Payton's Woman (5 page)

“No, piracy and murder—to
name a few.”

“Piracy?” Stover’s eyes
opened wider. “Did he hit your ship?”

Payton nodded. “That was
his first mistake.”

“And his second?”

A tight knot clenched in
his belly as he recalled the atrocities Dunbar had committed. “He was
responsible for the death of a good friend.”

Stover squirmed around
in his chair before he got up for more coffee. When he sat down again, he didn’t
look as anxious, but his voice sounded hesitant. “What’s this got to do with Mr.
Hennigan?”

“Quite a bit I’m afraid.
Mrs. Hennigan may lose the shipping company when the news gets out.”

Stover’s jaw went slack.
“What do you mean?”

Payton understood his
concern. If Mrs. Hennigan lost everything, he’d be out of a job. “How much do
you know about the company’s shipping activities?”

“Everything. Half the
time, the old man wasn’t here. It fell to me to run the business. Except...” He
held up a single finger. “There was something real queer going on a while back.
Not quite a year ago. There were some goods—hardware he called it. Deliveries
were made in small quantities over several months. He always took care of it
himself and wouldn’t let me see the paper work.

“Everything was locked
up tight in a warehouse,” Stover continued. “Then one day, I noticed the
warehouse had been emptied. When I asked him what happened to the goods, he
acted as though he didn’t know anything about it.” He rubbed at his chin. “Do
you know anything about that shipment?”

“Those goods were guns
and munitions that were to be sold to the Confederacy. They expected to make a
nice little profit.”

“The old man was mixed
up with running guns to the Confederates? I don’t believe it. He wasn’t political.
And he sure the hell wasn’t a Southern sympathizer. Wait. You said ‘they’.” Stover’s
jaw went slack. “Dunbar?”

“It was Dunbar, all
right. He’d been working with the British running blockades for the Confederacy,
but it had nothing to do with politics. He was in it strictly for the money.
After a few runs, he got greedy. Didn’t want to split the profits with an English
captain. When the small steamer made the return trip from North Carolina to
Nassau, he took over the ship. There were about a half-dozen crew members. He
killed most of them and sailed to Havana instead. Took on a crew that wasn’t British.

“Toward the end of the war,”
Payton continued, “the Union was more effective at stopping the blockade runners.
Dunbar had some heavy loses. That’s when he came back to California.”

“He wouldn’t dare show
his face around here. He’s still wanted for murder.”

“That’s why he conspired
with Hennigan to front his next scheme. Dunbar gave your boss what was left of
his fortune to buy arms and munitions. They planned to sell them to a group of
Confederates in southern California, but they wanted to use bonds as payment.
Dunbar wanted cash. So their next scheme was to sell the arms to Mexico for
their war, but that proved to be difficult. The French had blocked the Mexican harbors.”

“So how did they expect
to make delivery?”

“The French allowed the coastal
mail steamers to use the harbor at Acapulco as a depot. Hennigan arranged to
load the cargo onto a ship with forged bills of lading. Dunbar’s scheme was to
commandeer the ship that carried the goods so he could slip past the French. They
planned to deliver the munitions and collect the money. Then they’d sail the ship
to South America and unload the gold.”

“Gold,” Stover repeated.
“Those mail steamers out of San Francisco carry large quantities of gold. I
suppose that was the extra incentive they needed.”

He nodded. “They expected
to make two fortunes with one excursion. It was Dunbar’s misfortune that it was
my ship he tried to take.

“We’d left San Francisco
for Panama,” Payton said. “At the port in San Diego, Dunbar and a few of his men
came on as passengers. Just before we got to Acapulco, he made his move. The
night was dark. No one spotted his small ship when it approached. There were
about a dozen men altogether.”

He let out a hard breath.
“Needless to say, he didn’t get my ship. I shot him in the leg, but he managed
to escape. The next day we hailed a naval vessel with the Pacific Squadron. They
went hunting for him.”

“Did they get him?”

“No. They seized his ship,
but Dunbar and what was left of his crew were gone. They made it to shore and escaped
inland. It’s been six months now, and no one’s heard from him. The authorities
figured he died of his wound, but a few weeks ago, they got word he may be
alive and headed this way.

“Since I’m one of the
few people who knows what he looks like, and has good reason to find him, I decided
to wait around and see if he turns up here. If he does, I’ll catch him and make
certain he stands trial for all his crimes.”

“You’re going to turn
him over to the law?” A hint of disbelief resonated in Stover’s tone. “You seem
more like the kind of man who takes matters into your own hands.”

“Thanks for your high
opinion of me.” He hoped the man caught the sarcasm in his voice.

“I didn’t mean any
disrespect.”

“No need to apologize. That’s
exactly what I’d like to do, but I do have my scruples. Killing in self defense
is one thing, but murdering a man in cold blood for revenge is hard to justify—especially
to the law. Aside from that, Hennigan and Dunbar had other associates. It’s
rumored that one or two of them were influential in politics here in California.
In order to discover the names of his accomplices, Dunbar will have to be
captured alive.”

“The old man must have known
who those people were. No wonder you were anxious to talk to him. But why was
he afraid of you? He couldn’t have known you were on to him.”

“He might have. From
what I heard, the authorities questioned Hennigan right after the incident. I’m
certain my name came up in the conversation. They couldn’t charge him with
anything illegal because it’s not against the law to ship guns and ammunition
to Mexico. As to piracy, Hennigan claimed he didn’t know anything about it.
With Dunbar dead, or so they thought, there wouldn’t be anyone to link the old
man to any criminal activities. Of course if he knew Dunbar was alive and on
his way here, and the fact that I wanted to talk with him must have given him
considerable worry.”

“You may be right about
him knowing Dunbar was alive. The old man received a couple of letters a while
back. They were both from Mexico.” He ran his hand over his chin as he thought.
“When you showed up yesterday, he probably figured Dunbar would be arrested as
soon as he stepped foot in California, and he’d be implicated in the piracy. I
guess he thought putting a gun to his head was better than going to prison.”

“Letters from Mexico?”
Payton repeated. “Did you happen to see what was in them?”

“No, he always stuck
them in his pocket. But now that I think about it, each time he got one of
those letters, he made a hasty trip to Sacramento. I thought it was because he
was visiting a woman there, but those trips must’ve been to deliver the letters
to Dunbar’s mother.”

Payton swore under his
breath.

“It’s strange that he
would’ve picked last night to kill himself, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each time he left for
Sacramento, he was real upset. But when he came back, he’d be as happy as a drunken
sailor. That’s why I thought he was seeing a woman. Yesterday afternoon he
perked up considerably. It was after you left. A messenger delivered a note
that put a smile on his face. He practically danced around the office.”

“Do you think it was
from Dunbar?”

“No, the handwriting on
the outside was a woman’s. I think she was in town and wanted to visit him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“There was a woman with
him last night. She was probably here when he shot himself.”

Payton felt his mouth drop
open, but he snapped it shut. “How do you know all this?”

“There was a bottle of
champagne and two glasses.”

“Where?”

He jerked his thumb over
his shoulder. “In the back. The old man changed one of the offices into a
bedroom for when he worked late. With the way he fixed it up, it looked more
like a room in a cathouse. He’d occasionally bring women here after taking them
to Chinatown for the evening. That’s how he hid everything from his wife.”

“What makes you think
the woman was here when he shot himself?”

“Because when they
picked his body up off the bed, there was a pair of lady’s gloves under him.” He
spoke slowly and distinctly, as though he knew Payton hung on his every word. “And
the front door was unlocked, but the key was still in the slot. If the old man
had let her out, he would’ve locked it behind her. He was real careful about
locking doors.”

“You’d make a good
detective. You might try that line of work if you ever need another job.”

“It appears I just might
be needing one.”

“One thing is curious
about his death. Why would a man shoot himself if he was with a woman
that...what did you say, made him laugh and dance around the room?”

“That is curious, but I
think it was because she turned down his advances.”

“Can’t be.” He chuckled as
he shook his head. “A man doesn’t kill himself just because a woman turns him
down. If that were the case, I would’ve been dead when I was sixteen.”

Stover laughed also but
quickly sobered. “I think this woman was different. His usual women were cheap
and gaudy. I could tell from the little things they left behind. And the smell.”
He wrinkled his nose and fanned his hand in front of his face. “They must put
their perfume on by the keg. I’d have to open the window and air the room out
the next day.”

“But this one...” His
eyelids squinted as if his mind tried to picture the woman he’d never seen. “She
must’ve been a real lady. There was just a hint of perfume—Jasmine, I think.”

Payton had lounged back
in the padded, leather chair, but his body stiffened at the remark. An uneasy
feeling twisted around in his gut.

“And her gloves,” Stover
continued. “A working girl usually wears cheap, frilly things. You know what I
mean—bright colors with lots of lace. These gloves looked expensive. And they
were made of silk. The color of the gloves was a beautiful, rich shade of blue.”

“Sapphire-blue,” he said
as he recalled the color of the gown his angel had worn last night. She’d also
claimed to have lost her gloves.

The hard jerk of Stover’s
body told Payton he’d guessed the right color. His chest felt like a heavy
anchor pressed on him, and he could barely breathe. When he recalled that the Devil’s
Lair lay only a short distance from here, it didn’t help his breathing.

After a moment, he
cleared his throat and tried to speak in a calm voice. “What makes you think he
shot himself because she turned him down?”

“For one thing, Hennigan
had on all his clothes. And I think the derringer was hers. I’m only guessing,
but she probably threatened to use it on him if he didn’t leave her alone. He
must’ve taken it away from her. That’s why she ran off. Then he shot himself. Either
that, or he shot himself in front of her, and she took off without getting her
things.”

“Did you tell any of
this to the authorities?”

“I tried, but they didn’t
want to listen. They think they know it all anyway.” He brushed the back of his
hand over his mouth, as if contemplating whether to keep from blurting out the
words. “Do you know the woman he was with last night?”

Payton felt like a bug
under inspection. Stover stared at him though narrowed eyelids.

“You may want to keep
what you just told me to yourself.” He attempted to get the man’s mind focused on
something else. “Mrs. Hennigan is going to be hurt enough when everything else
gets out. That goes for our conversation about Dunbar. Things could get
dangerous if he turns up here and suspects you know too much about his
activities with Hennigan.”

That got his attention.
The color of his face paled. “Thanks for the warning. Where do you think he is
anyway?”

“I’m not certain, but I’ll
bet his mother knows. Looks like I’ll have to take a trip to Sacramento.”

As soon as Payton left
the Double Eagle Shipping Company, he found a carriage for hire. He needed to
talk to the woman he’d met last night. Too many coincidences existed for her
not to be the woman with Hennigan when he’d shot himself.

When the coachman pulled
up to the front of her hotel, Payton leaped from the carriage before it came to
a complete stop. He tossed a coin to the driver and hurried inside to the front
desk.

“Give me the room number
for Miss Sally Smith.”

“She’s not here,” the
clerk said. “Miss Smith checked out very early this morning.”

Chapter Five

Julia glanced into the
tiny mirror atop her dressing table. Her sleepless night should’ve left some
telltale sign, but she found nothing. No dark circles, or puffy eyelids. No
bloodshot eyes stared back.

Almost a week had gone
by since she’d returned to Sacramento, but she still had dreams that awoke her
during the night. A decent woman, she told herself, would have reoccurring
nightmares about seeing three men die right before her eyes, but not so for Julia.
Instead, her dreams were filled with visions of a tall, dark-haired pirate with
brilliant blue eyes.

Even in daylight, images
of him intruded upon her thoughts. She’d push him from her mind, but not before
her traitorous body responded to the memory of his kiss.

She touched her fingers
to her lips as if moistness from his mouth still lingered. A shiver rippled
through her when she recalled the way his tongue had parted her lips and thrust
into her mouth to stroke inside.