Juliana Garnett (47 page)

He forced himself to relax and smiled gently. “Dominic is my uncle and I’ll be very glad to introduce you, if you’re not acquainted with him. May I ask your business with him?”

He was being kind to her. Patronizing and indulgent and very kind. Elspeth could feel the tears of frustration and self-disgust sting her eyes. She had meant to be so adult and coolly businesslike, but at the first hint of intimidation she had reacted with a regrettable lack of composure. Patrick Delaney was only a boy and nothing in the least like her father. What could have triggered the memory that had caused her assurance to melt like ice in the sunshine?

She would
not
behave like the helpless nonentity her father had thought her. This was a new life, a new Elspeth MacGregor. She drew a deep, steadying breath and lifted her chin. “I would appreciate your help, Mr. Delaney. I have a business proposal to make to your uncle and he’s a stranger to me. I’m sure he’ll remember my father, however.”

“Hell’s Bluff isn’t the kind of town that can offer a lady any of the amenities. Your father would have done better to come himself.”

Elspeth lowered her eyes to the reticule on her lap. “My father died four months ago.”

So that was the reason for all that overpowering black. “My sympathy. There was no one else who could make the trip?”

She shook her head. “I’m alone now.” She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. “And even if I weren’t alone, I would have come anyway. In case you hadn’t noticed, women are becoming very capable of handling their own affairs. In fact, I understand in your territory of Wyoming they have already won the vote. I don’t need anyone to shelter and protect me, Mr. Delaney.”

No more than a newborn calf in a snowstorm,
Patrick thought while he carefully kept his expression from revealing that judgment. “I can see you’re very capable, but perhaps you’ll let me escort you to the hotel and get you settled, if that wouldn’t compromise your principles too drastically.” His lips twitched in spite of his attempt at solemnity. “I promise I won’t tell the ladies in Wyoming.”

He was laughing at her. She should have been annoyed but somehow she found that impossible. There was something in his manner that was so genuinely sunny and caring, she found herself smiling again. “I believe I’d be willing to risk their disapproval, but I’d prefer to see your uncle immediately. I may be able to conclude my business with him this afternoon. Is he staying at the hotel?”

“Well, not exactly.” Patrick had a sudden vision of the last glimpse he’d had of Dominic when he’d stuck his head in Rina’s room this morning to say good-bye. Rina had evidently decided to be generous; there had been a golden-haired beauty on one side of Dom in the big double bed, Rina herself on the other side. The thought of this little owl named Elspeth invading that scene of bacchanalian debauchery might be amusing, but he doubted Dom would think so. “It would be better if I brought Dom to you. He moves around a lot and has an interest in one or two claims out of town.”

Elspeth frowned. “If that’s the only way I can see him. Claims? You mean gold mines?” She had known Hell’s Bluff was a boom town, one of those fabulous places that had sprung into being when gold had been discovered. It was rather like Athena springing full grown from Zeus’s head, she thought. She should have guessed that Dominic Delaney was still here because of the gold being found in these parts. She experienced a swift rush of dismay. She had nothing to offer him but the potential for great wealth. What if he were already a wealthy man? “He owns gold mines?”

Patrick shook his head. “He grubstaked a couple of miners for a percentage of their claims, but they haven’t brought in more than a few sacks of dust yet.”
He shrugged. “There’s plenty of gold here in the Santa Catalinas all right. It’s probably only a question of time until Dom’s miners make a strike.”

Elspeth released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She still had something with which to bargain, then. “We’ve heard of your famous gold rushes at home. Hell’s Bluff must be a very interesting town. Do you have one of these claims, too, Mr. Delaney?”

He made a face. “I have all I can do on Killara. My gran-da keeps us all too busy to go prospecting.”

“Except your uncle Dominic?”

“I heard he shot two men in Carson City,” Andre Marzonoff broke in. “He faced them in the street and they both emptied their guns while he walked toward them. He didn’t fire a shot until he was within range and then gunned them both down. Is it true he’s being hunted by the Texas Rangers?”

Elspeth had almost forgotten the Russian was in the coach. Now she saw he had been drinking in Patrick Delaney’s words with an avid thirst that was faintly repulsive.

It was clearly repulsive to Patrick Delaney as well. “No, Dom’s not wanted by the law any longer. He was given a full pardon by the governor five months ago.” He lowered his voice to a dangerous softness. “And questions regarding a man’s past aren’t encouraged out here, Marzonoff. If you want to stay healthy, you’d better observe our primitive customs.”

For a moment Marzonoff actually appeared indignant. Then he smiled ingratiatingly. “I meant no offence. I admire you westerners very much. You bear a resemblance to the Cossacks of my own country. My cousin, Nicholas, is related on his mother’s side to Igor Dabol, the most powerful tribal leader in the steppes.”

“How interesting,” Delaney said politely. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.” He looked down and Elspeth noted a gleam of pure mischief in his hastily averted eyes. “We Delaneys have a few well-known relatives ourselves. Have you ever heard of the James brothers? Jesse and Frank?”

Marzonoff’s eyes widened. “Jesse James?”

“Cousins,” Delaney said. “On my mother’s side, of course.” He was scrupulously keeping his gaze from Marzonoff’s rapt face. “And then there’s old Joaquin Murrietta. You might say he’s the patriarch of the California branch of the Delaney clan. Of course, I guess Uncle Bill is probably more famous.”

“Bill?” Marzonoff was almost stammering with excitement.

“Bill Hickok. However, there are those who say he’s more infamous than famous. But not to his face. Uncle Bill is very careful of his good name.”

“Wild Bill Hickok,” the Russian repeated dazedly.

“And the Daltons and the Youngers are second cousins on my …” Delaney trailed off and Elspeth saw his shoulders begin to shake, though his expression was still bland. She was forced to smother a laugh herself.

Patrick Delaney’s voice was a little choked as he continued. “I think I’ll take a little snooze. All that walking has made me plumb weary.” He put on his stetson and tipped it over his eyes, ignoring Marzonoff’s obvious disappointment. “I’m afraid I’m not as rough and tough as my kinfolk.”

Elspeth didn’t know about his toughness but she was sure the young rascal could far outpace his “relatives” in sheer deviltry.

She settled back on the seat, shifting her gaze between the two young men opposite her. They were a strange blend of contrasts and similarities. The plump Russian was the older, she judged, close to her own age of twenty-two years. His fine city clothing should have given him the advantage of inner confidence over the auburn-haired cowboy, but such was not the case. Patrick’s tight denim trousers were shabby, his brown shirt and tan suede vest dusty, and his black stetson was sun-faded in spots. Yet his wide shoulders and narrow hips, the careless grace of his strong body, gave his attire an elegance Andre Marzonoff could never hope to bring to his clothing. Patrick’s speech was puzzling. His words sounded as
educated and cultured as any of her father’s students, and yet they were flavored by a lazy and quite unusual drawl. This young Delaney was something of an enigma, she thought.

She glanced out the window. The Santa Catalina mountains were very beautiful but as stark and rugged as the rest of this wild country. How different they were from the mist-shrouded mountains of her native land. She shifted restlessly, suddenly tired of the scenery. She felt as if she had traveled years instead of weeks since she had left Edinburgh. She was growing terribly impatient now that she was so close to her objective. Her gaze returned to Patrick Delaney, and a tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips. She closed her own eyes and tried to relax.

The young cowboy was a complete scoundrel. Her father would have disapproved of both his attitude and his background, yet she was delighted to have his assistance when she arrived in Hell’s Bluff. Her smile brodened. Yes, she was perfectly delighted.

One

Halley Finnegan raised one white-gloved hand to her carefully made-up lips. Her large emerald green eyes grew larger as she leaned through the open car window and stared at the elaborate house she was about to enter.

“Good grief,” she said, choking. “I’ll need a tour guide just to get me through the weekend!”

Reluctantly she opened the door of her tiny Volkswagen and got out. She teetered sideways almost instantly, her slender body weaving like a reed in a high wind. Grasping the door handle for support, Halley stared down accusingly at the unfamiliar spike heels. She’d never make it inside in them. She grimaced as she scanned the crimson dress that hugged her hips like a girdle and squeezed her pale, full breasts so tightly that she felt sure a sneeze would leave her naked. It had to have been Rosie’s cheap wine. Nothing else could possibly have made her agree that the dress was perfect for the occasion!

The thought of Rosie Wilson brought a smile to her face. Rosie had delighted in rummaging through every shelf and dusty box in her antique clothing shop the previous night to outfit Halley for the weekend,
and the venture had ended in hilarious laughter as the two friends finally settled on the sexy crimson dress and filmy shawl that did little to cover Halley’s skin.

“Finnegan, it’s the chance of a lifetime!” Rose had insisted, her dramatic flair with words making the ridiculous sound sensible. “A whirlwind weekend of mystery and charade! And the more exotic you look, the more you’ll melt into the crowd. If you try to dress like Halley Finnegan, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb!”

It was only after the second glass of wine that Halley had tried on the dress. It was after a third glass that she had agreed to wear it. Rose had stared at her lean, lovely curves with envy. “I’d look like a fortune-teller in that, Finn. But you look positively regal. No one will ever guess you’re a fill-in houseguest!”

Houseguest
. The thought jolted her attention back to the magnificent house that stretched out before her. The mansion sat atop a gentle rise like a jeweled crown, its opulence and grandeur borrowed from another time. Off in the distance, beyond the rolling lawns, Halley could see a shimmering lake, its surface streaked in shadow by the setting sun. She didn’t hear any violins yet, but the graceful strains of Mozart and Beethoven fit the scene so perfectly, she fully expected to tune in to them at any moment. It was the perfect setting for a Fitzgerald novel, Halley mused as she cautiously approached the wide fan of marble steps leading up to the entrance. Or a romance. Or a murder.

The last thought sent an uncomfortable ripple of apprehension through her body. That was, after all, why she was there. She shivered, drawing the lacy shawl up over her bare shoulders, and walked slowly up the steps.

Why, oh, why had she let Leo Thorne talk her into
coming, anyway? She’d give almost anything to be somewhere else, preferably curled up in her favorite library chair, burying herself in a wonderful musty book! But when her kindly benefactor had asked her to go as a favor to him, he had left her no room for a refusal. His dear, dear friends were hosting this charming party—a murder-mystery weekend, plotted and directed by a professional troupe—and all the guests would participate.

“Such a clever idea, Halley, eh?” His grin had been barely visible beneath his bushy white mustache. The problem was, he’d explained, that one guest had come down with the flu at the last minute and he didn’t think Halley would mind filling in. Furthermore, he had insisted it would actually be a wonderful thing for her to get away from the Thorne Estate Library for a brief vacation.
A fortuitous change of pace. Refreshing. Invigorating
.

Halley had stared at him wide-eyed, assuming he’d been nipping from the bottle he kept on a bookshelf behind the fat, leather volume of
Banking Strategies
. Luck wasn’t on her side, however. Mr. Thorne had been dead serious.

There was no way on God’s earth she could turn the man down. Aside from her family, he had done more for Halley Finnegan than any other human alive, and when she reluctantly agreed, the spread of happy wrinkles around his eyes
almost
made having to go to the party worth it.

Until now. Halley wet her lips nervously and glanced back toward the circular drive, her gaze settling on the tiny green Volkswagen. It looked pathetic in the grandiose surroundings. “Don’t worry, my green knight,” she whispered softly. “If I can do it, so can you.…”

With a feeble burst of energy Halley Finnegan spun around to face her first—and
last
, pray to God!—murder-mystery party.