Louisiana Stalker (11 page)

It was raining too hard to tell if they were being followed. The roads were waterlogged, but that was from the rain, not from flooding—not yet anyway.

Once, it appeared that one of the rear wheels was stuck in the mud. Both Clint and Henri had to get out and push the carriage while Cappy held the reins. At another time the horse stopped—just stopped. He refused to move for fifteen minutes, then started again. Henri took credit for cajoling the animal, but Clint believed the horse had just decided on his own to start moving.

As they arrived in Lexington, the rain started to come down even harder. There was an inn there, where they were able to secure two rooms.

“One for the lady,” Clint lied, “and one for my driver and me.”

“Excellent, sir,” the innkeeper said.

The innkeeper had someone take care of the carriage and horse. Clint had left Eclipse back in Baton Rouge, having first checked on him before they left.

“Do you need someone to carry your bag, sir?” the innkeeper asked.

“No, no, that's fine,” Clint said. “We can handle it fine.”

“Very well, sir.”

“How full are you on a crazy night like this?” Clint asked.

“Not very full,” the man said. “Only one other room is taken.”

“Someone else traveling in this weather?” Clint asked.

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “I was surprised, too. He arrived just before you.”

Before? Clint thought.

“Can we get something to eat?” Clint asked.

“I'll have my wife prepare it,” the innkeeper said. “Come down when you're ready.”

“Okay,” he said to Henri and Cappy, “let's go on up to our rooms.”

The three of them went up the stairs. As they walked past the other doors to their own, he wondered which room was occupied.

Since the place was empty, they had managed to get rooms next to each other.

“You're in there, Henri,” Clint said.

“But I thought you said—”

“Henri.”

“Oh,” the driver said, then, “Oh! I see.”

“Get settled and meet us downstairs.”

“Right.”

Clint opened the door to the other room, let Cappy in first, then carried her bag in, closing the door behind them.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“What makes you think there's something wrong?” he asked.

“I saw your face downstairs,” she said. “Is it the other man?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “He got here ahead of us. I don't like that.”

“Maybe,” she said, “he's just an innocent bystander.”

“And maybe not,” Clint said.

“So how do we find out?”

“I'm thinking,” Clint said, “that we should just ask him.”

They met Henri downstairs and they were led into a dining room by the innkeeper, whose name was Cooper.

“Have a seat, folks,” Cooper said. “My missus will be right out.”

They sat at the long, rough-hewn oak table.

“What about the other guest?” Clint asked. “Isn't he going to eat?”

“He said he'd be down,” Cooper said. “I expect him any minute.”

“Good,” Clint said, “I'd like to see who else is crazy enough to be out in weather like this.”

Cooper laughed. At that moment his pretty blond wife came in carrying steaming plates. Her husband introduced her as Milly, and Clint introduced himself and his companions. Mrs. Cooper was about twenty-five, probably half the age of her husband.

“Where's our other guest?” she asked her husband. “Mr. . . .”

“Smith,” Cooper said. “He said he'd be coming down.”

“Maybe you should go and tell him that the food is ready,” she said. “And then help me in the kitchen with the rest of the food.”

“I can do that,” Clint said. “I can go and get him. Just tell me what room he's in.”

“Why, that's right nice of you,” Cooper said. “He's in room five.”

They were in rooms nine and ten.

Clint stood up.

“I'll go get him and be right back.”

He left the dining room and went back up the stairs, then walked to room five and knocked.

“Mr. Smith, the food is ready,” Clint said. “Our hosts would like you to come down.”

No answer.

He knocked again.

“Mr. Smith?”

Nothing.

He tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. He opened it and went in.

There was a man lying on the bed.

“Smith?”

He walked to the bed. The man looked like he was asleep, except for the bullet wound in his chest. Clint checked his pulse, found none. He was very dead.

Clint wet through his pockets, then saw his saddlebags hanging on the back of a chair. He walked over and went through them both. In the second one he found a letter addressed to Lee Keller.

If Keller had killed the other stalker, who had killed Keller? And how had Keller known where they were going, so he could get there ahead of them?

Clint looked around for a weapon, a gun or a knife, and found none. He put Keller's letter in his pocket, and withdrew from the room.

He walked down the hall, started down the stairs, and then stopped. There were five people in the house that he knew of, and he knew that three of them hadn't killed Keller.

That left the innkeeper and the innkeeper's wife.

He went down the stairs slowly, his hand on the butt of his gun, even though he knew he probably wouldn't get the chance to use it.

As he entered the dining room, he saw that Milly Cooper was holding a gun on Cappy, while her husband was holding a gun on Clint as he entered the room.

“I know who you are, Mr. Adams, and I know what you can do with a gun. You can probably draw and kill me before I could shoot you. But then my wife would kill the lady.”

“I get it.”

“I'm going to come over and take your gun from your holster. Please don't try anything.”

“I won't.”

Cooper approached Clint, who could see that the man's hand was shaking. On the other hand, his wife's hand was rock solid.

The man took his gun from his holster and scampered back, tucking it into his belt.

“Now what?” Clint asked

“Now you do what you were going to do,” the man said. “Eat. My wife is a very good cook. Sit.”

Clint sat at the table, wondering if Cappy had put her gun in her bag. She was sitting directly across from him.

“Dig in,” Milly Cooper said.

“What about you two?” Clint asked.

“Oh, we ate while we were waiting for you to get here,” Cooper said.

Clint looked at Cappy and Henri.

“We might as well eat.”

“I am hungry,” Cappy admitted.

“Me, too,” Henri said.

“Let's eat.”

There were hunks of beef and pieces of chicken, along with large chunks of potatoes.

“So tell me, Mr. Cooper,” Clint said, “which one of you killed Mr. Keller upstairs?”

“Keller?” Cappy asked around a piece of chicken. “Dead?”

“Shot.”

“That was me,” Cooper said. “It was necessary, once he brought word that you were coming this way.”

“So you and he work for the same man?”

“That's right.”

“It must have been quite a shock when you shot him dead.”

“You should have seen his face.”

“And what happens after we've eaten?”

“You go to your rooms,” Cooper said, “and you stay there.”

“Until when?”

“Until morning,” Milly Cooper said. “But first your lady, here, will help me clean up.”

“Clean up?” Cappy asked, looking appalled.

“Sure,” Milly said. “After all, it is women's work, isn't it?”

There was still more Clint needed to know, but the food was very good, and he was very hungry. So he waited until they were finished eating to ask.

“Come with me, Mrs. Devereaux,” Milly said. “We'll get the coffee.”

Cappy stood up and started to walk toward the kitchen slowly.

“Oh, no wait,” Milly said. “We can't go to the kitchen without some plates.”

“Plates?”

“Let's clear the table, ma'am,” Milly said.

With a pained look, Cappy started collecting dirty plates and stacking them.

“That's good,” Milly said. “You'd make a good waitress.”

“And you're very pretty,” Cappy said. “You could come work for me.”

“I'm afraid I'm not a dirty whore, Mrs. Devereaux,” Milly said. “Come along.”

Milly and Cappy went into the kitchen, leaving Clint and Henri with Cooper.

“What's next?” Clint asked.

“You folks will go to your rooms and get some sleep . . . or whatever you do.”

“And in the morning?”

“We'll have breakfast,” Cooper said, “and then go from there.”

“Go where?” Henri asked.

“I'll let you know tomorrow. Let's go upstairs.”

“I thought we were waiting for coffee,” Clint said.

“Right you are,” Cooper said. “We'll take you up after that.”

Milly and Cappy returned with the coffee, and they sat and drank it while Cooper and his wife watched. While they were watching, husband and wife got together to have a conversation. They spoke low so that they couldn't be overheard, but at one point they began to argue.

“. . . not the way it's supposed to be,” Cooper said to her.

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed.

“Don't tell me . . .” he started, then stopped and lowered his voice. They continued on with their voices lowered.

“All right,” Cooper said finally, “that's enough coffee. Let's go. Time for bed.”

They slid their chairs back and stood up. Cappy looked at Milly, as if waiting for her to give her some orders, but the younger woman didn't say anything.

“Up,” Cooper said.

Under Cooper's gun they went up the stairs. First they stopped by Henri's door.

“Which of you is in here?” Cooper asked.

“That's Henri,” Clint said.

“Inside,” Cooper said to Henri, gesturing with the gun.

Henri looked at Clint, who nodded. The young man stepped inside and Cooper closed the door, locking it with a key.

“All right, I assume you two are sharin' a room?” he asked.

“That's right,” Clint said.

“Then get on inside and get on with it,” Cooper said with a grin.

Cappy went into the room. Clint started in, then stopped and turned to Cooper.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want you to get in your room.”

“Is this place really yours?”

“Sure it is. Why?”

“I just thought maybe Pivot sent you here to wait for us.”

Cooper hesitated, then said, “Who?”

“Jacq—”

“Get inside!”

Clint backed away, and Cooper slammed the door and locked it.

Clint turned and saw Capucine sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What's going on?”

“I'm figuring they work for Pivot,” Clint said. “Anybody wanting to go to Pivot's house has to pass through here first. It makes sense.”

“And Keller?” she asked. “Why kill him if they work for the same man?”

“That I don't know,” Clint said. “Somehow Keller figured out where we were going and got here first. He probably killed the man across from your house, and that man probably worked for Pivot. Maybe he wasn't working for Pivot. Maybe he just got in the way.”

“These people are going to kill us,” she said.

“No, they're not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Well, for one thing,” he said, “I'm not going to let them.”

“What about the other thing?” Cappy asked.

“Your stalker never tried to kill you,” he said. “I don't think that's what's going on here.”

“So then what are they going to do? This man and his crazy bitch wife?”

“Maybe,” Clint said, “they'll take us to Jacques Pivot.”

“But that's what we want.”

“Yes.”

“You think they'll give us what we want?”

“If it's also what they want.”

She shook her head.

“Now I'm confused.”

Clint walked to the window. The rain was still coming down. He tried the window, found it locked. When he tried to open it, he couldn't budge it. Somehow, it had been secured. He could have broken the window, but could Cappy have dropped down to the first floor? And what about Henri? They couldn't leave him behind.

“Are you thinking about going out the window?” she asked him.

“I was,” he said, turning away from it, “but I've decided against it.”

“Because of me?”

“It's just not a good idea.”

“So what do we do?” she asked.

“We go to sleep,” he said.

“Sleep?” she asked. “How can I sleep with those crazy people running around with guns?”

“They're not running around,” he said. “One of them is probably on guard, and then other is asleep. And then they'll switch.”

“So we should wait until she's on guard and make a move,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because she'll be weaker.”

“Are you sure you just don't want a try at her because she made you clear the table?”

“That, too,” Cappy said. “That crazy bitch made me make coffee.”

“And it was terrible.”

“What do you expect?” she asked. “I've never made coffee before.”

 • • • 

“I'll take the first watch,” Milly said to her husband, coming up into the hall.

“That's all right,” Cooper said. “I'll stay on watch all night.”

“Don't be an ass,” she told him. “At your age, you need your sleep.”

“You're always throwing my age in my face,” he said. “You didn't seem to care how old I was when I took you off the streets of New Orleans.”

“That's because I didn't know you were going to take me here, to this dump.”

“Wouldn't that lady laugh if she found out you really were a whore when I found you?”

“Just go to sleep, Coop,” she said. She'd started calling him “Coop” when they met and continued it after they got married.

“I see the way you're lookin' at that kid, Milly,” Cooper said. “Like a bitch in heat.”

“I don't have any interest in that kid, Coop,” she said. “You're imagining it. Now tell me who's in what room and go get some sleep!”

“Bitch!” he said, but he answered her, then went downstairs, where their bedroom was.

Milly turned and looked at the two locked doors. Wouldn't her husband be surprised to find out which of the males she was really interested in?

She reached into her jeans pocket for the key.

 • • • 

“So what do you say?” Cappy asked.

He'd been giving the matter a lot of thought, and she was impatient.

“We'd have to find out which one of them is out there first.”

“Why don't we just do what you said before, Clint?” she suggested.

“What's that?”

She shrugged.

“Let's just ask.”

“We'd have to knock and see who answers,” he said. “If it's him, you'll have to talk to him. If it's her, I'll have to do the talking.”

“And then—”

But before they could implement their plan, they heard a key in the lock.

It looked like they were going to find out who was on guard sooner than they thought.