When she reached her room, Shaye locked the door, put on her nightgown, washed her hands and face, and crawled into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. There were too many thoughts and fears running through her mind. How would she get Alejandro out of jail? Where would they go? What if he was killed during the escape? What if she was?
She turned over on her stomach, punched her fist into the pillow, and closed her eyes. And thought about Daisy. It was sad, that she should have died so young, so violently. Why had McCrory killed her? Had McCrory killed her? What if it hadn’t been McCrory at all, but someone else? But who?
She rolled onto her side, beset by a new fear. She had been so certain she had been sent here to solve the mystery of Daisy’s death and save Alejandro from hanging. What if she failed? What if she solved the riddle of who killed Daisy, and Alejandro was hanged anyway, and she was left here without him? She liked the excitement of the town, she liked the people, especially Digger and Spooner and Henry. And Sophie. But as much as she liked Bodie and its inhabitants, she didn’t want to stay here without Alejandro…
She woke to the sound of gunshots, sighed, and rolled over. Another man for breakfast, she mused, shocked by how readily she accepted that fact of life in Bodie. Maybe it was because she lived in Los Angeles. The City of Angels usually had a man for breakfast, too, she mused ruefully, and, more often than not, more than one.
She closed her eyes, wishing she could get back to sleep. It had taken hours to fall asleep last night, and then she had tossed and turned restlessly, her dreams dark and ominous, filled with grisly images of Alejandro being led to the gallows, of a rope being dropped over his head, the thick knot just behind his ear, heard her own screams as he dropped through the trap door. She had awakened then, drenched with sweat.
But it had only been a dream. Hadn’t it?
Somewhere in the distance, she heard a clock chime the hour. Ten, eleven, twelve. Good heavens, it was noon. She never slept that late.
Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed, dressed hurriedly, and left the hotel.
As usual, the streets were crowded with miners and gamblers. Chinamen peddled firewood and vegetables, a couple of shady ladies stood in the doorway of the Strike it Rich saloon, drumming up business. Men were unloading a huge wagon filled with merchandise in front of the general store, but she paid little heed to her surroundings as she pushed through the throng on her way to the jail. She had to see him, had to know he was still there.
She was breathless when she reached the jail. Relief swept through her in a long, heartfelt sigh when she saw he was there, sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. A plate with the remains of a ham and egg breakfast was pushed to the side. She recognized the dish as one from the hotel dining room and wondered if Addy Mae had brought it by personally.
“Alejandro.” His name whispered past her lips.
He glanced over his shoulder, smiled when he saw her. Putting the cup on the small, scarred table, he stood up and walked toward her. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I had a nightmare.” She reached through the bars, needing to touch him.
He took her hand, his fingers curling around her palm. “Yeah,” he said with a wry grin. “So did I.”
“Have you heard anything? When’s the trial going to be? Do they have any evidence besides your gun?”
“The only thing I’ve heard is that Daisy’s funeral is this afternoon at three over at the Odd Fellows Hall.” He swore under his breath. “I should have made her leave town. Dammit, this is all my fault. I should have put her on a stage myself.” He swore again. “I should have believed you sooner.”
“That doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now except getting you out of here.”
“I don’t know how you’re going to do that.”
“Me, either. But I will. You’ll see.”
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
Shaye whirled around, startled to find the sheriff standing at her elbow. Oh, Lord, she thought, how much had he heard? “I’m not doing anything,” she said, and immediately wished she could take the words back. They made her sound just like a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar. She composed herself and smiled. “I just came by to see Rio.”
“Yeah, you and every other woman in town,” the sheriff replied gruffly. “Been a regular parade all morning.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, get the hell out of here.”
Shaye looked over her shoulder at Alejandro. “A regular parade, eh?”
He shrugged, then grinned at her as if to say, what can I do?
Shaye scowled at him. No doubt Addy Mae and Lily and all the doves at the Queen and the Bodie Belle had been by. And Sophie and Lottie, too, and who knew how many other women had stopped by while she was at the hotel worrying herself sick. She chided herself for being jealous at such a time, but she couldn’t help it. Right or wrong, she wanted to be the only woman in his life, in his heart.
“Come here,” he said, and leaning forward, he kissed her through the bars.
At the touch of his lips, she forgot the sheriff was watching, forgot everything but the never-ending wonder of his touch and the fact that she loved him beyond words.
“Okay, you two,” the sheriff muttered, “that’s enough. You’re breaking my heart.”
She squeezed Alejandro’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.”
Alejandro smiled down at her and winked. “I’ll be here.”
* * * * *
Back at the hotel, she went into the dining room. She glanced at the menu, suddenly homesick for a pepperoni pizza and an ice cold Seven-Up.
A few minutes later, Addy Mae came by to take her order. “I guess you heard about Rio,” she said.
“Yes,” Shaye replied, and then couldn’t help adding, “I was with him when they arrested him.”
Addy Mae nodded. “It’s all over town, ‘bout you and him,” she said, her voice edged with jealousy and resentment.
“What’s all over town?”
Addy Mae shrugged. “You know, how you’re sleeping in his room, and not alone.”
A wave of color swept up Shaye’s neck, heating her cheeks. Blast that hotel clerk and his big mouth. “We’re not sleeping together,” she retorted. It was the truth and a lie, she thought. They had slept together but they hadn’t slept together, not that way. Not yet.
“Are you in love with him?” Addy Mae asked.
“Yes,” Shaye replied quietly. Just like every other woman in town.
“Well, get in line,” the waitress said. “What can I bring you?”
Shaye ordered chicken and dumplings and a cup of coffee. Sitting back in her chair, she listened to the conversation around her while she waited for her lunch to arrive. As expected, most of it concerned Alejandro, and whether he was guilty or not. From what she overheard, most of the men were of the opinion that, while he might be capable of killing in self-defense, he wasn’t capable of murder. No one seemed to believe he was capable of killing a woman.
“Ah, Miss Montgomery.”
Shaye looked up to see Philo Richardson striding toward her. He cut a dapper figure in a dark blue pinstripe suit and black bowler hat cocked at a jaunty angle.
“Hello, Mr. Richardson. Would you care to join me?”
“Thank you, my dear.” Removing his hat, he hung it on a peg, then sat down across from her. “How are you holding up?”
“All right, I guess. I’m worried about Rio.”
“Ah, yes, Rio,” Richardson remarked with a shake of his head. “His arrest made the front page this morning. I can’t believe he did it.”
“He didn’t do it! I know he didn’t.”
Richardson nodded. “I’m quite sure he’s innocent, my dear, and that the judge will find him so.”
Suddenly on the brink of tears, Shaye shook her head. “He’s going to hang.”
“Now, now.” Philo covered her hand with his. “We have to hope for the best. Judge Krinard is a fair man.”
“You don’t understand!” Shaye exclaimed.
Richardson observed her for a moment. His instincts, honed over thirty years as a newspaper man, told him she knew more than she was telling. He moved his chair closer to hers, then glanced right and left to make sure no one was listening. “What is it?” he asked quietly. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He drew back as Addy Mae approached the table with Shaye’s order. “Hi, Philo, honey,” she crooned. “Can I get you anything? I saved a slice of apple pie for you. Modean just made it this morning.”
“That’ll be fine, Addy Mae. And a cup of coffee.”
“Black, with two teaspoons of sugar,” Addy Mae said. “Just the way you like it.”
The girl was a natural born flirt, Shaye mused as she watched the waitress walk away.
Addy Mae returned a few minutes later with Philo’s pie and coffee. “Anything else I can get for you, honey?” she asked.
“Not just now,” Philo said.
She gave his shoulder a playful squeeze, then hurried off to clear one of the other tables.
Shaye stared at her plate, her appetite gone. How could she even think of food when Alejandro was in jail?
“You’ve got to eat,” Richardson said.
“I can’t.”
Philo looked around the room, which was getting more crowded by the minute. “We can’t talk here.” He took a bite of his pie and smiled with pleasure. “That Modean’s one helluva good cook. If she wasn’t already married, I’d marry her myself. Why don’t you come by my office later this afternoon? Say about five?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll be there if you decide to tell me what you know, or think you know.” He finished his pie, drained his coffee cup, and stood up. “Try not to worry,” he said, reaching for his hat. “There’s only been one hanging in Bodie since I’ve been here, and he deserved it.”
Shaye smiled weakly. Delving into her bag, she withdrew a dollar and dropped it on the table, then left the dining room.
At a loss for something to do, she went for a walk. Needing something to occupy her mind, she studied the houses she passed, wondering if she would recognize the house Clark McDonald was staying in if she saw it.
For the first time, she wondered what was happening in her world. Her parents would have worried when she didn’t show up and she didn’t answer her phone. And what about her editor? She was due back at work in three days, assuming twenty-four hours in the past was the same as twenty-four hours in the future. What would Frank think when she didn’t show up, didn’t call? She had tickets to a play at the end of the month. Her rent was due the first of September.
She frowned as a new thought occurred to her. What if time in the past didn’t unwind at the same speed as time in her world. She might have been gone for months, or only a few moments. If she made it back home, no one would ever believe her, she thought, and then smiled in spite of herself. If she ever made it back to her own time, the first person she wanted to see was Clark McDonald. He would believe her.
By accident or design, she wound up at the Odd Fellows Hall at three o’clock.
Going inside, she took a seat in the back. A rough-hewn pine coffin rested on the floor. There was no grieving family at this service, only a handful of working girls wearing their most subdued dresses. She was surprised to see Dade McCrory sitting off to one side, hat in hand.
Reverend Warrington presided here, as well. However, where his words had been filled with comfort and hope for Moose’s family, his eulogy for Daisy held little hope for a better world in the afterlife due to the “ill-fated road she had chosen to follow”, and while he never came right out and said her soul was “bound for hellfire and damnation” he inferred it with the tone of his voice and his solemn expression. Every word was, Shaye thought, a less than subtle warning for the doves who were sobbing none too quietly.
When the service was over, the same glass-sided black hearse carried the casket to the cemetery. She would, Shaye knew, be buried in Boot Hill with the other prostitutes who had died, many by their own hand. She remembered reading that most of the women who pursued that line of work died young. Many became opium addicts.
Shaye stared after the hearse, wondering if she was in some way responsible for Daisy’s death.
“Well, well, if it’s isn’t Valverde’s woman.”
She turned to see Dade McCrory smirking at her. He was looking prosperous in a dark blue pinstripe suit that was obviously new, as were his boots and hat. A diamond stickpin sparkled in his cravat.
She wanted to ask him why he had killed Daisy and how he had the nerve to attend her funeral, but some inner voice warned her to say nothing. Turning, she started walked back toward the hotel.
“Tell Valverde I’ll be at the hanging,” McCrory hollered. “Right up front, where I can watch him squirm.”
Shaye forced the gruesome image his words conjured from her mind. She had more important things to think about. Like where to get hold of a gun. And what was the best time of night to make a jail break.