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“LOOKS TO ME LIKE TWO lunatics escaped from the asylum,” the fraudster sneered from his carriage seat. “Would you ladies like a ride back to Westerholm?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Olcott,” Mary snarled. “If that’s even your real name.” She couldn’t believe how this horrible man kept turning up like the bad penny. “And I’m afraid that I shall not be giving your company that order for Sunday school furniture.”
Olcott roared out a laugh. “I’m glad you have a bit of good humor about the situation. I mean, it is very amusing, isn’t it? That an heiress like yourself should have gotten herself into such an awful pickle by poking her nose into something that didn’t concern her.”
“I think when a husband commits a perfectly sane woman to a madhouse, and tells her loved ones she’s dead, it should be everyone’s concern.”
Olcott shrugged with irritating composure. “That was strictly a business decision. The daughter of the great John MacDougall should understand. Now, you may disapprove of the way I treated my wife. But I never intended her harm. I only meant to unburden her of her fortune. In fact, we went to a great deal of trouble to keep her alive.” He scowled. “But after all this fuss, I almost regret my scruples.”
“Quite the moralist you are,” Christena observed.
Olcott ignored her sarcasm. “We could have arranged a very real death for Agnes here in Dillmont. A push off a cliff. An accident on the road. No one could have proven foul play. It would have been much easier for us. But Willis and I have never been murderers. We prefer not to have blood on our hands. Don’t want to dance at the end of a rope, you know.”
“You will be going to prison,” Mary said. “That I can promise you.”
Olcott gave her a pitying, condescending smile and shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think so. As soon as we stash you two away, we plan to disappear for good. We aim to enjoy our profits in a warm, sunny place where no one knows us.” He leaned over, as if to grab something from the floor of the carriage.
It’s a gun! Mary thought in a panic.
She reached around her back and snatched the Smith & Wesson from her waistband, cocking the hammer as she swung the weapon forward.
Just as Olcott began to straighten up, she fired a shot well above his head.
The man sat bolt upright, empty-handed, looking flabbergasted. “You could’ve killed me, you little bitch!”
Mary almost laughed. That was the second time this evening someone had called her that. She must be doing something right.
“Hands up, Mr. Olcott,” she said as evenly as possible, though quivering inside. “We’re taking you to the deputy sheriff and making our charges against you.”
“Mary,” whispered Christena.
“Yes? What?”
“There’s another carriage coming, at rather a quick pace.” She pointed in the direction from which Olcott had come.
Keeping her pistol on the man, Mary sidestepped a few feet and confirmed what Christena had seen. Perhaps it was Edmond with the police. She could only hope.
Half a moment later, the second carriage rolled up alongside of Olcott’s and stopped. The light from Olcott’s lamp barely showed the stranger who was driving, a fellow in a derby hat and a plain dark suit.
“Sir,” Mary said as forcefully as she could, “this man is a criminal and confidence trickster who stole his wife’s money and kidnapped my aunt. He has an accomplice who works in the asylum. We would be ever so grateful if you would go back into town and fetch the deputy sheriff.”
“She’s lying, sir,” exclaimed Olcott in the tone of an aggrieved innocent. “Both these women are complete lunatics. They jumped out of the bushes and shot at me. They tried to make me get out of my carriage so they could steal it.”
“That’s a lie!” Christena retorted.
The stranger hopped down and walked slowly toward Mary, who still was holding her gun on Olcott. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out, which he showed her. It was a large silver star attached to a leather wallet.
“Miss,” he said in a raspy voice, “the deputy sheriff would be me. And I would be grateful, for my part, if you gave me the gun, nice and slow with the grip forward. And then we can try to sort this all out.”
Finally, some good luck. What were the chances of having the lawman turn up at just the perfect moment? “Of course, deputy sheriff,” she said with relief, handing him her gun.
“Did you hear me?” Olcott blustered from his perch. “This madwoman shot at me. I demand that you arrest her and her accomplice immediately for assault and attempted robbery. And she’s accused me of the most awful things! Though I’ve never even met her before. Terrible slanders!”
“He’s lying!” howled Mary. The pure gall of the man! “Let me tell you what happened.”
“I’m lying?” snapped Olcott. “I’m lying? Look at these two. Ragged, dirty wretches. Shooting guns at innocent people. Outrageous!”
“If I’ve never met you before,” countered Mary, “how is it I know your name? Merton Olcott, from Duluth.”
“She knows my name, officer,” Olcott retorted, “because she forced me to tell her at gunpoint. She was threatening my life. Of course I told her my name. And I’m not from Duluth. I’m from Detroit.”
The deputy glowered at both of them. He turned to Mary.
“What’s your name?”
“Mary MacDougall of Duluth.”
“Daughter of John MacDougall,” Christena slipped in. “Who happens also to be my brother.”
The deputy, a slender man of middle age with a large, bushy mustache, raised his eyebrows. “The mining millionaire? You’re his daughter? And you’re his sister?” He looked them up and down and snorted. “Seems a peculiar place and time to find wealthy ladies out on constitutionals. And looking as you both do. That old gray dress is just what the gals at Westerholm wear, as I recall.”
“I told you, officer,” Olcott chimed in. “Lunatics. Both of them.”
The deputy glared at him. “You wait your turn while these two explain themselves.”
Mary told the tale of Agnes Olcott with commendable brevity. She ended with an urgent plea that her client be informed of her mother’s whereabouts as quickly as possible. She asked that he contact Detective Robert Sauer of the Duluth police.
“All right, miss,” said the deputy when she finished. “You’re alleging this gentleman married this widow and fooled the folks in Duluth about her supposed death so that he could take control of her company and bank accounts. And when you and your supposed aunt here came snooping around, fancying yourselves detectives, you were both captured and held captive by his supposed accomplice in Westerholm.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Mary agreed. The officer’s use of the terms “alleging” and “supposed,” however, worried her.
“And you shot at him because he was about to pull a gun on you.”
“Correct, deputy.”
“Mr. Olcott.” The deputy turned to the man in the carriage. “Were you reaching for a weapon?”
“It so happens I was,” Olcott confirmed, “because this woman was aiming a gun at me.”
“That’s not true,” protested Mary. “He made the first move and...”
“Shut up, miss,” barked the deputy. “Now, sir, tell us your side.”
Olcott insisted that he had never even been to Duluth, knew nothing of widows or asylum attendants, was merely in Dillmont to view the nearby scenic rapids and waterfall, and had been innocently driving along when these two crazy women waylaid him.
The deputy ruminated a moment, looking from Mary and Christena to Olcott, as if he wished a pox on all three of them.
“I was called about a disturbance at the asylum,” he said, eyeing the women suspiciously. “Now, sir, where are you staying?”
“The hotel in Dillmont,” Olcott answered.
“I’ll ask you to remain in town for the next day or two,” said the deputy. “You can come to the sheriff’s office in the morning and swear out a formal complaint.”
Olcott nodded briskly. “I shall do that, deputy. I shall do that with pleasure.”
Mary felt like she had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. It was just too appallingly incredible! Unfair!
The smug, amused look on Olcott’s face would haunt her forever. He drove around them and up the road, still smirking.
“No!” she wailed. “You can’t trust him! He’s a professional liar! And he’s got two accomplices! An attendant in the asylum. And Dr. Applegate.”
“Mary,” groaned Christena. “I meant to tell you about the doctor.” But before she could finish her comment, the deputy interjected.
“You two, shut up,” he growled. “I’ll not have you slandering Dr. Applegate. He’s very well regarded in these parts. As honest as the day is long. He delivered my second granddaughter not a month ago.”
Mary understood all too well that she shouldn’t try to argue with the lawman. “What happens now?” she asked in a tone of utter dispiritedness.
“Funny you should ask,” the deputy responded. “Fact is, you’re under arrest, the both of you. Hands out, please, so I can put on the manacles.”
