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THE FOLLOWING DAY ARNIE, O’Dell, and Joy met privately to discuss their next steps. O’Dell had been up since dawn checking the perimeter of the lodge. “I did not find any trace of Mei-Xing’s path to the lodge.”
Joy nodded. “Sheriff Wyndom sent Billy and Domingo out to cover her tracks soon after she arrived. The snow has melted some since that night, too.”
“Still, someone has been watching the lodge the last two nights.”
Joy stared at O’Dell. “We did not know.”
“Your men are not trained to see what I see. Whoever is watching keeps well into the trees and makes their way there by skirting the edges of the canyon. It is good that you have not tried to remove Mei-Xing.”
“She cannot be moved. Not for several weeks. She has broken bones and is quite weak,” Joy replied.
“Still, even if she were able to be moved, it would be a mistake. Keeping her hidden here is the best plan—for as long as it takes.” O’Dell expression was serious.
Joy nodded again. “Yes. We can do that.”
“You have some good men, but you need a night man. They are watching us—and we need to be watching them. Without them knowing we are watching, of course.”
“Perhaps Domingo would be willing to do that,” Joy suggested.
“I will give him direction, if you agree,” O’Dell replied. “Now. About my cover story. I will be out and about the town, having a few drinks, and making myself known. I might decide to winter in Corinth since the snow has set in. Is the hunting any good here?”
He cocked an eye at Joy. “I might let on to a few Corinth natives that a certain young innkeeper has caught my eye . . . and that I am staying at her lodge to press my suit.”
Blushing, Joy stammered back. “I-I do not know how I feel about that.”
“It is just plausible enough to allay suspicions. You do not already have a gentleman caller, do you?”
Arnie glanced at O’Dell then. He knew O’Dell already had the answer to his question.
“Certainly not.”
Arnie thought he caught a glimpse of satisfaction in O’Dell’s smile .
O’Dell looked to Arnie. “Then my story should hold up—for a few weeks anyway. You, on the other hand, are her cousin and have been here before. You and I should not be acquainted—yes, we arrived together but, if asked, we shall say that was coincidence. You should probably head back to Omaha before Darrow and his men see us together again. However, not before you tell Joy what you told me on the way here. The new information the Omaha Pinkerton office gave you?”
Arnie pursed his lips. “The last time I was here I told you, Cousin, that I had Pinkerton still investigating for us. Well, you remember the insurance company you had your policy with?”
“Yes. Liberty Indemnity.”
“They lost a great deal of standing in Omaha after the . . . trial.” He glanced at Joy. “I apologize, Joy, but O’Dell here already knows about the, um, situation in Omaha.”
“I am surprised Mr. O’Dell is willing to ‘court’ a woman with such a stained past.”
O’Dell heard both the anger and hurt in the bite of her answer.
“You were cleared of all charges, were you not? You are an innocent woman who was defrauded of all she owned.”
“Yes. Defrauded even of my reputation,” she shot back.
“Joy, Joy,” Arnie said in a soothing tone. “O’Dell is a Pinkerton man. He is sworn to confidence. Now let him help us. Yes?”
Joy sighed. “All right. What about the insurance company?”
“The community turned against them. They lost many of their policy holders and nearly went bust—should have gone under, in fact.”
“They did not?”
“No. Someone bought them, and at a very good price.” Arnie’s eye sparkled a little. “The buyer provided an infusion of capital at just the right time—and then began to market the company . . . in Denver. Where the company is now recovering its footing.”
He paused to let Joy digest that information. “Hubris is an interesting thing, Joy. Even the most brilliant men are, at some point, blind to their own pride.”
His mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “We think that Shelby Franklin saw the impending fall of Liberty Indemnity and was unable to resist plucking such a bargain. In this he overestimated his ‘brilliance.’ The company was bought by a financial consortium. That ‘consortium,’ Pinkerton was able to discover, is actually owned by a man named Dean Morgan, possibly an alias for Franklin. The Pinkertons have tracked him to Denver and are investigating him even now.”
Joy’s head spun. “Dean Morgan? Dean Morgan!”
“What is it, Joy?” Arnie viewed his cousin’s distress with concern.
She shuddered. “Flinty and Domingo told me someone named Dean Morgan is the man who took over Corinth—who supposedly had Judge Brown killed and now owns . . . those houses.” Joy could not think straight. “Are you saying Dean Morgan is Shelby Franklin?”
Arnie and O’Dell’s news paled before this piece of information. The possible connection between Franklin and Corinth stunned them all.
It was several moments before Arnie spoke again. “I brought everything the investigator uncovered regarding Liberty Indemnity and this man, Dean Morgan, with me. I wanted you to see it because you have the sharpest business mind I know, Joy.”
He handed a folder to her.
—
JOY AND O’DELL MET with Domingo that afternoon. “Miss Thoresen has a great deal of confidence in you, Mr. Juarez.”
Domingo nodded his thanks to Joy. “Gracias, señora.
“I have found evidence that the lodge is being watched at night,” O’Dell continued. “From the trees, the watchers have a side view of the lodge. They can see who comes and goes from both the front and back entrances. I feel it prudent for Miss Thoresen to assign a man to keep an eye on them. I would prefer two men at night, but one is better than none. Are you up to the job?”
Domingo’s eyes flashed. “Si. And if you want two men, señora,” he said, turning to Joy, “I have a cousin who would work with me.”
Joy groaned at the thought of another man on her payroll. She looked to O’Dell who nodded.
Well, the Lord has done a fine job of meeting our needs to date. I suppose I need to trust him for this, too.
“Yes. Please bring him around for an interview.”
Joy was still confounded at the possibility that Dean Morgan and Shelby Franklin could be one and the same. She had spent an hour studying the packet Arnie had handed to her. The information on Dean Morgan painted a picture of a successful financier who occupied offices in a prominent area of the city. A man with no criminal history.
Although he was new to Denver, Morgan had already made inroads into Denver society—and some of Denver’s distinguished citizens were already touting Morgan’s investment advice to their high-society friends. However, Morgan’s arrival coincided with Franklin’s disappearance from Omaha and the purchase of Liberty Indemnity. Those two facts could not be mere coincidence!
Morgan apparently also had ready money because he was buying into Denver real estate and he had invested cash to prevent Liberty Indemnity’s demise. Unlike Franklin or aliases he may have employed in other cities, Morgan was not keeping his investments easy to cash out. Rather, he was going through all the motions of making a name for himself by putting down roots.
Joy pondered this change in his behavior. She had never met the man and yet his actions had changed her life forever. And although she had come to this distant town in the mountains to begin again, it felt as though he was dogging her steps—that she could not escape his evil influence on her life.
After she had read and reread the information, she felt the need to pull herself away from everyone and everything to pray and think. Late that afternoon she asked Billy to accompany her to the overlook.
Leaving him up the path from the vantage point, she sat down on a bench and stared at the valleys and mountains spread before her. Gathering herself, she began to pray.
First she just poured out her heart to the Lord, expressing her confusion and weariness but also placing her trust in his strength and guidance. For a long time afterward she waited, watching the distant peaks as the sun began its daily color show upon their snowy faces.
Then she opened her Bible and began to read aloud several psalms of worship and thanksgiving. Her heart lightened as she read the songs of praise aloud. Was there anywhere in the world more suited to those psalms?
They that trust in the Lord
shall be as mount Zion,
which cannot be removed,
but abideth for ever.
As the mountains are
round about Jerusalem,
so the Lord is
round about his people
from henceforth even for ever.
For the rod of the wicked
shall not rest upon
the lot of the righteous;
lest the righteous put forth
their hands unto iniquity.
Do good, O Lord,
unto those that be good,
and to them that are
upright in their hearts.
“Lord,” she prayed. “Make my heart upright in all I say and do. Do not allow the rod of the wicked to rule over this town, over these mountains that praise you every day. Help me, Oh, God. I need your guidance. I trust in you, Lord—and you have said that those who trust in you will not—cannot—be removed.
“Amen, Lord. So be it.”
Joy left the overlook peaceful in heart and mind.
—
JOY WRESTLED WITH SLEEP during the night. She tossed and turned as a recurring dream worried her slumber.
In her dream Robertson gripped her arm and hissed, “Cooperate with us or unfortunate events will unfold . . . I guarantee that if you do not accept our terms, you will regret it, Mrs. Michaels.”
Then Joy heard the thud of his boot and Blackie’s whimper.
Blackie. Dear Blackie.
She struggled and freed herself from Robertson—and then ran! As she raced to escape Robertson she ran headlong into Darrow. She smelled him—the stink of his hair and skin. His foul breath whispered into her ear, “Put your oar in where it does not belong again—well, unexpected things have been known to happen, accidental fires, for instance.”
As she fled from Darrow, a dark man, his face unseen, stepped in front of her. It was Franklin! She scrambled to run the other direction only to encounter another dark man. Morgan!
Screaming but unable to make a sound, she fled from him but was cut off by a wall of fire. It raged before her and, as she turned back, the flames blocked her escape that way, too. Above her she heard an explosive boom as the windows of her apartment burst outward and showered her with shards of glass. As the pieces sliced and pierced her, the fire caught on her body and she was burning. Burning!
Joy sat straight up in bed sobbing and shaking in fear. Even in her chilly room sweat dripped from her face. She stumbled to her wash basin and sponged the heat and moisture away, telling herself again and again, “It was a dream. Only a dream.”
For an hour she huddled in a chair, her lamp turned high enough for her to see the print of her Bible, though it lay unread in her lap. At last she felt calm enough to go back to bed. She was shivering with cold when she fell back to sleep.
Sometime later, she dreamed again. This time, however, her dream was peaceful. Someone walked with her down a long, beautiful path until they gazed together at the distant mountains from the overlook.
Her companion radiated comfort and protection. They continued walking, and the closer she kept to his side, the safer she felt. For what seemed but a moment, she became distracted and bent to look at something along the path. As she lingered, she felt the comfort of her companion fade. Looking around she saw he was now some distance away.
“Wait for me!” she called. She hastened to catch up to him and they continued on their walk, Joy secure and at peace by his side.
As they meandered down the lovely path, he spoke to her. She did not hear the words, did not take any meaning from them, but she heard the sense of rightness in them. They reached the end of the path where a closed gate stood.
Her companion reached out his hand and opened the gate. He stepped through and then turned to her. “Did you hear my words, child?”
“Yes! Yes, they were beautiful. Thank you.” Joy had never felt such contentment.
“Do you remember what I said?”
Joy mulled over his question. “Nooo, not exactly. That is, I remember . . . the sound of your voice. I love the sound of your voice.” She smiled into her companion’s face. It was so dear, so noble.
“In the morning, you will still not remember what I said,” he replied, “but you will remember the sound of my voice. And when the idea comes to you, you will know it is mine, because you know me and know my voice.”
“Yes, sir,” Joy answered.
“Do what I tell you and all will be well.” His farewell touch was a tender, sweet blessing. Then he closed the gate, and Joy was distressed that he was on one side and she on the other. She pressed her face against the slats of the gate and watched as her companion walked away.
In a strange, comforting way, he still felt near.
“Dear Jesus,” she murmured. “I love you so.”
Leaning against that gate she fell asleep again and rested deeply.
~~**~~
