“That’s a damned lie. We didn’t have nothing to do with it!” Now Fargo had riled Sam, too.
“And it also means that since you were such good friends with Clete, maybe you can tell me if he said anything to you after the robbery. And how he was acting. If he’d changed a lot all of a sudden.”
Sam looked at Kenny. “I guess it won’t hurt to talk, Kenny.” Then back to Fargo. “But we didn’t have nothing to do with it, like I said, so there’s no point in even askin’ about it.”
“You talk to the bastard. I sure as hell won’t.” Kenny was at the stage of drunkenness where he was capable only of slurring the same sentiments over and over again.
“When was the last time you saw Clete Byrnes, Sam?”
“Two days before he died.”
“Where?”
“He stopped by our little cabin in back of the stage line.”
“What did he talk about?”
“He said he was thinking of movin’ on. Real fast-like.”
“So he was nervous.”
“Real nervous.”
The sound of snoring cut through the conversation like a saw. Kenny’s head rested on his chest. He was fast asleep.
“You shouldn’t of shot his hand that way.”
“Well, he shouldn’t ought to have attacked me.”
Sam shrugged. “He was scared, real scared. Clete was, I mean. I would’ve been, too. Two of them were dead. He had to know he was next in line. He said he was going to hide out somewhere.”
“He give you any hint of where that was?”
“He didn’t say. Don’t blame him for that, either. You want to hide out, you don’t want anybody else to know where you are.”
“He mention who might be doing the killing?”
“No. And I asked him. I said that he must know something. But all he said was that I’d be surprised.”
“When Sheriff Cain talked to you, did you tell him what Clete said?”
Irritation in the voice and eyes. “I didn’t tell that sheriff jack shit. He’s always treated me and Kenny like we was scum. I wouldn’t help him if he was drowning.”
“You telling me everything you know?”
Sullen now. “Yeah. But I probably shouldn’t after what you done to Kenny’s hand.”
“Don’t you want to find who killed Clete?”
“Yeah, and that’s the only reason I’m talkin’ to you.”
“You have any opinion about who it was?”
“Hell, yes, I do. Ned Lenihan. And everybody knows it. He knew them three boys all their lives. They used to hang around the stage line all the time they were growin’ up. They worshipped him. They’d do whatever he asked them to. And that includes robbing a stage and splitting the money with him.”
“You have any proof of that?”
“Don’t need no more proof than the fact that he needs money bad for that farm of his. He don’t want to look bad for his lady. She’s another one I don’t like. Kenny asked her to dance one Saturday night and she claimed he held her too tight and took some liberties. Everybody takes some liberties when they dance. A little feel here and there. Who does she think she is anyway?”
Kenny’s snoring was louder now. Fargo decided he’d probably outstayed his welcome with the Raines boys. They weren’t exactly the kind of company he cared to keep.
“Maybe you better put his head down on the table before he falls out of the chair,” Fargo said as he stood up.
“Yeah,” Sam snarled, “and maybe you shouldn’t ought to have shot his gun hand.”
The troubled feeling was still with Amy Peters as she stood near the counter where Ned Lenihan was helping a customer finish wrapping up a small box. In addition to selling tickets, overseeing the welfare of coaches and horses and paying salaries, Ned was also responsible for all the shipping. Cawthorne was getting big enough that this represented a significant portion of the small company’s profits. Ned liked to joke that he had nightmares about never being able to speak any words but those of the cautions he gave people shipping things that might break. “You realize that the company can’t take responsibility.” He always said this in the self-mocking way that made her smile.
She hadn’t intended to stop by today. She needed to get home. There was cooking, washing, sewing to do. But after her encounter with Tom Cain she felt a need to see Ned. The past few times she’d seen Cain there’d been a certain edge in his voice, almost a threat. And today’s words—and maybe she was wrong, maybe she was hearing something that he really wasn’t saying—today’s words seemed to carry a warning of some kind.
“Your quilt’ll be fine, Mrs. Swanson,” Ned said to the older lady who had reached into the pocket of her long skirt to dig out her coins. “Now that we’ve got the string tightened up and everything.”
Her clawlike right hand showed why she hadn’t been able to wrap the package properly. Arthritis. The knuckles swollen, the fingers twisted. “You sure do take care of people nice, Ned. That’s why everybody likes you.”
“And here I thought they liked me because of my good looks.”
A sweet smile on Mrs. Swanson’s face. “And you make me laugh.”
When the transaction was done, the old lady, picking her way with her cane, looked up and saw Amy standing there. “I sure wouldn’t let him get away, Amy. He’s the best man in this whole town.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Swanson.”
She went on out, leaving them alone in the small office. Schedules and promotional material cluttered the walls in front of the counter. Behind were two desks and five filing cabinets. The back door led to the corral and barn where the vehicles were worked on.
“Well, you’re looking more beautiful than ever, Amy.”
“A touch of the blarney in all Irishmen, as my aunt Mae used to say.”
“Well, remembering her husband, she married a man with more than a touch of it.”
They often joked about Amy’s uncle Dick. He was a decent man but a poor one. This didn’t stop him from always giving other poor people advice on how they could become wealthy. People always told him that if his advice was good he should take it himself.
Then Ned said, “Something wrong, Amy?” Studying her face now.
She put her hand out and he took it. She knew she was making a fool of herself but she couldn’t help it. She needed to reassure herself that everything in her little world was all right, safe. That Ned and she would finally get married and live out their lives together.
“I just got sentimental I guess, is all.” What she wanted to tell him was how much she feared for him. The whispers she was hearing. Her continuing distrust of Tom Cain.
He leaned across the counter and she met him halfway. They kissed.
“Well, stop in any time you get sentimental, Mrs. Peters. I’ll be happy to oblige you.”
Door opened. Bell above it rang. She felt color in her cheeks. Had Mrs. Riley, a professional gossip, seen them kissing? Apparently not, because Mrs. Riley’s scowl wasn’t nearly as deep as usual.
“Hope you’re having a good day, Mrs. Riley,” Amy said.
“I’ve had better ones,” Mrs. Riley said.
She was always such good company, Amy thought. If you liked complainers.
Mrs. Riley was one of those tall women who got too close to you when you talked so that you had to look up to her. She also tended to shout rather than simply speak. Apparently she had only two dresses she was willing to wear in public. A dark blue one and a black one. Shoulders and cuffs were white lace and they were belted in the middle. Today she wore the black one.
She set a small, carefully wrapped package on the counter.
“Now, Ned, I’m not necessarily blaming you for this but the last time I gave you a package to send, the wrapping string came loose. I would prefer that not happen this time.”