The Devil You Know (38 page)

“Not a whit. Who is he?”

“I'm not sure I understand the question. He is Mr. McKenna. Miss Wilhelmina's husband.”

“And I'm sure you understand a lot more than that. Where did he come from?”

“I performed a ceremony, Eli, not an investigation.”

Eli felt heat rising in his face. He was damned if he was going to allow the bug-eyed Beacon to get the better of him, but belligerence still ran through his tone. “So where did you perform this ceremony?”

“At the Pancake homestead.” Beacon held Eli's suspicious stare. “You were expecting another answer, I take it.”

“Maybe.” He'd hoped Willa and her intended had traveled to Lansing, been seen by other folks. He did not trust Beacon to give a good accounting of what transpired. Even a man of God could be a liar. “So you must have been there awhile, enough time to learn something about this Mr. McKenna.”

“I think it's been a while since you've been to a wedding. Even in church, it doesn't take long.”

Eli pointed to the book. “But it was all legal?”

“Oh, yes. I took all the proper papers. It's documented in the courthouse now, if you're interested. Of course, that'd be a ways to go on horseback since the train isn't running yet. I confess I'm surprised you made it here from Big Bar. I would have supposed the snow would have prevented that.”

“We came from Jupiter.”

“Still, a difficult journey. I understand your interest, given the number of times you asked after Willa's hand, but wouldn't it have been easier to simply inquire at the valley?”

Eli's chair scraped the floor as he thrust it backward and jumped to his feet. “We're done here,” he said. “C'mon, Jesse. We have a name. That's what we came for.”

Jesse stood, started to follow, then held up his hand. “I'll be right along. There's something I want to ask the pastor now that I'm here.” He shifted back and forth on his feet when Eli hesitated. “It's kinda personal. Do you mind?”

Eli released a long sigh full of suffering. “Do what you need to do. I'll be outside.”

Jesse waited until the door closed before he turned to Beacon. “It's not about my salvation, if that's what you were thinking, but it is personal.” When the pastor merely turned over his hand, inviting him to continue, Jesse did. “This is just between you and me, right? Eli won't know what we discussed?”

“Not a word.”

Jesse stood behind the chair he had been sitting in and braced his arms on the curved walnut rail. “I got my reasons for needing to know what this Israel McKenna looks like. If he's who I think he is, then I'm honor bound to tell Eli. It could be real important. I swear to you that Eli would kill me if I didn't say something, but I got to be sure. It's a man's reputation we're talking about.”

“I don't think you have any reason to be concerned. He was a likable fellow and welcomed by all of them.”

“Humor me, please,” said Jesse. “If he is who I think he is, it's what makes him likable that makes him dangerous.”

Beacon rubbed his chin and looked Jesse Snow up and down. The cowboy stayed still for it, but his eyes were restless. “Why don't you describe him to me, and then we'll see where we are?”

“All right. I guess I have to say right off that he's a good-lookin' fella. I don't know anyone who ever had a different opinion. He's got maybe an inch on me, so you know he's tall. Dark hair, dark enough that you could mistake it for black, especially since he's got these little silver wings at his temples.”

“Silver wings?”

Jesse's eyes narrowed in response to the pastor's becoming fractionally wider. “That's right. But I got the feeling you know what I'm talkin' about. Silver threads.” He straightened, pointed to one of his temples. “Right here.” He paused, but Beacon said nothing. “Fair-skinned, though I'd wager that's changed some since I saw him last on account of him working the ranch.”

“I never said he was working the ranch.”

Jesse had relaxed enough to chuckle. “I'm not acquainted
with the Pancakes, but nothing I ever heard about them makes me think they'd welcome someone into their fold who doesn't know ranching.”

Beacon did not confirm that one way or the other.

“If none of that seems familiar,” said Jesse, “that's only because I ain't got around to telling you about his eyes. He's got these uncommonly colored blue-gray sparklers that'd pierce you as soon as look you over. It's a fact that women warm to him right off because he's got those eyes. There's no doubt in my mind that Miss Pancake did the same, but I'd be careful about concluding that she did all those other women one better by snaring him. If McKay was snared, then it—”

“McKenna,” said Beacon.

Jesse looked at him blankly. “How's that again?”

“You called him McKay. It's McKenna.”

“Right. A rose by any other name. Is that how it goes? I'm right about him, aren't I?”

“I don't know if you are right about him, but the description fits.”

Jesse took a deep breath, nodded, and let that breath ease out of him. “Thank you, Pastor. That's all I needed to know. You can trust I'll make sure McKay's wife comes to no trouble because of him.”

William Beacon stared at the closed door. “McKenna,” he said as if Jesse were still in the room. “His name is McKenna.”

*   *   *

Israel demonstrated the correct fingering for “Beautiful Dreamer” while Annalea followed every key strike with rapt attention. “I'll write down the notes for you. You have a good ear, but you should learn to read music.” The sheet music Evie Pancake left behind had been printed on cheap paper and was yellow with age and rough-edged from turning the pages. Annalea was loath to touch it for fear of destroying it altogether. Early on, Israel had found a hymnal in the piano bench, but Annalea did not have much interest in learning those pieces, although she liked them well enough when he played them for her.

He stopped playing and they both looked up when Willa came in. He merely raised his eyebrows to pose the question. Annalea was the one who gave voice to it.

“Is he back?” she asked. “Zach's here?”

“He is.” She removed her gloves, coat, and hat and placed them over the arm of the sofa to deal with later. “I just came from the bunkhouse. I'd hoped you would have started dinner, Annalea.” She looked past Annalea to Israel. “And I thought you would be helping.”

“Music sustains the soul,” he said.

Willa ignored the mischief stirring in his blue-gray eyes. “Maybe so, but you need stew and a loaf of bread to sustain the stomach.”

“She has a point, Annalea.” He gave her a gentle shove to move her off the bench. “You start. I'll be in to help.”

“I know what's going on,” she said, standing. “A tick gets removed with more care for its feelings.”

“No, it doesn't,” said Willa. She swatted Annalea on the fanny as she passed. “But I'll keep that in mind the next time I am plucking one out of your scalp.” When she was certain Annalea was out of hearing, she joined Israel on the bench. “Zach delivered the invitation, but he had to give it to Buster Rawlins. Buster wouldn't allow him to go to the house, but I have confidence that he will deliver the invitation.”

“What about Eli?”

“Buster said he was in Jupiter collecting contracts for Malcolm. He'll do what Mal tells him to do.”

“So Zach didn't stay for Malcolm's answer.”

“No. We'll have to wait on that. Zach did stay long enough, however, to inquire after Samuel Easterbrook. Seems there is no such person working at Big Bar, at least no such person using that name.”

“Ah.”

“Zach shrugged it off, made out like he could have the name wrong since Easterbrook owed him money, and what man volunteers his proper name when he owes money to a stranger. Buster didn't blink, so I think Zach left no suspicions behind. Zach also asked if they'd been having trouble with rustlers at Big Bar. He told him we were experiencing some.”

“All their horses are accounted for?”

“They are. Whatever else Easterbrook is, he is not a horse thief.”

“Huh. I'd comment on the man's peculiar scruples, but that's better left in the hands of someone in a position to cast stones. I'm supposing that since Zach's only getting back now, he did manage to get into Jupiter. Did he cross paths with Eli there?”

“No. As a matter of fact, he didn't. He didn't speak to the Cuttlewhites either.” One of Israel's hands still rested on the keys and now he depressed them in a dark minor chord. She laid a hand on his to keep him from playing it again. “He spoke to Noah Cuttlewhite. That's their son. He met up with Noah in the saloon, got to talking about this and that, and realized he didn't need to take it a step further. Noah knew everything his parents did, or rather, everything we wanted to know.”

She removed her hand. “There
was
a rolling poker game on the train. It began long before the Cuttlewhites boarded in Denver, but they told Noah that they were hurried through the car where it was taking place, so they had only a brief look at the players. I think the pot received most of their attention because Noah described it as big as a platter and piled as high as a turkey. In spite of that, they also saw someone they recognized.”

“Then it wasn't me.”

“No. It was Eli Barber.” Willa could not recall that she had ever seen Israel confounded, but that was the expression he turned on her. “That's right. You were playing at the same table with Eli. Israel, you might still harbor doubts, but I don't. You were in that game because of Eli. Everything Eli knows, he learned at the feet of his father. Malcolm tried to take the valley from Happy by besting him at cards, and I believe the folks who say he cheated to get what he thought would be a winning hand. Eli would do exactly the same. I think you observed him cheating and joined the game to even the odds for everyone.”

“I don't know that my motives would have been as high-minded as that, but you're right, I could have easily decided to join a game like that.”

“Good. That is settled more easily than I had dared hope. As for the rest, Noah said his parents thought the game ended in Lansing, not Jupiter.”

“So Eli might have left the train early. Why would he do that?”

“Because he lost. That's what I think. He wasn't ready to go home.” Willa's fingers wandered over the keys without pressing any one of them deeply enough to make a sound. “There's something else, Israel. Noah told Zach that he had almost the same conversation with Eli only a day earlier. Not only did Eli not deny that he was part of the game, he asked Noah if his parents recognized anyone else at the table. It could be argued that he was concerned they saw you later in town.”

“A lot of things could be argued, but we'll stay with that. Did Eli share any particulars about the game, perhaps who won? Who lost?”

“I had the same question, but no, Eli didn't say. Noah admitted that he had not thought to ask as he was caught up in a game with Eli, Danny McKenney, and Paul Beetleman at the time. That means something to me, Israel. It means I'm right about Eli losing. He is not a noisy braggart when he wins, but somehow he always manages to let people know nonetheless. And when he loses? Not a word of it. Ever. That's why he didn't speak up. He lost, Israel, and you won. Everything on that table when the Cuttlewhites passed through, and more besides, was what was in the second case.” She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “Maybe your winnings filled both cases. You might have had to throw your clothes out.”

“It's hard to imagine pitching them was any kind of loss. Judging by what I was wearing when I walked into the Viceroy, it doesn't seem I bought anything in Chicago suitable for working on my brother's ranch.”

Willa leaned over and bussed him on the cheek. When she came away, she was smiling. “I thought the very same thing.”

“Is that you, Eli?” Malcolm bellowed when he heard the back door open. “Get in here and bring those contracts with you. I want to see them first, and then you and I are going to discuss a few things.”

Eli handed his outerwear to the cook and took the contracts folder to his father. Malcolm was behind the desk in his study, several ledgers open in front of him. Eli stood opposite and waited for him to put his hand out or indicate where he wanted the folder.

“Right here,” said Malcolm, jabbing at one of the pages of a ledger.

Eli put down the folder. “I'm going to clean up for dinner.”

“Sit. This won't take long.” He looked up and looked his son over. “I guess you've been wearing those clothes the whole time you were gone.”

“Yes, sir, and I am itching to get out of them.”

Malcolm was unsympathetic. He pointed to the chair, opened the folder, and read through the contracts for unacceptable changes. The task required half the time he took for it, the main purpose being to make Eli squirm.

“It appears to be all in good order,” he said, pushing the contracts and ledgers aside and folding his hands together on top of the space he had cleared. “You are slow in returning. Was there a problem?”

“Mother Nature.”

“Hmm. I have something for you to read.” He opened the middle drawer of his desk, withdrew Happy's invitation, and held it out. “I'll give you a moment.”

Eli took it and read, and then read it again. “Do you take this seriously?”

“I do. I don't know why it's come to us now, but yes, I think it's a serious offer. Maybe Willa's marriage has something to do with it. The timing suggests it might.”

“I don't—”

Malcolm interrupted. “Who the hell is Samuel Easterbrook, Eli?”

Eli blinked. “I don't know. Who the hell is he?”

“Zach Englewood delivered that invitation. Buster intercepted him before he got to the house and took it off his hands. Zach asked after someone named Samuel Easterbrook, said the man owed him money. Apparently the fellow told Zach he worked for us. Buster cleared that up, but it got me to thinking that this Easterbrook could have lied to Zach, or he could have lied to us.”

“I never heard the name before. You want me to ask around the bunkhouse?”

“No. Buster will do that. I was wondering what you might know.”

Eli shrugged. “You mind if I get a drink?” He returned the invitation to Malcolm's desk. “If I can't change my clothes just yet, a drink will serve to get my mind off what feels like a hair shirt.”

Malcolm waved him to the decanters he kept on a side table. “I'm set on accepting the invitation, Eli. It's a chance to finally make peace with the Pancakes.”

“If that's what you want.”

“What I want is to have both ranches under a single brand.”

“I don't see how that can happen now that Willa's married.”

“You need to take the long view, Eli. Did you ever think how fine Wilhelmina would look in black?”

*   *   *

Calico stood beside Quill at the hotel's registration desk, looking around while he signed the ledger and took possession of the key. Two young men, identical in features, carriage, and attitude, stood at the foot of the staircase looking
as if they meant to fight for the privilege of carrying her bag to the room. They were already elbowing each other in anticipation of Quill giving them permission.

“Boys,” Mrs. Putty said, pointing two forked fingers at them. “Stop that. It's not a race.”

Apparently it was, Calico thought, eyeing the twins up and down. She made a bet with herself that it would be the boy with the more pronounced cowlick who would win. He had a crafty edge. She turned around and slipped an arm through Quill's. Her yawn was so abrupt that she did not have time to cover it.

Mrs. Putty, diminutive in size and fussy in demeanor, was instantly sympathetic to her guest's fatigue. “Oh, you poor dear. Of course you are tired. It's late, isn't it? We rarely see folks coming in this time of the night, but I suppose we have to be grateful the train is running again. Are you hungry? I can—”

Quill interrupted. “Just the room. We had food with us on the train.” He turned the ledger around and pushed it toward her then set the pen aside.

“Of course, Mr.—” Mrs. Putty absently reset a pin in the collapsing knot at the back of her head while she looked at the ledger. “Yes, I see it here. Mr. McKenna. Very good.” She looked up, regarding Quill with more interest than she had shown upon his arrival. When she finished eyeing him, she made an equally thorough examination of Calico.

“Mr. and Mrs. McKenna,” she said softly, more to herself than to them. “But no, you haven't been here before, have you?”

Quill and Calico exchanged cautious glances as Mrs. Putty thumbed back a page and ran a forefinger down the entries.

“Here it is,” she said triumphantly. She leaned sideways to look around Quill and catch her boys' eyes. “You remember the McKennas, don't you? You carried water for their tub and she gave you good money for your trouble, then later, so did he.” When they nodded, she straightened and pointed out the entry to her guests. “Right here. Mr. and Mrs. Israel McKenna. He must be kin of yours, Mr. McKenna. Look. There's a similarity in the way you each penned your surname. Lots of flourish in that ‘M' and ‘K.'”

Before Quill could reply, Mrs. Putty was going on again. “Strange, or maybe not so strange if you're related, that you have the look of him.” Her eyes narrowed fractionally. “Except I'd have to say that he's definitely your darker self.”

“Sounds about right,” Calico said under her breath. Her comment brought Mrs. Putty's attention back to her and Calico wondered at her scrutiny.

Without any prompting from Calico, Mrs. Putty went on. “It's the oddest thing, dear, that you should be dressed like she was. Dressed in trousers, I mean. Like a man. You don't resemble her in any other regard, what with you having all that red hair and hers being almost as black as her husband's.”

Quill finally found his voice. “You're certain they were married?”

“As certain as I can be without asking for proof.”

From behind Quill and Calico, one of the boys spoke up, “She was wearing a wedding band, Ma. We saw it when she was leaving.”

Mrs. Putty nodded. “Well, there you have it. She was wearing gloves when she came and went, so I didn't see it, but my boys were taken with her. Nothing surprising about them noticing.”

Quill had to make a decision about what he could tell Mrs. Putty without her raising more questions than he wanted to answer. Beginning with a compliment seemed the best overture. “You have a very astute eye, Mrs. Putty, and an excellent recollection of detail. As it happens, Israel and I
are
kin. We haven't been in touch for a while, but the last I heard, he was living out this way. My wife and I were going to look him up, and since I'm learning that he's married, it seems we should arrive bearing gifts. I'm confident we'll be able to find something suitable to purchase in Lansing, but I'm wondering now if we'll find Israel and his wife here.”

“Oh, I'm sure you won't. He doesn't live in town. Doesn't really live outside of it either. I'm thinking they went back to Pancake Valley.” She speared her boys with sharp look. “Is that right, boys? Didn't you tell me she introduced herself to you as Willa Pancake?”

“That's right,” the crafty one said, separating himself
from his brother. “I guess she forgot she was married. It seemed like it embarrassed her, 'cause she blushed real pretty like, and told us she was Mrs. McKenna.”

Mrs. Putty leaned forward and spoke in confidential tones. “I told you the boys were taken with her. They sure did take their time filling that tub.” She straightened and closed the ledger. “You're one stop away from Jupiter. That's the end of the line. Anyone there can tell you how to get to Pancake Valley. I've never been, but I know the Pancakes have a big spread. Make sure you don't get lost and end up at Big Bar looking for them. There is no love lost between those families. You don't have to be from Jupiter to know that.”

*   *   *

Jesse Snow was stretched out on his bunk, head cradled in his palms, and considering his options when Buster kicked one bed leg hard enough to shake him out of his trance. “What the hell?”

“Get up,” said Buster. “Get your coat and come with me.”

Jesse pushed himself to his elbows. “I just got back. Can't it wait?”

“The way I hear it, you just got back from a week of plowing Mary Edith's lower forty.”

“Three days.”

“Four.”

“I wasn't counting. There was nothing else to do in Jupiter.” Aware that other men in the bunkhouse were taking note of this exchange, Jesse reluctantly rolled out of bed and got to his feet. “Give me a minute.”

“We will talk in the barn.” He jabbed a finger in Jesse's thin chest. “There is some shit that needs to be shoveled.”

Jesse waited until Buster was gone before he shrugged. The gesture was meant to impress his bunkmates, but he wasn't sure it worked. He got dressed to go out, jammed his hat on his head, and went to meet Buster.

“Who the hell is Sam Easterbrook?”

Jesse blinked as much from the lantern that Buster held up in his face as from the question he put to him. “Hell if I know. Why are you asking me?”

“Because I already asked everyone else.”

“And?”

“And I gotta feeling someone's lying to me. My money's on you.”

“Well, you're gonna lose. Where did you hear the name, and why is it so important it's got your balls shriveled like raisins?”

Buster told him about Zach's visit.

“So?” asked Jesse. “He got something wrong.”

“No.” Buster shook his head vehemently. “He didn't. I know Zach. You don't. He was telling me something. He tried to make it seem as if he wasn't, but he was.”

“Sounds complicated.” Jesse jammed his hands in his pockets. “I don't get what you're saying.” He suffered Buster's scrutiny by shifting his weight.

“Forget that for now. Tell me what Eli was up to in Jupiter.”

“Wasn't much to get up to, and that's a fact. He picked up the contracts when they finally came in and played some cards. Didn't touch a whore to my knowledge, then again, I was occupied, and we know he prefers to take his girls in Denver.”

“That's it? That's all you've got to say?” Buster returned the lantern to its hook, and when he faced Jesse again, his hands were clenched. “Are you sure?”

Jesse frowned. “I don't—”

Buster put one fist squarely in Jesse's gut, and when Jesse doubled over, the other fist connected with his jaw. “Don't lie to me,” Buster said, shaking out his hands. “You can have a moment to catch your breath and think about what you want to say.”

Jesse required that moment to suck in a breath. He couldn't think at all.

Buster said, “I'll help you. Before Eli dragged your ass to Jupiter on his father's business, he asked me to go with him. He wanted to find out what he could about the man Willa Pancake married. He's obsessed. Does any of that sound familiar?”

Jesse was forced to nod because he couldn't speak.

“So you helped him ask around?” When Jesse nodded
again, Buster said, “You were there a long time. You better have found out something worth knowing.”

“Israel,” Jesse said on a breath. “Israel McKenna.” He rubbed his jaw and then worked it back and forth. He was still dazed by the double blows that Buster had delivered, but not so confused that he missed the other man's slow, satisfied exhale. “What is it? You look relieved.”

“Do I? I suppose I am. It's been crossing my mind since I learned that Miss Willa took a husband that maybe she married Buck McKay. Now I know that wouldn't have crossed yours since you were given the task of disappearing that body, and you swore that you had.”

“I did. I did just like I was told.”

“Uh-huh. I wanted to believe that in the worst way, but you can appreciate that my experience with you got me to wondering. Do you think I don't know that you hide out at Monarch Lake when there's hard work to be done? You want me to tick off the number of things you were supposed to do that didn't get done unless someone was standing over you?”

“You make it sound like it's all the time. I work plenty and I work hard. And I guess what I did for Eli should count for something.”

“That's what I figured you'd say. You might want to tread carefully there.”

Since Eli had used almost those same words, Jesse recognized they were sincerely meant. He stared back at Buster. “I'm remembering you had a hand it.”

“And I'm remembering it was after the fact. My mistake was not thinking Eli was serious when he proposed taking back what he lost. Your mistake was being too drunk to care. If I had gotten to the ridge in time, I would have put a stop to it. Eli knows it, and you damn well know it, too. But I didn't make it in time, and it happened, and that was that. All that was left was for you to clean up the mess you and Eli made of things. Given what was at stake, I didn't think I had to supervise you getting rid of the body, so I made sure Eli got home with his daddy's money. What would have served him right was for him to explain how he lost it all in a rolling poker game. I'd give both of my shriveled balls to never have run
into Eli when he was hell-bent on revenge. That's a day you should rue as well. Push is coming to shove, Jesse, just see if it isn't.”

Jesse would have thrust his chin out if it wouldn't have hurt so damn bad. “What's that mean?”

“It means that I just had it from Eli that the letter Zach brought over from the valley was an invitation. Seems Happy Pancake is askin' for a sit-down with him and Malcolm. Genuine peace talks about ending the feud, or so it seems. The best part is those talks are going to happen at the Pancake spread. Like I told you, it's a relief knowing Eli isn't going to run into Buck McKay.”