Grayson stared up at him, speechless for a moment. “Buck, I’ve never seen you like this. You, a doctor who never even went on a foxhunt, are now talking about taking another man’s life?”
Buck stared at him. “I’ve already killed six men and haven’t regretted a single one of them. Now I’m a mankiller.”
The banker fell back in his chair, clearly appalled at what he’d heard. He started to bring his cigar to his lips, but his hand trembled so badly he lowered it to the crystal ashtray.
“My God, Buck. My God.” He covered his face with his hands. “What’s this war done to us?”
“I need to find Rufus Snead,” Buck said with cold calm. “He’s around here somewhere.”
Pulling himself together, Grayson tapped the ash from his cigar and took a puff. “My friend, I want you to get Clay’s murderer as much as you do, but the Sneads are a treacherous lot with a host of evil friends. It’d be foolhardy for you to go after him by yourself.”
“I can’t ignore him now.” Buck frowned. “Not when I know he’s so close.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting you let him get away. I have ah . . . an . . . acquaintance who can find a gnat in a sandstorm, and squash him if necessary.”
Buck shook his head. “No, sir, I want that red-haired coward for myself.”
“I understand that. What I’m proposing is you let my man Tracker locate him for you. He’s a master of disguise who can slip into dangerous places without raising suspicions.”
“You’ve never steered me wrong, Gus. But I don’t want this to drag out. There’s no telling how many lives are at stake. Do you think Tracker can get the job done promptly?”
“I believe he can. Fortunately he’s in the vicinity. I’ll send word to him right away.” Gus pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and snapped it open. “Time for us to pick up the ladies and proceed to the synagogue.”
#
Buck, Sarah, her mother, and the Graysons arrived at the synagogue in silence. Rabbi Mendelssohn greeted them with appropriate solemnity and introduced several members of the congregation—many were friends of the Graysons—so that there would be the ten male Jews required for religious services. Buck was unfamiliar with the rituals that followed but was captivated by the rabbi’s resonant, sonorously mournful chanting.
From the house of worship, they proceeded across the street to the Hebrew cemetery. Here the rabbi led a prayer which was recited by all those present, even Gus. Buck listened and found the words deeply comforting.
“Glorified and sanctified be God’s great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will . . .”
Gus prodded Buck and inclined his head toward a group of tombstones on their left.
“May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity . . .”
A small figure, wearing a badly stained Confederate cavalry hat and tunic, crouched among the gravestones. When the vagrant realized he’d been seen, he scurried away. In his haste the hat fell off, revealing a long tangle of red hair.
“Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen . . .”
Buck almost gasped. By God! It’s Rufus Snead. What the hell is he doing here?
“May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen . . .”
Apparently the sniper hadn’t given up stalking him. Buck was tempted to pursue him but two things dissuaded him. He wasn’t armed, and he was loath to disrupt the service.
“He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.”
The ceremony concluded, Miriam came over to Buck and invited him to the house for a small reception. Buck hesitated, then accepted. His pursuit of Snead would have to wait—at least until he was armed.
The banker’s smoke-streaked residence on Senate Street was a sprawling three story brick building with a kitchen in back and beyond it a carriage house. A butler in patched livery greeted them at the front door, accepted the gentlemen’s hats and walking sticks, while female servants helped the ladies out of their cloaks and feathered hats.
The party proceeded to the drawing room in front, where a scant buffet had been laid out. Ruth was pouring sherry into small crystal glasses. Gus was at the other end of the long trestle table decanting modest portions of brandy into matching crystal snifters. The butler approached him quietly and waited until he was recognized.
“Yes, Quintus?”
“Beg pardon, sir, but a letter comed a short while ago for Mr. Jacob Greenwald.”
“I see. Where is it now?”
“In the hall, sir. You want me to fetch it?”
“Yes, please. But bring it directly to me.”
“Yessir.”
A minute later, the black man approached with a silver salver on which a yellow envelope lay.
Gus thanked him, dismissed him and then examined the document to verify the name of the addressee. He noted that Miriam had been observing him out of the corner of her eye while talking with her guests and discussing the Lord only knew what. It took the merest nod from him for her to excuse herself and join him. Her immediate reaction when he showed her the envelope was, “More bad news? Is this salt for the wounds?”
Together they went to Ruth and Sarah.
“Ruth, my dear, a letter has arrived addressed to Jacob.”
The new widow’s hands shook.
Sarah relieved her of her glass. “Momma, do you want to sit down?”
“Please. What does it say?” Ruth asked after she was seated. “Who sent it?”
“Would you like me to open it for you?” Gus asked.
The grieving woman nodded.
Gus was surprised when he realized his own hands were shaking too. He tore open the flap, unfolded the crinkly paper, scanned the terse words and quickly read them aloud.
“Franklin Drexel is contesting Sarah’s sole ownership of the brokerage and has obtained a court order closing it, pending court determination of his challenge. The hearing is scheduled for the 18th. I require your original documentation to go forward with your defense. It’s signed Simon Weinberg.”
“Our family lawyer,” Sarah explained.
“Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this in private,” Miriam said, eyeing Buck.
“No.” Sarah replied. “Dr. Thomson’s aware of my situation with Randolph.”
Her mother frowned, doubt on her face.
“All of it,” Sarah declared.
“We must return to Charleston immediately,” Ruth said.
“No,” Sarah repeated. “You stay here. I’ll go back and take care of this.”
“I must—” Ruth started to say.
“Nonsense,” Miriam stopped her. “Sarah is right. You need to stay here and recuperate. Your daughter’s well qualified to deal with this.”
Ruth covered her face with her hands. “And we thought they were our friends.”
#
“Do you have any idea what the basis of their suit might be?” Buck asked Sarah who was sitting between her mother and Miriam.
“I can think of three possible causes of action. First, that the agreement to sever his junior partnership was obtained under duress. Second, that there was no compensation for value received, and third, that our religious divorce has no legal standing.”
“May I ask a few more questions?” Gus asked.