Fatal as a Fallen Woman (21 page)

But he shook his head. "I think I'd best keep that quiet, even from you. Suffice it to say that I will turn over all I've discovered to the authorities unless I have a good reason to help Elmira. In other words, if you expect me to keep quiet, you'll do the same. And you'll convince everyone that you really are my fiancée. In a month or two, we'll marry."

"Are you
threatening
me?" She could hardly believe it. Nor could she entirely believe he had evidence against her mother, but she wasn't certain enough to call his bluff.

"I'm telling you the simple facts."

Stunned, Diana gaped at him. "How can you claim to have feelings for me and then use blackmail to try and make me stay here? That's not the act of a lover."

"It is the act of a practical man, and I think you are a practical woman. When Northcote gets here, we'll face him together, tell him he's been displaced in your affections. He'll leave and that will be the end of it."

"Only if he believes me."

"He'd
better
believe you."

There was something in his voice that frightened Diana. Matt was deadly serious.

Even if he was lying to her about having evidence of her mother's guilt, Diana could not help but believe that he was a threat to Ben.

The last thing she wanted to do was put the man she loved in danger.

* * * *

The Windsor Hotel had several bars. The one off the lobby was all but empty when Ben walked in. The Chinese boy in native costume, whose sole duty was to keep the marble floors free of cigar butts and quids, had nothing to do. His face took on an eager expression when Ben passed him, probably remembering the generous tip he'd gotten the night before.

Ben nodded to Wen but kept going. He'd already discovered which of the six bartenders was most inclined to gossip and headed straight for his station. "Evening, Harry," he greeted him.

"Mr. Northcote, isn't it?" Harry's whiskered face, dominated by large blue eyes, wore a friendly expression.

"That's right. A whiskey, if you please."

"Right you are." He bounced off, light on his feet for one so rotund, and was back a moment later with Ben's drink.

Only one other customer sat within earshot, a man in a red bow tie and a costly fedora the color of old ivory. A few minutes later, he finished his drink and left.

Harry watched him go, shaking his head in disapproval as he stared at the fellow's boots. "I never trust a man whose heels are run-over."

Ben chuckled appreciatively at the comment. It was easy to fall into casual conversation after that, small exchanges each time Harry came back Ben's way. In between, Ben worried about Diana. She was a terrible liar and a worse actress. He wanted her out of the Hastings house as soon as possible.

Earlier in the day, he had made a point of tracking down Matt Hastings so he could get a look at him. He hadn't been hard to find. Hastings was well known in Denver. Ben had been directed to a restaurant where the lawyer was dining with a client. He'd gotten close enough to their table to decide that Diana's benefactor had shifty eyes.

"You like base ball?" the bartender asked. "I can tell you where they play."

It took a moment for Ben to think what he meant. Although the local mills back home sponsored leagues, Ben had never attended a game.

"Our club belongs to the National Association of Base Ball Players," Harry continued, a note of pride in his voice.

Ben pretended interest, but his patience was wearing thin. "Hear you had a murder here not too long ago," he said at the next opportunity.

"You heard right, friend. Fella stabbed to death in his room."

"Killed with a knife? Nasty."

But the barkeep shook his head. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he said, "Letter opener."

"What?"

"Letter opener. Brass. With the hotel's name on it. There's probably one just like it in your room."

"So someone just picked it up and stabbed him? Murder on impulse?"

"They say his ex-wife did him in."

"You don't sound like you believe it."

The bartender shrugged. "Plenty of other folks had as much reason to hate him. And I don't figure he'd have turned his back on Elmira."

"He was stabbed in the back?" Diana had said that the knife was sticking out of his chest when he was found.

"Looked to me like he got it first in the back, staggered away as the blade came free, then turned to take another blow or two from the front before he fell."

"You saw the body?"

"I saw it. Spit on it, too. That's how little I thought of Timberline Torrence."

"You sure
you
didn't kill him?"

Harry chuckled. "Not me. I'm a peaceable soul."

Ben took a long swallow of whiskey. "Who might have, if not the former wife?"

"Old enemies. Old rivals. Big Ed Leeves, for one. He's a friend of the ex-wife's, if you know what I mean. Then there's the new wife's old suitor." Another customer came in and he went off to fill an order.

Ben didn't press for details right away, much as he wanted to. Wary of seeming too interested, he waited an hour before bringing the conversation back to the subject of Miranda Torrence and the man who'd been courting her before her marriage.

"Fella named Matt Hastings," Harry said. "Lawyer here in Denver. He used to be partners with Torrence in a mining venture. Mrs. Torrence was Miranda Chambers then. The way I heard it, she was going to marry Hastings, until he lost his fortune. Swindled by Torrence. Short time later, he lost Miss Chambers to the old man, too. Well, can't blame a girl for taking advantage of a situation. Old Timberline Torrence had a lot of money and it's all hers now."

Well, well, thought Ben. What a coincidence.

He didn't believe in coincidences.

"Must have made her nervous."

"What?"

"Thinking he might replace her one day."

The bartender laughed but didn't comment. If Torrence had been keeping a mistress at the Windsor, his secret was still safe. No one on the staff would admit to a thing.

Ben sipped his drink and wondered about the identity of the "other woman." Maybe it wasn't loyalty to the dead man. Maybe the missing mistress was someone influential enough in Denver society, or wealthy enough, to buy the continued silence of the hotel's employees.

"How come folks here know so much about what went on in a little town way up in the mountains?" he asked after a sufficient interval had passed. "I never even heard of Torrence, Colorado before I arrived in Denver."

"Lots of folks came here from there. Just like folks from Leadville did after their big silver strikes. Got to spend the money somewhere," he added with a chuckle.

"So William Torrence might have had a lot of old enemies up to Torrence, as well as in Denver?" Ben hoped he didn't sound too eager for information.

Harry gave another shrug, then jerked his head toward a heavily-jowled gentleman drinking at the other end of the bar. "They're sure thick to the ground here. That there's Charlie Duncan. Assistant manager of this hotel. Once upon a time he worked for William Torrence. Didn't like him much, though I haven't heard him say so since the murder."

Charlie, the assistant manager. The man who'd given tours of the murder scene. Ben recognized him from Diana's description.

Another coincidence? 

"Mr. Duncan," he called. "Buy you a drink?"

* * * *

"You look restless," Jane said. "Let me make you some warm milk. It worked wonders for me last night."

Diana turned from the window. "Why are you so anxious to get warm milk down me?"

Matt had watched her like a hawk all through the evening meal and insisted on staying in afterward. They'd passed three interminable hours playing whist with Jane and Mrs. Bowden, until Diana's nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

When Jane wouldn't answer her question or meet her eyes, Diana was suddenly awash with dire suspicions. She sank into the bedroom chair, her hand over her mouth. Was it possible?

"You meant to drug me again," she whispered. "Oh, Jane . . . why?"

"It wasn't my idea," Jane protested. "Not this time."

"Then whose—?" The truth burst upon her with shattering clarity. "Matt."

"It isn't laudanum, either. It's something stronger. He wants you out cold tonight. He said he'd turn me into the street if I didn't get you to take the stuff."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? He doesn't want you to be able to fight him off." 

"Did he arrange this on Tuesday, before he proposed to me?"

"How did you—? No. No, on Tuesday he just asked if I'd like a job. I told him no. I didn't know then that you meant to close the hotel."

The way Jane's face was working, Diana was afraid she was about to burst into tears. "It's all right, Jane." Enfolding the younger woman in her arms, Diana patted her on the back. "It's all right. You didn't go through with it."

"I almost did. I would have if you'd taken the milk last night. I told myself what he was up to wasn't so bad. He wants to marry you."

"He wants to force me into marriage against my will."

"Most women would think he's a good catch," Jane reminded her. "You could do worse."

"Not if he's a murderer."

With a gasp, Jane broke free, her eyes wide and startled. "You can't mean that!"

"He
was
one of my suspects. But if he killed my father, why does he want to marry me? Miranda's the one who inherited Father's money."

"Maybe
Miranda
found somebody she likes better," Jane whispered.

Once again Jane had dropped her gaze to the carpet, so that Diana could not see the expression on her face. She almost asked if Jane knew about Alan Kent's visits to the house next door, but she was still preoccupied by thoughts of Matt's perfidy. She shuddered at the knowledge that Matt wanted to marry her badly enough to try and trap her into wedding him.

"As soon as it is possible to do so without causing a fuss," she told Jane, "we are leaving this house."

"If you don't want a fuss, you'd better pretend to drink the warm milk."

Diana supposed she was right, but the more she thought about the narrow escape she'd had, the more nervous she became. As soon as Jane brought the milk, Diana dumped it into the chamberpot. Then she sent Jane off to bed in the adjoining room.

Once she was alone, she paced. As she went over everything she'd learned since coming to Denver, she became more and more concerned. She had been foolish not to leave here as soon as Matt threatened her. He couldn't have stopped her. It had been broad daylight and Jane and Dorcas and Mrs. Bowden had been in the house.

Cursing her own stupidity, she stopped at the window, staring across at Miranda's dimly lit room. Her focus sharpened. The other woman appeared to be packing. Trunks and boxes were scattered everywhere.

So much for luring Miranda into visiting Matt's house.

Diana raised the sash and studied the drainpipe Ning had used. It would never hold her weight. A pity Ning wouldn't be back tonight, but he'd come for his lesson just as she'd been about to start searching Matt's study and she'd sent him away. She'd told him not to come back until tomorrow.

Tomorrow was entirely too far away.

She swung around to glare at the door. There was no lock. Clearly Matt's plan was to wait until she was asleep, creep into her bed, and compromise her. It sounded like something out of a novel, but that didn't mean it wouldn't work.

Diana had never cared for the role of helpless heroine tied to the railroad tracks. She seized a straight back chair, carried it to the door, and wedged it beneath the knob. It wouldn't stop anyone determined to break in, but she didn't think Matt wanted to call attention to himself. The revelation of a late night foray into her room only worked in his favor if it appeared she had invited him in.

An hour passed with no sound from the hall. Then she heard footsteps. The knob turned. The chair moved an inch and stopped.

Diana scarcely dared breathe, although she was prepared to scream at the top of her lungs if necessary. After an endless wait, she heard retreating footsteps.

Diana spent the rest of the night sitting bolt upright in bed. She was afraid to doze off. The first moment she could, she vowed, she was getting out of this house. She might even get out of Denver. She still wanted to bring her father's murderer to justice, but she wanted something else more. She wanted a future with Ben.

Chapter Eleven

Being polite to Matthew Hastings over breakfast on Saturday morning was one of the most difficult things Diana had ever done.

"I believe we can successfully challenge your father's will," he said as he spread marmalade on a slice of toasted bread.

"I beg your pardon."

"The Torrence fortune can be ours, Diana. I may not be much of a criminal lawyer, but I'm an excellent civil attorney."

"I don't want the money."

"Nonsense. You're entitled to it. And Miranda is not."

"She's his widow."

"There are several grounds on which we can challenge that. The ceremony in which they were wed was irregular, for one thing. And she deceived him before their marriage."

And after, Diana thought, but instead of saying so she bit into a tender slice of beefsteak. With her mouth full, she'd get herself into less trouble.

Matt continued to outline his plans, convincing her with every word he uttered that this was what he'd been after all along—the Torrence fortune. He was only interested in marrying her because his plans to wed Miranda had fallen through.

Diana kept her eyes on her plate. It seemed she'd been wrong about Miranda having the best motive for murder. Matt's desire for revenge and his obvious greed for wealth now made him her primary suspect.

She wished there had been something to find in the house, but she'd searched almost every nook and cranny and come up empty. If Matt had kept any kind of evidence, it was not in his home, and she couldn't think of any excuse to visit his office on Lawrence Street, let alone search the premises.

"I've sent Gilbert to the train station and the hotels to ask about your friend Mr. Northcote," Matt said. "We'll know when he turns up and act accordingly."