Preacher's Fire

Chapter 22

Preacher didn’t like the sound of that. Beaumont might already suspect Jessie.

But a second later, he went on, “Some of those whores at Jessie’s Place are always sneaking around. There’s no telling what they might have overheard. I don’t trust any of them, especially that bitch Cassandra.”

Preacher’s jaw tightened. He suppressed his anger and said, “I still think it’s more likely to have been Dugan or one of his men to blame.”

“Leave the thinking to me,” Beaumont chuckled. “I’m glad you survived, Jim. I’ve come to depend on you.”

“I ain’t done all that much.”

“You saved my life, that first night. And you’ve done everything I’ve asked of you since then. Together we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meanwhile, why don’t you go get cleaned up? Those clothes are probably still pretty clammy after you got dunked in the river like that.”

“They’re a mite damp,” Preacher admitted. “Are you goin’ out tonight, boss?”

“I think I could use a few drinks. We’ll go to Dupree’s later.”

Preacher nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

He went to the servants’ quarters in the rear of the house. He and Lorenzo were the only ones who lived there—Beaumont’s cook and housekeeper just came in during the day—and the old black man wasn’t there at the moment. He was probably still lying low, out in the carriage house. Preacher peeled out of the damp clothes and washed up, then dressed in fresh duds. He had lost his hat in the river and would have to see about getting a new one, but that could wait.

Then he began disassembling, drying, and cleaning his guns, spreading the pieces out on the bed as he did so. It was the sort of work he enjoyed, and he could lose himself in it, not really needing to think as he went about the process that he had carried out hundreds, maybe even thousands of times in his life.

Today, though, he couldn’t keep unwelcome thoughts from crowding into his head. Most of them had to do with the wanton murder of the riverboat crew, but he also couldn’t help but think of Jessie.

Had she actually ordered that slaughter? That seemed to be the most likely answer. She had the most to gain, at least potentially, by taking whatever steps were necessary to protect Preacher’s identity. The fact that she was a beautiful woman didn’t really mean anything.

Preacher had known beautiful women in the past who had turned out to be as treacherous and deadly as black widow spiders.

By the time he was finished with the guns and had them in good working order again, he still didn’t have any answers to the questions that plagued him, but he knew he wouldn’t get answers until he had a chance to talk to Jessie again . . . and maybe not even then, if she chose to lie to him.

Beaumont seemed to be his usual charming, affable self again by the time they were ready to go to Dupree’s that evening. All traces of the furious, wild-eyed lunatic he had been earlier in the day had vanished.

As they went out to the carriage, which a still-nervous Lorenzo had pulled around to the drive in front of the house, Beaumont said, “We’ll be stopping by Mrs. Hobson’s house on the way to Dupree’s.”

Preacher nodded. He knew that Mrs. Luella Hobson was a wealthy widow Beaumont sometimes squired around town. She was the short, curvaceous blonde Preacher had seen with Beaumont the first night he’d watched his quarry visit Dupree’s. He suspected that Beaumont was planning to swindle her out of her money at some point, and in the meantime, she was a woman with quite healthy—and sometimes unusual—appetites, according to the hints Beaumont had dropped.

As the carriage rolled through the streets of St. Louis, Lorenzo said quietly to Preacher, who sat beside him on the driver’s seat, “Appears the boss ain’t foamin’ at the mouth no more.”

“I reckon he’s still plenty upset about what happened this afternoon, but you’re right, he ain’t out of his head about it no more.”

“What ’zactly did happen this afternoon?” Lorenzo asked.

Preacher glanced over at the driver. “How much do you know about the boss’s business?”

“More’n I want to, sometimes!”

“Then you probably don’t want to know about this,” Preacher said. “Let’s just say he had something planned for this afternoon, and it went bad wrong.”

“I believe it. I seen the boss lose his temper before, but this was one o’ the worst times.”

Lorenzo wouldn’t think that if he had seen what Beaumont did to Casey, Preacher mused.

They arrived at Luella Hobson’s house, and while Beaumont was inside picking up the attractive blond widow, Preacher asked, “What did the late Mr. Hobson do for a livin’?”

“He owned a bank,” Lorenzo replied. “I never did see how a fella could make a livin’ holdin’ money for other folks. I’d be too tempted to take off for the tall and uncut with all that cash. That’s why I keep all my money hid in a place nobody knows about ’ceptin’ me.”

Preacher laughed. “Bankers have been known to do that very thing. I don’t have to worry about that, myself.”

“You don’t use banks, neither?”

“Never had enough money to bother puttin’ it in one. Bein’ a fella like me, I don’t expect I ever will.”

That was a true statement, in the midst of all the lies Preacher had been telling lately. As long as he had enough money to pick up a few supplies every now and then, that was all he needed. He didn’t support anyone except himself and Horse and Dog, and all three of them could do just fine living off the land if they had to.

At least, that would be true again once they all got away from this damned town, Preacher thought.

When they reached Dupree’s, the manager showed Beaumont to his usual table. Mrs. Hobson clung to Beaumont’s arm so that her ample breasts in a gown with a low neckline pressed against his sleeve. She laughed too loud, and her smile was a little too bright. Preacher figured that deep down, she was a lonely woman, and having a handsome rogue like Shad Beaumont pay attention to her probably meant the world to her. She would be easy pickin’s, once Beaumont finally decided to go ahead and pluck her clean.

Preacher sat at a table nearby to keep an eye on Beaumont and watch out for any trouble that might come their way. He had a mug of beer that he sipped from time to time. During the evening, a number of people approached Beaumont’s table, but they were only interested in saying hello and currying favor with a rich, powerful man. Beaumont sat back like a king holding court and received them. Mrs. Hobson preened at his side.

They had been there about an hour when Cleve strolled into the place. Preacher saw the gambler come in the door. Cleve’s gaze swept over the room. His eyes paused just for a second as they passed over Preacher, and then Cleve continued looking around the room as if he hadn’t even noticed the mountain man.

In that brief second, though, Preacher had seen a flash of satisfaction in Cleve’s eyes. The day had gone well, at least from the gambler’s point of view.

Cleve found an empty seat at one of the poker tables and soon was engrossed in the game. Preacher wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t see any way of doing so without running the risk of provoking Beaumont’s suspicions.

After a while, Beaumont emptied the last of the brandy from the bottle that had been brought to him when he arrived. Preacher saw that and got to his feet.

“Need another, boss?” he asked.

“One of the girls can bring it,” Beaumont replied offhandedly.

“They look like they’re all busy,” Preacher said. “No need to wait. I’ll fetch it.”

He went to the bar, which was crowded and busy. While he stood there waiting to ask one of the bartenders for another bottle of brandy, Cleve folded his hand and stood up, saying, “I believe I’ll take a break, gentlemen.” The gambler gathered up his winnings and ambled over to the bar, where he stood next to Preacher.

“Everything went well,” Cleve said under his breath, quietly enough so that no one could hear except Preacher. “Good work, my friend.”

“I got to talk to you.”

“Not here. Not in front of Beaumont. Later, when he goes to Jessie’s.”

“He ain’t said anything about goin’ to Jessie’s.”

A smirk tugged at Cleve’s mouth. “Trust me. He’ll pay the place a visit later.”

Preacher didn’t know about that, but Cleve seemed to know what he was talking about. The bartender came up then, so they couldn’t talk any more. Preacher asked for another bottle of Beaumont’s special brandy, and the bartender handed it over without hesitation. Preacher took the bottle back to Beaumont’s table.

Luella Hobson was already drunk, Preacher saw. He wasn’t quite sure why Beaumont continued to ply her with liquor. She was already at the point where she would do anything he wanted her to. She probably would have, even without the brandy, just to keep him interested in her.

He understood Beaumont’s motives a little better once the carriage reached Luella’s house a hour later. Beaumont called from inside the vehicle, “Give me a hand here, Jim.”

The poor woman was as drunk as she could be, Preacher saw as he helped Beaumont lift her from the carriage. “Take her inside,” Beaumont ordered. “I’m in no mood for her usual games tonight.”

“That’s why you kept pourin’ that brandy down her throat?”

Beaumont’s face hardened. “Why I do things is none of your business.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Preacher said. “Sorry, boss.” He got an arm around Luella’s waist and helped her make her unsteady way up the walk.

“Gonna . . . gonna make you so happy, Shad,” she mumbled. “You’ll see . . . do anything you want . . . you can have me . . . any way you like.”

She leaned heavily against him so that her breasts rubbed on his arm. Preacher gritted his teeth. He had never cared for drunken, sloppy women.

“I ain’t Mr. Beaumont,” he told her as they reached the door. “You go on inside, Mrs. Hobson, and get some sleep. You need it.”

She was going to be sick as a dog come morning, no matter what she did now, Preacher knew. Damn, but he hated this place! He needed to be back in the mountains, where folks didn’t carry on like this, and if you had enemies, you fought them out in the open.

“You got a housekeeper?” he asked.

“Housekeeper? What do you need . . . a housekeeper for?”

Preacher knew he wasn’t going to be able to get a straight answer out of her. He pounded on the door instead of trying to ask her anything else. After a few minutes, someone jerked open the door, and a heavy-set black woman carrying a lantern peered out.

“What in heaven’s name—Oh, lawsy mercy, what’s wrong with Miz Hobson?”

“She’s had too much to drink,” Preacher said. “You work for her?”

“Reckon you could say that, since her husband done bought me five years ago afore he died.”

Preacher practically shoved Luella into the slave’s arms. “Well, you know how to look after her, then. Good night.”

“Wait just a minute! Is that Mr. Beaumont’s carriage I see parked there in the road?”

“Yeah.”

“You tell him he ought to leave poor Miz Luella alone. She just a poor, lonely woman since her husband up and died, and he takin’ advantage o’ her.”

“Sure,” Preacher said. “I’ll tell him.”

The woman looked at him and sighed. “No, you won’t. I know better.”

“You just take good care of her. Maybe things’ll get better.”

“Not as long as that Shad Beaumont around. And you can tell him I said so!”

A look of fear came over the woman’s face, though, as soon as the defiant words were out of her mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Preacher said. “I ain’t gonna tell him that, either.”

He went back to the carriage and swung up onto the driver’s seat next to Lorenzo. Beaumont leaned out the window and asked, “Any problems?”

“None to speak of,” Preacher said.

“Fine. Lorenzo, drive to Jessie’s Place.”

It looked like Cleve had been right about Beaumont going to Jessie’s later. Preacher’s gut told him this might not be good.

The carriage drew up in front of the big house a short time later. Beaumont climbed out of the vehicle as Preacher jumped down from the driver’s box. “Keep your eyes open tonight,” Beaumont warned as they went up the walk to the door. “That trouble this afternoon tells me that my enemies are getting bolder. They’re not afraid to move against me now. We may be in for a war, Jim. Are you up for that?”

“I’m up for whatever I need to be up for,” Preacher said.

“I hope so. Because even though they’ve started the war—whoever they are—I intend to finish it.”

Brutus met them at the door. “Mr. Beaumont! Good to see you as always, sir.” He turned his head and gave Preacher a curt nod. “Donnelly.”

The freedman was treating him the same way he always had, and that was good, Preacher thought. He didn’t know how much Jessie and Cleve had told Brutus about what was going on. It seemed likely, though, that Brutus was part of their campaign against Beaumont.

As he handed his hat and cape to Brutus, Beaumont said, “Tell Miss Jessie I’m here, will you?”

“Of course, sir. I—”

“Shad!” Brutus didn’t have to tell Jessie, because she was coming along the hall toward them, a brilliant smile on her face. Preacher looked at her and wondered how a woman so beautiful could order the cold-blooded murder of approximately two dozen men, then reminded himself that evil sometimes came in pretty packages. Jessie went on to Beaumont, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I had a . . . business reversal this afternoon, and I thought spending some time here might be just the thing to lift my spirits,” he said.

Jessie stepped up to him and ran her hand up and down his upper arm. She hadn’t glanced even once in Preacher’s direction. She was an icy-nerved gal, he had to give her credit for that.

“I’m sure we can find something pleasant to do that will make you forget all about any business problems, Shad,” she murmured.

Beaumont shook his head. “No offense, Jessie. You know how I feel about you. But I think your charms aren’t exactly what I need tonight.”

“No?” she asked with a look of surprise. Her tongue came out of her mouth and ran enticingly along her full upper lip. “Are you sure? You know I’m . . . very good at what I do.”

“Yes, but I had something else in mind. Someone else.” Beaumont’s right hand slowly clenched into a fist. “I thought I’d go up and see Cassandra. I had such a lovely evening with her the last time.”