A Season Beyond a Kiss (56 page)

Not my fault! I didn’t know!
his mind screamed to the black-shrouded judge whose skeletal visage towered above him. The gavel came crashing downward.
Guilty, by all intents and purposes! The sentence is death!

Not having prayed since the tender age of six, Gustav struggled to remember just how to go about it when a groan suddenly broke from the tar who held the knife wedged against his throat. The other sailor raised his arm with a gleaming knife clutched in his hand, but abruptly gasped in surprise. A long, bloody blade slipped free of his gut, and then, quite slowly he doubled over with a muted groan.

“Ye can pull up yer breeches now, Mr. Fridrich,” a familiar voice informed him. “These here tars ain’t never gonna do ye no more hurt.”

“Olney?” Gustav struggled mightily to drag his trousers up over his long underwear.

“Aye, it’s me all right.”

Facing the younger man, the German finished tugging the waistband up over his buttocks and began buttoning the flap as he settled a glower upon the scamp, totally dismissing from mind the fact that Olney had just saved his life. “Vhere haf yu been? I expected yu back veeks ago.”

“I’ve been tryin’ ta save me arse. Me arm was busted an’ I had ta wait till it healed afore I dared come outa hidin’. If ‘tweren’t for Birmin’am’s hired men snippin’ at me heels an’ the sheriff trackin’ me wit’ his men, I’da’ve been able ta get some rest here and there. But they nearly drove me inta me grave tryin’ ta escape ’em. Me temper got plumb sour, it did. I ain’t had me a real bath or bedded a wench in o’er a month. Considerin’ everythin’ I’d been through, I decided I had enough o’ runnin’ through the swamps an’ woods an’ could just as well hide out at that there cat house where I found Ol’ Coop the last time. Yes, sir, I’m gonna have me a taste o’ them fancy women they’ve got there. In fact, that’s where I was headin’ when I seen ye an’ yer friends here turn inta the alley.” He canted his head curiously. “What’s happenin’ wit’ Birmin’am, anyway? He been arrested yet?”

“Nein! Zhat stupid sheriff refuses to do anyzhing about Nell’s murder! Yu killed her for nozhing!”

Olney laughed caustically. “I didn’t kill the li’l wench! Birmin’am did! I saw him do it!”

“Yu’re lyin’, Olney. Yu took her out zhere, promisin’ to make trouble for Birmingham. Zhen I hear she vas killed. Vhy vould he bother to murder Nell vhen he has such a beautiful vife?”

The curly-headed man lifted his brawny shoulder. “Maybe Birmin’am flew inta a rage after Nell went into his house durin’ his fancy ball an’ threatened to expose him afore all o’ them friends o’ his. She said she was gonna tell ’em he were the one what filled her belly wit’ that ‘ere li’l bastard she whelped. The ways I figgered it, Birmin’am didn’t want ta suffer the shame o’ his friends thinkin’ he’d knocked up the li’l twit an’ then sent her packin’. Some men are like that, carin’ more ’bout their reputations than they do ’bout keepin’ themselves respectable an’ safely wit’in the law. O’ course, the two o’ us don’t e’er have ta worry about that none, do we, Mr. Fridrich?”

Though he sensed the question was spoken in derision, Gustav ignored the insinuation to his life of crime as he considered the viability of his foe being a murderer. “As much as I vould like to have it so, I haf trouble believin’ Birmingham vould be so foolish,” Gustav muttered. “Perhaps yu vere mistaken, Olney. Maybe yu saw zhe real murderer an’ just thought it vas Birmingham.”

“I’d almost be willin’ ta swear afore a judge that it were Birmin’am himself, but that ain’t hardly gonna happen, ’cause the minute I show me face, the good sheriff’ll arrest me. Huh! He’ll probably tell all kinds o’ nasty things ta the jury just to see me locked up for the next brace o’ years. A measly thousand dollars ain’t worth the trouble I’d be gettin’ meself inta, so if’n that’s what ye’re expectin’ me ta do ta get it, ye can be keepin’ what ye promised me.”

The ice blue eyes narrowed calculatingly as Gustav considered what would tempt the rogue. “Vhat about zhree zhousand?”

Olney snorted. “The only way I’d do it is if’n ye give me the use o’ yer lads ta spread the news that I’m back in town an’ that I saw Birmin’am kill Nell. Yer men would have ta go ’round town, stirrin’ up the people against Sheriff Townsend an’ accusin’ him o’ bein’ partial ta his friends. Then they’d have ta follow me ta the sheriff’s office, along wit’ the people they riled, an’ be ‘ere ta heckle Townsend when I turns meself in.”

“I can haf my men do zhat easily enough. Vhen do you vant zhem to start?”

“I’ll need a bath, a couple of hours with a wench an’ ten thousand up front.”

“Zen zhousand! Yu must be mad! I vill never pay yu so much!”

Olney lifted his shoulders, blandly unconcerned. “Suit yerself, Mr. Fridrich, but I’m not doin’ it for anythin’ less. I may have ta spend a few years in prison, an’ I wants a nice tidy sum ta invest afore I’m taken in so’s I can live like a Birmin’am once I’m set free.”

“Vhat yu ask iz highway robbery!”

A derisive chuckle came from the younger man. “Well, me grandpa was a highwayman, so’s it must be in me blood somewheres, but if’n ‘ere’s a thief betwixt the two o’ us, Mr. Fridrich, then I’m lookin’ at him. Ye pay me wages, remember? I’m an honest, hard-workin’ gent who knows how ta barter when the time’s right. Three or more years in prison is too long a time for me ta even consider the measly pickin’s ye’re willin’ ta dole out. In short, I ain’t acceptin’ anythin’ less’n what I asked for.”

Gustav peered at him narrowly. “Yu guarantee Birmingham vill be arrested if I agree?”

“I guaran
tee
.”

“Zen zhousand zhen for his arrest. If yu fail, yu vill be found in zhe river vith yur throat cut. Zhat much I promise yu.”

  
  “G
OOD AFTERNOON
, S
HERIFF
.”

Rhys Townsend spun around in quick reflex, his hand reaching for his pistol. He hadn’t been able to forget that voice, not by any stretch of the imagination. It had haunted him night and day through all of his efforts to figure out just where that wily rat, Olney, had lit out to. He surely hadn’t expected the scamp to come prancing himself across the threshold of his office like some dandified gent in garb that could’ve crossed one’s eyes. But there Olney stood, big as life, leaning cockily against the doorjamb and wearing a loudly checked frockcoat, a red shirt, and the bottoms of his tan trousers stuffed into overrun, deer-hide boots that had seen better days.

“What the devil are you up to, Olney?” Rhys barked, flicking his gaze out the window at the crowd of people collecting in front of his office. His hackles fairly prickled. Something was up all right. He could feel it in his vitals.

Making no effort to curb his grin, Olney sauntered forward with an air of a man who had the world by the tail with a downhill pull. His thick shoulders came up in a casual shrug. “I just thought it were time I came ta pay me respects, Sheriff. Any objections?”

As the younger man ambled past him, Rhys wrinkled his nose and turned his face aside in sharp repugnance as if he had just gotten a strong, downwind whiff of a polecat. “You smell like a perfume factory, boy.”

Olney threw back his head and loudly guffawed, snatching awake the deputy who had been dozing in a nearby cell. The older lawman stumbled to the bars and stared bleary-eyed through the barrier as he mumbled sleepily, “Wha’s happenin’?”

“Go back to sleep, Charlie,” Rhys bade tersely, sending the deputy tottering back to the bunk. Rhys cocked a brow at the sly, young fox who was doing everything but swishing his tail across his nose.

“Don’t ye like me new duds, Sheriff?” Olney inquired, tossing back a taunting grin.

“A bit gaudy for my taste, Olney, but then, I’m not you. How’d you get the money from Fridrich to buy them?”

“There ye go again, Sheriff, always supposin’ me integrity’s for hire.”

Rhys scoffed in rampant amazement. “What integrity?”

“Don’t ye worry none ’bout that, Sheriff,” Olney retorted hotly, coming around in a huff and thrusting a forefinger beneath the lawman’s nose in an effort to dismiss his jeer. “I gots meself plenty o’ that.”

“Yeah? You and who else?”

Olney sighed heavily and shook his head as if sorely lamenting his visit. “Here I be, ready ta help ye solve a murder ye can’t unravel, an’ ye ain’t even willin’ ta be nice ta me.” He flung a hand toward the thickening throng milling about in front of the sheriff’s office. “I’m sure all o’ ’em folks out ‘ere would be eager ta hears what I has ta say on the matter o’ Nell’s murder, even if ye ain’t.”

Rhys strode thoughtfully to the barred window and gazed out. He had a good memory for faces, and some of the men he saw looked very much like the same ones who had been in Fridrich’s warehouse the night he and a whole host of friends and deputies had barged in with guns blazing. “I don’t know why it is, Olney, but I have a gut feeling that your friends out there already know what you’re about. In fact, I think you’re just itching to tell me the name of the man you claim is a murderer. Would you like me to guess the one you’re going to blame?”

Tugging on an earlobe, Olney mauled a smile as he considered the sheriff’s offer. “I suppose I can allow you one guess.”

Rhys jerked his head toward the street. “Considering all those people you’ve brought with you on your mission of goodwill, no doubt with the idea of forcing my hand, I’m of a mind to think that you’ll be naming none other than Jeffrey Birmingham as the murderer.”

Chortling softly, Olney scrubbed a forefinger beneath his nose. “Ye know, Sheriff, at times ye plumb surprise me. Ye don’t seem nearly as daft as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Thank you, Olney,” the sheriff rejoined dryly. “I’d accept that as a compliment, but I must consider the source.”

“I seen Birmin’am do it, Sheriff! I ain’t lying!” the brigand insisted irately.

Rhys’s gaze skimmed the rascal’s gaudy attire. “I assume from your new clothes that Fridrich has already paid you for submitting yourself to my authority so you could reveal this information to me.”

“Ye might say that, Sheriff, an’ ye just might be right. Knowin’ how eager ye’ve been ta lock me up, I wouldna’ve even considered wanderin’ o’er here if’n I hadn’t gotten enough booty ta make it worth the time I’ll have ta waste in jail. As it stands now, I can looks forward ta something real nice when I gets outa prison. When I told Mr. Fridrich what I seen, he thought I’d give meself o’er ta ye just ta let justice have its due.” Olney snorted derisively at such a farfetched notion. “That’ll be the day, for sure. Took ten thousand ta make me cross yer threshold today. So, here I am, Sheriff, ready ta confess all, my sins as well as those o’ yer friend’s.”

“You know, Olney, I can usually tell when a body is lying. I get this funny feeling in my gut that just won’t settle down until I finally come to the realization that I can’t swallow what’s being told me. Some people lie for the sheer pleasure of it ’cause they’ve got this black rot eating ’em up inside. Preachers might be wont to say that’s the devil taking hold of ’em. Now, we know that the devil has you already tied up and in his bag and is looking for another sucker to catch. What I’m getting at, boy, is if you have any hope of fooling me in this matter for very long, you might want to save your breath, ’cause eventually it’s not going to do you one bit of good. I’ll be catching the murderer in due time with or without your help.”

“I knows what I seen, Sheriff,” the scalawag stated flatly, his eyes purposefully dull as he fixed a level stare upon the sheriff. “An’ it’s the truth whether ye wants ta believe it or not. Now, are ye gonna lends an ear ta hear what I has ta say? Or should I go inform those people out ‘ere that ye don’t want ta listen ta anything mean an’ ugly ’bout yer rich, precious friend?”

“Oh, I’m not against hearing your version of the story, Olney. But know this, I’ll reserve my judgments about Birmingham until I have better proof than your word. Just consider this, if you would. Your conclusions may well be the truth in your opinion, but that may not necessarily be the way things stack up in the long run. Now, if you would, I’d like for you to tell me one thing before you give your eye view of what happened. Can you positively identify the man who chased you out of Birmingham’s stable that night after you witnessed Nell’s murder?”

Olney gaped back at the sheriff in surprise. “How the devil did ye know ’bout that?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Rhys assured him with a bland smile. “You stole Birmingham’s mare to get away from the murderer, didn’t you?”

Olney’s jaw had fallen slack with awe, but sudden suspicion made him squint at the lawman. “Birmin’am say anything ta ye ’bout that?”

“I haven’t talked with Birmingham about this matter since the day after Nell’s murder.” Dropping his gaze to the floor, he contemplated the brigand’s scruffy footwear and smiled wryly. “You left tracks in the paddock outside Birmingham’s stable that were as obvious as a plodding cow’s. If you haven’t noticed before, Olney, you’ve got very wide feet and you have a habit of running your boots over on the sides. There’s no mistaking your footprints.”

Wary skepticism still troubled the face of the curly-headed rogue as he continued to eye the sheriff. “So how do ye knows I was chased out there?”