Chapter Twenty-One
The eastbound train pulled into the New York station slowly. Amid the clouds of steam, no one saw the two men slip off the last car and disappear into the throng of people milling around the platform.
Scott quickly bypassed the more stylish hansom cabs for a weather- worn cab pulled by an old, but healthy looking horse.
He climbed in behind Murdoch. "Amsterdam Ave," he ordered the driver and settled back for the thirty block ride to Stable Row. "We'll make it in half the time by horseback," Scott said softly. But they both knew time was not their only concern. Whoever had ordered Scott killed might know the attempt had failed and might try again. Hopefully, if anyone was tailing them, they would have heard Scott ask the porter about the status of the Boston bound train.
They rode in silence. The decision not to send a telegram to Boston to alert Weatherly that they were on their way was mutual. The decision not to send a telegram to Green River that Murdoch had found Scott still hung acrimoniously in the air. Whoever had sent the two thugs after Scott had known his destination. Only someone close to Lancer could have known where he was headed. Murdoch still wouldn't accept the fact the person most likely behind the subterfuge was his old friend Arthur.
The familiar smells of the stables seemed to ease Murdoch a bit as the cab dropped them off in front of the first stable. They hired two horses and were on their way within half an hour. Scott felt a twinge of excitement in his gut. He was going to see his brother again soon. Yet…he could not get past that nagging uncertainty that something terrible had happened.
"Tea, Sir?"
Johnny awoke sluggishly, the question trailing on the end of a disappearing dream.
"Tea, Sir?"
Johnny wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to gather his wits. The laudanum Sam had insisted he take before plastering his arm into the heavy cast had hit him harder than most times - probably from a combination of exhaustion, worry and relief after finally seeing the old doctor, safe and healthy.
With his vision clearing, Johnny saw Weatherly standing over him, a silver tray balanced easily in his right hand.
"Thanks," Johnny sighed. His head was pounding and his mouth was as dry as a desert. He knew from experience that the only thing that would wash away the cobwebs was a strong cup of black coffee. "I'll have coffee when I come downstairs."
"You will drink the tea and stay in bed," Sam ordered as he entered the room, his patented, no-nonsense look on his face. "I told you yesterday that it will take time for that plaster to harden. If, and I mean if, you behave yourself today, and the cast is set to my liking, I may let you come downstairs tomorrow."
Johnny gave Sam one of his own 'patented' looks, Madrid style. But all it did was elicit a loud chortle. "Don't try that with me, young man."
Johnny's mouth dropped open. He was being scolded like a child. It should have angered him. It would have a few months ago, when everybody was a potential enemy, when pride and his gun were all he had. A small smile came unbidden to his face. Madrid had just lost another round.
"Now," Sam continued. "I want you to stay put. It was a miracle that you didn't injure that arm further. Whoever strapped your arm knew what they were doing."
"Thomas," Johnny said, "the lighthouse keeper. He's almost as annoying as you."
Sam chuckled. "I think I like the man already."
Johnny raked his fingers though his thick black hair, admitting he couldn't fight Sam on this. But he couldn't stop thinking about Scott and what might have happened back at Lancer. "Ah, Sam, we should never have sent that telegram. You know how Murdoch is."
"I know, my boy, I know. But it's done. We can only hope the second telegram reached them in time."
Johnny knew fate didn't work that way, at least not when he was involved.
Looking up at Weatherly, he remembered what Thomas had said about him and Heddy. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said. "I don't know why she got herself involved. But…"
"She always involved herself," Weatherly answered, a sense of pride in his voice. "She always championed those who needed help."
"She didn't even know me."
"She didn't need to. She thought of Scott like her own son, and you are his brother. I guess she did what she thought Scott would want." Picking up the teacup he offered it to Johnny. "I would hate to think that you weren't grateful enough to listen to Sam's orders."
That stung, and Johnny accepted the cup without another word.
Sam grunted. "Maybe I might have to hire you on retainer, Weatherly."
Johnny ignored Sam and looked back up at Weatherly. "I'm grateful. But she didn't need to die…not for me."
Weatherly suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You do know that the authorities are looking for Johnny Madrid."
"I heard." Johnny studied Weatherly. Watching for a reaction, he asked, "You know about Madrid?"
Weatherly nodded. "Mr. Garrett mentioned you a time or two."
It was a simple answer, without condemnation or accusation. Johnny saw a little bit of Scott in the old man and guessed that Weatherly had been more responsible for Scott's upbringing than his grandfather.
"Anyone else besides you and old man Garrett know Johnny Madrid is Scott's brother?"
Weatherly smiled knowingly. "Secrets are hard to keep in a house full of servants. Someone always hears something."
"Is that why all the servants were fired?" Johnny asked.
Sam and Weatherly looked at each other. "I hadn't thought of that before," Weatherly said slowly. "But yes, you may have something there. I am the only one left on a permanent station."
"Who fired them?"
"Mr. Garrett's business associates. They took over in Mr. Scott's absence."
"And they didn't bother to send Scott a letter or telegram telling him that his grandfather was dead?"
"Good question, Brother."
Three heads turned at once to see Scott and Murdoch standing in the doorway.
"Scott!" Johnny pushed away Sam's restraining hand and slipped off the bed, stopping in the center of the room. He was equally surprised to see Murdoch standing there, maybe even more so. "Murdoch?"
Murdoch nodded. "How are you, Son?"
Johnny cradled the heavy cast in his right hand. "I guess that depends. You come to your senses about Scott yet?" Johnny looked from Scott to Murdoch trying to see something in their eyes, on their faces, that would tell him how his brother and father were handling the situation. He could see the strain in their expressions. They had made some kind of agreement, but it wasn't as father and son.
Murdoch cleared his throat. "You were right, Johnny. I owe both of you an apology. I…
"You don't owe me nothing, Murdoch. It's Scott you've got to convince."
"It's taken care of for now," Scott said curtly. "But you - What the hell did you think you were doing?" All his anger, all his frustrations came out in one explosion of emotion. "I was worried sick about you and it looks like I had good cause. What possessed you to take a trip like this? Were you so unsure about who I was that you had to come here to prove it? Did you find the proof you needed? Am I the real Scott Lancer?"
Johnny looked away. "I never needed proof, Scott," he said in his soft drawl. "But others did."
"Why didn't you talk to me?"
"And say what?" Johnny worried a thread on the blanket. "Hey, Brother, are you really Scott Lancer, or are you some imposter out to make our three-way partnership turn into one?"
"No. You could have told me the truth. We would have figured it out together."
Johnny nodded, looking up sheepishly at Scott. "I know. Lo siento."
Scott reached out and backhanded Johnny gently across the cheek. "Just never do it again. Okay?"
"Okay." Johnny felt profound sadness for both Scott and Murdoch. They were both hurting, and no potion from Jelly or medicine from Sam would heal them.
Johnny looked toward the window where Weatherly stood, his old shoulders erect, his head held high, the epitome of the good loyal servant. Scott followed his gaze and smiled.
"It's good to see you Weatherly."
"Sir. Welcome home. I'm sorry it is under such terrible circumstances. If it eases your mind, I can tell you, your grandfather was taken swiftly. He did not linger or suffer."
Scott nodded. "Thank you, Weatherly, that's good to hear. But why didn't you write or send a telegram?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. But I was under the impression that you had been notified."
"And when I didn't reply?" The tension in the air was suddenly palpable. "Did you think that I didn't care?"
"Of course not, Sir. I was told that you had acknowledged, and were unable to leave your duties at the time. I am sorry that I did not pursue the matter."
Johnny saw Murdoch reach a tentative hand out to lay it lightly on Scott's shoulder. To his surprise, his brother made no attempt to dislodge it.
"We have a lot to discuss, Scott," Murdoch said. "And I won't let you make the same mistakes I did. We'll all sit down together and get all the facts. Sam, Johnny's arm?"
Sam resigned himself with a weary sigh. "It's probably set enough now for Johnny to move downstairs to the sofa. But no further. Do I make myself clear, young man?"
Johnny couldn't keep the smirk off his face.
"Very well then," Weatherly said. "I will prepare the sofa." Looking back toward Murdoch he bowed just slightly. "I have a room ready for you, Mr. Lancer. And Mr. Scott, your room is ready as well. Welcome home, Sir."
Scott left Sam and Murdoch to make sure Johnny went straight to the sofa in the parlor without any detours. It gave him time to look around. The house felt so empty. Even though he had not seen his grandfather all that much - he was either out on business or in his office - knowing that he was really gone left an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.
Even though it was not his fault, Scott felt a profound guilt that he had not been here to pay his last respects to the man he had loved for so many years.
The house was clean and tidy as usual. But oddly, he hadn't noticed any servants other than Weatherly. It made the mansion seem twice its size. He looked in his bedroom. It was just as he had left it. It was as if his grandfather had expected him to return any day. It plunged the knife of guilt just a little deeper. He closed the door and headed downstairs. His grandfather's office door was standing ajar. He would never have stood for that. Harlan Garrett always insisted that his office door was closed. No one was allowed in unless invited. Scott had never been invited as a child. Only after joining Garrett Enterprises was he allowed in and then only to discuss business.
Pushing the door open slowly, Scott was shocked to find the room devoid of anything that belonged to his grandfather. The desk was empty. Pictures on the walls had been removed. The bookshelves stood bare. It was as if the man had never existed.
Spinning on his heel he headed for the parlor. Weatherly was setting a tray of sandwiches and tea on the coffee table between Johnny, sitting on the sofa with his legs stretched in from of him, his left arm cushioned on a pillow, and Murdoch and Sam sitting on plush armchairs.
"Why is grandfather's office empty?" he demanded. "And where is all the staff? Where is Heddy? She would be the first one to greet me."
Weatherly hung his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. Heddy was…"
"Heddy died trying to warn me," Johnny blurted out. "She took a bullet in the back for me."
"You don't know that for a fact, Johnny," Sam countered. "We still don't know if she was the real target."
"A target?" Scott turned from Johnny back to Weatherly. "I want to know everything," he said slowly. "Everything."
"I am sorry, Sir. I believe Heddy had reservations that Mr. Garrett's accident was not really an accident."
Murdoch nodded. "We've been wondering the same thing."
"When she and the rest of the staff were released…."
"Released? Why? I never gave orders for anyone to be let go."
"I know, Sir. But Mr. Garrett's business associates took over in your stead and demanded that all, but myself, be immediately dismissed. And that everything pertaining to Garrett Enterprises be moved to the downtown office."
"And you didn't stop them?"
"I am only the servant, Sir, how could I…"
"You're more than a servant and you know it, Weatherly. You run this house like a drill sergeant. If anyone knew what was going on, you did." Scott raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand any of this."
"Nor do I, Sir."
"Scott, sit down," Johnny said. "There's more."
Scott looked helplessly around the room. It felt as if his life were suddenly in limbo.
Sam nodded. "Weatherly, tell Scott about Garrett's odd behavior before the accident."
"He was under a great deal of stress. He would go into his office and lock the door. He would even miss his meals. I asked him several times if there was something wrong, but he said it was something he had to take care of."
"Did you ever find out what it was?" Scott asked.
"No, Sir. The two men who ordered me to dismiss the staff after Mr. Garrett's passing were also here a few times. They would enter your grandfather's office and I would hear raised voices."
"Let me guess, they were also responsible for grandfather's office."
"Yes. I believe so."
"Have you told the authorities any of this?"
"No, Sir. They believe Mr. Garrett was killed in an unfortunate accident. No foul play involved. But they do have a suspect in Heddy's murder."
"Who?" Scott demanded.
"Johnny Madrid," Johnny answered.
"Someone reported seeing Johnny Madrid in town, then near the scene of the crime. Strange thing about it is, the description is one right off a wanted poster."
Johnny looked up at Weatherly. "How would you know what a wanted poster looked like?"
"Mr. Garrett kept one in his desk. I saw him looking at it several times. The police are looking for a man in his early twenties, dark unkempt hair, dark complexion, blue eyes, wearing a faded pink shirt and leather pants with silver dollars running down the legs."
"I never wore my concho pants here. And they aren't silver dollars."
"It appears we are being set up, Brother," Scott said bitterly.
"Everyone is being set up," Murdoch growled. "First two men try to drown you in the river…"
Johnny sat forward, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Sam. "You okay, Boston?"
"I'm fine. Just a little waterlogged. It looks like we are back to grandfather's business associates. They would have seen the wanted poster if they were in his office that often. I think I might pay them a visit today and…"
"Wait, Scott," Johnny said. "Thomas told me that servants from big places like this talked a lot with the men who deliver food and stuff."
"Yes. And who is Thomas?"
"The lighthouse keeper."
"Lighthouse keeper? Johnny…"
"It's a long story. I was stuck on Little Brewster Island during a big storm. Got to meet a nice lady though."
A smile pulled at the corners of Murdoch's lips. "I have a feeling there is a lot more to this story."
Johnny ignored the jibe. "I think we should have a meeting…private…with as many servants and delivery men as we can find."
"That's an excellent idea," Weatherly said. "I can make some quick inquiries and have a meeting set up for this evening."
"Good." Johnny settled back against the arm of the sofa. "Always better to know what might slither out."
It was near midnight when Weatherly led Johnny and Murdoch toward the kitchen. They could hear voices behind the closed door.
"We had a better turnout than expected," Weatherly said over his shoulder. "Regrettably, no one liked Mr. Garrett, but everyone respected Mr. Scott. And Heddy, well Heddy was loved by just about everyone. Her death has hit us all hard."
Johnny slowed his pace. "They may not want me in there." Johnny could face down any gunslinger, but the idea of facing the friends of the woman who had died because of him…
"No one blames you, Johnny. They all know that she was trying to help you. You will pay her more respect by joining us tonight to find out who is behind this."
Murdoch's hand slipped around Johnny's elbow and he didn't feel the need to push him away. Another bit of Madrid biting the dust.
As they entered the kitchen, a dozen men and women were crowded around Scott and Sam, listening to stories of Heddy and her exploits.
The hinges creaked and everyone turned to watch them enter.
Scott motioned for them to come forward. "This is my father, Murdoch Lancer, and my brother Johnny."
"We just heard, Sir. We all thought you was in Europe, Mr. Scott. No one told us you were out west with your family."
"How terrible," someone else lamented. "That you couldn't' a been here for your granddaddy's service."
"Who told you I was in Europe?" Scott asked. Johnny could see the hurt and confusion in Scott's eyes.
"Mr. Garrett himself."
Johnny saw Scott's face lose all its color as he asked hesitantly. "Phoebe, are you sure?"
"I worked for your grandfather for most of my life. I watched you grow up. I'm sure, Sir. As sure as I'm standing here."
There was a chorus of agreement. Johnny could have killed the old man right there and then if he weren't already dead.
Scott cleared his throat. Johnny watched Murdoch move slowly toward Scott until he was standing by his side. Scott made no attempt to move away. "We asked Weatherly to gather you together tonight because we need answers. And who better to ask?" There was a smattering of laughter. "We think my grandfather may have been murdered. And we think Heddy was killed because she tried to warn Johnny that he was in danger. We hope someone here knows something that might lead us to the answers. Anything that you can remember that doesn't seem right, speak up. The answer could be right in front of us."
"The carriage old man Garrett was riding in that day was not his usual," someone called out. "His had a broken axle. He had to use another carriage."
"The day before the accident, one of Mr. Garrett's business partners told Jefferson Masters that he was good with the horses and if he needed a new job he could go work for him."
"Jefferson Masters paid two men to throw me in the Missouri River three days ago," Scott said grimly.
"That can't be, Sir," someone called. "Jefferson was driving the carriage when Mr. Garrett was killed. He was killed too."
Scott looked toward Weatherly. "The description fit perfectly. Are you sure?"
"Yes, Sir. He was buried the day after your grandfather."
"Sir?" A young woman wove her way to the front of the crowd of people. "Don't know if this helps, but…I was cleaning Mr. Garrett's office the day before…you know…he had his accident. And I found the waste bin full of burned paper."
"What kind of paper, Chloe?"
"Business paper. I saw the edge of one…didn't mean to snoop mind you, but it was just there for the looking."
"Could you read it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And?"
"It was part of a will. Mr. Garrett's will."