Part 12 (2/2)
”Then ask who killed her.”
I hoped my distress didn't show on my face.
”Then you believe the stories about her ghost.”
”No,” he said, ”but you asked me what it would take to convince me. And I have a personal stake in finding who killed the girl and left her on the meridian marker.”
”Why?”
”It was a message,” he said. ”The Committee of Vigilance was formed in the early days of Dodge, before the rule of law here was firmly established. We . . . Well, we took care of things. Still should, I think.”
”In an extralegal manner, I take it.”
”We did what had to be done.”
”And the message?”
”There are certain elements that have nothing but contempt for the way civilized people live,” he said. ”Whoever killed the girl and left her on the monument was expressing his contempt for justice.”
Justice. It was a concept in which Calder seemed to believe, but to me it was like debating how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, or reckoning how much hay Noah would need on the ark, or algebra. Just talking about the ghost of the dead girl was making me feel odd. In truth, I hadn't felt like myself since getting out of the city jail and b.u.mping into the frightful creature Malleus and his caravan of wagons.
A sudden and uncommon urge to drink overwhelmed me. Normally, I drink only wine, and then only a gla.s.s or two with meals, but now I craved the stuff that Potete had shared before the performance.
I motioned for the bartender and asked for a shot of mezcal.
”You want one?” I asked Calder.
”I don't drink.”
”And they let you stay in Dodge?”
The waiter brought the shot over.
”What's your interest?” I asked, raising the gla.s.s. ”Is there a reward?”
”No reward.”
I threw back the mezcal.
It burned like before.
”That's a bad way to do business,” I managed in a raw whisper as I placed the empty gla.s.s gently on the table. ”How do you hope to get paid?”
”It's not like that,” he said.
”Then what's it like?”
”n.o.body deserves to get their throat cut from ear to ear, especially not a little blonde girl who hadn't seen eighteen summers. She was somebody's daughter. I'd like to find who did it.”
”And then what?”
”Make him stand trial.”
”You have an exaggerated sense of justice, Mister Calder.”
”No, Miss Wylde. I have an average sense of fairness.”
Now Calder was giving me a stomachache. I know how to play most people, because they are pathetically selfish and easy to manipulate. But here Calder was, apparently sincere in his desire to do something in which he had absolutely no personal stake-and asking me to make contact with probably the only real ghost in Dodge City.
”Sorry,” I said. ”I can't help you.”
18.
As I watched Calder walk through the shadow and smoke-filled confines of the Saratoga and out the open door into the suns.h.i.+ne of Front Street, I felt as if a scorpion had crawled up inside my belly.
I blamed it on the mezcal.
”What's the trouble?” Bartholomew Potete asked, pulling a chair far enough out from the table to allow him to rest his bulk. ”You look like you've lost your best friend.”
”I have no friends.”
”But you have many admirers,” Potete said, pulling a stack of notes from his vest pocket. ”I have a dozen invitations here for picnic lunches or carriage rides during the afternoon, a half-dozen requests for dinner, and three marriage proposals.”
”Not very flattering, when you consider the men outnumber women here a hundred to one.”
”It is a seller's market,” Potete said. He took a deck of playing cards from his pocket and fanned them out in front of him, then expertly tipped them back the other way. ”But there is more. Because of popular demand, the opera house would like to book a return engagement of The Reverend Professor Wylde.”
”When?”
Potete riffled the cards. ”Tonight.”
”I'm busy.”
”With what?” A strip shuffle.
”A personal obligation.”
”Next Monday, then? After the hearing.”
”I hope to be on the train to Denver.”
”Sat.u.r.day,” Potete suggested. ”There will be a new batch of cowpunchers to charm. The Times reports three large herds have crossed the quarantine line in Comanche County, faced down the grangers, and are expected here tomorrow.”
I shrugged.
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