CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“You’re a beautiful woman, Augusta,” Red Ryan said. “How many men have told you that?”
“Not enough,” Augusta Addington said. She smiled. “You know how to talk pretties, Red. I suppose you’ve had a lot of practice.”
“No, not a lot,” Red lied. “Only them as really deserved it.”
“And I deserve it,” Augusta said.
“Yes. You deserve it mucho, as the Mexicans say.”
“Then I’m flattered,” Augusta said.
The candlelight of the Golden Horn restaurant was more than kind to Augusta Addington . . . it adored her. Its soft glow tangled in her shoulder-length hair, shimmered in her eyes, and transformed a woman in a plain white dress into a fairytale princess.
Or so Red Ryan thought.
The waiter brought platters of spring lamb with mint sauce, new potatoes, and peas and refilled their wineglasses with Bordeaux.
As they ate, Augusta said she was worried that Della Stark had returned to her father’s ranch. “She’s gone back into the lion’s den with her pretty eyes wide open,” she said.
Red speared a small, round potato, chewed, and then said, “This isn’t the conversation I had in mind for tonight.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Augusta said. She smiled. “Red, you can try to seduce me later. But as of now I’m a Pinkerton agent, and there are lives at stake.”
“I still don’t think Gideon Stark wants the doctor feller dead. Well, maybe he does, but I don’t think he’ll be the one to pull the trigger.”
“No, he won’t, because he’s hired professional assassins to do that.”
“The holy monks.”
“The unholy monks. Remember what they did in San Angelo.”
“We don’t know it was them killed Stover Timms and Len Harlan,” Red said. “It could have been Apaches.”
“Red, it wasn’t Apaches.” Augusta’s strong fingers tore a bread roll apart. “You know it and I know it.”
“So what do you intend to do about it?” Red said.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll order Sheriff Ritter to do his duty and arrest the four assassins on a charge of conspiracy to commit a felony murder as stated in the Texas Penal Code,” Augusta said.
“Ritter isn’t going to arrest four monks in robes and hold them in the juzgado on your say-so, Pinkerton or no,” Red said. “Heck, there would be a Catholic uprising in Fredericksburg.”
“Then I’ll arrest them myself,” Augusta said. “The lamb is excellent; don’t you think?”
Red’s fork stopped midway between his plate and mouth. “You can’t arrest them. If they are hired gunmen, then they’ll kill you for sure.”
“It’s my duty as a Pinkerton agent,” Augusta said. “Allan Pinkerton took a chance on me and the other women he hired as detectives. I can’t let him down.”
“Getting shot is letting him down in a big way. And yes, the lamb is good.”
Augusta smiled. “Red, meet me tomorrow morning at sunup in the hotel lobby. Maybe you can talk me out of it, but as of right now, my mind is made up and my revolver is loaded.”
“I thought you gave your revolver to the chicken thief,” Red said.
“A Pinkerton detective always has a spare,” Augusta said.
“Bavarian chocolate cake for dessert?” the waiter said.
* * *
After dinner, Red suggested a stroll in the moonlight, but Augusta Addington said, “Yes, but only as far as Dr. Bradford’s place. I need to see how my hired man is holding up.”
“You mean, if Mercer is holding up,” Red said. “He is probably out raiding a chicken coop.”
“That was petty and not worthy of you, Red,” Augusta said. She took his arm. “We had a very pleasant dinner. Please don’t ruin it.”
“Sorry,” Red said, smiling. “I guess I am a bit testy at that.”
“The Dr. Bradford business is getting you down, perhaps.”
“When you boil it down, the Dr. Bradford business is none of my concern,” Red said. “At least I don’t think it is. I don’t know what the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company would say about me getting involved.”
“Involved? Of course, you are since I’m a likely future passenger,” Augusta said.
“Yeah, there is always that,” Red said. He placed his hand over Augusta’s. “And there’s always you.”
The woman smiled, her teeth white in the gloom. “What a nice thing to say, Red. I always knew you were a romantic at heart. Ah, here’s Dr. Bradford’s house, and there’s a lamp burning in the parlor.”
* * *
Red Ryan and Augusta Addington were greeted at the door by Chris Mercer and his .450 revolver. But he smiled instantly as he recognized them and said, “Come to visit?”
“No, we don’t want to set a spell,” Red said. “Miss Addington is here to see that all is well.”
“So far, so good,” Mercer said. “The doc is studying up on medical stuff from a book so big it would break your toes if you dropped it on your foot. When he has his nose buried in a book, he ignores everything else. Did you know that human stomach acid can dissolve iron? And if you dropped some on your hand it would burn right through it.”
“Is that a natural fact?” Red said. “I can’t believe I’ve lived my entire life without knowing that.”
“Well, it’s all in Dr. Bradford’s book,” Mercer said. “He told me about it, the many wonders of stomach acid.”
“Then if the doctor is at study, we won’t disturb him,” Augusta said. “Tell him we stopped by.”
“I sure will, Miss Addington,” Mercer said.
“There is one thing you should know, Mr. Mercer,” Augusta said. “I’m confident that after tomorrow your services will no longer be needed as bodyguard for Dr. Bradford. I plan to tell Sheriff Ritter to make several arrests in the case.”
“Anybody I know?” Mercer said.
“I don’t want to say anymore tonight, but you will find out tomorrow,” Augusta said.
“I’ll tell the doc,” Mercer said. “That’s good news.”
“No, don’t say a word about this to Dr. Bradford,” Augusta said. “Until the culprits are locked up, I don’t want him to let his guard down, or you.”
Then Red let the cat out of the bag.
“Miss Addington believes the four holy monks that came in on the stage are the assassins who’ve been paid to kill Doc Bradford,” he said.
Chris Mercer didn’t blink. “One of them has already been here with a bellyache,” he said. “A bad case of that stomach acid I was telling you about. He and another with him. They both had the hands of gentlemen. I made a judgment that night, but I could be wrong. It could be that some monks do all the hard work and others pray.”
“The four monks in question don’t pray, and they don’t work, either,” Augusta said. “And, Red, I so wish you’d kept your mouth shut.”
“Mercer should know,” Red said. “If four monks descend on him, he’d better be ready to shoot.”
“Beware of monks with bellyaches, huh?” Mercer said.
“Yeah, that’s about how it stacks up,” Red said. He read something in the other man’s eyes, how they glittered in the darkness. Mercer had just made his mind up about something. To get the heck out of town, Red guessed.
“Call it woman’s intuition, but I don’t think the assassins will strike before tomorrow,” Augusta said. “They’ll want daylight to make a clean escape, especially with Apaches around and a posse on their back trail. So be on guard come sunup, Mr. Mercer, though I’ll be pounding on Sheriff Ritter’s door well before then.”
“I’ll keep good watch,” Mercer said. “I’d rather trust a woman’s intuition than a man’s reason.”
“Just make sure you remain at your post, Mercer,” Red said. “If the doc dies because you lit out, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Ryan, your threat doesn’t scare me,” Mercer said. “But I’ll stick. I’ve took a liking to Doc Bradford, and I have a lot of respect for him and what he does. Never in my life felt that before.”
“I never doubted that you would do otherwise, Mr. Mercer,” Augusta said. “That’s why I hired you. Just be careful until the arrests are made.” She smiled. “Now I’ll bid you a good night.”
As they walked back to the hotel, August said, “Red, you’re very hard on that little man.”
“I don’t trust him,” Red said. “He was somebody once, but now he’s just a drunk.”
“He seemed to me that he was sober enough,” Augusta said. She pulled Red’s arm closer and smiled. “Now, between here and the Alpenrose, talk some more pretties to me.”