Chapter Three

 

Serena did not sleep well. In the morning, tired and bleary eyed, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with dismay. How could she look her best with red-rimmed eyes and puffy lids? She soaked a cloth in cold water in the bowl on the washstand, then wrung it out and held it over her eyes. Her feet were cold. She shivered, hurried back into bed and lay with the covers pulled up to her chin. When her feet and the cloth were both warm, she got out of bed for the second time.

She peered into the mirror again. Her eyes looked marginally better and she dressed with care in a pink cotton blouse. To compliment the blouse she wore with it a burgundy-colored wool suit. The suit’s exquisite tailoring gave her just the boost her confidence needed to meet the sheriff and Frank Harris, the bank manager.

Randolph had written to her only once, shortly after his arrival in Cold Creek but had mentioned his dealings at the bank. It gave her some hope that she might be well received. She wrote a brief note requesting an appointment, folded it and took it downstairs with her.

Lucy, busy setting a basket of breads on the buffet in the dining room, looked up at her entrance.

“Could this be delivered to the bank?” Serena asked, holding up her note.

“Of course.” Lucy took it and slipped it into a pocket in the front of her apron. “I’ll have Min take it along. Did you sleep well, Lady Buxton?”

“I did, thank you.” Serena sat down at the table she occupied last evening and gave Lucy as cheery a smile as she could manage. She told herself such a little lie couldn’t hurt. She looked around. They were alone. “Mrs. Vanderberg, I wonder if I might ask you something?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow as she lifted the coffee pot. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Before she voiced her questions, Serena thought briefly that Lucy might consider her impertinent, but she had to know. Lucy poured her coffee and Serena stared thoughtfully into her cup as she stirred in sugar and cream.

“Last evening,” she began, “when you came in to the dining room, you neither looked at Mr. King nor spoke to him. May I ask why?”

“Ah.” Lucy pulled out a chair and sat down. “I thought you wouldn’t miss that. Even though he is your countryman, I have to tell you he is a man I don’t trust. Therefore I can’t like him and would prefer not to talk to him.”

“Never mind about him being my countryman. Men are men wherever they may originate from, but what made you distrust him?” Serena blew on her coffee and then took a sip of the delicious brew. For a moment she could imagine herself drinking coffee in her own comfortable breakfast room at home. Lucy’s sigh captured her attention once more.

“It’s just the way the man is,” Lucy said with a shrug. “He won’t look you in the eyes and he’s a man who won’t let anything stand in the way of getting what he wants. I sometimes wonder who he stepped on to get his position at the mine.”

The frown on Lucy’s face told Serena there was more.

“But you stood in his way?”

“Oh, yes.” Lucy’s face hardened. “My husband, Joe, and I worked our way from the bottom up in fancy homes, then hotels and saved everything we could to one day have our own place. This is it.” She indicated the room around them. “The Eldorado is ours, lock, stock and barrel but King thought he could buy it out from underneath us. Shifty beggar. The previous owner, Henry Schmidt, felt the same way about King and was more than happy to sell to us.”

“But if he’s managing the mine, why would he want a hotel?”

“Did you notice the building across the street when you arrived?” Lucy asked.

Serena shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I kept my head down against the cold and didn’t really notice anything.”

“You’ll acclimatize.” Lucy chuckled. “Well, across the street is the Men’s Club, owned by King. It’s little more than a high class brothel, if you’ll pardon me. King wanted to use this hotel for his gentlemen visitors to entertain their women. Then he could open up more rooms in the club for high stakes gambling. Of course, he didn’t expect the opposition he got from both Mr. Schmidt and Mrs. Leopold, who owns the Lucky Strike Saloon right next to the club. He tried to play us all off against each other, but in the end he did nothing but tell us a pack of lies. So no, I have no time for the man.”

The story did not surprise Serena and confirmed her own opinion of King.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Lucy stood up. “Now, you should have something to eat while it’s still fresh. There’s stewed fruit, oatmeal and a selection of breads. More coffee?”

Serena ate her breakfast undisturbed and thought about what Lucy told her. It didn’t surprise her to hear that Douglas King shouldn’t be trusted since that had been her first reaction to him. Did he know more about Randolph’s disappearance than he would admit? Her gut told her he did. And what would the sheriff have to tell her? She fetched her wrap and hat, drew on her gloves and stepped out of the hotel but immediately felt overdressed.

The temperature had risen since her arrival yesterday. Slush from the quick thaw made the street sloppy. Icicles hanging from the edges of the roofs dripped steadily onto the boardwalk. She glanced in at the general store and mercantile windows as she passed them, surprised at the variety of goods on display. If Randolph were with her she would have no hesitation in stepping inside to take a closer look but, with only two dollars left in her purse, she would not let herself be tempted.

She stopped outside the sheriff’s office, a little surprised when the door opened and King emerged.

“Good morning, Lady Buxton.” He raised his hat but an insolent smirk twisted his features. “Coming to interview Sheriff Johnson?”

“I’d hardly call it an interview,” Serena responded. “But yes, I do have questions for him.”

King held the door open for her and, with head held high, she passed him and went inside. As she entered the office, the aromas of coffee, leather and gun oil tickled her nose and reminded her of Randolph’s gun room at Buxton Hall.

Chair legs scraped across bare boards as the sheriff stood to greet her.

“Heard you’d be along to see me.” He extended a work-worn hand, mottled with age spots. “I’m Sheriff Leroy Johnson. Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”

She’d expected someone younger. Johnson’s hair and drooping moustache were as white as the snow on the mountains, but sharp blue eyes regarded her from a tanned face, creased with as many lines as a crumpled piece of paper.

“I gather Mr. King advised you that I was coming to talk to you.” Serena shook his hand, immediately feeling at ease with the warmth and strength she felt there.

“That he did.” The sheriff dragged a chair in front of his desk for her and she sat down. “But there’s really nothing different I can add to what he probably told you. It’s a strange business.”

To Serena’s mind it wasn’t so much strange as highly suspicious and every cell in her body told her King was somehow involved.

“So, not one person in Cold Creek has been able to offer any suggestions as to the reason for my husband’s disappearance? There had been no arguments or major disagreements with anyone?”

Johnson shook his head. “Not one. Everyone liked Randolph. No one at the hotel saw him after breakfast. Lucy Vanderberg remembers him going back up to his room to collect some paperwork he’d mentioned, but didn’t see him leave. That was somewhere between nine and nine-thirty in the morning. He always walked to and from the mine offices but no one remembers seeing him on the street. Mr. King says he appeared to have something on his mind as he was very quiet when he arrived. Said good morning and shut himself in his own office. King says he went out later to go up to the crushing plant. When he got back, Randolph was gone and hasn’t been seen since.”

There was something in the way the sheriff referred to King that alerted Serena. It was only a slight inflection in his voice, but enough to tell her the sheriff might have his suspicions, too.

“So Mr. King was the last person to have seen my husband?” she asked.

“Yes, he was. But don’t read anything into that, Lady Buxton. King could account for every minute of that day with enough people to confirm his whereabouts that I don’t doubt the truth of it.”

Serena watched the sheriff’s face. The conviction in his voice seemed at odds with the flicker of worry she detected in the back of his eyes.

“Yet you think Mr. King may know more than it would appear,” she said quietly. “And you don’t believe in sudden disappearances.”

“You’re very astute, if I may say so.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t qualify that statement with ‘for a woman’.”

Leroy Johnson laughed. “Some of the smartest people I know are women. But I’d advise you don’t go asking questions around town. Not everyone feels the same as I do about how smart women may or may not be, or how sudden disappearances may be...” Johnson hesitated. “Let’s just say engineered.”

Serena’s heart lurched. Was Johnson hinting that someone was responsible for Randolph’s disappearance? If that was so, then Randolph had either been kidnapped or murdered. But for what reason? There had been no demands for ransom according to Johnson. Before Serena could respond to his comment, the door opened and two men came in. A smile crossed the younger man’s face when he saw her, but the older man, dressed in dirty looking clothes and with a vindictive expression in his dark eyes, simply scowled at her.

“This is my nephew, Davy Johnson, and my deputy, George Stiles.” The sheriff introduced them. “Davy, George, I’d like you to meet Lady Buxton.”

Serena returned Davy’s smile, but George Stiles’ dour expression and cold eyes offered no welcome. He hooked his thumbs in the leather belt sitting just below the waistband of his corduroy pants. His right hand casually brushed the edge of his jacket aside revealing a pistol on his hip. Serena sensed a subtle threat in the movement, but why would Stiles be threatening her? Did he mean this as a silent warning to mind her own business? She stood up.

“Well, Sheriff Johnson, you know where I’m staying. If you learn anything more, you will advise me?”

“Of course.” Johnson walked with her to the door. “Have you any plans for today?”

“Only to visit the bank,” Serena told him.

“I’ll have Davy walk you there.”

“There’s no need.”

“Lady Buxton, Cold Creek can sometimes be a little rough around the edges. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

As they walked out of the office two horses raced down the street, their hooves churning up the snow and their riders yelling obscenities at each other, confirming the sheriff’s opinion of Cold Creek. Serena watched them pull up outside of the saloon and then nodded her agreement.

“I take your point, Sheriff.”

“Glad you’re a reasonable woman, Lady Buxton,” Johnson said with a smile.

Serena smiled back, fully aware that he had no expectation at all of her being reasonable and every expectation of her being nothing but trouble. Davy escorted her to the Northwest Pacific Bank. She thanked him as she stepped inside, anticipating her next meeting of the morning with a great deal of trepidation.

The bank appeared much like any bank she had ever been in. The tellers worked behind their wickets with bent heads and much shuffling of papers. Two people waiting for service looked up, attracted by the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor and she couldn’t help but notice their openly curious glances.

Sudden irritation made Serena press her lips together to bite back words she might regret. She had no doubt that everyone in Cold Creek already knew about her. She would need to learn who they were if she wanted to solve the mystery of Randolph’s disappearance. Any one of them might hold a crucial piece of information and snapping at them would not help her cause. A young woman approached her and asked if anyone had yet attended her.

“I am Lady Buxton.” Serena introduced herself. “I sent a note earlier this morning requesting an appointment with Mr. Harris.”

“Please have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

The seats looked singularly uncomfortable and Serena chose to stand, hoping that Mr. Harris would not keep her waiting. She looked at the portraits on the wall behind the counter, trying to decide if they really were past bank presidents or just hung there to make an impression. Moments later Mr. Harris emerged from his office to greet her.

“Welcome, Lady Buxton.” He led the way into a luxurious but definitely male-oriented office.

Serena sank into the deep, button-backed leather chair he offered and watched him settle in his own chair behind an expansive, red-leather topped desk. She studied his strong features, noting the green flecks in his brown eyes, the hint of gray at his temples and the wavy dark hair that wouldn’t quite stay back from his forehead. By anyone’s standards Harris would be considered a handsome man. Her nostrils detected a hint of sandalwood cologne and pipe tobacco and instantly reminded her of Randolph and her reason for being here.

“So how can I be of service?” Harris prompted.

Serena did not like the speculative gleam in his eyes. She bit her lip. Admitting to being practically penniless pinched her pride too much, but she desperately needed money.

“I’m sure you have been made aware that I came to Cold Creek to join my husband, Lord Randolph Buxton. I know Randolph banked with you and I need access to his funds so that I may remain here until I discover what has happened to him.”

“I spent quite a bit of time with Randolph.” Harris steepled his fingers together and regarded her thoughtfully. “He told me a little of Buxton Hall and his life in England. We discussed his assets and interests. The only name on the account is his and he never, ever once mentioned having a wife.”

“Never mentioned me?” Serena looked up, the first skitterings of alarm dancing unchecked in her stomach. “But how could he not have mentioned me?”

“Because you are not his wife?” Harris suggested. One eyebrow lifted in a mocking echo of his words.

Serena felt the blood drain from her face but steeled herself to look Harris in the eye.

“I have my passport and Randolph’s letter,” she stated firmly. She reached into the silver-trimmed leather bag she carried and withdrew a set of papers which she handed across the desk.

Harris took the paperwork from her, read through her description in the passport then checked the letter. Serena could clearly see the doubt behind his shuttered expression. Her heart thumped uncomfortably and she forced herself to sit still while he pondered a reply.

“I would like to believe you, I really would.” He gave her a hard, unwavering stare. “However, I have to tell you that I am not convinced you are who you say you are.”

“Not who I say I am?” Serena echoed. “But are not my passport and Randolph’s letter positive proof?”

“These papers could be stolen,” Harris insisted. “How do I know that you are not a maid with aspirations above her station? How do I know that you yourself have not had a hand in Randolph’s disappearance? Until that issue is resolved, one way or another, I will continue to extend the courtesy of addressing you as Lady Buxton but I simply cannot allow you access to those funds.”

Serena’s jaw dropped, her eyes grew wide with fear.

“But, but...” she stuttered.

“No buts, Lady Buxton. Please consider my position.” Harris held up his hand to silence her. “One. I’d never heard of you until your arrival yesterday. Two. There is no conclusive evidence that Randolph is either alive or dead. He is simply missing. Three. If I allow you access to his funds and then it is discovered that he is dead, this bank would be under investigation in relation to whatever instructions his will contains. And, you could be charged with theft. Allowing you access to those funds is, quite frankly, illegal and therefore too much of a liability.”

Serena could not find the words to respond. Her mouth was dry and her tongue refused to co-operate behind the prison of her teeth. She had never considered the possibility that she would not be believed. Her knees trembled as she stood up. She steeled herself to look Frank Harris in the eyes.

“In that case, Mr. Harris, I will waste no more of your time. Good morning.”

Gripped by a fear beyond anything she had ever known, Serena stalked out of the office with her head held high and her back ramrod stiff.

No husband.

No money.

What was she to do now?