, and he took her to the far end of the bar with him, so the other members of the town council could not hear them.

  “You want me to do what?” she asked.

  “Open a window in your room,” he said.

  “What if one of those creeps outside decides to come in?” she asked.

  “Where is your window?”

  “I have two. One looks out over the front street. The other one overlooks the alley.”

  “Can anybody get at the alley window? Is it hard?” he asked.

  “No, there’s a low roof outside of it. It’s the roof of Sammy’s storeroom.”

  “Okay,” the judge said. “leave it open. I want Adams to be able to get in.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “We don’t know when he’s comin’ back so I don’t know when to distract the deputy again.”

  “Right.”

  “And you have a bet goin’ that he’ll get back in.”

  “Right again.”

  “So,” she asked, “how much is it worth to you for me to leave my window open?”

  “Don’t you want to help Adams?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of a chance to make some money.”

  So they began to dicker.

  Once Jennifer had her price she went up to her room and opened her window. She looked out and didn’t see anyone. She knew the judge had a lot riding on Clint coming back, but she wasn’t sure he would. With everything that was going on out front any sane man would just keep on riding.

  Of course, given the reputation of Clint Adams, there was no guarantee he was sane.

  Hell, she thought, there’s no guarantee that any of us are sane.

  The judge joined the others at the card table, picking up a hand that had been dealt to him. He’d had a hot hand since Clint Adams had gone. Apparently, he was the one who had learned the most from playing poker with Adams for so long.

  “Whaddaya do, Judge?” Chambers asked.

  “I raise,” the judge said.

  “Ya can’t raise, ya damn fool,” the mayor said. “Ain’t nobody opened yet. It’s up to you.”

  With a small smile the judge said, “Oh, sorry . . . I open.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Clint walked Eclipse back into Cannon City. Even though it was daylight, there was nobody around the livery. The people were still inside, peering out their windows at what was going on near the saloon.

  He unsaddled the big gelding, rubbed him down and fed him, then left the stable and use alleys to get back to the hotel.

  He was able to see what was going on out front. The Bar K boys and the lawmen had been joined by others—mostly by some enterprising types who were taking the opportunity to make some money. With the saloon closed one of the other saloon owners had set up a temporary, portable bar and was selling whiskey and beer. He had also brought a couple of saloon girls out there with him.

  The temporary bar had brought some of the men out of their homes and stores, and they were standing at the bar, drinking and waiting for the action to start at the smaller saloon.

  On the boardwalk some people—men and women—had gotten brave and had gathered to watch. One of the cafés in town had brought out some sandwiches to sell.

  The whole thing had a very carnival atmosphere to it. All that was missing was the fat lady. Clint thought, at some point, he’d probably end up providing the trick-shooting entertainment.

  He moved into the alley, wondering how he was going to get in the back door, when he spotted an open window on the second floor. It didn’t take him long to figure out it was Jennifer’s room.

  He found a couple of barrels he could use to climb on so he could reach the lower roof beneath the window, then made his way to the open window, hoping this wasn’t some kind of trap. He paused with one leg inside, wondering if Jennifer would be able to smell Barbara Kennedy on him. He shrugged, figured he had to take the chance.

  He stepped inside.

  The mayor took a hand.

  The tide had turned again, away from the judge to the mayor.

  Lawson sat back in his chair, rubbed his face, and said, “Got to be my turn sooner or later.”

  Sammy came over and said, “When will you guys get tired of playin’ poker and go home? I need to reopen my place.”

  “Soon, Sammy,” the judge said, “very soon.”

  Delbert Chambers was gathering up the cards for the next deal.

  “Yeah, Sammy, as soon as the judge, here, admits that Clint Adams ain’t comin’ back you can open.”

  “Have you looked out the front window, Judge?” Sammy asked. “It’s like a damn circus.”

  “Hmm? Oh, let me take a look.”

  The judge stood up and walked to the window. He looked out at what was going on and shook his head.

  “I’m losin’ business, Judge,” Sammy said. “Look, they even got a bar out there.”

  Lawson laughed.

  “Somebody put up a bar? Now that was good thinkin’,” the lawyer said.

  “Good thinkin’,” the judge said, “but they got no permit for that.”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Sammy said. “Close ‘em down, Judge!”

  “I will, Sammy,” the judge said. He walked back to the table. “As soon as Adams gets back.”

  “Why does my business depend on the Gunsmith?” the saloon owner complained. “He don’t even live here in town.”

  “Don’t worry, Sammy,” Lawson said, “Adams will soon be takin’ up residence in the jail.”

  “You think so?” the mayor asked. “I thought you bet the judge he wouldn’t even be back.”

  “I’m hedgin’ my bet,” Lawson said, with a smile.

  “I’ll bet,” the judge said, “that Clint Adams doesn’t do a minute in jail. Any takers?”

  “Not me,” Lawson said.

  “Why not?” the judge asked. “You’re so cocksure of everythin’.”

  “Yeah, well,” Lawson said, “you’re the damn judge. You’ll just make sure he don’t go to jail.”

  “That would be dishonest of me,” the judge said.

  “Come on, Delbert,” the mayor said, “deal out the cards.”

  “Don�
�t forget me,” another voice called.

  They all looked over and saw a man coming down the stairs from the second floor.

  “Deal me back in,” Clint Adams said.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Clint took his first hand back.

  “Sammy, bring me a beer,” he called as he raked in the pot.

  “I thought you didn’t drink while you played?” Lawson asked. He was morose because he’d had to pay the judge a thousand dollars to square their bet.

  “I’ve been exerting myself a bit since I left,” Clint said. “In fact, I haven’t had anything to eat.”

  “Come to think of it,” the judge said, “neither have we. Joby!”

  Nobody had seen Joby since the day before, but they knew the kid was always around. He came running out while Sammy set a beer at Clint’s elbow.

  “Joby, here’s some money; go out front and get some sandwiches.”

  “Right, Judge!”

  As the boy ran out the front door the judge said to Sammy, “You can leave the doors open if you like, Sammy.”

  “I can reopen?”

  “You can reopen.”

  “Finally!”

  Clint drank some beer and the judge said, “You gonna fill us in?”

  “Yeah,” Lawson said, “if you’re back, you must have figured out who killed Big Ed Kennedy—that is, if you didn’t.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Clint said, “but before I say anything I need to talk to someone.”

  “Who?” the judge asked.

  “Arnie Coleman.”

  “What makes you think Coleman will talk to you?” the judge asked.

  “Because you’re going to tell him to,” Clint said. “Have him sit in the corner and I’ll join him.”

  “You don’t want us to hear what you have to say?” Lawson asked.

  “I really don’t care,” Clint said, “but Coleman might not want you to hear what he has to say.”

  “You sayin’ Coleman killed his boss?” Chambers asked.