Christie And The Hellcat Part 30

"Decent people should frequent this establishment," Adah continued, "not the likes of"

"I'll handle this, my dear." Riker pushed up his wire-framed spectacles and turned a stern gaze on Christie. "Take your custom elsewhere in future, Miss erm . . . whatever your name is. I'll not have my wife upset like this."

"I beg your pardon!"

The indignant voice made Christie jump and she turned to find Ned Taylor standing behind her, his cheeks flushed. He had finished serving Madame Clemence and come to be of a.s.sistance.

"I'll decide who I serve in my own store."

196.

"Now look here." Riker puffed out his chest. "I shouldn't have to remind you, Taylor, that last year I approved a substantial loan for this store of yours."

"No, you shouldn't." Taylor's brows drew together. "But it was the bank loaned me the money not you. And nowhere in the paperwork, as far as I can recall, did it mention that I'd also signed over my say about who I will and won't serve."

Riker's jaw worked. Christie got the impression he wasn't used to having people talk back to him. Serve him right.

"Well!" said Adah, after a long pause. "If that woman," her eyes shot daggers at Christie, "isn't going to take her custom elsewhere, then I most certainly am."

"That's your prerogative, ma'am," said Taylor. "But you'll not find such good quality at these prices elsewhere."

"We'll see about that." With a toss of her head, she stormed toward the store exit. After a moment, her husband followed her.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Taylor," said Christie. "I had no intention of causing any trouble."

"Of course not." He led her toward the counter. "And you didn't.

They did. Not for the first time either. Sour-faced old hypocrites like the Rikers don't need rhyme or reason for making a fuss."

Even so. "But surely, you can't afford to lose such a good customer"

"Truth be told, Miss Hayes, I'm glad to be rid of them. All I ever got was complaints about weevils in the flour or snags in the muslin."

He smiled at her. "So, what is it you want from me this week?"

Christie remembered the shopping list. She fumbled with her bag's drawstrings, pulled the list out, and gave it to Taylor. He perused the piece of paper for a moment, then disappeared behind the counter. When he came back he was carrying kerosene and matches.

He ticked off the items on the list then headed off to a different shelf.

Companionably, she followed him.

"By the way, just so you know for future reference, there's no risk of me ever asking you to take your custom elsewhere," he added.

"Deputy Brodie's a good friend of mine." He picked up the skillet she had rejected earlier, cast an a.s.sessing glance at her wrists, then put it back and selected a lighter one.

"Couple of years ago," he continued, "our boy Daniel got mixed up with a bad crowd. Drinking, gambling, women, all kinds of 197.

carryings-on. Hope I'm not shocking you by speaking about such things, Miss Hayes?"

"Not at all."

He grinned. "Guess you must be pretty unshockable, being with the deputy and all." He looked at the list and moved further along the shelf. "Ella and me thought Daniel was destined for the end of a rope." He picked up some knives, forks, and spoons and raised an eyebrow at Christie in query. She nodded.

"We were at our wits end," he continued. "Then, just over a year ago it must be, Brodie arrived. Hogan had hired her as his deputy without consulting anyone. What a ruckus that caused!" He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, she musta noticed I had something on my mind, and one fine day she asked me what it was. So I told her about Daniel."

He smiled at the memory. "She said not to worry none, she'd straighten him out. Good as her word she was, too."

He selected some more items from her list then carried them back to the counter. Christie followed, eager to know more.

"What did she do?"

"Never did find out. Brodie wouldn't talk about it, neither would Daniel."

He grabbed a stub of pencil, jotted down the prices for the items now littering the countertop, and began to tot them up. When he'd finished he looked up.

"All I know is, one night he came home as white as a sheet. Said he was sorry for all the grief he'd caused his mother and me, and that it wouldn't happen again."

He rechecked his sums, drew a line under the total, and showed it to Christie, who sighed and nodded.

"The long and short of it is," he continued, "Daniel mended his ways. Took hisself off to Bisbee, found hisself a nice girl and settled down. They're married now, with a baby on the way." His proud smile became businesslike. "Will that be cash or credit, Miss Hayes?"

"Cash." She reached for her bag.

Chapter 9.

There was something odd about the garden, decided Christie, slowing the buckboard for a better look. When she had left the Old Barn, the garden out front looked neat and tidy, its soil, still dark from watering, had been level, but now . . . Clumps of soil lay everywhere.

Someone's dug up my bulbs. Jaw clamped against her anger, she turned the gelding up the track. That dratted Riker boy. It has to be.

Miss Bartlett had told her the boy wasn't in school that morning, and the silly young woman (she was Christie's age but you'd never have guessed) had seemed quite unconcerned about it.

"Oh, Joe is frequently ill, Miss Hayes," she said, as she distributed the textbooks for the next lesson while the school children played noisily outdoors. "He has a delicate const.i.tution, you know. I had a letter from his parents about it."

Christie chewed her lip. Delicate? That ruffian? "Are you sure it was from his parents?"

That got her a wide-eyed stare. "Why ever should it not be?"

"You don't think . . . maybe Joe himself . . ."

Dora Bartlett considered the suggestion for all of two seconds before emitting a peal of merry laughter. "Oh, Miss Hayes. You are so amusing. Why would any child want to miss school? They love it here. We have such fun."

Having faith in the children she taught was wonderful, but being willfully blind to their shortcomings was surely not to anyone's benefit. Resisting a strong urge to shake some sense into the dangerously naive schoolteacher, Christie left.

As she drove into the back yard, she saw the depleted log pile and her pulse quickened.

199.

"Zee," she called, leaping down from the buckboard and dashing into the kitchen. "Are you here?" There was no answer, though, and she recalled there had been no sign of Zee's mare either. She sighed, sad to have missed her.

It took her an arduous half an hour to unload the buckboard, stable the gelding, and stack everything where she wanted it. She hung up the last of the tinwarethe new hooks and shelves Zee had put up were perfectthen went upstairs to freshen up.

The windowpane was fixed, she saw as she entered the bedroom.

She stared out of it, noticing how close the Rikers' house was to theirs and pursing her lips. Last night she had been too muddle-headed to think clearly, but now . . .

As she sponged herself down, changed into her housedress, and brushed her hair, she wondered if Zee had misled her about the real cause of the broken gla.s.s.

A knock at the back door jarred her out of her musings. Who is it now? She smoothed down her dress, and headed downstairs.

Ann Shaw was standing on her doorstep. Her smiling neighbor came in, admired the additions Zee had made to the kitchen, then got down to business.

"Curly and I are having a social tonight. And we were wondering if you and Zee would like to come."

Christie blinkedan invitation of this kind was the last thing she had expected. Socials had been common in Contention, the women sitting and sewing or crocheting while they talked (gossip was the main purpose of such get-togethers), or playing whatever puzzle games or card games were all the rage.

"The Meekers and Nortons have said they're coming," Ann continued, giving her an expectant look.

Was this the kind of evening that would appeal to Zee? "I don't think Zee"

"She'll love it," said Ann. "And what better way to introduce the two of you into more respectable circles? It can only do Zee's standing in Benson good."

"We-ell. If you think so."

"I do."

"All right. We'll come." After all, what harm could it do?

Ann beamed at her. "Splendid." She turned to go. "We'll see you at eight."

200.

GIF.

Zee looked at her cards again. Not bad. But was it enough?

Silas was absently rubbing his earlobe. That "tell" of his was a sure sign he didn't have much of a hand. She flipped another dollar into the pot. "Raise you."

"Mind if I sit in?" Americus Millain grinned down at the three players; behind him, looking cowed as always, stood Julie Fontenot.

Silas and Bob exchanged a wry lookthis morning's killing of Polly had not endeared the New Orleans gambler to anyonethen shrugged.

"It's a free country." Silas scratched his whiskers.

"So they say," grumbled Bob.

Zee shoved the empty chair toward Millain with her booted foot.

"Have a seat." One of the reasons she had come back to the Golden Slipper was to keep a close eye on him; this was as close as she could get.

"Thanks." He sat down, then twisted round in his chair, irritated to see that the hostesses were all currently occupied. "Get me a whiskey," he told Julie.

No please, no thank you, noted Zee. Julie nodded, her gaze once again refusing to meet Zee's, and headed toward the bar.

Zee watched the pretty octoroon go, then turned back to her game.

She tossed in a couple more dollars. "And see you, Silas."

"Dang it. I'm gonna have to fold," said a glum Bob.

Silas frowned, then laid out his cards: Three Of A Kind. Zee bared her teeth at him and laid down hers: a Straight.

"Goldarn it, Brodie!" The old man's voice was exasperated. "The missus is gonna skin me alive."

She raked in her winnings. "Why d'you bet it if you can't afford to lose it, you old coot?"

Bob chuckled. "You tell him, Brodie." He gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them, then looked inquiringly at Millain and the others. "Five Card Draw?"

"Fine with me," said Zee.

Millain nodded and busied himself lighting up a cigar. His ward returned carrying a tray on which sat a full gla.s.s of whiskey and an unopened bottle (the rotgut kind, Zee was glad to see). She set it by his elbow. He grabbed the gla.s.s, drained it dry, then opened the 201.

bottle and refilled it.

"Make yourself scarce," he told Julie, without even looking at her.

"I'm busy."

She scooted off toward the bar again. Probably feels safe there, thought Zee. The barkeep would fend off the worst of the predators, and it was a lot less crowded away from the gaming tables.

While Bob dealt the cards, she pushed back her hat and leaned back in her chair. Surrept.i.tiously, she gave Millain the once over. He sported two revolvers low on his hips, but only the right holster was strapped down. The bulge in his coat pocket was probably a Derringerdeadly at close quarters but otherwise inaccurate.

She picked up her cards, saw at once they were useless and threw them down. "I fold."

The others grunted but decided to play on. Zee reached for her gla.s.s, winced at the cheap whiskey's bite, then let her gaze wander round the room before returning to the game at hand.

The bidding was fast and furious, and as far as she could tell no one was cheating. Silas started rubbing his earlobe once more, and it was Bob who won the contents of the pot with a measly Two Pair.

Then it was Silas's turn to cut the cards and dealwhich he did, muttering under his breath the whileand Zee was back in the game.

Over the next five hands, the winnings were spread fairly evenlymoney ebbed and flowed first one way then another. As the level of whiskey in Millain's bottle dropped, his play became more aggres-sive. He bet early and high, forcing the other players out of their comfort zones and betting the limit more and more. Finally, his style of play began to pay off and the pile of winnings on the green baize in front of him grew.