CHAPTER 2

DUNAWAY watched the bubbles in his beer rising and popping.

“How in the world could he have gotten such a strange notion about a novel in a magazine?” he asked.

“The idea was planted in his head by someone else. Do you know William Darian?”

“One of the editors of the Popular Library, I think?” The reference was to one of the day’s most popular fiction magazines, which published serialized novels in six editions per year. Each edition would keep as many as ten novels running at a time, each one edited to make sure that each novel segment ended with the protagonists in some dreadful or unresolved situation.

“Yes, that’s the man.”

“I’ve only heard of him. Never met him.”

“He’s a fairly levelheaded fellow, apart from having a drink or two too many sometimes, though Kenton says Darian believes he has that situation hidden. Or I always thought he was levelheaded, until he wrote Kenton and told him this novel might have something to do with Victoria. Maybe Darian drinks more than people think! Anyway, when Kenton heard that, so much for his Leadville obligations. He was off to Denver to meet Darian and I was left to come here in his place to be abused by the rabble.”

“Have you read this novel?”

“Only three installments have been published so far. I’ve read those. I do admit that there are some remarkably coincidental similarities between the details of the novel and those of the actual train crash that involved Victoria and her sister.”

Dunaway leaned forward, growing interested now.

“Coincidental, though, as you say. That’s the key distinction here, right?”

“Yes, clearly so. There are plenty of train accidents, after all, so it’s not all that remarkable that some novelist would create a fictional train-crash scenario that happened to resemble an authentic one somewhere. In fact, perhaps the crash that involved Victoria was used as the model for the one in the novel.”

“What’s the novel’s title?”

“The Grand Deception. I can’t recall the author’s name. Probably a pen name, anyway. I remember that it struck me as sounding like a pen name.”

“So Darian is the one we can thank for starting Kenton on this wild-goose chase. All because he happened to serialize some cheap novel.”

“That’s pretty much it. Except that Darian wasn’t the acquiring editor for The Grand Deception. Someone else at the magazine is dealing with the author and the manuscript. It has Darian stirred up enough to make him think there was some kind of conspiracy and dark, hidden clues. It surprises me, really. Like I said, I always thought Darian was levelheaded.”

“So what does The Grand Deception say happened to Victoria’s counterpart character?”

“Candice. The noble, abused heroine. In the novel, she survives the crash, with injuries, and is carried away unseen by a physician who also survived the same crash. He’d been on the train, following her, because he’d grown obsessed with her. He takes her away to California, hides her from her family and friends, and allows the idea that she’s dead to grow and become accepted. Meanwhile, he’s working on healing her and transforming her into his own idealized notion of a lover and mate. That’s as far as the story’s gone.”

“Alex, this is obviously some hack novelist who has read about the accident that involved Victoria, and probably knows about Kenton’s quest to find her and all that. He’s applied a little imagination and come up with a plot for a melodramatic novel.”

“That’s what I think, as well. And maybe, if he keeps his head, Kenton will draw the same conclusion. But these days he doesn’t keep his head as well as he used to.” Alex frowned, hesitated, then ventured into territory he hadn’t intended to explore. “I’ll tell you something, Jack, between you and me. Kenton is losing his touch very quickly. He’s neglecting his work, drinking more again, and devoting himself more to this quest for Victoria than to his professional duties—today being an obvious case in point. He spends much of his time sketching Victoria rather than working. And my father is beginning to notice. In fact, he’s come to wonder if Kenton is even worth keeping around anymore. It’s been five months since Kenton has turned out a publishable new piece of work, Jack. Did you realize that? The Gomorrah story has been big enough to carry him for a while, but he’s ridden that horse about as far as it can carry him. And recently he’s missed two assignments, and did such a bad job on a third that the Illustrated American opted not to publish the finished product. First time ever that’s happened. Kenton’s never been rejected by his own employing publication before.”

“Wow. How’d he take it?”

“He hardly seemed to care. And that, more than the rejection itself, makes me worry about him. He’s letting this Victoria-quest of his take him over. And—for heaven’s sake, don’t repeat this—my father is very nearly ready to fire him. When he learns that Kenton failed to appear here today…”

“Whoa! Wait, wait. I’m mad at Kenton, sure enough, but I don’t want to be the cause of him losing his job and his status. Maybe if we don’t say anything, word will never reach your father that he failed to show up today.”

“Word will get out. Your competing newspapers here will be sure to crow about your failure to deliver the great Kenton. But don’t start getting a guilty conscience if something happens to Kenton. If he loses his job, you won’t be the cause. Kenton is the one shooting himself in the foot. My father is sympathetic to Kenton wanting to find his wife, but he’s tired of paying Kenton and getting no good work back in return.”

Jack shook his head sadly and drank deeply from his glass of beer.

A man came by the table and looked sourly at Gunnison. “I was out there for your speech. You ain’t no Brady Kenton, young man, and I suggest you no longer try to go filling his shoes. It was quite a disappointment, expecting to see Kenton and having somebody switch the goods at the last second.”

Gunnison glared up at the fellow. Astonishing, how some folks would go out of their way to spread insult. “What do you expect me to say to you, sir? If you didn’t like my talk, then ask this man here for a refund … oh, wait. It was free, wasn’t it. So you’ve got nothing to whine about.”

The man grunted bitterly and walked away.

“Sorry about that,” Jack Dunaway said. “That’s Charlie Lee. Local hardware-store man. Known for his rudeness.”

“The world’s full of Charlie Lees. Jack, I’m ready to vanish into my hotel room and wait for tomorrow to get here. I’m taking the first train out.”

“I’ll get your honorarium to you tonight, Alex. Thanks for helping me out today.”

“I’ll not accept an honorarium. The Guardian can pay my expenses here and back and we’ll call it even. Kenton let you down, Jack, and I’ll not see you pay for being misused. Kenton owes you an apology, and I intend to insist that he provide it to you.”

“Are you going to Denver to join Kenton?”

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll go to my father and try to dissuade him from firing Brady Kenton. And I’m going to see my wife, and spend some time with her … and consider whether the time might have come that I need to break my partnership with Kenton. I’ve followed him around for a lot of years now, Jack. Always in his shadow. Always the one that no one is interested in seeing or hearing. Hang it all, I know I’m a lesser light in the journalistic world than Brady Kenton, but even a lesser light wants the opportunity to shine where it can be seen.”