A preview of the sizzling Guns & Garters Western Romance by Andrea Parnell
Too late. Lines of disappointment creased Tabor Stanton’s brow as he entered the Broken Spur Saloon in Crescent City. Delilah’s sultry voice, hot and seductive as a torch’s glow on a dark night, rang out the words of her last number.
Listen to me, stranger, whatever your game,
I’ve come here to warn you of Delilah’s flames.
Stripes of silver sparkled in her black costume as she spun slowly across the stage. The usually rowdy saloon crowd sat and listened as quietly as a passel of mice waiting for the cat to get past.
Flames. He could almost feel them in the room. He could almost see them in Delilah’s fiery red hair. She was the most talked about entertainer around. Remarkably so, since no one knew much about her. Last year he’d caught her act when he’d made a trip north, seeing her perform once in Yuba City, once in Chico. He had tried to catch up with her again, but learned her short tour had ended.
Propped against the back wall, Tabor eased a leather pouch and a pack of papers from his shirt pocket. He could have used a drink, but the barkeep had quit pouring until Delilah finished her song.
She’s no redheaded angel, don’t you fall for her smiles.
’Cause the devil taught Delilah how to use her wiles.
The black plume pinned in the red curls fluttered as Delilah pranced her way to the front of the stage.
Jake, barkeep and manager of the Broken Spur, used the corner of the once-white apron covering his ample belly to wipe large beads of sweat from his brow. He contemplated asking Delilah to stay on a few more days. It sure would be nice if she did. Normally he’d be worried about the lapse in drinking. This one, though, wouldn’t hurt his business any. Delilah had a way of building up a powerful thirst in a man. Ten minutes after she left the stage, his customers would pour down the liquor like it was the last day any of them would get a drink.
While Delilah rolled her hips and winked at her audience, Tabor rolled a smoke and struck a match against the rough surface of the wall. A tiny flame flared up in the darkened room. Onstage Delilah momentarily diverted her eyes to the source of that light. Her smile deepened. Not for him personally, he was sure. After all, for Delilah he was just another cowboy in a sea of faces. He had to hand it to her, though. The lady knew how to hold a crowd. He couldn’t help wondering why she wasted her talent in mining and cattle towns when she could play any hall in San Francisco.
Nobody knew Delilah’s real name, nor any more about her than was told by the handbills advertising her act. Rumor was that she was British and spent only a few months each year performing in the States. He’d heard men speculating she was a baroness or duchess keeping up one of those large British estates gone penniless. He could believe that. Delilah was as fine a woman as he’d ever seen, certainly not the usual dance hall doxy. Everything about her bespoke class, and that custom-made costume she wore would cost six months of a cowboy’s pay.
Tabor’s eyes surveyed every curve of Delilah and every detail of the costume. The rows of black satin ruffles on the sleeves made the mass of red hair tumbling over one shoulder look like a cascade of fire. Silver shoes drew his eyes to black stockings and lace garters. Delilah showed more leg in her dance numbers than most men ever saw on their wives.
As she propped her foot on a chair and swung her skirt up over one knee, Tabor exhaled a breath and threw his half-smoked cigarette to the sawdust floor. He crushed the smoldering butt with his boot heel, never taking his eyes off Delilah. Certainly no performer since Lola Montez had taken California with such intensity. Miners and cattle hands rode as much as fifty miles to see Delilah’s fire act and hear her sing. Not one ever complained the trip wasn’t worthwhile.
Delilah, hands on her hips, bent over the footlights and sang to a man at the table nearest the stage:
She’ll tempt you, she’ll tease you, she’ll raise all your hopes.
Then leave you standing with your arms full of smoke.
She bent lower, tickling the man’s nose with a feather-trimmed fan. A unified gasp rose up in the room as the rough crowd waited in hopeful expectation for Delilah’s bosom to fall free of the daring neckline of her costume. She shimmied provocatively, heightening the anticipation, then reached into her bodice and drew out a lacy black hanky.
With languid movements, Delilah trailed the scrap of cloth over the curves of her breasts. With absolute silence reigning in the room, she tossed the handkerchief toward a dusty cowpoke, who surged to his feet and caught it. A cheer boomed out from the crowd as the lucky man pressed the perfumed handkerchief to his lips and gave a whoop.
Tabor smiled a knowing smile. That fellow wasn’t the lucky one. He knew the way Delilah played her game. In a minute, as part of the finale, she would produce a small silver mirror from her pocket and reflect a beam of light into the room. The man that light settled on would be the one who received an invitation to join Delilah for the evening. Sometimes the invitation led to the privacy of Delilah’s hotel room—if the man was lucky. He’d planned on being that man and being lucky. As women went he had a weakness for redheads.
You think that if you hold her it would be paradise,
But if you love Delilah there’s a terrible price.
So listen to me, stranger, whatever your name.
You can get burned in Delilah’s flames.
The melodic strains of her voice floated through the saloon and gave every man listening the feeling of having a sweet, burning fire licking over his skin.
If she takes a shining to you and takes you to tame,
You’ll find you’ve been burned in Delilah’s flames.
On the last line Delilah pirouetted slowly, slipping the small mirror from her pocket as she turned. The light flashed on a portly man dressed in a blue serge suit.
“Hell,” Tabor mumbled beneath his breath. She usually went for the fat prosperous types. She had again. Damm it! His disappointment was enough to choke on. If ever he needed to lose himself in a woman, it was tonight. Scowling still, he glanced hastily around. The saloon girls standing back in the shadows looked like wilted roses with Delilah in the room. Several eyed the lean, handsome cowboy hopefully. Tabor gave them no encouragement. His gray eyes went back to Delilah. He’d settle for a soft bed alone.
Delilah smiled, made her bows, blew kisses during a couple of curtain calls as the Indian girl and a pair of dandies who rounded out the troupe joined her. A short while after she left the stage, one of the male performers delivered a note to the man in the blue suit. Grinning, the fellow fished a few coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, then hurriedly left the saloon.
“Pour me one, Jake,” Tabor called, having made his way to the bar ahead of the crowd. As he sent a shot of whiskey down his throat, Tabor Stanton told himself there would be another time. He’d have been lousy company anyway. Settling up his father’s affairs wouldn’t be a pleasant business. Frowning, Tabor flipped Jake two bits for the drink and headed next door to the Holman Hotel.
***
“Loo, help me with this screen,” Delilah, smelling freshly of expensive perfume, said in her soft but aristocratic voice.
Loo, Delilah’s half-Chinese companion, a woman ten years her senior, placed a decanter of whiskey and two crystal glasses on a small game table. That done, she helped Delilah adjust the dressing screen so that it concealed the door that opened into the adjoining room.
Meanwhile Delilah spread a white linen tablecloth over a larger table and hurriedly opened a traveling case. From it she took two English bone-china dinner plates, two silver goblets, and place settings of sterling flatware. Last she removed a silver candelabrum and four scented candles wrapped in blue paper. When all was as she wanted it, Delilah stepped back to the dressing table to splash a bit more scent on her throat and in the cleavage between her breasts.
“You’ll suffocate the man if you use any more of that,” Loo said.
“I wouldn’t want to do anything that kind to Hoke Newell. I want the old cuss to writhe and squirm with the agony of having what he wants most snatched away from him.” Delilah’s tightly clenched hands reddened. The muscles in her face tensed. All trace of the aristocratic British accent deserted her. “I remember my poor papa lyin’ in the dust, hurt and bleeding. And Hoke Newell sittin’ on his horse glaring and cursing. I remember it all.” Her fingers went to a point just inside the hairline on her temple. “I still carry a scar—”
“Hush,” Loo said. “You’ll spoil your looks if you get any angrier. I lost my grandfather that night. Remember?”
“I know, Loo,” Delilah’s voice softened and regained the cultured tone. “This is for all of us.” She filled her lungs with a deep breath. “Have Seth and Todd got the girl ready?”
“They’re ready. Calm yourself. You weren’t this nervous before.”
“I know. But according to the detective I hired to investigate those six, Newell was the leader. In a way, he’s more guilty than any of them.” She took another look in the mirror at her pink satin gown trimmed with yard upon yard of frothy white lace. The bodice, fitted with long loose sleeves, dipped as shockingly low as that of the black stage costume. To make her appearance even more tempting, she unfastened the top two of a row of tiny silver buttons. “How’s Dinah?”
Loo handed her a pair of pink slippers. “Fussing because she always has to go to bed early.”
Delilah stepped into the shoes. “Stay with her. I don’t want Newell to see her.” She glanced anxiously at the door. “I’m ready.”
Loo looked her over. “You’re very unsettling in that color.”
“I know.” Delilah smiled.
Normally pink was forbidden to redheads. Delilah, however, liked the clash of color with her fiery hair and the interesting effect pink displayed on her fair skin. Fortunately she lacked the florid complexion and freckles common to many with her hair color. Her younger sister, Dinah, hadn’t been as fortunate and bore a sprinkling of pale freckles from head to foot.
Delilah fought back a twinge of guilt as she thought of Dinah. Maybe she had been wrong getting Dinah involved in this. She hadn’t seen any other way, though, and she really couldn’t take the time to worry about it now. She wanted to satisfy herself that all the preparations were complete and were flawless.
“You’ve forgotten the diamonds,” Loo said, and went quickly to the dressing table, where she opened Delilah’s embossed leather jewel case. Loo lifted out a necklace containing a central tear-shaped diamond centered in a setting of twenty smaller stones. With deft hands Loo fastened the gold chain of the necklace around Delilah’s neck. “Now you’re ready,” she said, smoothing a tier of fire-red curls back in place.
A knock sounded from the door. “And not a minute too soon. Newell’s here. I can’t wait to have the old coot squirming.” Delilah again squeezed her hands into fists. “I keep picturing Papa that night—”
“Hush,” Loo said, placing a finger to her mouth. “Watch your temper. Don’t lose it before the job is done.”
Delilah laughed lightly and pressed Loo’s hand. “You’re right. Now you’d better go.” Quietly she opened the door behind the screen. “And don’t forget to turn the light out in there.”
Loo smiled. “I know what to do.”
Giving her cheeks a pinch and taking a deep full breath, Delilah moved quickly to the door, where another soft knock sounded.
“Come in,” she said to the man in the blue suit, at the same time giving a nod to the two tall young men who accompanied him.
They nodded back in understanding. A handsome pair, blond, brown-eyed, with attractive regular features and full, luxuriant mustaches, they made a marked contrast to the older, much shorter Newell.
“Todd, you and Seth stay by the door and see that we’re not interrupted,” Delilah instructed. Almost soundlessly the pair left. Delilah turned her eyes on Newell and gifted him a look full of promise. “I’ve ordered supper for us, Mr. Newell.” The words rolled out slowly, like honey pouring. “I hope I haven’t been presumptuous.”
Taking Newell’s hand, she drew him toward the settee. No doubt he had been a handsome man a decade or more ago, but now his too-strong jaw had softened to jowls. A decided paunch hung at his middle; his dark hair remained as little more than a circle at ear level. Newell’s deep-set eyes, however, still bore a hint of the ruthless vitality of earlier days.
“Not at all, Miss Delilah. Nothing would please me more than having supper with the most beautiful woman in California.”
Newell smiled at his good luck. Not many conquests were left for a man who had carved an empire out of this rugged land. Not much challenge at all. Running for governor offered a little excitement. But hell. He was a shoo-in. What popularity couldn’t get, money could buy. He’d already put his money where the votes were—in the right pockets. Yes, by God, he would be the next governor. But in the meantime, Delilah would be a mighty fancy pastime.
“You flatter me, Mr. Newell,” Delilah said, and followed with a light little laugh. “I hope you won’t stop.”
“Call me Hoke.” Newell settled his large frame onto the velvet-covered settee and leaned his head against the crocheted antimacassar. “And don’t you worry, madam, I won’t stop until you tell me to.”
“Why, Hoke, honey.” Her voice smoldered and Hoke Newell felt the heat of it stirring his passions in the hot, quick way of his youth. She went on, “I believe we are beginning what will prove to be a long and delightful evening.”
Hoke Newell agreed. It had been too long since he had felt arousal such as this Delilah made him feel. Years had passed too since women had offered him any challenge. He found most of them all too willing to tumble with a man of his means. For him things that came too easy were hardly worth having.
His eyes dropped to the necklace that dangled a diamond pendant on Delilah’s porcelain skin. She’d done well for herself. Not a simple woman like most. She had an amazing way of making him feel he was in the presence of a great lady. He was certain morning would find him in Delilah’s bed. He was just as certain nothing would be usual or dull about the preliminaries.
When Todd served their supper of roast partridge, venison, boiled potatoes and carrots, and fresh-baked bread, Hoke had already consumed nearly a full bottle of wine. Delilah fussed over her guest, tucking the linen napkin into his collar, adding a second serving of venison to his plate, and keeping his wineglass full whenever he drank it down. For dessert she served him fresh strawberries and insisted on feeding him each plump berry with her fingers.
“Delicious, madam,” he said as she offered him the last of the berries. He bit into the red morsel, letting the juice dribble onto his lips and chin. “But not the tastiest delicacy here, I daresay.”
“Perhaps not,” she answered, dabbing his chin lightly with a napkin. “I’ll call Todd to take these dishes away and then we can get on to more stimulating activities.”
“About these boys you travel with—is there any...?”
“Todd and Seth?” Delilah smiled seductively. She knew what Newell thought, what anyone might think, having seen the two men who, along with Loo and Dinah, traveled with her. If only he knew how wrong he was, he wouldn’t be giving her that hopelessly lecherous smile. “Now, aren’t they handsome young men?” she went on. “They’re brothers, you know. I must have interviewed a hundred performers before I found the perfect two. Don’t you think Seth and Todd add a distinction to my acts?”
Hoke snorted. “I don’t think they’re part of the attraction at all. When you’re onstage, nobody’s eyes are on anything else. Don’t see why you use them.”
Delilah thought she detected a note of jealousy in his voice, and it pleased her. To have Newell feel possessive would make it much easier to do what she intended.
She thanked Todd as he loaded the soiled dishes onto a tray while Seth stood guard at the door. Todd’s face betrayed no emotion. He was well-coached. Both were, not only for the acts in which they portrayed Indians or other characters, but also as bodyguards.
Slowly sipping her wine, Delilah thought more about Newell’s comment. The acts, to be sure, were not Todd’s and Seth’s most important function. Delilah needed her privacy to carry out her plans. And on such occasions, she preferred not having even the hotel staff in her room.
Todd and Seth, handsome, muscular, and strong, were handy with guns if necessary. Best of all, both were loyal, and even if they didn’t know just what went on in Delilah’s rooms after performances, understood it was in their best interest to do as instructed and make sure she was not disturbed. Neither brother actually aspired to gracing the stage, but had been persuaded by Delilah’s promise that the pay they received after three seasons of performing would be enough to pay for the ranch they wanted.
For that promise the brothers agreed to do whatever she asked. For her own protection she told them as little as possible. Seth and Todd asked no unnecessary questions of Delilah. Even the brothers didn’t know her other identity. After months of travel together, however, the pair regarded Delilah and her female companions with brotherly affection that went beyond the bonds of the working agreement.
The lock clicked shut as Todd closed the door behind him. Delilah turned her gaze fully upon Newell.
“You really must tell me about yourself, Hoke. I particularly want to know what your passions are.”
She offered Newell an imported cigar from a wooden box and struck a match.
Hoke laughed and leaned forward for a light. He was right. Nothing usual about Delilah. Briefly he told her how he started in California with little more than a pick and a tin pan and built one of the largest mining and cattle empires in the state.
“Of course some figure I don’t have a legitimate claim to my land. Some say I got most of it claim-jumping and running off squatters. Back in those days a man owned what he could hold on to. If somebody stronger came along and took it, a fellow got what he deserved for not being man enough to keep what he had. I keep what’s mine.”
“A remarkable story,” she said when he finished. “But you haven’t told me about your passions.”
“I believe, madam, I have only one passion left. That is to be governor of California.”
Delilah poured two brandies from the crystal decanter. “Surely, Hoke, for a man of your experience and with the ambition it must have taken for your accomplishments, there must be more you want than simply to be called governor.”
Newell drank deeply and puffed smoke from the cigar. “You are perceptive, madam. Truly perceptive.”
Delilah smiled and insisted he have more brandy. As she turned to pour it, she cautiously opened a tiny snuffbox and sprinkled a white powder in his glass. “I hope you’ll tell me what it is you’re after as governor.” She handed him the brandy, waited until he downed a swallow, then patted his hand and smiled. “I can be very discreet.”
“Of course you can,” Hoke agreed, slurring his words slightly. “It won’t be a secret much longer anyway. There’s quiet talk of a new rail line in this territory. I want it run by my ranch. Got a big stake in beef cattle. A rail line would triple my profits.”
“And as governor you would have the means of assuring the line goes where you want it.”
“As governor I would have the means of assuring everything in California goes where I want it.” Newell took hold of Delilah’s hands and tried to look her in the eye. He found it difficult to focus. “I’m a man who gets what he wants,” he said thickly.
“I’m sure you are,” Delilah remarked sweetly, slipping her hands free. Her voice turned chill. “And I haven’t a doubt you’ll get everything you deserve.”
***
Tabor Stanton heard the door of the room next to his close for the third time. She must be having a parade march through, he thought irritably. What lousy luck he was having today. After missing his chance at spending an evening with Delilah, he had had the misfortune to occupy the room next door. He could just visualize what was going on with that bald bastard she had singled out in the saloon. Through the wall he heard muffled laughter and even detected an occasional word, neither of which painted as clear a picture as his imagination.
Stretching out on the bed, he cursed Delilah and cursed himself for lacking the foresight to bring up a bottle. When laughter rang out anew after a few moments of silence, Tabor angrily arose and headed back to the saloon. Apparently he wasn’t going to get any sleep for a long while. That being the case, he needed something more than his thoughts to occupy him for the night.
***
Hoke rubbed his eyes, embarrassed a little that the lady held her liquor better than he did. He lit a second cigar, hoping a few draws of the pungent tobacco would revive him.
“I believe I’d enjoy it, madam—” Newell paused and cleared his throat “—if you would tell me your passions.”
“Unlimited,” Delilah responded. “I love song and dance, the applause of the audience, handsome men—but my greatest passion is for cards. I love a game of poker above all else.” Her lids dropped slyly over her blue eyes. “You can’t imagine the things I have lost.” She sighed. “Would you care to play a game?”
Newell nodded. “After that enticement, how could I say no?”
“I expect I should,” she said as she opened a fresh deck of playing cards, running the smooth, cool surfaces slowly through her hands. She never broke a new deck without thinking of old Sulley. Over the years she had continued practicing the tricks Sulley taught her, had even added a few of her own. Her lids fluttered flirtatiously. “I’m sure I’m no match for an experienced player.” With deliberate awkwardness, her delicate hands shuffled the cards.
An hour later Hoke laid another winning hand on the table. Delilah spread her cards across from them and let her shoulders slump a little. Another losing hand. Hoke Newell looked as pumped up and pleased as a new rooster in the hen yard.
“I tell you, honey,” he said as he made a second stack of gold pieces on the table, “I don’t feel right winning all this money from a woman. Kind of grates on my honor to take it.”
“Now, Hoke, you won it fair and I insist you keep it. It’s only the night’s receipts, and I don’t suppose I’ll miss that too much,” Delilah said, stretching back in her chair so that the little silver buttons strained on her snug bodice. The diamond around her neck bobbled on the chain and caught the lamplight so that it briefly reflected muted rainbow colors on Hoke’s starched shirtfront. After a moment Delilah got up and refilled the brandy glasses. “Here,” she said lifting her glass for a toast. “Let’s drink one to luck.”
“And to ladies,” Hoke added.
“Why, thank you, Hoke,” Delilah whispered as she eased open the third button on her bodice. “My, I’m getting warm.” She fanned her bosom with a card. “I just know you’re going to give me a chance to win back my money.”
Hoke followed her movements as best he could, his mind filling with thoughts of unfastening the remaining buttons. He took a swallow of brandy and nodded. “Why, madam, I believe you told me you’ve already lost all the money you have with you.”
“But, Hoke, dear,” Delilah leaned close and whispered to him, “I have other things of value.”
“The diamonds?”
“No.” Delilah shook her head slowly and cast her eyes at the double bed across the room. “I will wager a few hours of my personal attention against all the money you’ve won. Oh, and, say, all you have in your pockets.”
Hoke’s eyes opened wide. “Why, I’m carrying more than five thousand dollars.”
That would just about cover the payroll he’d stolen from her father. Delilah opened a fourth button and leaned forward. A trace of perfume wafted up from the warm flesh uncovered.
“Such high stakes ought to make this an exciting hand. You aren’t afraid to play one more, are you, Hoke?”
Newell breathed in the exotic scent. “Afraid? Hoke Newell?” He could hardly hold back his laughter. Delilah must be drunker than he was after all. A bet like that, and she hadn’t won a hand all night.
“My deal, I believe.” Delilah dealt out the cards with a new expertise Hoke was too dazed to notice. A wide but false smile covered her hatred for the pompous man across from her. She’d endured just about as much as she could stand of Hoke Newell. Cards fanned out, Hoke discarded two and took the replacements. Delilah did the same. “I believe my luck has changed, Hoke. Look at this.”
Hoke dropped his cards to the table. He held a pair of nines and a pair of fives. Florid color rushed into his face when he saw Delilah’s hand.
“Straight flush? How the hell did you do that?”
Delilah didn’t respond. By her estimate, the powder she’d dropped in his last two brandies should take effect in a few more seconds. She gave a genuine smile. Precisely as expected, Hoke Newell, still stuttering, collapsed on the card table.
Delilah slipped the hidden cards from her sleeves, then pulled the roll of bills from Newell’s coat pocket and stuffed it in a silk purse along with the gold coins from the table.
“I cheat,” she told the unconscious man.
***
Grumbling with the effort, Seth and Todd carried Hoke Newell’s weighty body through the door hidden behind the dressing screen, depositing him in the bed of the adjoining room.
“Is everything packed, Loo?” Delilah, dressed in sedate gray traveling clothes, paced and watched as the men stripped Newell of his drawers. Seth crammed the drawers into a valise with Newell’s blue serge suit, shoes, and hat. The man’s gold watch and cufflinks he left on the dressing table.
Loo’s soft voice reassured, “Packed and on the way to the coach.”
“Is that reporter on the way too?” Locating a newsman who favored Hoke Newell’s opposition hadn’t been too hard. She simply sent him a tip that a shocking story of importance awaited at the Holman Hotel.
“He’ll be here in an hour.”
“The girl?”
“Seth’s slipping her in the back way in half an hour. She’s perfect. Older than you are, but she could pass for child.”
“Dinah?” The twinge of guilt made itself known again. Delilah found it harder and harder to justify introducing Dinah to a life of dance halls and saloons. Since the younger girl had blossomed with maturity the past year, she collected her share of catcalls and solicitations from audiences. Too often she looked as if she enjoyed it.
“Dinah’s in the coach and asleep,” Loo told her. “Stop worrying. Todd has sent word to the other papers too. Everything is going as planned.”
“I wish I could be here in the morning to see Newell’s face when he wakes up.” She felt no guilt at all about ruining Hoke Newell. Her father wasn’t the only one who’d suffered because of him. The latest had been a prospector named Reed who after years of scouring the hills for gold found his luck in copper ore instead. His luck had held only until he met Newell. Reed’s story had made it possible for her to exact her revenge.
“Too risky,” Loo reminded. “He’ll be in a rage. And you need to be as far away as the coach can get you.”
***
An hour after dawn Hoke Newell awakened dull-witted, head pounding. He felt the heat of another body beside him in the bed and for a time a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. Delilah. Somehow he’d wound up in her bed after all. Too damn bad he couldn’t remember the details.
Feeling a chilling draft, Newell rolled his bulky body over and lifted up on his elbows. How the hell had that hall door gotten open? Groaning, Newell pushed himself up a little higher. The effect sent a wave of dizziness through his head. How much liquor had he put down last night?
“Door’s open,” he mumbled. “Better close it. Wouldn’t want any...” It seemed his head cleared with a flash. Only the glare stayed with him a few seconds afterward. “Jesus!” He bolted up in the bed. “Goddamn flash pan! Who the hell—?”
Hoke Newell’s head spun around. His eyes landed on a face he’d never seen before, that of a dark-haired girl who didn’t look a day over twelve.
Naked beneath the sheet, she answered with an innocent smile. “Mornin’, Hoke.”
The bewildered Newell’s head jerked back toward the door, only to be met by another sudden flash. He knew that voice. Perkins. That reporter from the Chronicle. The one who thought Spiers ought to be governor. It came to him at the same moment that he’d been set up. Growling another curse, Newell charged out of the bed, bent on destroying camera and reporter. Finding himself without a scrap of clothing, he thought better of it and hastily grabbed the bedspread to cover himself.
“You’re finished, Perkins!” Newell snarled. “Just as soon as I get out of this hotel, you’re finished!”
Perkins stood his ground. “No, Newell. You’re finished. When my story goes to press with this picture, you won’t be able to stay in the state. Seems some new evidence has come to light about that copper mine you made a claim on last year. Turns out the original owner didn’t sell it to you like you said. Reed got himself shot and left for dead. Didn’t die, though. Just been scared to come out of hiding—until now. Made his statement to the marshal yesterday. Reckon they’ll be looking you up anytime.”
***
The issue of the Chronicle with Hoke Newell’s story reached Delilah three days later. The young girl found with him told a tearful story of being dragged into his room. Shortly after giving her account of the incident, the girl disappeared from town.
“You got him,” Loo said quietly. “Newell’s disgraced, ruined. He hasn’t a ghost of a chance of acquittal.” She went on solemnly. “Showing him as a molester of young girls has cost him all public sentiment.”
Delilah nodded, pleased with the execution of her plan. Arranging the arrest of Newell naked in a hotel room precluded his holing up on his ranch under the protection of his men. Like his old partners, Frank Ackley and William Hoage, convicted of fraud last year, Newell faced a long prison term. She wondered if any of the three realized the part she had played in bringing them to justice.
Her smile fading into seriousness, Delilah reread the account of Newell’s arrest, then struck his name from her list. The next name, the fourth one, was Stanton. The detective had not uncovered much information on Stanton, not even a good description. He had apparently been in Mexico a number of years and only returned to California in the past few. Consequently she had no firm plan for Stanton’s demise.
According to the report, he was in Yuba City. Tomorrow she would be on the way there too.
The story heats up in Delilah’s Flame—get it now!