Cougar's Prey (9781101544846) (34 page)

Maybe I should just leave
, he thought.

Under normal circumstances, he would have already hurried off after the black man had disappeared into the mouth of the mansion, but Josiah was becoming more and more concerned about Pearl. She could be anywhere in the city. Anywhere in the state or country, for that matter. There was absolutely no sign at the estate that gave him a clue to her present whereabouts. So he waited, albeit uncomfortably.

Footsteps echoed toward Josiah on the finely polished walnut floor of the mansion's foyer. He looked up to see two figures moving toward him, both identities lost in shadows and the darkness of the clothes they wore. From his walk, there was no mistaking the black man who was clearly returning with another man, oddly of about the same height and willowy build.

The day had warmed, but Josiah still wore a short jacket, a jacket long enough to conceal, to a degree, the Peacemaker on his hip. He also wore a thin knife strapped in his boot. Austin made him just as wary as the barren trail, and being prepared was a matter of survival, regardless of the location. Out of instinct, he eased his hand to the top of the pistol grips. It would only take two heartbeats to drop his hand the rest of the way, finger on the trigger, and swivel the gun forward for a clean shot.

As the sun reached inside the house, Josiah saw that his instinct to reach for his gun had been sheer overreaction. The man walking alongside the black man was Pedro, the manservant from the Fikes estate.

He stepped forward to meet the tall, still impeccably dressed Mexican—he was dressed in the same black getup as the doorman.

A broad smile crossed Pedro's face, and he grabbed Josiah's hand and shook it heartily. “Señor Wolfe, I heard you were back in town, but I did not expect to see you so soon.”

Josiah returned the handshake, his grip firm and happy. “It is good to see you, too, Pedro. I'm lucky to find you here.”

Pedro withdrew his hand, staring at Josiah, the smile fading from his face. “You have been to the house, then?”

The black man stood back, retaking his post by the door, but watching every move the two men made.

“Yes,” Josiah said. “What happened?”

Pedro shrugged. “I know little of the details, señor, but there was less and less money. One day word came that we would all be forced to move, that we were free to work elsewhere. I owe that family everything I have, señor, an education, a livelihood for more years than I can count. I was the last to leave, and only then when I was forced to.”

“But you have a job here.”

“I do, and I am grateful for it, but I miss Pearl and Madame Fikes regularly.”

Josiah stared back at Pedro, searching the man's face, surprised at the emotion he saw, the loss that was obvious in his voice. “What has become of Pearl, Pedro? I only came here in hopes of finding out what happened to her.”

“She is here, in Austin, still. I do not think she could go anywhere else.”

Josiah exhaled audibly, and Pedro smiled again, seeing his relief. “I'm happy to hear that.”

“There is an all-women's boardinghouse on Second Street, Miss Amelia Angle's Home for Girls. She is staying there for the time being. She is finishing up her lessons to become a schoolteacher.” Pedro looked away for a moment, then faced Josiah again. “She must learn a trade to earn money, señor. There is little money left to live on.”

“What of her mother, the widow?”

“She is in a sanatorium. Her health is in severe decline, and she is unable to care for herself.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Pedro nodded, and Josiah stood there staring at the man who had almost single-handedly run the entire operation for the Fikeses. It must have been difficult to start over, but there was nothing Josiah could find to say, so he kept quiet. Instead, he stepped back and said, “I need to see Pearl.”

“The rules are very strict, señor, at Miss Amelia Angle's house,” Pedro said, looking to the sky. “You will not be allowed to enter by the time you get there. Her room is on the top floor, in the north corner.” He had lowered his voice, so the black man would not hear him.

“Thank you, Pedro,” Josiah said, turning to leave. But he stopped; he had one more question. “How did you know I was back in town, Pedro?”

“The newspaper, señor. There was a big mention of your arrival on the front page. Everybody knows that you have returned to Austin.”

Miss Amelia Angle's Home for Girls was not hard to find. It was a quick ride to Second Street. The house was three storeys, not that old, built in the most recent style: high peaks, gingerbread lattice tacked to the eaves, a red brick turret on the ground rising up past the second floor, most likely hosting a parlor, and a long wraparound porch, the woodwork just as fancy as the lattice. A black wrought iron fence ran all the way around the property, which took up about a quarter of a block from what Josiah could see.

Everything was green and fresh from the spring rains. The trees looked well pruned, and urns with fancy flowers dotted the porch. Smaller urns lined the steps that led up to the double front doors. There was no way of knowing what kind of flowers were in the urns, but they were fragrant. Bees buzzed about, all the way out into the street, intoxicated like they had just left a saloon after a long binge. The air smelled like it was perfumed with the most expensive toilet water in the world.

Josiah sat comfortably on Clipper, off to the side of the street, trying not to draw any attention to himself. There was still a lot of traffic making its way over to Congress Avenue.

He had hoped to catch a glimpse of Pearl, but all he saw was a big sign on the gate: “NO VISITORS AFTER 5 P.M.”

A quick check of his pocket watch told him he was too late by about twenty minutes. Pedro had implied that the rules at Miss Amelia Angle's Home for Girls were strict, so there was no thought of trudging up to the front door and possibly making trouble for Pearl. He didn't know her circumstances, other than they couldn't have been comfortable.

As nice as the house looked, surely adjusting to life in a boardinghouse was difficult for Pearl. She was accustomed to servants and cooks and having the run of the big house. It was hard for Josiah to imagine the changes Pearl must have faced, but he certainly understood the curves life could throw at a person. If Lily and the girls would have lived their full lives, Josiah knew he'd still be at home in the piney woods of Seerville, living, in his own mind at least, happily ever after, trying to eke out a living as a farmer and maybe a lawman of some kind. Maybe a Texas Ranger. Maybe not. It was impossible to say and really didn't matter anyway.

Josiah knew that Pearl Fikes was resilient, a strong woman—though he didn't know the extent of her strength and will. Losing her way of life, her place in society, would surely be a test of all her attributes.

A soft tinkle of piano music began to emanate from the house. It sounded like the music was coming from the turret, and it was well played, classical; a waltz of some kind.

Josiah eased Clipper's reins and kneed the horse gently, moving him forward so he could get a better look. He wanted to see if he could peek into the window from atop his horse in the street, without alerting whoever was playing the piano of his presence.

It was difficult, but there were heavy curtains pulled to each corner of the window, allowing a slight view in the form of a V. Josiah craned his neck and, to his disappointment, saw that the piano player was not Pearl. It was a young woman with flowing auburn hair.

There was nothing he could do now but wait and hopefully see Pearl coming or going, or bide his time until dark came. If it came to that, then he'd try and rouse her by tossing a small pebble at the window that Pedro had said was hers.

Another piano competed with the one in the turret, only this one wasn't playing a waltz, it was playing a familiar saloon song, “Camptown Races.” The music drew Josiah's attention away from Amelia Angle's house. He let Clipper know he wanted to go, but it was like the horse already knew it was time to move on before Josiah tapped him with his heels. The Appaloosa bounced his head and began a slow trot forward.

There was a time in Josiah's life when he would have never considered spending idle time in a saloon, but sitting on his horse outside a house, pining like a lovesick boy, hoping to catch a glimpse of a girl, was something he'd never considered he'd be doing either, not at his age.

The trip to Corpus Christi had changed a lot of things in his life, and his return to Austin, now that Lyle seemed to be on the mend, was an announcement of that fact. The city was different, too. More hectic, more vibrant. It was like there was a current of energy running under the dirt streets, pulsing like some unseen force, urging movement to continue on indefinitely.

The ride was short, and the saloon was easy to find. It stood about two and a half blocks from the boardinghouse, just at the edge of the residential section of Cypress Street. It was an odd place for a saloon. Josiah couldn't remember ever seeing the saloon since he'd moved to Austin—but he had been away a lot of the last year.

The saloon was tucked in between a mercantile and a haberdashery, with a small sign over the door, “EASY NICKEL SALOON,” and no batwings. The solid door was standing wide open, and the music flowed out into the street.

Josiah tied Clipper to a hitching post. There were plenty to choose from; the nearest mount, a black gelding, was three doors down in front of a doctor's office, waiting patiently.

He looked up to the sky, checking the position of the sun. It was out of sight, and the grayness of twilight was a promise on the eastern horizon. Then Josiah checked his Peacemaker, made sure it was tight in the holster. He didn't expect trouble, but walking into a saloon brought a fiftyfifty chance of finding it.

The inside of the saloon was dark. Only a few sconces flickered on the walls, and a few hurricane lamps burned at the bar. The overhead collection of lamps, set on an old wagon wheel, had not been lit yet.

Only the piano player, a scruffy, bespectacled man with a bald head, and a barkeep were present in the saloon. The barkeep was tall, thick-armed, and barely glanced up when Josiah walked inside. Without saying a word, he made his way to the bar.

“What can I get ya?” the big barkeep said.

“Whiskey,” Josiah replied.

“One?”

“That'll be enough.”

The music played on, slightly picking up pace, starting all over at the beginning of the song. It was like the piano player was trying to get something started but didn't have the will, or power, to fully see it through.

Not far from where Josiah stood, a newspaper lay open on the bar. The headline,
McNELLY RUNS CORTINA BACK TO MEXICO
, caught his attention. He was tempted to read the article, but he could just about recount the episode from his own experience in Corpus—and he knew Scrap Elliot would be right in the thick of things. For some reason, that thought gave Josiah a bit of comfort. There had been no need for Scrap to accompany him back to Austin, though there did seem to be something missing since the boy's departure.

“Kind of lonely in here,” Josiah said.

The barkeep slid the whiskey onto the counter. Josiah plopped two coins on the bar, picked up the glass, and swigged down the whiskey in one long gulp. No matter how much he tried, he still did not like the taste or burn of whiskey. But he was after neither effect, just the immediate result. He was after the slow calm, not the rowdy burst of energy that came from the drink. For him, how liquor affected him depended on the mood and the environment of the moment.

“Night falls, it'll bring in the coin,” the barkeep said. He had a slight German accent, but it wasn't real strong. Josiah wondered why the man didn't work at one of the German beer gardens around town, but he failed to ask. The barkeep didn't appear to be in the mood for conversation, and truth be told, neither was Josiah. He was just building his nerve to see Pearl.

Not knowing what to expect when he found her made him nervous. Assuming that she would even want to see him was pure presumption on his part, and that was an odd feeling. Especially since he had pushed a willing Billie Webb out of his life—at least for the moment. Something told him that he hadn't seen the last of Billie, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“You want another?” the barkeep asked.

Josiah shook his head no. “Just going to stand here for a bit if that's all right with you?”

“Suit yourself. Joe there only knows two or three songs.”

“Thanks.”

Joe the piano player nodded, smiled, then went back to banging the keys.