The Engel Murders, an alias smith & jones fanfic

THE ENGEL MURDERS

by Goldie

ENGEL HOUSE

SOFT BEDS

GOOD FOOD

If you can get anyone to wait on you, thought Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry simultaneously.

But this was the only notion they'd had in common in the last few hours, and it wasn't even verbalized.

It was a simple matter of mathematics, really, and the two ex-outlaws did not see the same numbers. Hannibal Heyes saw two brand-spanking-new amnesties. Kid Curry saw six – six feet under, that is.

Heyes looked happily upon the rather plain, rather large hotel building and reined his horse at the hitching post. "Come on, Kid," urged his partner. "We've come this far." He grabbed the reins of his partner's horse as a gesture of friendly command. He was tired of arguing. They'd been arguing for hours, re-hashing the same things over and over. Their friend Lom knew the Governor of the Territory of Wyoming, and the Governor had promised Heyes and Curry amnesties, and the amnesties never happened, and they both wanted amnesty more than anything in the world. And now the Governor told Lom that his good friend Earnest Engel had a serious problem and needed help solving it, and it seemed like the kind of problem that a couple of ex-outlaws might know how to solve. The Governor didn't want his name mentioned, and, as a reward for helping, a strong hint of expedited amnesty was present. Hence Heyes and Curry's appearance at the hotel Engel owned.

"I'm telling you for the last time, Heyes," said the Kid stubbornly. "I just don't like it at all. There's no reason this Engel couldn't hire a detective or something. Someone like Harry Briscoe. As far as the Governor's concerned, we're just a couple of extend . . . exmend . . . "

"Expendable."

"Thanks. . . . expendable outlaws whose existence is a source of embarrassment to him and he'd be more than happy to see us die off like the employees of this hotel. And I for one . . . "

"And I'm telling you for the last time, Kid, that's not the way the Governor sees it at all. These waiters or cooks or whatever are all dying of heart attacks, even the young ones, and it's too coincidental not to be murder. And this guy Earnest Engel is a good friend of the Governor, said Governor being the very Governor who has promised us our amnesties and not come through yet. Can't you get it through your head that if we can solve this mystery for his friend that this is probably all it will take to push him over the edge? I want that amnesty, Kid!"

"I don't want to die mysteriously, Heyes. Maybe you do, but I don't. And there's absolutely no reason that someone like Harry . . . "

"Kid, I'm telling you, if you mention Harry Briscoe once more, I'll murder you myself. Harry Briscoe couldn't find his name on his own paycheck, much less solve a bunch of murders. I've swatted horseflies smarter than Briscoe. Just try to see reason, Kid, this is our way out. Amnesty! No more posses, no more running, no more . . . Smith and Jones. We can just finally be us. It sounds good to me and I know it sounds good to you."

Heyes could see that he was finally softening his partner. The Kid shook his head slowly. "Well . . ."

"I give you my word, Kid. At the first sign of trouble, we run like jackrabbits."

The Kid shook his head again. Apparently he was all argued out. He dismounted and looked at the building suspiciously.

"I promise you, Kid, nothing bad will happen to us!"

A few minutes later Heyes and Curry were seated at a table in a private dining room just off Earnest Engle's office, discussing with him the possibility of jobs in the hotel's dining room.

Earnest was a very amiable middle-aged man. He was fairly tall and rather thin and anemic-looking but his face had the look of an honest, hard-working gentleman. He seemed more sophisticated than the average man of the West. They had both taken to him immediately. He reminded them of President Lincoln.

"I'm glad you were honest with me, boys," he told them. "I appreciate the fact that you haven't had much experience working in hotel dining rooms. You shouldn't have much trouble. There are people on staff who can help you out. What staff I have left!" This last sentence caused him obvious distress and he looked away, but recovered quickly and continued. "So I'm going to be honest with you, too. Even though I'm sure you're heard. I only have one waitress right now. There used to be more waitstaff. The head waiter was 70 years old and had been with the hotel since it was built, so when he died of a heart attack, it wasn't a big surprise. What was a surprise was the fact that just a week later, the other waiter also died of a heart attack! And a couple of days later, his wife, the waitress, also died of a heart attack! Then the kitchen staff started dying. First one of the assistant cooks, and then the head chef! All heart attacks, every one! Very, very strange! And the assistant cook was only 22 years old! I don't need to tell you how eerie this all is! I was lucky enough to find a waitress to fill in, but I haven't found any more kitchen staff. Unemployment is high in this town but no one wants to work for a hotel where all the kitchen staff keep dying! My wife has graciously volunteered to do the cooking until we can hire a chef. The one waitress I've got is Miss Chastity Fortune, a young lady who grew up over in Granton and is new here in town. She says she really needs the job but, frankly, she's scared. And so am I."

During this outburst, Heyes and Curry found themselves exchanging several meaningful glances. The Kid's meaning was "let's get out of here" and Heyes's meaning was "don't worry, nothing will happen to us."

Earnest was obviously upset about the goings-on in his hotel, and the look on his face when he spoke of his dead employees made it clear that he had been fond of them. Heyes found it easy to like someone as affable as Earnest appeared to be. "So you'll find that Chastity can help you understand the wait job. She works breakfast and lunch. And you'll also appreciate the help that our assistant cook can give you. His name is Slim and he helps cook. He's . . . well, he's not always dependable, exactly, but he usually shows up to help. I guess that's dependability in a way."

When he felt an opening, Heyes decided to ask a few questions. "Uh, Mr. Engel. . .:

"Earnest, please!"

"Earnest. My friend and I have a few questions. First of all . . . uh . . . how safe will we be?"

Earnest scratched his head and looked down. His distress was obvious and his height seemed to shrink a few inches. "I don't know, I just don't know." He waved his hands around, a clear sign that he was frustrated by happenings beyond his control. "I would love to be able to say that I can make sure you are protected, but I can't say that. You're on your own. I'll do everything I can for you, but . . . How can I protect you from heart attacks!? Everyone is dying of heart attacks! Even the younger people. How can this be?" He held his head in his hands.

Heyes did not give him time to ruminate. "What do you think is happening to the employees?"

Earnest looked up, anguish on his face. "I just don't know. The doctors don't understand it, the Sheriff can't figure it out, no one knows. The Governor of the Territory of Wyoming is a personal friend of mine and I asked him to find some way to help me, but I haven't heard from him yet, either."

The Kid started to say something but got nudged by Heyes.

"Gentlemen, as much as I need you on my staff, I can understand if you want to back down . . ."

The Kid said, "All right," and started to back away but Heyes grabbed his jacket. "My friend and I," he said with a forced smile, "are not afraid of a little thing like unexplained deaths. Are we, Thaddeus?"

The Kid started to nod his head "yes" but Heyes interrupted him. "You don't deserve the kind of luck you've been having, Earnest, and we are both ready to work. What jobs would you like us to take?" Heyes gave his partner a piercing look until the Kid smiled, ever so slightly, at Earnest.

But it was enough. Earnest came to life and straightened up again. "Really?"

"Yes, really." "Uh."

"Well, all right! Thaddeus, please be my head waiter, and Joshua, you will be the head cook!"

Earnest took Heyes and the Kid to the kitchen, quickly demonstrated a few basics, and then left to take care of other business. It was nearly suppertime.

Kid Curry stood in the middle of the kitchen, trying to figure out what everything was used for. There was a three-legged table in the center, with a large round uncovered container resting on it. Various buckets of assorted sizes were scattered throughout the room. Against one wall there was a large wooden hutch, and a sink, and a large cast-iron stove. Against another wall there was a fireplace, with a cauldron hanging from a tripod. And a few items he couldn't identify. The Kid also saw assorted utensils, containers, pots and pans, and wondered what they were all used for. So did Heyes.

"My God, Heyes, do you know what all this is?"

"Well, it can't be too hard to figure out, can it? I mean, a kitchen's a kitchen, right? You just need some place to prepare the food, cook it, and then put it on something to serve it. How hard can that be?"

The Kid looked at him doubtfully. "You think you know all about it, then? Fine. Tell me what this is for," the Kid said, pointing to the large round container.

"That's easy. It's for washing vegetables," Heyes said confidently.

A possibility. The Kid considered that and then shrugged. "Well, how about this?" He indicated a contraption that looked like a combination table-bucket-washboard.

"That's where you chop the foodstuffs. See, you cut everything on the top there, then you push it through the hole," Heyes gestured as he spoke, "and it slides down that board into the bucket underneath. Saves a lot of time and moving around when there are lots of customers all wanting their well-deserved meals."

"Uh huh, yeah." The Kid knew his partner was good at bluffing and he suspected that's what he was doing now. He looked around and spied a bucket with holes in it. "What's this?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Uh… That's for adding water to something so it doesn't get dried out. See, you fill it up and then the water slowly drips out over the food…" Heyes knew from the way the Kid rolled his eyes that he wasn't buying it.

Heyes surveyed the room once more. "It can't be too hard, Kid. I mean, I just got to cook things like eggs and bacon and potatoes and steak. I can do that."

"And pie and soup and stew and biscuits and coffee." The Kid paused. "About the coffee, Heyes…"

"What about it?" Heyes narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe you ought to let someone else do that part of the job."

"Why?" A dry why.

The Kid looked at his partner. "Well, uh, sometimes your coffee doesn't taste…" He wasn't sure how to proceed here.

"Doesn't taste what, Kid?" Heyes asked him, with a dangerous look on his face.

"Sometimes it doesn't taste as, uh, fresh as it could."

"Of course not! We don't always have fresh beans with us! How could it taste fresh all the time?"

Kid Curry didn't have it in him to tell his partner that even when the beans were fresh, his coffee tasted burned. Only Heyes could burn coffee. The Kid picked up the cookbook from one of the tables and started to read it. Heyes wandered around the room, opening up cabinets and peering at all the accoutrements of a restaurant kitchen, which, he had to admit, were mostly foreign to him. But he wasn't about to say so to his partner.

"So you think you can make all these recipes?"

Heyes heard the skepticism in the Kid's voice. "Let me see that," he demanded, holding out his hand for the cookbook. He glanced through it and then said with assurance, "Sure! It's not like I have to go to school to learn how to cook, you know. A recipe is a formula. Just like there's a formula for everything, there's a recipe for everything, Kid, and they're all in here. It'll be easy, you mark my words!"

"Uh huh. So what are you going to make first?"

"Naturally that depends on what the customers order, Kid. Why don't you go out and see if anyone's there." They both heard the scraping of chairs as customers entered the restaurant and seated themselves.

"I'm hungry, Heyes. Didn't Earnest say we could eat as much as we wanted?"

"No, Kid, he didn't. And we're here to solve a mystery, not fatten ourselves up like prize cattle, remember?"

The Kid scowled. "I just think that if we're working in a restaurant, there's got to be some advantage."

"You're the waiter, Kid. You'll get to meet all the pretty women who come in. Me," Heyes shook his head sorrowfully, "I'll be stuck back here in a hot room, slaving away…"

The Kid had forgotten about that part of the job. He smiled in anticipation and eagerly put on an apron.

When Heyes looked up he did a double-take. "Kid, you can't go to work like that!"

"What's the matter? Wrong size?" The Kid couldn't see anything wrong.

"It doesn't look right. Your gun is in the way. You got to take off the gun."

"I don't think so, Heyes."

"Kid, waiters don't wear guns. What'll the customers think when they see you?"

"They'll think the restaurant is a very safe place to eat," the Kid said smugly.

"No, they won't. They'll think you'll shoot them if they say anything bad about the food."

"Thought you just told me it'll be easy to cook those recipes."

"Yeah, but they got to order first and they won't if they see the waiter wearing a tied-down gun. Leave your gunbelt in the kitchen."

"No. I'm wearing it and that's that." The Kid was adamant.

"Kid . . ." Heyes warned him.

"I'm not taking off my gun!"

Heyes looked at his partner and sighed. The look on the Kid's face told him he wasn't going to give in. "All right, fine. But at least try and hide it. Use the apron to cover it so no one can see."

"If I do that, Heyes, it'll take me longer to draw if I need to."

"If you leave it in the kitchen where I think you should, it'll take you even longer," Heyes pointed out. "Which do you prefer?"

"Oh, all right," Kid sulked. "Have it your way." He tied the apron strings in back of him and was able to partially hide his gunbelt. Heyes nodded in acceptance, knowing that was as much as his partner would be willing to concede.

The Kid opened the door a crack and peered into the dining room. "Heyes, there's a lot of people out there!"

"Then you better go and see what they want to eat!" Heyes nodded his head in the direction of the dining room. The Kid looked at him doubtfully.

"Go on," Heyes told him.

With a glance that contradicted his partner's faith in him, the Kid exited the kitchen and began working as a waiter, something he could never have imagined he would find himself doing.

"Howdy," said Kid Curry, trying to be cheerful as he approached the table with two middle-aged customers, a well-dressed man and a woman who, he figured, was the wife. "What can I get you?"

The woman looked at her companion, who said, "It'd be easier to decide if we could see the menu."

"Oh!" the Kid looked around, trying to locate the menus. "Uh, just a minute. I'll be right back." He fled to the kitchen.

"What's the matter?" Heyes could tell his friend was flustered.

"Where're the menus, Heyes? I need the damn menus!"

"Calm down, Kid. They're right here." Heyes grabbed one from a table by the door.

Kid wiped his hand across his forehead. "I don't think I can do this."

"Sure you can. Think of it this way, Kid. The customers are like the gang at Devil's Hole after I told them a plan for robbing a bank. You listened to all their questions and complaints and then reported everything they said back to me. But instead of telling me the problems the gang had with my plans, you'll be telling me what the people out there want to eat." Heyes grinned confidently.

The Kid sighed, picked up a pile of menus, and returned to the dining room.

When the Kid reentered the restaurant, he saw that the middle-aged couple was looking a bit impatient. He approached them.

"Sorry about that, ma'am, sir," the Kid apologized, as he handed each a menu. "I'm kinda new at this." He gave them both a bright smile and hoped his honesty was enough to placate them. They did not return the sentiment. The Kid shrugged and said, "You look at those and I'll be back in a few minutes to find out what you want to eat."

The Kid wasn't sure who he should wait on next. He hadn't watched the customers arrive, so he didn't know who had come in first. Kid Curry was, above all, a fair man.

Focusing his attention, for the moment, on a family, the Kid distributed menus to the adults. Without consulting his wife, the husband immediately dictated their order. "I'll have the broiled beefsteak, Mrs. Harvey would like the broiled chicken, and the children will all have the beef patties." The Kid carefully mouthed the order as he wrote and then realized that Mr. Harvey was still talking. " . . . and the potatoes and White Mountain rolls, and we'll all have lemonade to drink. Do you have all that?"

The gunfighter refocused on the gentleman in front of him. "Er… potatoes and rolls and lemonade?"

Mr. Harvey frowned by way of answer. "That's mashed potatoes, not boiled, and the beef patties should be well done but I want my beefsteak rare."

"Got it," the Kid replied, writing on his order form. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. He moved on to the other diners. The middle-aged couple ordered the beefsteak smothered in onions and the fish chowder, with sides of boiled squash and sour milk biscuits. Two sisters who said they ran a dress shop in town both chose the pork chops. Susannah, the brown-haired beauty, decided upon the squash, whereas Hannah, the honey-blond, opted for sliced tomatoes. The Kid repeated the order to make sure it was correct, and smiled at each lady. He turned towards the kitchen and heard them giggle as he walked away. Heyes was right! There were pretty women . . .

"Kid, how exactly am I supposed to cook all this at once?"

Rudely bumped from his thoughts, the Kid asked, "What's the matter, Heyes? Can't you cook this stuff?"

"Sure, I can cook it — if I had four hands!" His own hands were thrown up in the air in a display of aggravation. "Kid, didn't it occur to you to give me the orders one table at a time so I could pace things out?"

"Oh." It was clear the Kid had not thought of that. He'd been so pleased with himself for gathering the information that he hadn't thought ahead. Now he realized how impossible it was for Heyes to cook everything all at once. This idea amused him. "Let's quit," he suggested helpfully.

Heyes sighed. He marshaled his thoughts and then said, "All right. Here's what we're going to do, Kid. I'll start the beef and pork dishes and you do the chicken, then we'll both work on the side dishes . . ."

"Oh, no, you don't! I did my job already! The cooking is your . . ."

Before the Kid could finish, a slovenly man pushed the door open and entered the kitchen. He stumbled to the sink before noticing the other two men. "Who the hell are you two?"

Heyes didn't appreciate the belligerent tone. "I'm the cook and this here's the waiter. Mr. Engel hired us today. And you are. . .?" he asked pointedly.

"I'm Slim. I'm…"

Heyes' countenance changed instantly. "Slim! I sure am glad to meet you! Earnest has told me all about you, Slim. I know I'm new here and have a lot to learn, so I want you to pretend I'm not even here. We just got these orders in, and I know you'll do a real good job making these dinners." Heyes showed him the order list. "Let me just get out of your way. Come on, Thaddeus. Slim here needs to get to work." Heyes steered the Kid to another part of the room and left Slim scowling at the sink while washing his hands and face.

After drying his face on an apron, which he then hung on himself, Slim made his way unsteadily over to the table where Heyes had laid out some vegetables and hunks of beef. "What are you doin' with this?" he asked suspiciously.

Heyes moved away from Slim in a futile attempt to avoid smelling the liquor on his breath. "I was just getting the ingredients ready for tonight's meals. Here, we'll even help you. Thaddeus, get me all the stuff we need for . . ." Heyes consulted the list . . . "the beefsteak smothered in onions, the fish chowder, the boiled squash and the sour milk biscuits."

Kid shot him an angry look. "I told you, Joshua, I'm the waiter, not the cook. I already did my job, now it's your turn."

"Well, Slim," said Heyes in a jovial voice, after shooting the Kid an acid look. "Guess it's up to the real workers. Tell you what. I'll make the biscuits and you get working on the rest. When you're done, you can start on the other orders."

Slim moved around the kitchen collecting ingredients and utensils and grumbling the whole time. He laid everything within easy reach and started preparing the chicken. Before he had finished with that, he started the beef and while both main courses were cooking, he chopped some squash. Slim seemed to have done this before. The suspicious glances he continually cast in their direction were unnerving, but Heyes was unmoved enough to bake the biscuits.

Soon Slim growled, "This here's done. Where're those biscuits?"

Heyes checked the list and assembled some dishes for the new waiter. "All right, Thaddeus. Here's the first meal. Think you can manage to deliver it without dropping anything? Slim and me got to work on the rest."

Casting another angry glance at his partner, Kid Curry balanced the plates of food on his arms and maneuvered himself through the door into the dining room. He stopped suddenly. He'd forgotten whose order this was! But by the way the middle-aged couple's faces lit up when they saw him, he figured it was theirs so he set the food down on their table. "Here you are, folks!"

He could tell some of the other customers were eying them with envy. Or hunger. As he passed them, the Kid murmured that their food would be ready real soon. He had no idea if this was true.

Back in the kitchen again, the Kid saw a number of plates with food piled on them, obviously waiting to be served. He picked up a few but before he could take them out to the dining room, Heyes stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm serving these meals. Isn't that the idea? Or do you want me to start cleaning the hotel rooms?"

Heyes ignored him. "Not until everything's ready. Put those plates down and wait for Slim and me to finish up here."

"Everything going smooth as pie, then, Joshua?" the Kid asked sarcastically.

Heyes replied happily, "Yup! Slim and me make a real good team, don't we, Slim?"

The Kid narrowed his eyes. Slim growled. "Joshua, get over here and slice them tomatoes! Stop gabbin' and get back to work!"

Hannibal Heyes flushed and Kid Curry grinned.

After the food had been delivered and more orders had been taken from new customers, the Kid returned to the kitchen and saw Heyes washing dishes. Slim was drinking from his flask.

"Damn! I never realized waiting on tables was so hard on the feet!" The Kid flopped down in the chair.

"What are you complaining about? I've been chopping and . . . "

They both heard Slim belch in response to Heyes' comment. "You ain't done yet, neither of you. You," he said, pointing at the Kid, "need to ask if they want dessert and you," he continued, pointing at Heyes, "need to rustle it up." He belched again for emphasis. It was clear he didn't approve of either of them.

Heyes and the Kid exchanged a fatigued look. How were they ever going to do this three times a day for who knew how long? "Well, Thaddeus, go and ask if they want dessert!" Heyes instructed.

Too tired to argue, Kid went back to the dining room. Stopping first at the middle-aged couple's table, he asked if they would like dessert.

The man opened his mouth but no words came out for a moment. His face had turned an unnatural shade of red but when he spoke, his voice was loud and clear. "How dare you! After a meal like that, you should be giving us a refund! That was the worst meal I've ever had!"

"Now wait a minute!" The Kid couldn't let that outburst go without responding. "Your meal was prepared very carefully, sir, and it was exactly what you asked for. How could there be anything wrong with it?"

The customer proceeded to enumerate everything that he hadn't liked about it. His wife sat meekly. After listening to him for a minute, the Kid tersely interrupted. "Sir, I'm sorry you didn't like your meal. How about we do this? Dessert is on the house."

He hoped the offer would solve the problem. He was wrong. "No, we do not want dessert. Didn't you hear me just now? I said…" He began to repeat his tirade.

Kid Curry's patience started wearing thin. "Mr.," he said in a quiet voice, "I heard you the first time." Clearly he was not to be trifled with any longer. He stood back and his right hand brushed his apron behind his gun. "I did not cook your meal but I will be sure to tell the people who did what you think of it. I already said I'm sorry you didn't like it. Just pay your bill now and leave."

Peeking through the kitchen door, Slim said to Heyes, "That new waiter is nuts."

Heyes was chopping vegetables and said, "I know. What specifically are you referring to?"

"He's about to draw on Conrad Ashford," Slim smirked.

Heyes dropped the knife and hurried to the door, just in time to see . . .

Mr., Ashford sputtering and spouting and steaming. He obviously hadn't liked what he heard. He stared at the waiter, who didn't back down. The waiter's hand was hovering near his right hip. Mr. Ashford glanced down and saw a gun. He decided it was in his best interest to pay the bill and leave, just as the waiter had suggested. Not, however, without continued sputtering on the way to the door.

Kid took the money and breathed a silent sigh of relief when the front door closed behind the Ashfords. Then he realized all the other people in the restaurant were looking at him. Trying to deflect attention away from what had just happened, he called out, "Dessert is on the house for everyone!" He fled to the kitchen once more.

Slim gave the Kid the evil eye but said nothing since the new waiter was obviously dangerous. He slunk to the other side of the kitchen.

"What's up?" Heyes asked innocently.

The Kid motioned for his partner to join him. "One of the customers raised a ruckus but I handled it," he whispered. "I don't trust him."

"Why not? Think he's the one been killing off the employees?"

The Kid scoffed. "Maybe he just doesn't like your food."

Heyes let that slide. "Kid, we'll talk in our room when we finish up here."

Heyes found pies in the icebox and the Kid distributed them. In a little while, when he saw that everyone was done eating, he collected the dirty dishes and returned with the bills. The Kid took payment from the customers and watched with relief as the last person walked out the front door.

"What about him?" the Kid asked Heyes in the kitchen, nodding to Slim, who was now in the chair, pretending to be asleep.

Heyes shook the assistant cook. "Slim, wake up! Time to go home!"

Slim opened his eyes and seemed to be trying to focus on the man in front of him. "What?" he exhaled.

Heyes involuntarily drew back. "The restaurant's closed. Time to go home now, Slim."

"Oh." Slim got up and wobbled through the dining room and out onto the street. He was not truly drunk and suspiciously watched the reflections of the two new employees in the dining room windows as he left the building.

Heyes and the Kid followed him, locking the restaurant door behind them as they left.

There was little resemblance between two dashing, legendary outlaws and the two exhausted men in the spartan hotel room that evening. Celebrated bank robber Hannibal Heyes had managed to collapse his frame haphazardly across the chair, one or two limbs suspended over the side. Renowned gunfighter Kid Curry was sprawled face down on the bed, gun elsewhere, its location apparently unimportant at that moment.

"Argh donever wundue this ang," said the Kid through a down coverlet.

Heyes opened one eye only. "What?"

The Kid turned his face toward his friend. "I don't ever want to do this again, Heyes. That's what!"

"Buck up, partner. We've got breakfast tomorrow."

"No! My back is killing me. So are my feet! These damn boots! I'd . . . I'd've been better off barefoot!"

"Maybe you would've but the rest of us wouldn't. Buck up," Heyes repeated as he straightened his body to sit correctly in the chair. "We've got to keep at these jobs until we figure out what's going on. This is the best chance yet for getting our amnesties!"

The Kid groaned as he attempted to sit up. "These jobs'll kill us before then."

"Oh, come on, Kid. You did good. Your first time as a waiter and you did fine. Tomorrow it'll all be second nature and you'll do even better. I hope."

Kid Curry began rubbing his sore feet. "Maybe I will go barefoot," he said quietly to himself. "Maybe no one will notice."

"Except . . . for one little thing. You almost drew on one of the customers!"

The Kid remained silent.

"Didn't think I knew about that, huh?"

The Kid avoided looking at his partner. "I did all right with the others," he said softly.

"That's right, Kid, you only almost killed one customer. Maybe tomorrow you can attack two!"

Now the Kid was indignant. "I had no choice, Heyes! He didn't like your cooking!"

Heyes stared at his partner for a moment. He slumped back down in his chair and gazed out the window, unable to think of an appropriate rebuff. What finally came out was, "Yeah, I can practically feel those amnesty papers in my hands right now."

But Kid Curry was still incensed. "Oh, yeah? Got this all figured out, have you?"

"Huh? Oh, close. Close. I'm working on it."

Six a.m. arrived mighty early. Not a single man in that hotel room was really ready for it. 6:10 a.m. found both of them dressing and shaving and working quickly to make themselves generally presentable.

In the kitchen a few minutes later, Heyes found cooking breakfast easier than supper. He threw together some biscuit dough, baked it, and felt a thrill of pleasure (and surprise) when tasty biscuits resulted. Until the dining room opened for business, the Kid grudgingly assisted. When the restaurant opened, a number of people filed in and seated themselves at several tables. Watching from the kitchen, Kid Curry realized he had no choice but to start waiting on customers. He was disappointed that he saw only male customers.

"Remember, Kid, keep your eyes and ears open," Heyes reminded him of their focus.

The Kid went to the closest table, a group of men in suits, and was in the middle of order-taking when he noticed a beautiful young woman walk in the front door. Alone. He abandoned the men mid-order and went to assist her to a table. She smiled at him and shook her head and walked directly into the kitchen!

"Young man!" said the abandoned customer. "I haven't finished giving you my order!"

"Be right back," said the Kid. "Got an emergency here." And he followed the beautiful young woman into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, the Kid was going to tell her that she would have to eat in the dining room but said nothing when he saw that she and Heyes were conversing cordially. In a moment, Heyes realized that the Kid had joined them. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be out there, taking orders!"

"Yeah, well, what's she doing in here?" The Kid's voice was a bit gruff, and he lowered the tone a bit when he saw she had blushed at his outburst.

"Oh, sorry, Thaddeus. Miss Fortune, this is the new waiter, Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones, Miss Fortune."

"Chastity," said the beautiful young woman as she extended her hand to the Kid.

"What? Oh, uh . . . Thaddeus," said the Kid mistily. Clearly, Kid Curry was taken with her. "My pleasure!"

"Uh . . . Thaddeus," hinted Heyes, ". . . the dining room?"

"Huh? Oh!" The Kid turned toward the door and then stopped and turned back. "I'll be right back," he said to Chastity Fortune.

"No need," she said cheerily, straightening her hair. "I'll be joining you out there."

Now here was a very pleasant surprise! The Kid had forgotten that Earnest had made mention of an additional waiter. And he had also forgotten that it was a waitress. Earnest hadn't mentioned that she was beautiful. The Kid was attracted to her immediately. She wanted to help him!

"What can I do to help you?" he gushed.

She blushed again. "I'm supposed to be helping you," she said.

Heyes interrupted their semi-private exchange. "Ki . . . Thaddeus, will you please get back out there!"

"The aprons are over here," said the Kid helpfully.

"I know," Chastity responded. "I've worked here a month now." She giggled.

"Thaddeus!"

Heyes was fairly well satisfied with the easier job that breakfast had been, and, of course, the Kid was extremely satisfied with the way breakfast had gone. Mid-morning found them once again in their room, rubbing sore feet and attempting to relax. The Kid's head was obviously in the clouds over Chastity but Heyes wanted to discuss other things.

"Do you think that man in the suit will ever be back?" Heyes asked his partner sarcastically. "That's two you've run off now."

"Traveling salesman. Who knows?"

"You know you're supposed to actually listen to them when they're giving you an order!"

"I take orders from no man, Heyes – you know that! I told you I wasn't cut out to be a waiter! I'm ready to quit. Any time!"

Heyes sighed. "Well, anyhow, Kid, don't get too close to Chastity Fortune."

"What?! Why not?"

"Haven't you been paying attention? We suspect everyone, remember? Hasn't it occurred to you that it's mighty suspicious that she suddenly shows up for a job after all the employees have died? Says she needs the work, but doesn't seem too worried that she might die. I'd call that mighty suspicious."

Now the Kid was incensed. "Heyes, you're crazy! You can't possibly suspect that sweet young lady! There's not a mean bone in her body!"

"And what a body, right?"

"That's for su . . . never mind! Just forget it! You can't possibly suspect anyone with a name like Chastity Fortune."

Heyes did not answer. He was thinking.

They made it through the lunchtime rush without any major accidents, though Heyes burned a biscuit batch because he'd been trying to decide if Chastity Fortune was the waitress's real name or not. He figured a name like that just had to be an alias. Miss Fortune. The Kid had to tell his partner twice that the stove was smoking before Heyes opened the door and removed the inedible remains.

Mid-afternoon was still a busy time for the restaurant's employees. There were few customers but Chastity and Slim explained that this was when dinner preparations should begin. There were tables to be wiped down, floors to be swept, stoves to be cleaned, dishes and silverware and glasses to be washed. Tablecloths to be laid out, napkins to be folded, vegetables and meat to be washed, chopped, etc. etc. Chastity supervised the Kid in the dining room while Slim supervised Heyes in the kitchen. The fish had to be washed as well but Slim told Heyes to leave the heads and tails on, as some customers preferred to filet their fish themselves. Heyes was happy to oblige. Neither he nor the kid had ever realized how much work went into cooking a restaurant meal. It was as hard on the back as ranch work!

"My feet are sore!" It was late at night and the last customer had just left. The Kid plopped into the kitchen chair.

"What are you complaining about? Look at my hands! My fingers are raw from handling all that cold food. I don't think I'll ever be able to move them again!"

"At least you weren't running back and forth like I was all day long!"

"No, but you weren't bent over the counter chopping food all day long, either!"

The Kid folded his arms across his chest and Heyes glared at him. Chastity, who had come in to help clean, started laughing at the standoff. Heyes was the first to smile, then the Kid joined in. Slim frowned and looked away. "Maybe it'll get easier," he said. Then he added, in a voice so low that only Heyes caught it, "if you don't die first, that is."

Heyes narrowed his eyes but let the comment pass. He didn't want to question Slim in front of Chastity, and besides, he wanted to find out what his partner had discovered from listening to the chatter of the customers, before deciding how to proceed further.

Twenty minutes later they were back in their hotel room, Heyes resting on a bed with his eyes closed and the Kid in the chair kneading his feet.

"So what did we learn, Heyes, besides the fact that working in a restaurant isn't what we want to do for the rest of our lives?"

"It's always good to narrow down the possibilities." Heyes smiled but his partner was having none of it.

"I'm pretty sure I knew that before we started working here!"

"Then think of it this way . . ."

The Kid cut him off. "All I want to think about is a nice comfortable place where my feet can rest up and recover. I like my bed. It has everything I like in a bed. It's close."

"You're getting soft, Kid. What ever happened to that tough gunfighter I used to know?"

"It's a myth, Heyes. You've told me so yourself, many times." Kid Curry sighed and settled back.

"Kid, you must have heard something useful today," Heyes asked pensively. "How about those men who ordered the steaks and fried potatoes for dinner?"

"One of them, Mr. Fallon, is a storekeeper and the others were family visiting from out of town. Fallon wants to expand and was talking about how they could open their own stores where they live. I heard him say he'd take only a small percentage of their profits in return for helping them get started."

"How generous of him," Heyes said sarcastically. "Do you think a greedy storekeeper could be behind these deaths? Maybe he wants people buying food at his store instead of eating at a restaurant."

"That'd make more sense if folks had started dying after you became the cook, Heyes, not before," the Kid smirked.

"That's the spirit!" Heyes retorted. "Bite the hand that feeds you! Never mind, Kid. What else were people talking about when you took their orders?"

"Their food, Heyes. When I took their orders they were talking about food."

"Kid . . . " A dangerous kid.

"All right, all right. Let's see . . . Well, at lunch there was a family with three kids. Talking about school. There was a man name of Norris who said he worked in the bank and was taking a break for lunch. His eyes were set too close together. Then there was the group of ladies who came in. They ordered tea and some cake; maybe they were too afraid to eat more than that. You think that's suspicious?"

Heyes digested his partner's report. "Hardly. Chastity said those ladies have been coming in a lot lately; maybe it's just their way of keeping up with the town news." A thought occurred to him. "They might know a lot about what's going on. Maybe you should try to talk to them, ask them questions about the town and the people here. Get them to talk. Try to be as charming as I am. Well, anyhow, try."

"Yeah. Uh-huh."

"What about the other people at dinner? Did they say anything useful?" Heyes asked.

"Besides Fallon and his relatives, there was a couple, Herman and Condina. I think they came in for the special, because I heard them discussing the prices and she said they should save their money to pay the mortgage on their house but he said it was some kind of special day and he wanted to do something different."

Heyes frowned. "That's probably not helpful, Kid. Anything else?"

The Kid shook his head. "Nope, nothing that would help us figure out what's going on."

"All right. Tomorrow's our day off. We'll walk around town, get to know folks, try to find out what people think of Earnest, see if he has any enemies."

"Be quiet, Heyes! I don't want my feet to hear you say anything about walking!"

Hannibal Heyes looked ominous as he lingered outside the Sheriff's office, trying to work up the nerve to walk in. A friendly couple who had apparently seen him at his new job nodded and said something like 'cook' as they walked by, but Heyes heard 'crook' and froze in fear. They had passed by before he realized that he was panicking in vain. It occurred to him that he probably looked sinister.

Suddenly a hasty retreat into the Sheriff's office became easier.

"What can I do you for?" asked Sheriff Pinter with a smile. In a matter of seconds, Hannibal Heyes the bank robber scanned the entire office, the Sheriff himself, and the wanted posters on the far wall. The office was tidy, the Sheriff was young and well-groomed, and the wanted posters were unreadable from this vantage point. Heyes relaxed imperceptibly.

"You can do me for something," Heyes retorted with a smile. "I'm the new cook at the Engel House . . ."

"Yep, I know."

"And you know about all the employees who have died of bad hearts?"

"Yep, I do."

"And you've looked into the matter for Mr. Engel?"

"Yep, I have."

Heyes stiffened. This Sheriff was ingratiatingly pleasant. He didn't seem to fit the stereotype of any lawman Heyes had dealt with in the past. He re-thought his approach and then decided to stay the course.

"I'd like your take on all this, Sheriff."

"What do you mean?" The obsequious smile continued unabated.

Heyes cleared his throat. "Frankly, Sheriff, I'm afraid for my life. People who work at Engle House die! Earnest needs my chefing experience and, being a friend and all, of course I want to help him, but I would like to know exactly what you think is going on!"

"Have a seat, Mr. Smith." The Sheriff indicated the vacant chair.

"You know my name."

"It's my business to know what's goin' on in my town, Mr. Smith."

"I figured you for capable. So I figure you've got a handle on what's going on at the hotel." Heyes used the most flattering tone he could muster.

It seemed to be working. "Well, it's like this. Earnest is a good man. Lotta people like him, me included. When old Lemuel died, I didn't think anything of it. He was in his seventies. But when the other waiter and then the waitress died, husband and wife, within days of each other, I started to get suspicious. A cook died a little later – he was only 22 years old! So I got Doc Wharton involved. I had him do an autopsy, and he found exactly what he said had killed the kid. Heart attack. Bad heart. That's what he had said about all the others, but I wanted proof. 22 years old! A couple weeks by, then another cook died. Heart attack! I got nothin' against Doc Wharton, but I wanted a good autopsy on this guy, and I wanted someone else to do it. So I had the doc from Granton come and do it. Same thing – heart attack! Every single one of these folks died from a heart attack!"

Heyes had heard most of these words from Earnest Engel already, but somehow hearing them from the Sheriff, especially a smiling one, made a cold chill run down his spine.

"I gotta admit at first that I thought some of these deaths were suspicious, but now I'm re-thinking. Doc Wharton said the 22-year-old cook looked like he'd been born with a bad heart. Only a matter of time, he said. Now, I don't know – maybe it's all a coincidence. Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's really just . . ." He stopped in mid-sentence, appearing to have said more than he'd intended. The smile disappeared.

But this was the first thing he'd said that interested Heyes. "Maybe it's what, Sheriff?" he encouraged kindly.

The Sheriff looked around his empty office before answering. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "Maybe – just maybe – it's spooks!"

Heyes was lost. "Spooks?"

"This hotel has been here a lot longer than I've been around. Folks who've lived a long time say it's haunted. They say the hotel was built years ago by a tall thin man – just like Earnest – and he raped and killed a young woman who worked in the kitchen. They say she still walks the halls lookin' to get revenge. Maybe she thinks Earnest is that man who killed her and she is trying to find a way to scare him off! Old Lemuel, before he died, he said he saw the spook! So did the kid."

Heyes couldn't help himself. "Sheriff, you know that's ridiculous!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you asked my opinion on the situation, Mr. Smith, and that's all I've got to give."

It wasn't much. Doc Wharton didn't have much to give, either. Heyes visited with the middle-aged medical man and found out exactly what he'd already heard from the Sheriff, minus the supernatural take. Doc Wharton had an omnipresent smile, too. He'd done all he could for those folks, but most of them were dead by the time he'd arrived. The autopsy on the young cook, he said, had revealed exactly what he'd expected.

He didn't have much else to offer, either, except for the name and location of the doctor in Granton who had done the last autopsy.

When he left the medical office, Heyes felt unaccountably frustrated. As he turned his horse in the direction of Granton, he reflected on the fact that everyone in this town, except Earnest and Slim, seemed to smile a lot.

Kid Curry dutifully spent some time asking questions of store clerks. The people he talked to knew all about the hotel deaths and had an opinion. Some thought it was coincidence and some thought it was murder. Everyone seemed to feel pity for this latest waiter at the Engel House.

The Kid had an interest in finding out about Conrad Ashford, the man he'd faced down in the restaurant, but couldn't remember his name. After describing Mr. Ashford to a couple of folks and getting nothing, he entered the apothecary to try again. He was surprised to see Mr. Ashford himself behind the counter waiting on an obese customer! The Kid stole quietly back outside without being noticed and plastered himself against the front wall. He suddenly realized he was standing next to a fat little boy who was looking questioningly at him.

"I'm waiting for someone," the Kid explained guiltily.

The child merely cocked his head and continued to stare. In a moment his mother came out of the apothecary and took him by the hand. The Kid tipped his hat, hoping to be left alone.

No such luck.

"Aren't you the new waiter at Engle House?" She smiled invitingly at him and the feathers on her hat fell forward into her face. She deftly blew them to the side and straightened her bosom with her spare hand at the same time. She was about as wide as she was tall.

"No, ma'am," he lied.

Taken aback by this response, the lady grabbed her boy closer and ushered him down the street. She was fairly certain she was correct, so the only possibility was that the new waiter was nuts. The Kid watched them for a minute, then ventured a glimpse into the apothecary through the front window. He watched Mr. Ashford, alone now, open the cash drawer of the register and lift out the insert. From behind it he pulled out a little cloth drawstring bag, which he opened carefully. Gingerly he ran his index finger through its contents. Although Kid Curry strained, he was unable to make out what those contents were. It was clear to him, however, that they were of the utmost importance to the pharmacist.

The Kid was so engrossed in his voyeurism that he did not notice a man enter the apothecary immediately to his left. The little bell over the door signaled a customer and the Kid at first drew back, then watched with fascination as Mr. Ashford hastily shoved the little bag into the cash register drawer and slammed it shut.

He had seen enough. He had something important to report to Heyes.

Since it was Monday, the hotel restaurant was closed. One day off per week for a weary ex-bank robber and his fatigued gunfighter partner to rest up from their restaurant duties.

As predetermined, they met back at their hotel room by 5:00 PM. Although they wished to exchange their findings of the day, there was little time for discussion before attending dinner with their boss. Earnest had invited them to his house for dinner on their first day off. Kid Curry was looking forward to a nice meal that would not be cooked by Hannibal Heyes. And being able to sit down for it. Heyes was looking forward to meeting Earnest's family and hopefully not having to add to his list of suspects. They had been there only two days, and in that time period he had seen no deaths but had amassed a fairly lengthy list of murder suspects.

"Got any answers yet, Heyes?" asked the Kid, shaving his day-old beard in the mirror.

"Sure! At least half a dozen! This town is full of suspects!" Heyes stared out the window as he spoke. Dark clouds were forming and it was clear a thunderstorm was not far off. Dust began to blow around on the street. "Spooky place when you know there's a killer out there," he said pensively.

Kid Curry followed his partner's gaze out into the storm. Heyes was right. There was a killer out there somewhere, and they knew nothing about him. They knew they were targets, and they knew they were at his mercy.

A few minutes later they were ushered into the dining room at Earnest Engle's modest house by Earnest and his wife, Olive. The rainstorm was now in full swing and lightning formed a frequent background for the torrent at the window.

"Sorry again about tracking in water, ma'am," Heyes said contritely, brushing his pants legs for effect. The Kid followed his lead and did likewise.

When his wife merely glared, Earnest amiably replied, "Don't give it another thought! It's only a little rain. Have a seat, gentlemen."

The four of them had no sooner seated themselves at the table when they were joined by a young woman around seventeen or eighteen. The three men stood and Olive smiled for the first time since they had arrived.

"My wife's daughter, Cassandra Tweak," Earnest introduced. "Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones."

Cassandra paid little attention to them, addressing only her mother. "It's really raining hard out there! We never had storms this bad in Chicago! It shouldn't have to rain this hard!"

Heyes and the Kid exchanged a glance over the snub. Cassandra didn't seem to be an easy person to like. Very much like her mother Olive, actually. The two of them held a private conversation. Obviously embarrassed, Earnest cleared his throat and addressed his guests.

"It's true, I suppose," he said. "Rainstorms out here are stronger and come up faster than Chicago. That's where we used to live before I bought the hotel."

"How long have you been here?" asked the Kid.

"We've been here a year now."

"What made you buy a hotel? Move to Wyoming?" Heyes's questions were more than simple conversation.

"Oh, I don't know." Earnest stared at his plate. "I have friends out here . . ."

Enemies, too, thought Heyes and the Kid simultaneously.

"Besides, Chicago didn't seem like the best place to raise a pristine young lady."

Heyes and Curry looked over at Cassandra, who was still conversing privately with her mother. She didn't seem pristine at all. She had beady eyes and a sharply-pointed chin, just like her mother, and she seemed quite sure of herself. She obviously didn't care that there were dinner guests, and didn't pay any attention to her stepfather, either. Heyes raised an eyebrow.

"It is the perfect place, Earnest!" The three men were startled by the sharpness in Olive's voice. She could apparently display quite a temper. "Chicago is exactly where we belong. This wilderness is not the place to raise a beautiful young girl like Cassandra!" Olive glared at Earnest, and, for effect, Cassandra did, too.

"Olive, please!" Earnest implored. "We've talked about this before. We have guests now."

Olive and Cassandra continued to give Earnest a fierce look but remained silent. Heyes and the Kid felt sorry for him. After a moment, Heyes said, "How about passing some vegetables?"

Half an hour later, the men pushed their chairs back from the table and uttered grunts of appreciation. "That's one of the finest meals I've had in a long time, ma'am," said the Kid truthfully.

After the inauspicious beginning, the meal had progressed pleasantly enough. Conversation became more light-hearted and remained that way. Cassandra did not participate and helped herself to several servings while her adoring mother watched. Olive, at least, was willing to participate in the conversation occasionally. Heyes noticed how she lit up when her cooking was praised, so he tried another compliment to test a theory.

"That's a nice perfume you're wearing, ma'am."

This pleased her even more. "Do you like it? I have it sent to me from Chicago. The scent is unique."

"I've never smelled anything like it." The Kid meant this as flattery but it didn't come out sounding that way. He glanced at his partner for help and got a stern look.

"Ma'am, Earnest tells us that you are willing to help out with cooking in the hotel kitchen if we need it," said Heyes.

"Oh, yes," she answered haughtily. "I know Slim isn't very dependable. And you're still new. When you need a cook, let me know."

"That's great, ma'am," said the Kid. "Your cooking is real fine! The customers would love it!" Although they both appreciated the offer, they still found her a difficult person to warm up to. The thought that they both called her ma'am instead of Olive crossed Heyes's mind. A particularly loud clap of thunder startled everyone.

Later that evening, after they had trudged through the storm, Heyes and the Kid were back in their hotel room. Drenched and muddy, but safe.

"We can finally talk, Kid," said Heyes, removing his jacket and lamenting the fact that his shirt was also soaked.

"Yeah, what did you think of that dinner?"

"First-rate."

"Yeah, it was real good. How come Olive's not the hotel cook?"

"Because she's the owner's wife, Kid. Besides, she doesn't look like she ever worked in her life."

The Kid chuckled. "What do you think of the daughter?"

"What did you think?"

"My ma used to say that if you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything." They both laughed.

Heyes tried to find some dry clothes while the Kid checked his gun to make sure the rain hadn't damaged it. They both became pensive. After a moment, the Kid said, "You've never been to Chicago, have you?"

"No. Why?"

"I wonder what the big draw is for Mrs. Engel."

"Well, for one thing, they make stinky perfume!" They both laughed again.

The Kid retained some of his wet clothes and crawled into bed. Then, out of nowhere, "I think Earnest did it."

"What?!"

"I think he's murdering his own employees." The Kid was dead serious.

"But why?"

"I don't know, but I think he's doing it somehow and covering it up by asking the Governor for help. He said he had friends here and we both know he means the Governor. He's probably got some foolproof way to murder everyone and make it look like he's not doing it and asks for help to cover it up."

"Mmmm. . ."

"Well, anyhow, it's possible."

Heyes crawled into his own bed. "Let's talk about today, Kid. What did you find out today?"

"Oh! That's right! I think – what's his name? – Conrad Ashford did it."

"The customer you banished? Now you think he did it? Why?"

"I forgot about him. He owns a store in town and he acts mighty suspicious. He's got a little bag of some valuable stuff that he keeps hidden in the cash register."

"No, I meant: why would he murder people?"

The Kid threw up his hands. "I don't know, Heyes. Why would anyone murder anyone else? Unless maybe he's got a friend who makes him take a job as a waiter and live in a place that's not too healthy! You figure it out!"

"What about Slim?"

"Yeah, you're right. I think he did it."

Heyes sighed and looked back out at the storm before extinguishing the lamp.

By morning the storm had mostly passed. Lingering clouds threatened more rain but it was too early for them to be seen. Once again, Heyes yelled at his partner to get up and get ready for work. He shaved and then yelled at the Kid again. All he got in return both times was a groan. Heyes looked past his own reflection in the mirror to the blanketed lump in the Kid's bed. Something seemed wrong. Heyes quickly toweled his face and went to check on his partner.

Kid Curry looked sick. His face was pale and shiny. Heyes felt his forehead and could tell immediately that the Kid had a temperature. "What's up with you?" he asked. "Aren't you feeling good?"

"Leave me alone," murmured the Kid. "Don't feel good."

"You've got a temperature, Kid. Anything else wrong?"

The Kid groaned. "I ache all over."

"Hmmm." Heyes stood back. "Sounds like you got a bug. When did this come on?"

"Had a bad night." The Kid groaned again and closed his eyes. "I don't feel good."

"You're not just saying this to get out of waiting tables today?"

In spite of his aches and pains, Kid Curry glared at his partner. "Heyes, so help me . . ."

Heyes threw up his hands. "All right, all right, never mind! I'll tell Chastity she has to handle it alone this morning."

"Say hello to Chastity for me . . ."

"Yeah, sure, I'll give her your best." Heyes grabbed the room key from the bureau and opened the door to leave. He turned back to the Kid with a gentler tone. "Just relax, Kid. Try to get better. I'll see that you get some chicken soup."

It was early afternoon before Heyes was able to break away from the kitchen to check on his partner. Apparently the Kid helped out more in the kitchen than Heyes had imagined because he found himself performing tasks he hadn't previously had to do. Chastity pitched right in to take up the slack. Heyes was appreciative but didn't change his suspicions of her. Slim showed up, late and drunk as usual, and proved to be more of a hindrance than a help. He chose that particular day to let Heyes know exactly what he thought of him and the Kid. He said he knew there was foul play going on at the hotel, and he suspected the two new men. He wondered why Earnest would hire two inexperienced men and, besides, they just looked suspicious. He assured Heyes he was keeping an eye on him. Heyes was more amused than anything and would have loved to goad Slim but shrugged it off. Everyone, Heyes thought, suspected everyone else. Someone was right.

Heyes intentionally chose chicken noodle as the soup of the day. As the lunchtime crowd was diminishing, Heyes left Slim and Chastity in charge and carried a pot of chicken soup to the Kid. As he unlocked the door and entered the room, he was surprised to find his partner looking worse than he had that morning.

"Kid! How're you doing?" Heyes set the pot of soup on the bureau and sat down next to the bed. He felt the Kid's forehead and drew his hand back almost involuntarily when it felt quite hot.

The Kid looked at his partner, apparently surprised to see anyone. "Not good," he whispered.

"What's wrong with you, anyhow?"

"My stomach hurts."

"That's strange. We ate the same things. Got to be the grippe. I'll go fetch the doc."

"No, no doctor. I'll be all right. Just need to rest."

"Maybe eat something? I brought some chicken soup . . ."

"No! I mean . . . I don't think I could eat right now."

"Oh, come on, Kid. It's actually not bad."

"You better get back to work, Heyes. I'll be all right."

Heyes looked at his partner quizzically. "I think I should stay."

"No, really. I'll be all right. Go on." His words were weak but heartfelt. Heyes moved toward the door. "Listen, Kid, I'll be back later . . ." As he was speaking, there was a knock at the door. He opened it immediately. Olive Engel was standing there with a bowl in her hands.

"Oh!" She seemed surprised to see Heyes. "My husband told me Mr. Jones was sick. I brought him some chicken soup." Compared to the night before, her demeanor seemed almost friendly. Almost.

At the sight of her, the Kid seemed to perk up a little. He waved her in. She sat down in the chair next to the bed and prepared to feed him while Heyes looked on.

"Go on, you can leave," she coaxed Heyes. "All right now, Mr. Jones, try some of this soup and you'll feel better soon." She raised a spoon of it to his mouth but he turned his head.

"Can't eat now . . ."

"I insist. Have just a little. You'll feel different soon!"

She was determined so the Kid swallowed a spoonful. It went down hard and he turned away again. "No more. I just don't . . ."

Heyes had not left. He was not about to leave his sick partner alone with anyone. Not in that spooky place. "Ma'am, he says he's not hungry right now." His tone was decisive.

She looked at him with surprise. "You're still here?" She stood and straightened her dress. "I'll just set this here and you see that he eats it all as soon as he's able!" At this point she noticed the soup that Heyes had brought and stuck her finger in to taste it. She made a face and then tried valiantly to smile at Heyes but the damage was done. Her soup was tastier and everyone in that room knew it.

"I'll be back later to check on him," she said as Heyes ushered her out of the room and left with her. He made sure that she saw him turn the key in the lock and put it in his pocket. "Thanks for your concern," he said, volunteering no more information. She nodded curtly and gave him a strange look.

When they reached the front lobby, they parted in different directions. She looked back over her shoulder at him and somehow he knew it.

Heyes felt the Kid's temperature first thing in the morning. "Still hot," he said to himself. His partner was sleeping peacefully and he did not want to awaken him. He reluctantly left to work the breakfast shift, taking with him the still-full pot of soup he had brought the day before. He was slightly surprised to see the bowl of soup Mrs. Engel had brought still sitting where she had left it. She had said something about checking on the Kid, but had not. Heyes thought it was strange but was too concerned for his partner to think much of it.

As soon as the crowd died down, he returned to the room, his worry getting the better of him. The Kid was awake but looked even worse.

"You're burning up, Kid. I better go fetch the doc."

This time the Kid raised no objection. He asked Heyes to place the chamber pot next to the bed.

Heyes did as requested and was about to leave when he heard the Kid whisper, "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"What?! Of course not!" Heyes didn't want to let on, but the very same thought had occurred to him. People who worked at the hotel were dying. And now the Kid was very sick. He didn't want to face the possibility, but it was obvious. "Listen, Kid, you're not like those other folks. They all had heart attacks! You've just got – I don't know – the grippe, like I said! A bad case. Don't even think like that!"

Kid Curry didn't look convinced. He just looked deathly ill. "Sure . . ." he whispered with an imploring look.

Heyes felt his heartstrings being tugged at. "I'll go get the doc. He'll tell you . . . It's just a bad cold!" He turned away from his partner to hide his face and opened the door. "I'll be back in no time," he said over his shoulder. As he left he made sure, as always, to lock the door.

As Heyes passed through the lobby, he stopped at Earnest's office to update him on the Kid's condition. Earnest showed concern and indicated he would ask Olive to fill in as cook. Heyes was moderately grateful; he had absolutely no intention of deserting the Kid until he was better.

Or dead.

And, if dead, there would be hell to pay.

They both had to hold him still in order to get the medicine down his throat. Kid Curry was nauseous and fought them to the best of his ability. The first spoonful spilled onto his chest, the second on the pillow.

"Stop wiggling! We're trying to help you here, young man! My God, has he been like this the whole time?"

"No, Doc. I know his stomach's jumping . . . Thaddeus, hold still!"

Kid Curry himself interrupted. "Don't! Can't . . . keep . . . it . . . down . . ."

The third spoonful hit home. Heyes and Doc Wharton both looked relieved. "Keep holding him, son. I've got something else." Heyes held down his partner's arms as directed but the Kid wasn't struggling anymore. The doctor rummaged through his bag and came up with another bottle.

"Just one more," he said apologetically. As the Kid opened his mouth to protest, the doctor poured a little of the mixture from the bottle directly down his throat. No spoon this time. The Kid looked angry at the betrayal but seemed to relax almost immediately.

Heyes noted the change in demeanor. "What was in those bottles, Doc?"

The doctor busied himself with his bag as he answered. "The first one was medicine for his symptoms. I'll leave the bottle here. He should take a spoonful every four hours. You yourself should give him the first couple. The other bottle was a sleeping potion. Strong stuff. You can see for yourself that it works."

The Kid watched them but had trouble keeping his eyes open. Heyes studied him, cautiously grateful. He wasn't sure if he could trust this doctor. But the man seemed honorable, just like Earnest did. And the Kid looked peaceful, for the first time in two days.

The doctor picked up his bag and went to the door. Heyes motioned for the doctor to follow him into the hallway. With another glance at his partner, Heyes shut the door behind them so the Kid could sleep.

"What's wrong with him, Doc?"

"Strong case of the grippe is all."

The grippe! Just like Heyes had said! No bad heart! Nothing worse! Just the grippe!

Heyes let out a long sigh as he felt himself relax. "You're sure? That's all?"

"That's it. I've treated a few cases of it lately. The Waverly family brought it back with them when they visited Carson County a while back, and a few folks around town have been picking it up. He's a strong young man and he'll get over it on his own. That medicine I left you works well; it will make him feel better. Don't let him eat anything until tomorrow. I gave him a sleep mixture to relax him now; he seemed pretty upset."

"He is, Doc. He's afraid. He works here in the hotel, you know. People here have been dying of heart attacks. . ."

"What made Thaddeus think he has a bad heart? Sounded plenty strong to me."

"He doesn't have a bad heart! It's just that . . ." Heyes looked off down the hall, an idea occurring to him.

"Those heart attacks you heard about? Is that it? Don't believe everything you've heard. Thaddeus has the grippe . . ."

Heyes suddenly snapped back to attention. "What do you mean, 'Don't believe everything I've heard'? What are you saying?"

"Bad hearts aren't contagious. It's just a coincidence. Old Lemuel had a bad heart; everyone knew it. Saw the Engel Spook and down he went. The Bristols, both him and her, they got the grippe first, from each other. They weren't spring chickens either, you know. They were pretty sick and their hearts couldn't handle the grippe. Although that young waiter, Nels Peterson's boy, that one surprised me." He removed his hat and scratched his head. "Yup, got to admit that one surprised me. He was sick, too, but he was young. Said he saw the spook, too. Oh, who knows? - maybe he had a bad ticker from birth. And that last one, a couple weeks ago, he was hired to replace the rest. New in town. Not sure where he came from. Didn't treat him myself."

"You mean those waiters who died – they were sick first?"

"Most of them. Don't worry about your friend, though. His heart sounds plenty good."

Heyes appreciated hearing that last sentence. "What do you know about this Engel Spook, Doc? Are the ghost stories true?"

Doc Wharton looked at Heyes strangely, suddenly angry. "Believe what you want, young man. Just be thankful that your friend has a strong heart!" And he turned and trudged off down the hall. Heyes watched him until he was out of sight, more confused than ever. He added another name to his suspect list.

Heyes felt like a hero, staying with the Kid and attending to his needs. But by late afternoon, after spending most of the day watching his partner sleep, Heyes became a very bored hero. He decided, after some soul searching, to abandon his partner for a few minutes and check on how work was progressing in the kitchen.

Just as he was about to leave, the Kid woke up. "Heyes? You still here?"

"Course I am. How you feeling now?" Heyes felt the Kid's temperature and was relieved to find it lowered.

"Not too bad. Got a ways to go, though." The Kid tried to sit up in bed but was still weak.

"You don't need to get up, Kid. You're still sick, you know. Just lie back and try to sleep some more."

"Can't. I'm hungry."

"The doc said you shouldn't eat anything until tomorrow."

"Not anything? How about some of that soup Mrs. Engel left?"

Heyes had forgotten about it. He smelled the soup; it was clearly spoiled and he wrinkled his nose. "Not this stuff. It's been sitting here since yesterday. If I give you this I'll be accused of murder."

"Oh. I was hoping . . ."

"No, Kid, forget it. Doctor's orders. Just take your medicine and go back to sleep. You can have breakfast in the morning."

Kid Curry offered no more resistance. In a moment, he was sleeping again.

For the hundredth time, Heyes thought, Never seen him that sick. He's lucky he's still alive, but maybe the worst is still to come.

"Here," said Kid Curry weakly as he tossed the room key in the direction of Hannibal Heyes. Heyes, surprised by his partner's sudden appearance, had to revert to baser instincts to catch it.

"What are you doing in the kitchen this morning?" he asked, genuinely amazed.

"I work here," said the Kid, reaching for the waiter's apron. "Thanks to you."

"You can't handle this. You're still sick. Get back upstairs and rest another day."

The Kid ignored this. He tied on the apron and then looked amusingly at Heyes. "Did you know you talk to yourself when you think I'm asleep?"

Heyes was surprised yet again. "Uh . . . no, I . . ."

The Kid pointed at him. "Now I know how that brain of yours works, Heyes. It's scary." He began to reel and sat down to steady himself.

"See? I told you - you should still be in bed."

"Never mind. I'll be fine. I can't stay there another minute or I'll . . ." The Kid stopped in mid-sentence as Chastity Fortune entered the kitchen. "Thaddeus! How are you feeling?" She rushed over to him.

The Kid straightened up to his full height and puffed out his chest a bit, too. "Never better, Chastity. Never better. You're looking at a man who's good as new!"

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Not so good that we can't do without you another day, Thaddeus. Slim will be here any minute, and you know how much help he is!" Chastity looked at him in surprise and the Kid ignored him.

"Chastity, is there anything I can do to help you?" the Kid asked.

"We missed you! But . . . if you're sure you're better . . ."

"Like I said – good as new! Perfect!"

"You can help me wait on tables out there. Folks are just starting to come in for breakfast."

"Perfect," he said again, much softer this time. Kid Curry, still puffed up, went to the dining room to take orders. Chastity, after exchanging a look with Heyes, followed. Heyes looked after them for a moment, his mind always active, then resumed his duties as cook.

A moment later, the Kid came back in, handed some pieces of paper to Heyes, and collapsed in the chair, panting.

Heyes watched him, amused. "Hard being perfect, isn't it, Kid?"

When Chastity returned to the kitchen, suddenly Kid Curry was perfect again.

By the time supper threatened to roll around, Kid Curry had already consumed three small meals. Not having eaten for a while was disagreeable to him and he intended to make up for lost time. His stomach felt almost normal again and his temperature had lowered considerably. He figured eating would help him gain his lost strength. During the day, Heyes made him fresh eggs and bacon and brook trout and fried potatoes and pork with apples. The Kid complained about the quality of his partner's cooking, as always, but somehow still seemed to keep it all down. Heyes deflected the complaints, as always, pointing out that the only other cook was Slim.

"Besides, Kid, someone must like my cooking because look at all the people out there!"

Kid Curry called his partner's bluff and opened the door to the dining room wide. Not a soul. Empty.

"Ha! You're right, Heyes. Everyone who likes your cooking is out there."

Heyes ignored this and wondered briefly how long it would be before the Kid would be well enough to handle being punched out.

In a few minutes they heard the front door open, so the Kid grabbed his apron and paper pad and went out to take orders from the two new patrons. Those patrons, seating themselves at the table right in front of the window, were Wheat Carlson and Kyle Murtry!

It's impossible to tell who was more surprised, the two members of the outlaw gang or the former member. Jaws and the order pad all dropped.

Kyle was the first to speak. "Kid!" he yelled happily.

"Shush!" Kid Curry violently signaled for their silence. "Keep your voices down! I'm Thaddeus Jones!"

"Thaddeus!" yelled Kyle happily, not missing a beat.

"What are you doing here?" asked Wheat. "You're not a . . . a waiter?!"

"I said keep your voices down!" The Kid looked around to make sure no one had heard them. The coast was clear. In the meantime, Heyes had come out of the kitchen to see what the ruckus was. When he spied his former colleagues, he tried to duck back inside but was spotted.

"Heyes!" yelled Kyle happily.

Heyes rushed to their table, gesticulating like the Kid had, and the Kid himself put his finger over Kyle's mouth. "His name's Joshua," he corrected. Kyle nodded and smiled again.

Wheat snickered. "Hey, Joshua, you know what your friend Thaddeus here is doing? He's a damn waiter at this restaurant!"

"Brace yourself," said Heyes flatly.

"Heyes is the cook!" said the Kid.

Kyle stopped smiling.

It had been a long hard day for Heyes by the time he opened the door to their hotel room late that night. After the incident with their two outlaw friends, he had told the Kid to forget working the remainder of the day and rest up for tomorrow. Kid Curry had been only too happy to oblige as he still wasn't back to his normal constitution yet. Unfortunately, after he had left, Slim had gotten sick. Slim did little more than sit in a chair and drink copiously from his flask, complaining of stomach pain and being no help whatsoever. Heyes had had to call in Olive Engel to help or there would have been no other employees. She and Heyes took turns cooking and taking orders. She treated Heyes warmly but chastised Slim's laziness often.

The Kid had been napping and had to get up to let Heyes in the room. He yawned and stretched. "How'd it go?"

"Had the time of my life. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Good. Back to normal by tomorrow, I think."

Heyes made sure to lock the door before crashing on the bed. "I hope so. I need your help." Heyes waited for the repercussions of that last statement but instead saw his friend smiling, lost in thought.

"Wheat and Kyle showing up here!" laughed the Kid. "What are the chances?"

Heyes chuckled, remembering the close call of the afternoon.

"Anyhow, Heyes, they won't be back. I had a good talk with them after you went back to the kitchen."

"Do you believe that?"

"Yeah, they won't be back. Even guys as thick-headed as Wheat and Kyle can appreciate what we're going through here."

Heyes kicked off his boots and leaned back against the headboard. "I hope you're right. I've got enough to think about without worrying about Devil's Hole gang members coming in and letting it slip who we really are."

"Have you thought up any answers yet?"

"Yeah, I've got some ideas."

"Got any new suspects?"

"Not today. Today I was too busy to notice anything. Oh, and Slim got sick after you left. I had to ask Mrs. . . ." Heyes stopped talking when he saw the Kid's face suddenly pale.

"Slim . . . is sick?"

"Yeah, Kid, he is. Stomach pains. Weak. Getting a temperature. He's just got the grippe, that's all. Just like you!"

"Sure, Heyes, whatever you say. Just the grippe. Never mind that most of the kitchen staff died of heart attacks in the last month! He's the only one left. Besides Chastity . . . and us!"

"Will you stop worrying? Besides, what can we do about it?"

"First thing tomorrow morning, let's get the hell out of here!"

"First thing tomorrow morning, Kid, we're going back to that kitchen and cook breakfast, and hope that someone will come up to us and volunteer that he was responsible for all those heart attacks."

The Kid stared at his partner in disgust. "You know, Heyes . . . "

"Yeah, I do. Shut up and go to sleep."

Slim didn't show up at all for breakfast the next morning, and barely dragged himself in at lunchtime. Heyes greeted him with a snide comment about the time and Slim responded that he thought he was there for the breakfast shift. As usual, he offered little physical help, but this time he didn't even bark out commands. He sat in the corner, sipping occasionally from his flask, and looking like death warmed-over.

"Take his temperature," Heyes told the Kid.

"You take his temperature!"

"Never mind. He's sweating. He's got a temperature."

"That's because I'm sick, you imbeciles," Slim yelled at them. They exchanged a look. "Think I'm deaf or somethin'?" He suddenly doubled over in pain. "Ooh. It's my stomach. Can't keep anything down. I'm worried! Same thing happened to that young punk before he died."

"The waiter?"

"He was only a punk kid, and he was sick. Just like this." He doubled over again. Imploring, he changed his manner. "You got to help me!" he pleaded.

"Maybe you should go get the doc," Heyes said to the Kid.

"Yeah, go fetch Doc Wharton! Hurry up! It's the least you can do for all the help I been."

Heyes and the Kid exchanged another look.

Doc Wharton administered what looked like the same medicine to Slim as he had to the Kid. He then ordered Slim to return to his home and even accompanied him to make sure he got there safely.

Since they did not expect Slim's help at supper, Heyes once again requested the aid of the ever-patient Olive Engel. Chastity also volunteered to come in. The Kid was well enough to handle some work, and Olive took over kitchen duties, appointing Heyes as her helper. The quality of the food improved as a result, and all three of them (and probably the customers as well) were grateful for the change. The Kid in particular appreciated the tasty supper he was able to down in a free moment. Olive also made the best coffee they had ever tasted, and she made sure the pot was kept full.

Things were running so smoothly, in fact, that they were surprised to see Slim make an appearance in the kitchen halfway through the supper shift.

"I'm here t'help," he told them. He was about as inebriated as they'd ever seen anyone, and his temperature was still high. In addition, he was pale and weak. He stumbled over nothing and fell. Luckily, Heyes was near and caught him. Heyes and the Kid steered Slim to the chair.

"You shouldn't be here, Slim," Heyes told him matter-of-factly. "You're too sick."

"You should be home in bed," the Kid cautioned. "I got better when I got bedrest."

"Are you taking the medicine the doctor gave you?" asked Olive.

Slim was too drunk to understand what was happening, so Heyes frisked him and found the bottle of medicine in his pocket. It looked as if he had been taking it as directed.

Heyes looked at the medicine bottle and frowned. "He should be getting better, not worse," he said, half to himself. Olive grabbed the bottle from Heyes and ordered Heyes and the Kid to get back to work. "We've still got a business to run. Let me take care of Slim," Olive offered.

The Kid returned to the dining room. Heyes complained again, "He doesn't belong here. It's not healthy for the rest of us. Someone get him out of here."

"You're right," Olive said, and reached to help the weak assistant cook to his feet. Before she even touched him, Slim threw up on her. She threw a fit and dropped him back in the chair. "I'll do it, Mrs. Engel," Chastity said quickly. She locked her arm around Slim and supported him as everyone watched. After she had composed herself, Olive said, "You're too sick to go home, Slim. We'll put you in one of the empty rooms. You can sleep it off there. Chastity, take him to room five." Although Slim was swaying, she managed to maneuver him out of the kitchen. Olive excused herself to change clothes.

In a minute the Kid entered the kitchen from the dining room. "Where's everyone?" he asked.

Heyes had been lost in thought and was startled. "Listen, Kid, we're alone for a minute. What you think of Doc Wharton?"

"Doc Wharton? I don't know. I've seen better doctors. Why?"

"That's what I thought."

"Why? Don't you think he's a real doctor?"

The implications of that idea hit Heyes hard. Before he could answer, Chastity returned to the kitchen and went straight to the sink to wash her hands. "He's a mess!" she exclaimed. "I put him to bed. He's taken care of now." Heyes and the Kid discontinued their clandestine conversation and resumed their duties.

After the night shift, before they retired to their room, Heyes and the Kid stopped in to check on Slim's condition and make sure he took his medicine.

Slim was lying on the bed in an unnatural twisted position with vomit near his head. Somehow they knew instantly that he was dead.

Doc Wharton was called in and announced that, yes, Slim had died of a heart attack.

After locking the door to their room behind them, Heyes crossed to the window and drew the curtain, something he usually didn't do.

"So! I guess if we wanted proof that there's been some strange goings-on around here, this is it!"

The Kid checked his gun to feel the cool steel in his hand. "Heyes, this is spooky."

Heyes was lost in thought. "Kid," he said slowly. "Did you smell anything different about Slim?"

"Different? No. It's hard to get past the liquor smell on Slim."

"No . . . something different. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Nope."

Heyes shook the thought aside. "Well, maybe I'm imagining it."

"That's easy in a spooky place like this."

"Yeah. And there goes my number-one theory. Guess we can rule out Slim." Heyes took a deep breath. "Listen, Kid. There's something I want to tell you."

The sober tone of his voice struck home. The Kid sat on the bed. "What?"

"Slim didn't commit these murders, but I have a pretty good idea who did. You've got to know about this because, well, because it's Chastity."

"Chastity? No, not a chance! You're all wrong there, Heyes. Chastity could not have done things like that."

"I hope you're wrong, Kid, but I don't think so."

"I'm telling you, she couldn't commit murder. She's too . . . nice!"

"Kid, I know you like her . . ."

"That's not it, Heyes. That's beside the point. You're just not thinking straight. Let's eliminate her now, right here and now. Chastity couldn't have done it because she didn't even live in this town when the first three heart attacks happened. Murders or not, she wasn't even here."

"I know that, Kid, but that only makes it more suspicious."

"Now how on earth do you figure that?"

"Let's say, for argument's sake, that the first heart attack was the real thing. Old guy Lemuel - on his feet all day – dies. Nothing suspicious about it. Then the married couple – I forget their names – have to work more hours, on their feet more. They die, one after the other. You see it all the time in people who have been married a while. Doc said they weren't all that young, either. By this time Earnest desperately needs another waiter. He hires Chastity on the spot. She's young, she's pretty, she says she needs a job . . ."

"She also said she was concerned about working here."

"But she's working here, isn't she? She pretends to be worried. But Earnest needs her. He needs a waitress, she's good for business. And now she's right in the hotel. Right where she needs to be."

The Kid shook his head in wonder. "For what?"

"Whatever her nefarious plan is!"

"Nefar . . ."

"She needs to be here and she wants to be sure no one is around to see her do . . . whatever it is she wants to do. So now she's got the kid, the 22- year- old, to get rid of. And she does. Within days of her arrival, he dies of a heart attack! Don't forget, Kid, Chastity lived nearby. Just one town over, before she moved here. All these people died at night. She could easily have snuck into town at night and, well, you can figure the rest."

"No, I can't. It just doesn't feel right. She's too nice. Besides, why would she do it?"

Heyes shook his head. "Haven't got it all figured out yet, Kid. I just want you to know enough to watch your back if I'm not around."

"I think your quick mind failed you on this one, Heyes. I just can't see her doing anything to hurt anyone. Besides, she helps out a lot."

"Olive Engel helps out even more but you told me once that you thought she was guilty."

"That's different!"

"Oh? How?"

"Mrs. Engel is just easier to suspect, somehow."

Heyes laughed but wasn't particularly amused.

The Kid shook his head. "You've had a few days to think about this. What about some of those other people? Some of those other suspects? I told you about that Ashford guy hiding something in his cash register. Let's break in at night and find out what it is."

"I know Conrad Ashford is a hothead, but what could he possibly have against Earnest Engel? Besides, of course, Engle House's head waiter kicking him out of the hotel. Now, that, Kid," Heyes continued sarcastically, "might be a good reason if the deaths had happened after you got here."

"I told you to forget about that, Heyes! What about that greedy storekeeper, Fallon, who wants a part of everyone's business?"

Heyes was beginning to be lost in thought. "No, no, I don't think so . . ."

"Or that bank clerk who eats here all the time? I told you - his eyes are too close together."

"Mmmm. . ."

"What about those old ladies who come in regularly for tea?"

Heyes snapped out of it. "Those old ladies who come in for tea? Killing everyone in sight? Why don't you draw on them, Kid? See if you can get them to admit it!"

The Kid steamed. "Since you're obviously in a fog, I'm trying to help you!"

"Did you ever talk to them like I asked, Kid? They might have seen something."

"No, I got sick. Or did you forget?"

"Well, talk to them tomorrow, all right?"

"Tomorrow? We should ride out of here tonight!"

"Amnesty! Need I remind you? Amnesty! We've got to see this through, Kid." Heyes was almost imploring. He had enough on his mind without the Kid turning against him.

The Kid stared at him for a moment, then figuratively backed down. "All right," he said softly. "All right. What about Earnest? Couldn't he be behind all this?"

"Maybe. But I've got to believe in someone. I believe in him like you believe in Chastity."

"What about Doc Wharton?"

"Not sure. He's not a very good doctor but he saved your life."

Exasperated, Kid Curry ran his hands through his hair. "Well, I'm telling you, Heyes, it's not Chastity! Go find yourself another suspect or leave me out of it entirely!"

In an effort to appease his partner's latest whim, Kid Curry accompanied Hannibal Heyes to the undertaking parlor the next day, their day off. He kept Mr. Dacaver, the undertaker, engaged in a conversation in the front room while Heyes took the opportunity to slip into the back room, supposedly to pay his respects to Slim. Heyes did, in fact, remove his hat, but the "respectful" part ended there. As soon as he realized he wasn't being watched, he began to sniff Slim's body head to toe. Heyes smelled Slim's shirt and pants and then gave Slim's boots the once-over. He nosed around Slim's face and sniffed at his hair. When he was finished, he carried his hat in his hands once again and returned to the front room looking downtrodden.

"Poor Slim," he said for the benefit of the undertaker. "Thank you, Mr. Dacaver, for letting me pay my respects." They turned to leave.

"Aren't you going to pay your respects, too?" the undertaker asked the Kid.

"Huh? Oh, I didn't respect him," said Kid Curry. Heyes smiled lamely and pushed him out the door.

A block away, they stopped to talk.

"Now I know who's doing it," said the Kid.

This took Heyes completely off-guard. "What? Who?"

"Mr. Dacaver. Who's got more to gain from a bunch of deaths than an undertaker?"

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Just let me do the thinking, OK?"

The Kid was offended. "All right, Mr. Brain, what have you come up with?"

"I was right, Kid!"

"About the smell?"

"Yeah. It's there, all right. It's tough to make out because he smells so bad from being sick on himself, and from being pickled all the time. But it's there! A faint, faint sweet smell. Don't know what it is, but I know as sure as I'm standing here that I've smelled it before!"

"Can you remember where?"

Heyes shook his head. "No, no, I can't. But it'll come to me. You don't call me Mr. Brain for nothing."

The Kid narrowed his eyes. "I don't call you Mr. Brain except when I'm kidding!"

After their delightful foray to the undertaker's, Heyes and the Kid split up. Kid Curry went to the saloon, a much more hospitable clue-seeking place in his opinion, and Heyes cautiously returned to the Sheriff's office to ask more questions. Once again Heyes was struck by the insincerity of the Sheriff's constant smile. But he avoided being taken off-guard, asking all the questions he needed answers for.

Later that afternoon, Heyes joined his friend at the saloon. The Kid was watching a low-stakes poker game and talking with some men. When he saw his partner head for the bar, he joined him.

"Have I ever got some information for you!" he told Heyes excitedly.

Heyes looked around to make sure no one could overhear them. "Oh, yeah? What've you got?"

"There's a lot more here than we've been told! Everyone seems to know about it except us."

"Know what?"

"The hotel is haunted!"

Dumbfounded, Heyes stared at his partner.

"Been talking with a bunch of folks here, Heyes, and they all say . . ."

"That's your news? The hotel is haunted?"

"That's big news! There are spooks involved!"

"Kid, I heard that the first time I talked to the Sheriff."

"What? Well, why didn't you say something to me about it?"

"What was I supposed to say? 'Kid, it's actually ghosts who've been killing everyone.' Even you wouldn't have believed that!"

The Kid looked so crestfallen that Heyes immediately regretted his outburst. He put his arm around his partner's shoulder. "Look, Kid, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to insult you. I'm just getting a little touchy, I guess. These heart attacks, or whatever they are, are starting to hit a little close to home, and I've lost my main suspect. I'm beginning to have second thoughts about sticking around."

Suddenly, everything was forgiven. "Now you're talking! Let's ride out of here first thing in the morning!"

Heyes sighed. "All right, Kid. Let's go through with the dinner tonight. We'll leave first thing tomorrow."

For some reason, Kid Curry didn't believe his partner.

As a thank you to Mrs. Engel for all her help, they had graciously offered to cook dinner for her on their day off. They had invited Olive and Earnest and daughter Cassandra to join them in the small private dining room off the hotel kitchen, a room that was reserved for the Engel family or their guests. Heyes had prepared a menu of steaks, scalloped potatoes, succotash, and blackberry cobbler with sweet cream, the dishes he felt most confident with. Both Earnest and Olive had said how much they were looking forward to the meal, and Cassandra had talked only about herself, as always.

In reality, Heyes's cooking probably wasn't bad, but he had endured enough barbs about it that he seemed to feel he had something to prove. For that reason, he had personally selected the beefsteaks and baked the cobbler ahead of time. Before their 'guests' arrived that evening, he spent time in the private dining room, setting the table in a special way, choosing the wine glasses, and so forth. He enlisted the help of the hotel maid to dust the oversized china cabinet and shine the mirror on the opposite wall as well as the windows. When everything was in place, he stood back and admired the scene. Kid Curry thought he was crazy.

"We're abandoning them in the morning, Kid," Heyes explained. "Might as well make it nice tonight."

When the Engels arrived, Olive handed Heyes a bottle of wine. Although he was not a wine connoisseur, Heyes looked closely at the bottle. It appeared expensive.

"I feel badly about Slim's passing," said Earnest. "He didn't deserve what happened to him any more than anyone else did. I'd like to drink a toast to him."

Olive grabbed the bottle away from Heyes. "I'll pour," she said simply. When she opened the china cabinet, she seemed surprised. "There are only five of the crystal glasses in here," she said, looking accurately at Heyes. "What happened to the other one?"

Embarrassed, Heyes was forced to admit that he accidentally broke a glass when cleaning them that afternoon. Everyone held their breath, expecting her temper to flare, but she held her tongue. "That's all right," she said unconvincingly, then quickly changed the subject. "Poor Slim. My husband is right – he didn't deserve to die like that. We are having such a run of bad luck at this hotel!"

The conversation became animated as the four adults began discussing what could possibly be causing everyone who worked at the hotel to succumb to bad health. The issue of the haunted hallway came up and Earnest angrily dismissed it. "There is no ghost at Engel House!" As they talked, Olive stood at the china cabinet and poured five glasses of wine. She handed everyone a glass, including Cassandra, who confided to the group that she would probably become tipsy and uncontrollable. Before Earnest could propose his toast, Heyes asked everyone to be seated.

They all moved to the table. The Kid gallantly held the chair for Olive, but Heyes intervened.

"Don't you think it would be better, Thaddeus, if it was boy-girl-boy-girl-boy?"

"What?"

"Ma'am, I'd rather have you sit over here. Next to me." Heyes gave Olive his coyest smile. She succumbed, and changed chairs. The Kid shrugged and sat in her abandoned chair, across from Heyes. Earnest held Cassandra's chair for her to be seated. She didn't thank him.

At last Earnest got to propose his toast. He held up his glass. "Here's to Slim White. He had his problems, but he always came in to work. Even when he was sick. He was a good man. I liked him." Earnest seemed sad. They all drank their wine. Heyes noticed that Olive was watching him closely. He smiled at her and she blushed and looked away.

Earnest Engel and Chastity Fortune were waiting nervously in the hallway when Kid Curry emerged from his room with Doc Wharton. They both looked very troubled.

"What is it, Thaddeus?" Chastity asked breathlessly.

"The same thing I had," the Kid said sadly. "Only the doc's medicine isn't working for him."

Doc Wharton shook his head. "I don't understand it. He's just so sick. Symptoms are almost . . . violent! I doubled the dosage but he's not responding at all. I hoped I might have caught it in time." The implication of that last sentence was tremendous. Chastity buried her face in her hands. Earnest reacted strongly. "No, no no! Not Joshua, too," he said.

But the Kid simply stared at the doctor. "What are you saying?" he asked hollowly, his voice barely audible.

Doc Wharton seemed afraid to look anyone in the eye. The Kid grabbed him by the shoulders. "What are you saying?" he asked more emphatically.

The doctor slowly looked up and made eye contact with the Kid. "I'm sorry, Thaddeus," he said sadly. "But I've tried everything. I've never seen anyone get so sick so fast. There's nothing else I can do for him. His heart isn't strong enough – it's starting to give out. It's only a matter of time now." He patted the Kid gently on the shoulder and left. As he walked down the hall, he muttered, "I'll be back later. For all the good it'll do."

His potent speech had a major impact on everyone present. Chastity began to sob softly. The Kid held her close and buried his face in her hair. Earnest became pale. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Why is this happening?"

After a moment, the Kid looked at him and said softly, "You've still got a business to run, Earnest. Best you get back to it."

Earnest seemed unable to move. "My heart's not in it any more," he said sadly.

"Go on," the Kid gently urged. "There's nothing you can do here. He'd want you to."

Earnest sighed deeply. "All right. You stay with your friend, Thaddeus. I'll get Olive. We'll take care of the kitchen." He also left, walking slowly down the hall, looking old and sick himself.

When they were alone, the Kid said to Chastity, "He asked to see you."

She shook her head. "No, I couldn't. It's too sad. I couldn't bear it."

"He only wants you, no one else. Here, dry your tears." He removed his handkerchief and patted her face. "That's better. Let's show him a smile, all right?"

Chastity noticed the Kid himself was not smiling, but she tried.

He put his arm around her and together they entered the room of the sick man. The Kid had to hold her forcibly as it seemed like she was trying to pull away.

After her sickbed visit with Heyes, Chastity returned to her waitressing. The suppertime crowd was heavier than usual, and she seemed grateful to be doing something that took her mind partially off her dying friend. Although distracted, she held up well under the pressure. Olive Engel had been informed that her services were needed again, and she filled in as cook admirably. In an uncharacteristically empathetic move, she did not bring up the subject of Heyes. Even in the absence of Slim, the Kid, and Heyes, the kitchen ran fairly smoothly that night.

Kid Curry had spent the day in their room, tending to his friend's needs. He left only once, to buy a few things at Conrad Ashford's apothecary, and made sure to hurry back. It was clear to the few who caught a glimpse of him that he was exceedingly worried. He did not stop to exchange pleasantries with anyone.

When the restaurant closed for the night, Olive could tell that Chastity was distracted. Rather than employ her help putting the kitchen back in order, she told Chastity that it was acceptable for her to leave early, that she would handle the clean-up herself. Chastity seemed relieved and thanked Olive.

Chastity went to the deserted lobby and stood quietly for a moment. She looked around at the familiar hotel accoutrements as if seeing them for the first time. Her mind raced as she tried to decide what to do next. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she decided it would be best to check on Joshua's condition. She climbed the stairs to the room Heyes and the Kid shared, knocking softly on the door and announcing her name. It was a long moment before she heard the key being turned in the lock. Kid Curry slowly opened the door. She was not prepared for the look of deep distress on his face. He seemed grateful to see her and hugged her before allowing her in the room. After a moment he said, "He's dying. The doc just left. There's nothing he can do."

"No!" Chastity whispered fiercely. She pulled away from him and entered the room. She gasped as she saw the pathetic limp figure in the bed. Chastity Fortune covered her face with her hands. Still hanging his head, Kid Curry shut the door behind them.

It was only a matter of minutes before the door opened again. Chastity Fortune emerged and stood alone in the hallway. She was crying, her hands covering her face. In a short while, Kid Curry himself joined her, making certain, as always, to lock the door behind him. His face was pale and haggard. He whispered something to her and she seemed to gain control of herself, still sobbing lightly. He used his own neckerchief to dab gently at her eyes and then wiped his own. They were aware that some room guests were watching from their doorways, but paid no attention.

When the two of them seemed to have control of themselves, he locked her arm in his and guided her gently down the hallway. They walked slowly down the stairs and into the front hall. The Kid led Chastity to a comfortable chair in the lobby. "I'll be right back with you," he said gently. She nodded slightly.

Kid Curry took a very deep breath as he opened the door to the hotel kitchen. Olive Engel was the only person in the room. She was in the act of finishing the kitchen cleaning for the night. His sudden appearance startled her. "How is Joshua?" she asked, straightening her bodice. The question was unnecessary since she could tell by his demeanor that his friend was in a bad way.

The Kid couldn't get the words out. He just shook his head. In a minute, he was able to say, "Chastity is upset. I'm going to walk her home. Could you . . ." He stopped talking for a minute to take another deep breath. "Could you take more water up to Joshua?" He handed Olive the room key.

She gave him a strained smile and closed her hands around his as she took the key. "Of course. Right away. Let's make him as comfortable as possible."

He started to say 'thank you' but the words wouldn't come. She understood. He turned and left the kitchen. She followed and watched closely as the Kid helped Chastity to her feet and left the hotel with her on his arm.

Olive Engel gleefully abandoned her kitchen duties and pumped cool water into a glass for Joshua Smith. She then removed a small vial from her bodice and poured its liquid into the water.

A moment later, she was standing outside Heyes's room, fingering the key in her pocket. She unlocked the door and admitted herself to the room. The scene that she saw as she entered was surprising; he looked worse than she expected. But he was still alive.

Hannibal Heyes lay on his back on the bed, his eyes closed. Although unmoving, she knew he was not dead. She gingerly closed the door behind herself, placing the key on the bureau and glancing around to make sure they were alone. She smiled wickedly as she approached the sickbed. Heyes did not stir. She has seen many sick and dying people lately, but his condition was by far the worst. In the short time since she had last seen him, he seemed to have lost weight. Beads of sweat were apparent on his forehead, his upper lip, and around his neck. His clothes were wet from sweat as well. His lips and the corners of his eyes had an unnatural tautness to them and he bore an expression of pain. His left hand was placed over his heart and his right hand hung loosely off the bed. But worst of all was the color in his face. His entire face was flushed, an unnatural shade of pink.

And yet he was still alive.

She stepped closer and barked out his name. "It's me, Olive," she said. "I've brought you something to drink." She seated herself in the bedside chair recently vacated by Kid Curry. She was momentarily confused by the sight of a water pitcher on the table next to the bed, but dismissed it with "Guess he wants you to have fresh water." She turned to Heyes. "You'd like something to drink, wouldn't you? Make the pain end sooner?"

When his only response was a groan and a slight fluttering of his eyelids, she slipped her hand under his shoulder and raised him to a slight sitting position. He opened his eyes but didn't seem to realize anyone was with him. He groaned again and twisted his body, seemingly writhing in pain. She held onto him tightly and raised the glass to his lips with her other hand. "Your heart is too strong. This will take care of you. Drink it!" she commanded.

He seemed to sense danger and pushed her hand away forcibly, slapping her painfully across the shoulder. She managed deftly to hold onto the glass without spilling the water. He was much stronger than she would have guessed. "Damn you!" she hissed. She gathered herself together and then tried again. Although he resisted, she pulled him into a higher sitting position. "Drink this!" she demanded again, and put the glass to his lips.

"No . . ." The word was barely audible but his resistance resonated all the way to her evil soul. He looked wildly around the room. It took her a second to realize that he was trying to focus on her but was not able to control the muscles in his eyes. Still he eluded the tainted glass of water.

"You're pathetic!" she cried. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, forcing his mouth open. "Drink this! Its poison! This will . . ."

But Olive Engel never got the opportunity to finish her sentence. Hannibal Heyes grabbed the glass from her hand and jumped off the bed, causing her to tumble unexpectedly to the floor. In one swift graceful move, he set the glass on the table and jumped on top of her, pinning her hands and legs to the floor with his own.

"Now's a good time, Sheriff," Heyes yelled.

She reminded him of a wildcat he had tangled with once as she writhed and struggled wildly, screaming obscenities at him the entire time. It was all he could do to hold her down.

Immediately the Sheriff appeared, his pistol pointing at Olive's head. She stopped struggling when she saw him. "Get up, Olive," he said sternly. For once, he wasn't smiling.

Heyes backed off gingerly, carefully allowing her freedom. She cast Heyes a withering look before pulling herself to her feet. He stayed on the floor. "You don't eat with that mouth, do you?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"She does. I've seen it," said a voice in the doorway. All eyes turned to see Kid Curry standing in the open doorway with Chastity Fortune behind him. He returned Heyes's smile.

"Thanks for hiding behind the armoire, Sheriff!" said Heyes as the sheriff ushered Olive Engel out the door.

"I owe you a big thanks, Mr. Smith!" The omnipresent official smile was back again.

Heyes brushed the dirt off his pants and motioned for his friends to enter the room. Chastity embraced both of them at the same time. All three laughed heartily.

It was a moment before any of them could speak. Chastity managed to say, "That was good! You were so good! You had me convinced!"

"Who're you talking about?" asked Heyes, smiling broadly at both of them.

"You! And you! Both of you! How did you do it? How did you know?"

"That's a good question Joshua. How did you know Olive Engel was the murderer, anyhow?"

Heyes grabbed a towel and sat on the bed. As he spoke, he patted at his face and neck. "This is just water," he explained. "I splashed some on my head when I heard her turning the key in the lock. Made me look more feverish." As he dabbed the water from his face, the towel turned red. He held it up for them to see.

"Rouge!" Chastity exclaimed.

"Yep, same stuff you women use. Thaddeus picked it up for me at the apothecary."

"But Chastity probably doesn't put it on her forehead," said the Kid, still smiling.

"By the way, Thaddeus, how did it go with Conrad Ashford at his apothecary?" Heyes asked.

The Kid smiled widely. "I might have some explaining to do. Ashford now thinks I'm a gunfighter and I like to wear women's makeup!" They all started laughing again.

Chastity still wanted some answers. "But, Joshua, your eyes and lips! Your skin looks so stretched – like you had no moisture in your body! How did you do that? And how did you make it look like you lost weight suddenly?"

"Borrowed a shirt from the Sheriff. He's taller than me. And for my eyes and my lips – a little wax around the edges. Simple stuff."

Both the Kid and Chastity were genuinely impressed with Heyes. "Now tell us how you knew about Olive."

Heyes got serious. "Last night – remember, Thaddeus? – I said I broke one of the special wine glasses. I hadn't broken it – I hid it because I needed it."

The Kid shook his head. "I don't get it."

"I began to seriously suspect Olive when I figured out what it was I smelled on Slim."

"Now I really don't get it!"

"Olive's perfume! That stinky stuff she gets from Chicago! I smelled it on Slim's hair. She must have snuck into his room after she changed her clothes that night. Poisoned him and got back to the kitchen fast enough that no one would suspect anything. That scent is unmistakable. She must have grabbed his hair like she did to me . . ."

Chastity boldly sniffed at Heyes's hair. "You're right, Joshua! There's a faint smell of her perfume!"

Heyes smiled at her, enjoying the moment.

"Never mind! What about the wine glasses?" the Kid interrupted.

"Huh? Oh, the wine glasses! Before they got there, I poured wine into the glass I said I had broken and hid it under the table on the floor near one of the chairs."

"Is that why you were so fussy about where everybody sat?"

"That's it! I had to sit there so I could drink that wine instead of what she'd give me."

"But why?" asked Chastity. "Did you already suspect her of being a poisoner?"

"It was just a suspicion but I wanted to confirm it. She didn't disappoint. Olive poured the wine into the glasses with her back to the group, but I watched her reflection in the mirror. I saw her pour something from a small vial into one of the glasses . . ."

"You watched her poison the wine!" Chastity gasped.

" . . . Then she brought the glasses to the table and handed them out. As I guessed, I got the poisoned one. When she wasn't looking, I substituted the one on the floor for the glass of poison she gave me."

"But," ventured the Kid, "how did you know it was you who would get the poison?"

Heyes shrugged. "Process of elimination. She adored Cassandra. And if she'd wanted to poison Earnest, she would have done it at her own home, over time. I was the only one left because she'd already tried to kill you . . ."

"What?"

"Sure! Why did you think you were so sick? And you even helped her by taking a sip!"

"The soup she gave me?" ventured the Kid.

"The same. You really did have the grippe, I think. But Olive wanted to eliminate you and wanted to help it along. She wanted you to eat the rest but Doc Wharton told you not to eat anything."

"Well, bless his soul."

"That's right. I think he suspected her – when I talked to him and asked him about the ghost, he got angry. I think he knew it was poison but just couldn't prove it. He knew you had the grippe. So, anyhow, I went to see the Sheriff today and powwowed with him and this is what we came up with. He wanted to catch her in the act. That glass of water Olive sweetened up for me should do the trick!"

"You're so brave, Joshua!" gushed Chastity.

"So I guess it's not Conrad Ashford." The Kid looked disappointed.

"It's not Conrad Ashford."

"So what do you suppose he was hiding in his cash register?"

"My guess: money?"

Kid Curry won the honor of walking Chastity home by staring down his partner. On the way, he apologized to her again for not letting her in on the ruse until he had walked her home the first time. "I couldn't tell you until we'd left the hotel," he said. "You'd look more convincing to Olive if you really believed he was dying." She understood and forgave him, even kissing him at her doorway.

When the Kid returned, Heyes was already in his bed. The lamp was lit and Heyes was sitting up with his hands folded behind his head, looking pleased with himself. The Kid threw the key on the bureau.

"I don't think we need to lock this door anymore."

"Agreed."

The Kid removed his jacket and gunbelt to prepare for the night.

Heyes smiled broadly. "Well, Kid, what do you think of our chances for amnesty now? Murders solved, thanks to me!"

"I agree, Heyes, you figured it out. We've got a chance."

Heyes closed his eyes in smug self-satisfaction. That was what he wanted to hear – accolades from his friend, rather than complaints. Praise for him being quick-thinking, the brains in the partnership. He wallowed in his admiration of himself as he watched the Kid crawl into his own bed. In a minute, he came to the realization that he certainly could not have done this himself, that the Kid had been an integral part of the operation. He felt the need to recognize that verbally.

"Kid, you did a good job, too. By the way, how did you do that – get all weepy-eyed to make it look like you thought I was dying?"

The Kid snuggled down beneath the covers and closed his eyes. "Easy. I thought about your cooking."

What they expected to be a difficult task the next day turned out to be easier than they thought, but still unpleasant.

They stopped in together to offer their condolences at Earnest's office. He was behind his desk, but in a much better mood than they had expected.

He gestured to the chairs and then said, "I know why you're here."

"No. You don't," said Heyes matter-of-factly.

"You're here to offer your support," Earnest continued. "About Olive being in jail. Those things she did. I should have seen it, you know. I should have guessed."

This surprised them. "How could you possibly have known your wife was a murderer?" the Kid asked.

Earnest waved his hands in the air. "She's never been happy here. In fact, she's never been happy since we've been married. And sometimes she's been downright wicked to people. Including me. I used to think I was imagining it. But now I know. Maybe it was always in the back of my mind - her first husband died in circumstances that were . . . suspicious! It's who she is. She didn't hate just me – she hated everyone. Except her daughter."

"You mean you've never been happy in your marriage?" the Kid was astonished.

"The first year. Maybe. But she changed. Got selfish and mean. Like I said – wicked. She can be nice to your face, but once you turn your back . . . !"

"Why did you not get divorced?" asked Heyes.

"Catholics don't divorce, Joshua. Maybe you didn't know that. Besides, we had Cassandra to think about. Cassandra was always the image of her mother," he continued sadly. "She never cared much for me either."

"Who will take care of Cassandra now?"

"She will, I guess. She's eighteen, can do what she wants. She told me this morning she's going back to Chicago tomorrow. I'm not surprised."

Heyes and the Kid looked at each other. "You mean she won't even stick around to support her mother?"

Earnest shook his head. "The spitting image . . ." he said.

"Why did Olive do it?" asked the Kid.

"I went to see her last night in jail. She was vindictive. She said she wanted to make me change my mind about living out here. She really wanted to get back to Chicago. So she started killing off the employees, one by one, to make me think the hotel was jinxed, make me want to leave. Those ghost stories lent credence to the murders. We're lucky we had any business at all. She's always had a devious mind. But that was almost unbelievable. All those people. Just to get her daughter and herself back to Chicago. She killed my employees. People who became my friends." He shook his head sadly. "In a way, I'm responsible. I had decided we would sell the hotel and return to Chicago, just to appease her, but I hadn't told her yet. I should have said something sooner . . ."

Heyes felt it best to steer Earnest in another direction. "I know it was poison, Earnest. What kind was it, do you know?"

Earnest sighed. "The Sheriff told me it looked like cyanide. But I think she mixed it with something else, too. She had a little garden in the back that she wouldn't let anyone but herself tend. I think she grew foxglove. That might account for the heart attacks after she got them sick. Sick and then bad hearts. Anyhow, I told the Sheriff and he's checking it out."

Heyes cleared his throat. He wasn't sure how to say what he had to say. He looked to the Kid, who gave him an encouraging nod. "Listen, Earnest, we have something to tell you. We're here to – uh – settle up. It's time for us to be moving on."

They both got the impression that the surprise he exhibited at this news was stronger than when he had been told about Olive. "You're not really . . . leaving? Are you? Now?"

Heyes slapped him on the back and offered a smile. "You don't need us, Earnest. You're strong. You'll be better than ever. And there won't be any more deaths at the hotel. Your business will pick up again. Trust me!"

"But why are you leaving now? Just when things are turning around . . ."

"A friend in Cheyenne owes us a favor and we want to get back there and collect it," said the Kid.

"Cheyenne? Where the governor is?"

"Yep! So we'll just be . . ."

Earnest was catching on. "You wouldn't by any chance be the help my friend promised . . .?"

Heyes intervened. "Earnest, sometimes you just have to avoid looking a gift horse in the mouth."

Earnest slapped his knee in sudden elation. "I knew it! I knew he wouldn't desert me!" Heyes and the Kid looked at each other, each glad that he was able to find something good in his life.

"I've got a real friend!" cried Earnest. They smiled knowingly.

Half an hour later, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry finished packing their belongings. They took one final look around their room before leaving.

"You know, Kid, I'm going to miss being a cook," said Heyes.

"Even when you were doing it, you were missing it," laughed the Kid, slapping him on the back. Heyes gave his partner a hurt look, then started laughing, too. All the pressure of the last couple of weeks was gone. The murderer was found. They didn't have to work at the hotel any longer. They had money in their pockets. Nothing to do but ride out of there and head for Cheyenne. One big step closer to amnesty.

Both were hopeful. There was a lilt in their steps as they descended the staircase and headed for the front door.

"Wait a minute, Heyes," said the Kid. "I want to take one last look at the dining room." They both headed for the dining room entrance. The door was propped open and there were quite a few patrons at tables. Chastity was probably cooking as there was only one server. The Kid recognized the new waitress as Conrad Ashford's wife! They smiled at each other and he tipped his hat.

Then they heard a familiar voice. It was loud enough for everyone to hear. "See? I told you!"

Wheat Carlson. And the entire Devil's Hole Gang. Every member. All seated at the large round table in the middle. Some pointing at the two of them, and all looking very excited to see them.

"Heyes! Kid!" yelled Kyle happily.

Editor's notes:

Thank you, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, for writing an enjoyable group of stories about a character named Sherlock and for giving me an idea for a certain little portion of this story. Intrigued? Check out "The Dying Detective."

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.