Journey to Yesterday (19 page)

When she reached her room, Shaye locked the door, put on her
nightgown, washed her hands and face, and crawled into bed. But sleep wouldn’t
come. There were too many thoughts and fears running through her mind. How would
she get Alejandro out of jail? Where would they go? What if he was killed
during the escape? What if she was?

She turned over on her stomach, punched her fist into the
pillow, and closed her eyes. And thought about Daisy. It was sad, that she
should have died so young, so violently. Why had McCrory killed her? Had
McCrory killed her? What if it hadn’t been McCrory at all, but someone else?
But who?

She rolled onto her side, beset by a new fear. She had been
so certain she had been sent here to solve the mystery of Daisy’s death and
save Alejandro from hanging. What if she failed? What if she solved the riddle
of who killed Daisy, and Alejandro was hanged anyway, and she was left here
without him? She liked the excitement of the town, she liked the people,
especially Digger and Spooner and Henry. And Sophie. But as much as she liked
Bodie and its inhabitants, she didn’t want to stay here without Alejandro…

She woke to the sound of gunshots, sighed, and rolled over.
Another man for breakfast, she mused, shocked by how readily she accepted that
fact of life in Bodie. Maybe it was because she lived in Los Angeles. The City
of Angels usually had a man for breakfast, too, she mused ruefully, and, more
often than not, more than one.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could get back to sleep. It
had taken hours to fall asleep last night, and then she had tossed and turned
restlessly, her dreams dark and ominous, filled with grisly images of Alejandro
being led to the gallows, of a rope being dropped over his head, the thick knot
just behind his ear, heard her own screams as he dropped through the trap door.
She had awakened then, drenched with sweat.

But it had only been a dream. Hadn’t it?

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a clock chime the hour.
Ten, eleven, twelve. Good heavens, it was noon. She never slept that late.

Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed, dressed
hurriedly, and left the hotel.

As usual, the streets were crowded with miners and gamblers.
Chinamen peddled firewood and vegetables, a couple of shady ladies stood in the
doorway of the Strike it Rich saloon, drumming up business. Men were unloading
a huge wagon filled with merchandise in front of the general store, but she
paid little heed to her surroundings as she pushed through the throng on her
way to the jail. She had to see him, had to know he was still there.

She was breathless when she reached the jail. Relief swept
through her in a long, heartfelt sigh when she saw he was there, sitting at the
table, drinking a cup of coffee. A plate with the remains of a ham and egg
breakfast was pushed to the side. She recognized the dish as one from the hotel
dining room and wondered if Addy Mae had brought it by personally.

“Alejandro.” His name whispered past her lips.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiled when he saw her.
Putting the cup on the small, scarred table, he stood up and walked toward her.
“What are you doing here so early?”

“I had a nightmare.” She reached through the bars, needing
to touch him.

He took her hand, his fingers curling around her palm.
“Yeah,” he said with a wry grin. “So did I.”

“Have you heard anything? When’s the trial going to be? Do
they have any evidence besides your gun?”

“The only thing I’ve heard is that Daisy’s funeral is this
afternoon at three over at the Odd Fellows Hall.” He swore under his breath. “I
should have made her leave town. Dammit, this is all my fault. I should have
put her on a stage myself.” He swore again. “I should have believed you
sooner.”

“That doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now except getting
you out of here.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to do that.”

“Me, either. But I will. You’ll see.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Shaye whirled around, startled to find the sheriff standing
at her elbow. Oh, Lord, she thought, how much had he heard? “I’m not doing
anything,” she said, and immediately wished she could take the words back. They
made her sound just like a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar. She
composed herself and smiled. “I just came by to see Rio.”

“Yeah, you and every other woman in town,” the sheriff
replied gruffly. “Been a regular parade all morning.” He made a shooing motion
with his hand. “Go on, get the hell out of here.”

Shaye looked over her shoulder at Alejandro. “A regular
parade, eh?”

He shrugged, then grinned at her as if to say, what can I
do?

Shaye scowled at him. No doubt Addy Mae and Lily and all the
doves at the Queen and the Bodie Belle had been by. And Sophie and Lottie, too,
and who knew how many other women had stopped by while she was at the hotel
worrying herself sick. She chided herself for being jealous at such a time, but
she couldn’t help it. Right or wrong, she wanted to be the only woman in his
life, in his heart.

“Come here,” he said, and leaning forward, he kissed her
through the bars.

At the touch of his lips, she forgot the sheriff was
watching, forgot everything but the never-ending wonder of his touch and the
fact that she loved him beyond words.

“Okay, you two,” the sheriff muttered, “that’s enough.
You’re breaking my heart.”

She squeezed Alejandro’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

Alejandro smiled down at her and winked. “I’ll be here.”

* * * * *

Back at the hotel, she went into the dining room. She
glanced at the menu, suddenly homesick for a pepperoni pizza and an ice cold
Seven-Up.

A few minutes later, Addy Mae came by to take her order. “I
guess you heard about Rio,” she said.

“Yes,” Shaye replied, and then couldn’t help adding, “I was
with him when they arrested him.”

Addy Mae nodded. “It’s all over town, ‘bout you and him,”
she said, her voice edged with jealousy and resentment.

“What’s all over town?”

Addy Mae shrugged. “You know, how you’re sleeping in his
room, and not alone.”

A wave of color swept up Shaye’s neck, heating her cheeks.
Blast that hotel clerk and his big mouth. “We’re not sleeping together,” she
retorted. It was the truth and a lie, she thought. They had slept together but
they hadn’t
slept
together, not that way. Not yet.

“Are you in love with him?” Addy Mae asked.

“Yes,” Shaye replied quietly. Just like every other woman in
town.

“Well, get in line,” the waitress said. “What can I bring
you?”

Shaye ordered chicken and dumplings and a cup of coffee.
Sitting back in her chair, she listened to the conversation around her while
she waited for her lunch to arrive. As expected, most of it concerned
Alejandro, and whether he was guilty or not. From what she overheard, most of
the men were of the opinion that, while he might be capable of killing in
self-defense, he wasn’t capable of murder. No one seemed to believe he was
capable of killing a woman.

“Ah, Miss Montgomery.”

Shaye looked up to see Philo Richardson striding toward her.
He cut a dapper figure in a dark blue pinstripe suit and black bowler hat
cocked at a jaunty angle.

“Hello, Mr. Richardson. Would you care to join me?”

“Thank you, my dear.” Removing his hat, he hung it on a peg,
then sat down across from her. “How are you holding up?”

“All right, I guess. I’m worried about Rio.”

“Ah, yes, Rio,” Richardson remarked with a shake of his
head. “His arrest made the front page this morning. I can’t believe he did it.”

“He didn’t do it! I know he didn’t.”

Richardson nodded. “I’m quite sure he’s innocent, my dear,
and that the judge will find him so.”

Suddenly on the brink of tears, Shaye shook her head. “He’s
going to hang.”

“Now, now.” Philo covered her hand with his. “We have to
hope for the best. Judge Krinard is a fair man.”

“You don’t understand!” Shaye exclaimed.

Richardson observed her for a moment. His instincts, honed
over thirty years as a newspaper man, told him she knew more than she was
telling. He moved his chair closer to hers, then glanced right and left to make
sure no one was listening. “What is it?” he asked quietly. “What aren’t you
telling me?”

He drew back as Addy Mae approached the table with Shaye’s
order. “Hi, Philo, honey,” she crooned. “Can I get you anything? I saved a
slice of apple pie for you. Modean just made it this morning.”

“That’ll be fine, Addy Mae. And a cup of coffee.”

“Black, with two teaspoons of sugar,” Addy Mae said. “Just
the way you like it.”

The girl was a natural born flirt, Shaye mused as she
watched the waitress walk away.

Addy Mae returned a few minutes later with Philo’s pie and
coffee. “Anything else I can get for you, honey?” she asked.

“Not just now,” Philo said.

She gave his shoulder a playful squeeze, then hurried off to
clear one of the other tables.

Shaye stared at her plate, her appetite gone. How could she
even think of food when Alejandro was in jail?

“You’ve got to eat,” Richardson said.

“I can’t.”

Philo looked around the room, which was getting more crowded
by the minute. “We can’t talk here.” He took a bite of his pie and smiled with
pleasure. “That Modean’s one helluva good cook. If she wasn’t already married,
I’d marry her myself. Why don’t you come by my office later this afternoon? Say
about five?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll be there if you decide to tell me what you know,
or think you know.” He finished his pie, drained his coffee cup, and stood up.
“Try not to worry,” he said, reaching for his hat. “There’s only been one
hanging in Bodie since I’ve been here, and he deserved it.”

Shaye smiled weakly. Delving into her bag, she withdrew a
dollar and dropped it on the table, then left the dining room.

At a loss for something to do, she went for a walk. Needing
something to occupy her mind, she studied the houses she passed, wondering if
she would recognize the house Clark McDonald was staying in if she saw it.

For the first time, she wondered what was happening in her
world. Her parents would have worried when she didn’t show up and she didn’t
answer her phone. And what about her editor? She was due back at work in three
days, assuming twenty-four hours in the past was the same as twenty-four hours
in the future. What would Frank think when she didn’t show up, didn’t call? She
had tickets to a play at the end of the month. Her rent was due the first of
September.

She frowned as a new thought occurred to her. What if time
in the past didn’t unwind at the same speed as time in her world. She might
have been gone for months, or only a few moments. If she made it back home, no
one would ever believe her, she thought, and then smiled in spite of herself.
If she ever made it back to her own time, the first person she wanted to see
was Clark McDonald. He would believe her.

By accident or design, she wound up at the Odd Fellows Hall
at three o’clock.

Going inside, she took a seat in the back. A rough-hewn pine
coffin rested on the floor. There was no grieving family at this service, only
a handful of working girls wearing their most subdued dresses. She was
surprised to see Dade McCrory sitting off to one side, hat in hand.

Reverend Warrington presided here, as well. However, where
his words had been filled with comfort and hope for Moose’s family, his eulogy
for Daisy held little hope for a better world in the afterlife due to the
“ill-fated road she had chosen to follow”, and while he never came right out
and said her soul was “bound for hellfire and damnation” he inferred it with
the tone of his voice and his solemn expression. Every word was, Shaye thought,
a less than subtle warning for the doves who were sobbing none too quietly.

When the service was over, the same glass-sided black hearse
carried the casket to the cemetery. She would, Shaye knew, be buried in Boot
Hill with the other prostitutes who had died, many by their own hand. She
remembered reading that most of the women who pursued that line of work died
young. Many became opium addicts.

Shaye stared after the hearse, wondering if she was in some
way responsible for Daisy’s death.

“Well, well, if it’s isn’t Valverde’s woman.”

She turned to see Dade McCrory smirking at her. He was
looking prosperous in a dark blue pinstripe suit that was obviously new, as
were his boots and hat. A diamond stickpin sparkled in his cravat.

She wanted to ask him why he had killed Daisy and how he had
the nerve to attend her funeral, but some inner voice warned her to say
nothing. Turning, she started walked back toward the hotel.

“Tell Valverde I’ll be at the hanging,” McCrory hollered.
“Right up front, where I can watch him squirm.”

Shaye forced the gruesome image his words conjured from her
mind. She had more important things to think about. Like where to get hold of a
gun. And what was the best time of night to make a jail break.

She needed a gun. Buying one shouldn’t be much of a problem,
she mused, since everyone in town seemed to carry at least one. And, unlike
modern-day Los Angeles, Bodie had no waiting period.

Walking down Main Street, she turned left on Green. She
passed the Boone Store and went into Westlake’s Gunsmith Shop. Ten minutes
later, she left the store, a derringer tucked inside her reticule.

Back at the hotel, she tossed her shorts, tee shirt,
underwear, Nikes and socks into her backpack, as well as a change of clothes.
She packed the shirt Alejandro had left in her room, too. It seemed a shame to
leave all her new dresses behind, but there was no way to take them with her.

She glanced around the room, making sure she had packed
everything she had brought with her from the future, then went to the window
and stared down into the street. She was going to miss Bodie, she thought with
some surprise. Even though she had only been here a short time, there was
something about the town, both present and future, that appealed to her. She
would miss Spooner and Digger and Henry, Philo Richardson, and even Miss
Sophie, and that was odd, she thought, because she didn’t really know any of
them very well. She was going to miss the noise and the crowds and the sense of
always being on the brink of discovery.

Changing into one of her cotton everyday dresses, she
grabbed her reticule and after putting the derringer under the mattress, she
left the hotel. At the dry goods store, she bought a black skirt and a dark
print shirtwaist. “All the better for blending in with the night,” she mused as
she paid the clerk.

From there, she crossed the street and went to The United
States Bakery and Chop Stand. Inside, she bought two loaves of bread and a
dozen assorted rolls. Leaving the chop stand, she went to West and Bryant’s
grocery store and bought a jar of jelly and some canned goods, a hunk of
cheese, a dozen apples, some hard boiled eggs.

She was on her way back to the hotel when she passed a candy
store. Pausing, she looked over the assortment of hard candy displayed in large
glass jars, thinking she would give anything for a dark chocolate Milky Way or
a Baby Ruth. In the end, she bought a bag of salt water taffy and a bag of
peppermint sticks.

Once again, she felt a twinge of regret at the thought of
leaving Bodie. Everyone was so friendly. Even the miners, as tough a bunch of
men as she had ever seen, treated her politely, tipping their hats, holding
doors for her, calling her
ma’am
.

She bought a satchel to hold her purchases and made her way
back to the hotel.

In her room, she put her backpack and the satchel near the
door, took off her boots, and settled down on the bed with a newspaper to wait.

* * * * *

Alejandro paced the jailhouse floor, his restlessness
growing. The sheriff had come in earlier to bring him his dinner and let him
know that his trial was set for tomorrow morning. He lifted a hand to his throat.
According to Shaye, he had been hanged on August twelfth. He swore under his
breath. She’d also said he would be arrested on the ninth, but today was only
the fifth. If she was wrong about that, she could be wrong about the twelfth,
too. Damn!

He went to the window, his hands wrapping around the bars as
he stared out into the night. His old man had always predicted he would meet a
bad end. Resting his head against the bars, he closed his eyes, his mind going
back in time, back to those long summer days when he had spent his summers with
his mother’s people. He had loved the Lakota way of life, where every day was a
new adventure. He had learned to hunt and track with the other boys, how to
survive off the land, how to skin game. His grandfather had told him the
stories of Coyote the Trickster. His life would have been far different if he
had gone to live with his mother’s people when he left home, he mused ruefully.
He would have become a warrior instead of a gambler. He wouldn’t be locked in a
cell accused of killing his ex-partner. Daisy. Who had killed her, and why?
McCrory was the obvious answer.

He opened his eyes, his hands tightening around the bars.
Dammit, maybe he was blaming the wrong man. Maybe he should be blaming himself
for Daisy’s death. If he hadn’t sold his share of the Belle to McCrory, none of
this would have happened.

Muttering an oath, he began to pace the floor again. “I
don’t know what you’re planning, Shaye,” he murmured, “but you’d best do it
right quick.”

* * * * *

It was a little before three in the morning when Shaye left
the hotel carrying her backpack and satchel. She had changed into the dark
shirtwaist and black skirt, tied her hair back in a ponytail, laced up her
Nikes. The gun, pulled from under the mattress, felt heavy in her skirt pocket.

The town was as quiet as it ever got as she made her way
toward King Street. In the background, like the heartbeat of the city, was the
ever-present sound of the Standard Stamp Mill, punctuated by an occasional
shout of raucous laughter.

No lights burned in the jail.

Two men speaking rapid Chinese hurried past her on their way
to Chinatown.

The pounding of her heart drowned out every other sound as
she neared the jailhouse window. What would happen if, instead of freeing
Alejandro, she was caught? Would they put her in jail, too?

She thrust her fears to the back of her mind and
concentrated on the task at hand. She had to get Alejandro out of here. Now.

But how? That was the question that came to mind as she put
her hand to the door knob, and discovered that it was locked. How could she
have been so stupid? Of course, it would be locked! Damn! She supposed she
could knock on the door, but what business could she possibly have at the jail
at this time of the morning?

What would MacGyver do? Reaching into her backpack, she
found her wallet and withdrew her VISA card and slid it, very carefully,
between the doorjamb and the edge of the door. There was a lot of room and she
wiggled the card up and down until she freed the latch. Success! She smiled as
she shoved her credit card back in her pack. She just hoped there wasn’t also
some sort of bar in place.

Hardly daring to breathe, her heart pounding wildly, she
took hold of the handle and gave a careful push, blew out a silent breath of
relief as the door opened.

Taking a step inside, she glanced around the room. In the
faint light filtering through the open door, she saw a potbellied stove to her
right, the jail cells to her left. There was a large desk directly in front of
her, with a chair behind it. Beyond the desk, she could just make out the shape
of a man sleeping on a cot. And sleeping soundly, she thought, if his snoring
was any indication.

A key, she thought, she needed the key to the cell door. On
tiptoe, she crossed the floor toward the desk, grimacing when one of the
floorboards creaked beneath her foot. She paused, fearful of being discovered,
then moved on. She ran her hand lightly over the desk top, encountering papers,
a tin mug, a set of handcuffs. But no key.

“Shaye!”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Alejandro peering at her
through the bars.

“Where’s the key?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Try the top desk drawer.”

Moving as quietly as she could, she moved the desk chair out
of the way.Biting down on her lower lip, she eased the drawer open. She was
searching the contents as quietly as she could when she heard the cot squeak.
She froze, her heart pounding wildly.

“Who’s there?” There was the scent of sulfur as the sheriff
struck a match. Light from a stub of a candle filled the room.

“Dammit, woman, what are you doing here in the middle of the
night?”

She searched her mind for some plausible reason.

The sheriff frowned at her as he swung his legs over the
side of the cot. “Speak up, what are you doing here? Are you in trouble?”

“Yes. No.”

“Well, which is it?” He glanced at the door. “How the hell
did you get in here, anyway?”

“Oh, hell,” Shaye muttered, and sticking her hand in her
skirt pocket, she withdrew the derringer.

The sheriff looked momentarily astonished, and then he laughed.
“You’re Rio’s gal, ain’t ya?” he asked, and laughed again.

“What’s so funny?” Shaye demanded.

The sheriff gestured at the gun in her hand. “Hell, gal, you
can’t hit anything with that popgun.”

“Maybe not,” Alejandro said, “but I don’t think I can miss
with this.”

The sheriff looked at Alejandro, his face suddenly pale.

Perplexed, Shaye glanced over at Alejandro, surprised to see
him holding a revolver. “Where did you get that?”

Alejandro pointed at the chair she had moved away from the
desk. The sheriff’s holster, now empty, had been draped over the back. “Damn,
Shaye, I can’t believe you brought a derringer to a jail break.”

“Well,” she retorted, “it’s my first one. I’ll do better
next time.”

“Right,” Alejandro said drily. “Next time. Get the key.”

Shaye looked at the sheriff. “Where is it?”

“I ain’t sayin’.”

“And I’m not asking you again,” Alejandro warned.

The sheriff snorted. “What’re you gonna do, shoot me? Go
ahead. Somebody’s sure to hear the shot and come arunnin’.”

“It won’t matter to you, you’ll be dead. Anyway, I don’t
think anybody will pay any attention. Boys have been setting off left over
firecrackers all night.”

Shaye glanced from Alejandro to the sheriff. For all his
bold talk, the lawman didn’t look very confident. She didn’t blame him. There
was a hard cold look in Alejandro’s eyes that she had never seen before.

“Open the damn door,” Alejandro said.

The sheriff hesitated a moment. Shaye could almost see the
wheels turning in his head. Apparently decided that Alejandro meant what he said,
the sheriff reached into his pocket, withdrew a large brass key, and opened the
door.

Alejandro motioned the lawman into the cell. “Face the wall.
Shaye, bring me the handcuffs on the desk.”

Slipping the derringer back into her skirt pocket, she did
as he asked.

Taking the cuffs, Alejandro handed her the sheriff’s gun.
“If he twitches, shoot him.”

She held the gun in both hands while Alejandro handcuffed
the sheriff’s hands behind his back, securing him to one of the iron bars.

“If you run, it’s the same as saying you’re guilty,” the
sheriff remarked.

“Shut up.”

“Think about what you’re doing, Valverde. If you run,
they’ll hang you for sure when they catch you.”

“I didn’t run the last time, and they still strung me up,”
Alejandro muttered. Removing the lawman’s kerchief from his neck, he stuffed it
in the lawman’s mouth. That done, he grabbed his coat from the back of the
chair and exited the cell. Shutting the door, he turned the key in the lock. He
buckled on the sheriff’s gunbelt, took the revolver from Shaye’s hand and slid
it into the holster. “Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm, “let’s get the
hell out of here.”

Outside, he dropped the key into the horse trough, shrugged
into his coat, and then headed for the stable.

Shaye grinned. She remembered overhearing a tourist remark
that having the stable next to the jail might be a right handy thing.

She waited just inside the doorway while Alejandro went
inside. She heard the sound of a scuffle; a short time later, Alejandro
appeared leading two horses, both dark in color. It occurred to her that she
probably should have mentioned that she hadn’t been on a horse since she was
nine or ten and her mother took her horseback riding at the park. But there was
no other alternative for a quick getaway. There were no stages leaving at three
in the morning. A wagon would be too slow. She only hoped that riding a horse
was like riding a bicycle, something that, once learned, was never forgotten.

He secured her carpetbag behind the cantle of the larger horse,
strapped her backpack behind the saddle of the second animal, then offered her
the reins to the smaller of the two horses.

“You can ride, can’t you?” he asked when she hesitated in
taking them from him.

“Well…” She shrugged. “I haven’t for a long time.” One thing
that had been drummed into her head was that you didn’t ride in tennis shoes.
You wore boots with heels to keep your feet from slipping through the stirrups.

He muttered something that sounded like a curse, then picked
her up and set her in the saddle. He quickly adjusted the stirrups, then handed
her the reins. “Just hang on the best way you can,” he said, and swung
effortlessly into the saddle.

He reined his horse around and rode north, past Chinatown,
past Mastretti’s Warehouse, toward Bodie Canyon, which led to Aurora, which was
about seventeen miles away. Aurora was another boom town. She recalled reading
in one of the books she had bought at the museum in Bodie that Mark Twain had
lived in Aurora sometime in 1862, where he had held a major interest in the
Wilde West mine.

Seventeen miles over rough country on horseback. If only
they could go to the parking lot and get her Rover. She thought longingly of
the six-pack of cold Seven-Up waiting for her in the ice chest in the back seat
along with the dark chocolate Milky Way awaiting her pleasure in a Tupperware
container so it wouldn’t melt or get wet.

Her mount followed Alejandro’s without any urging. She
grabbed the saddle horn as the horse moved forward. Telling herself to relax,
she tried to remember the riding lessons she had taken so many years ago. Hold
the reins lightly. Sit down in the saddle, back straight but not stiff, arms
bent, elbows close to her sides.

She had always loved horses even though she was a little
afraid of them. Every birthday, every Christmas, she had begged for a pony.
Finally, her parents had given her riding lessons and after that, her mother
had taken Shaye riding once a week. Her interest in horses had ended when she
discovered boys.