Part 3
The man pulled off his hat and smiled at Asia Clavell, trying to use his good looks to his advantage. "Mrs. Clavell, how are you?" The man was well-dressed in an expensive suit and tie and held his bowler hat in his hand. "By the look on your face, it appears that you don't remember me. Surely that can't be true. After all, I was with your husband the night you two finally met." He watched her face change and then he knew that she did remember. "The Alhambra Club in Baltimore? We paid to have you sit with us and share champagne? I tried to buy you for the night. Remember?" He arched his brows lasciviously.
"Yes, I remember," she said, her face set in an expression of insouciance; she didn't want him to know that she was upset. "What do you want?" Asia pulled her wrap more closely about her and retied the belt. As she and Adam had said goodbye at the door, Adam had slid one hand inside the silk wrap and caressed her left breast and the wrap had gaped.
"May I come in?" He asked with a charming smile.
"No. Tell me what you want and then go away."
"I can't believe that you would turn me away, especially when I have such important information that affects not only you but the man who just left. That was Adam Cartwright, I believe, the man who murdered your husband and my best friend? You have no idea how shocked I was to see Cartwright leave your house this early in the morning and you wearing barely anything, just this light wrap. And what did I see him do?" He reached out quickly and grabbed her left breast, giving the nipple a quick pinch. She slapped his hand away and now her face did change from disinterest to fear. Asia stepped back and tried to close the door but he pushed it open and it slammed against the wall. He walked in and closed the door behind him, approaching her menacingly as she backed up into her parlor.
"Sit down, Mrs. Clavell. I have a few things to tell you and you had better listen and listen well, that is if you care anything about that man who just left—or even care about yourself."
Asia sat down and the man sat across from her. His name came to her suddenly; Dyer, Harvey Dyer, that was his name. "Mr. Dyer, what is it that is so important that you force your way in here? You don't have much time—Mr. Miller and his two sons…" She tried to sound threatening.
"Yes, I know, they come to work the farm but they won't arrive until at least 6:30. And I'm flattered that after almost four years, you remember my name. I know everything about the comings and goings at this farm, Asia—I may call you Asia, yes? Now let me see how good my memory is? At The Alhambra, your stage name was Muna, meaning desire, correct?" She coldly stared at him, offering no response. "Yes, and you were so beautiful—and I have to say that you still are. It's as if the death of Sam, of your beloved husband, never touched that lovely face of yours at all—not a line or a wrinkle. Did you cry? Did you grieve? Well, that's not really important, now, is it?" He sat back comfortably. "I really would like some of that coffee I smell. Let's go to the kitchen and talk. It will be a little friendlier."
Asia rose and walked to the kitchen and he followed her. She was aware of his footsteps behind her. The coffee was still percolating but it was dark enough that she poured them both a cup. She considered throwing the hot coffee in his face but then thought better of it. As much as she tried to pretend that what he had to say didn't interest her, it did, especially since it concerned Adam so she wanted to hear it. They sat at the round kitchen table and drank their coffee.
"Drop your robe off your shoulders as you did that night at The Alhambra. Of course, we paid you an extra hundred to expose yourself but I'm sure that you're willing to do it for old time's sake, aren't you?"
Asia sat still. "Do it!" Dyer said in a low, threatening voice. "You are a beautiful woman and I would like to use you in my plan but I can manage without you. Maybe finding your poor, naked, mangled body on your kitchen floor would work as well for my plan. But things will be so much easier if you do what I ask. I've learned quite a bit about inflicting pain in my travels and you really don't want me to refresh my talents on you. And some of the Oriental ways I know are so subtle yet so intense that you would beg for me to snap your neck instead."
Asia stared at him and then she untied her wrap and dropped it off her shoulders exposing her milky breasts. She sat upright, not trying to cover herself. She knew that she was beautiful, had sat in Adam's lap before with her dress open and her skirts pulled up slightly while he toyed with her and while he did that, he always admired her breasts, telling her about their beauty of the delicate, roseate hue of their proud tips.
"Oh, yes," Dyer said in a deep voice, his arousal obvious by his shifting of position. "I'd take you right here on this table except that you still have the stink of that murderer on you and I'll bet his damned seed is still running out of you and down your legs, isn't it?"
Asia didn't answer. She jumped slightly when Dyer slammed his fist on the table making the cups rattle in their saucers. "Isn't it? He's filled you, hasn't he?" he shouted, leaning toward her.
Asia leaned toward him, her face twisted with hate for this man sitting across from her. "He's my lover, but he's not a murderer. Sam was killed only because he tried to kill Adam Carwright. There were witnesses. They testified that it was self-defense."
"Money can convince a man to say anything—even to say that murder is self-defense. And what a fortunate coincidence that Cartwright killed the husband of his whore." Dyer practically spat out the last word.
"No," Asia said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "I wasn't his…whore. There was nothing between us until after…and it just happened. You have to understand. Sam was drunk and he accused Adam…"
"You think I don't know what happened?" He shouted at her. Asia pulled her wrap back up over her shoulders and held it shut at her throat. Dyer didn't seem to notice as he leaned across the small table and pointed a finger at her. "You listen and listen carefully. I went back to Baltimore after my business trip to Europe and found that two years earlier Sam had taken his new bride and his share of the profits from our business and left. But being a good business partner, he left papers for me and a note with our lawyer telling me where he had gone and inviting me to visit. So, since he and I were such good friends—and partners, I wanted to find him to give him his share of our latest shipping venture. Of course, I had matters in Baltimore to take care of and a mistress to please and then finally lose, so after another year, I decided to visit my friend, Sam and his bride, the lush and desirable Asia-and what do I find when I finally arrived at Virginia City last year? That only a few months after setting himself up in Virginia City, Sam had been shot down in cold blood by the great Adam Cartwright, the rich Adam Cartwright and not only that, but that Adam Cartwright, according to the people in town, is reputedly laying with Sam's grieving widow. I suppose that's just Cartwright's way to cheer you up for the loss of your husband, my dear." Dyer laughed. Asia was upset and that was what he wanted.
"So I did my due diligence, watched and waited and I found it to be true. I can't tell you how many nights I sat out there in the dark just to make sure of it. I watched you welcome that murderer whenever he came and how he fondled you and sang songs to you on your front porch and you'd let him touch you under your clothes—invited him to touch you. I saw it all. And I heard it all—I talked to everyone in Virginia City who would talk and I learned all the details—all the details. And I know everything."
"You know nothing. All you heard is just gossip," Asia said quietly, hoping to calm him.
"Gossip? Did anyone spread any gossip about Asia Clavell? Did they talk about how Asia Clavell used to dance practically naked in The Alhambra Club and how she would let men pay for her sedate company as they sat and drank champagne and if they were either very lucky or very rich, 'Muna' would reveal those lovely breasts and they might even be allowed to touch the tight little nipples as they poked out. Has Adam Cartwright heard that gossip?" He stared at her as she sat stonily. "Has he? Does he know what you did? Is that why he hasn't married you?"
"No."
"No to what?"
"No to all of it. Adam doesn't know about The Alhambra Club and that's not the reason he hasn't married me but it's part of the reason I haven't married him."
"And you never will—I'll see to that. I have this letter." Dyer pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket's inside pocket and unfolded it. Asia sat forward and looked at the paper in his hands. She reached for it but he laughed. "I'm not such a fool as to let you hold it—why, you'd tear it up. You see, it's a letter from that lovely friend of yours in the chorus line—Frieda. Remember her?"
"Yes, I remember her." A chill ran through Asia.
"Well, she remembered you and when I introduced myself and told her what I wanted, well, that Frieda, she was a bit reluctant but I convinced her to write to you. And so she wrote this letter. I'm going to read it to you.
Dear Asia,
Please, I beg you not to go through with your plans with your lover to murder your husband. I understand that Adam Cartwright, is wealthier than Mr. Clavell but it's not worth a man's life, especially a man as wonderful as your husband. You say that Mr. Cartwright is going to make it appear self-defense but it will still be murder.
I hope that this letter reaches you in time to prevent this unconscionable act and I pray that you decide that the damnation of your soul isn't worth the acts of adultery that you say you perform with this Cartwright man. But no matter what you choose to enact, I remain your friend always.
I plead with you to abort your ill-advised plan. Do not let Adam Cartwright lead you down this path to perdition.
Forever your friend,
Frieda"
"That's a lie. She didn't write that."
"But she did. Look at the handwriting." Dyer turned the letter around so that Asia could see it.
"It may be her handwriting but when she's questioned, she'll tell the truth—that it's a lie and that you made her write it. I'm sure that you forced her to write it—or arranged it so that she had no choice. She'll tell the truth."
Dyer laughed and refolded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. "Sadly, the young woman met with a terrible accident—it may have been suicide, guilt over having never mailed this letter to you and perhaps stopping Sam's murder. I don't think anyone really knows the reason but somehow, she ended up on the cobblestones below, her head cracked open from the fall." Dyer gave a false shiver at the memory. "I personally think that she threw herself out the window, her conscience being so bothered by this terrible secret she held. Such a shame. Such a waste. I really should take this letter to the Sheriff so that justice, not just for Sam but for poor, lovely Frieda as well, can be done. "
Asia sat quietly for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. She was close to panicking. "What do you want?"
"Other than justice for Sam—I haven't quite decided." He stood up and then reached for his coffee cup and drained it. "Good coffee," he said. "I'll come back to see you when I decide exactly what I want. Goodbye, Asia." Dyer walked over and grabbing her jaw, bent down and kissed her. Then laughing, he walked out the kitchen door and Asia ran to the sink and spat into it. She pumped water into her hand and then rubbed the water over her lips, scrubbing them with her fingers. It was like being kissed by a snake.
