Chapter twenty-four
Scott felt as if the walls of the cab were pressing in against him. It was hard to pull a full breath into his lungs. If not for the comforting feel of Johnny's shoulder pressed up against his, he thought he might have collapsed into the black hole of confusion and betrayal yawing in front of him. With each page he had turned, with each new file he had pulled from the stack atop his grandfather's desk, he hadfelt his world unraveling. But none shocked him like the last file.
The death certificate – his death certificate – still resided in his vest pocket. He hadn't let Johnny read it yet. He couldn't. The indictment against his grandfather was too great. He couldn't stand to see the anger on his brother's face, and even worse, the pity. Dated one month after he left for California, the certificate stated he had died from influenza in Vincennes, France. Would anyone other than Grandfather remember how a twelve-year-old boy had marveled at the city and the Chateau de Vincennes?
Johnny's arm brushed his as he awkwardly shifted the pages of the file on his lap one handed, bringing Scott out of his reverie.
Johnny whispered softly, "The old man didn't miss much."
A sick feeling rooted deeper in the pit of Scott's stomach. "No, he didn't." Johnny could never conceive of the depths his grandfather appeared to have sunk to get his revenge on ungrateful grandson. He nodded at the papers in his brother's lap. "And it appears that he had someone on the inside. Someone at Lancer was on my grandfather's payroll."
"But who?" Several pages slipped off Johnny's lap before he could save them.
Scott looked down at the scattered papers. "Someone who had access to both inside and outside the house."
"That's impossible."
"Not for Grandfather." Scott leaned down and picked up one of the pages on the carriage floor, steadying himself as the cab made a sharp turn. "Look at this date." He held the page, his hand trembling. "That is one day after I first arrived at Lancer. That meant whoever was sending him this information was in place the day I stepped off the stagecoach or while I was still traveling to California."
"Are you trying to say that someone in the house was giving him information?" Johnny asked, the tone of his voice telling Scott that he had better tread carefully.
"No. But Maria and Teresa have women coming in to help them all the time. A little extra money from my grandfather could be very tempting to one of them."
"Those women are Maria's family and friends."
"Friends and family are one thing, money is another. Grandfather knew how to exploit people for his own benefit. Whoever it was might not have thought a little gossip would do any real harm."
Johnny fell silent. The sound of the horse's hooves on cobblestones changed to the dull thud of hooves on dirt. The cab swayed as the coach traveled over the rougher ground. Scott didn't notice. What had he done? He'd put everyone in danger, both here and at Lancer. He should have known that he could not escape Harlan Garrett's web of deceit and treachery. From the moment he was born, his grandfather had orchestrated his life. What he could not control, he destroyed.
Johnny broke the silence. "Scott, there had to be more than one. Someone knew about the line shacks and the fence lines. There's stuff in here," Johnny scuffed his shoe over the pages still scattered on the floor, "about how the men treated you at first. No woman working in the house would know all that. And how did Garrett get the information? Most of the women working for Maria can barely speak English, and they sure as hell can't write it. And I'm betting whoever was watching you on the range couldn't write much better."
A slow smile worked its way across Scott's face. "You never cease to amaze me, Brother."
The cab slowed and then stopped. The door opened and Jacob waited while Scott picked up the scattered pages and folded them back into the envelope before jumping down from the carriage.
"Thank you, Jacob."
"You're welcome, Sir. If you need me, I'll be around."
Scott nodded,turning to look at the back of the mansion. It sickened him to think that it was now his. He would give anything to go back to the way it was…when he was happy working the long hard days at Lancer, enjoying the company of family in the evening. He feared he would never be that happy again.
"Boss, Lancer and that half-breed brother of his are here. They're coming in from the back."
Latchford smiled. "Very good, Walt. Jessup, take the good doctor down the hall and make sure he stays quiet."
"Right, Boss." Jessup, the shorter of the two gunmen, poked Sam in the arm with the muzzle of his pistol and pointed toward the doorway. "You heard Mr. Latchford. I'd hate to have to put a bullet in the only doctor we have around here. We might need you." He chuckled at his own joke.
Murdoch nodded for Sam to follow orders. The one thing they didn't need was gunplay. He watched Sam and Jessup disappear through the doorway.
"Now, for you, Mr. Lancer." Latchford casually pulled a tie-back from one of the drapes and threw it to Walt. "Tie him up."
Murdoch didn't resist. There was no use. And he couldn't take the chance that Jessup would take it out on Sam. Weatherly stood beside him, his hands already tied behind his back. Latchford motioned for Weatherly to take the chair next to Murdoch. Then they were both quickly gagged.
"Not a move from either of you gentlemen. I would hate to have to kill one of your sons, Lancer. Of course, you know which one is important to me. For the moment at least."
Sweat trickled down Murdoch's back and dripped from his brow. His sons were walking into a trap and he could do nothing to warn them. He heard the door open at the back of the house and the sound of footsteps.
Scott dug into the flowerpot to the left of the back door leading into the kitchen. Heddy had lost her key so often that Weatherly had made her an extra one and hid it in a large potted fern on the porch. After rubbing the dirt off the key on his pants, he showed it to Johnny and inserted it in the lock. He was sure that Heddy and Weatherly both knew the cook was not the only one to use the key. Scott had used it on more than one occasion after a late night tryst. He returned the key to its hiding place and pushed the door open.
It felt so wrong as he entered the kitchen, just an hour away from dinnertime. The room should have been a hive of activity. Heddy should have been ordering her cooks like a drill sergeant. The room should have been filled with the aromas of the night's fare. Instead it was cold and lifeless. He longed for the smell of spicy food and sweet desserts. He couldn't help but wonder what Teresa and Maria were cooking tonight. But that was his old life. It would do him no good to linger in the past. He headed toward the door leading into the dining room. From there he knew he would find Murdoch and Sam in the parlor.
Johnny followed Scott silently. They hadn't said a word since leaving the cab. If anyone knew the value of silence it was Johnny. Scott knew his brother understood that he needed time to put everything he had learned into perspective. Johnny wouldn't understand the intricacies of high finance. He would be surprised at the ruthless tactics that put gunslingers to shame. Johnny Madrid had killed men. Harlan Garrett had destroyed businesses and families. It was one of the reasons Scott had traveled west. He knew in his heart that he couldn't stomach the world in which his grandfather lived. And in the end that world had killed him. The "corporate hitmen" were no different than the snipers in Johnny's world. A shiver went down his spine. While Johnny Madrid didn't associate himself with snipers, Scott Lancer had almost become one - would have- if he had stayed.
They passed through the dining room and the short hall to the parlor. Scott wasn't sure if he could ever get over Murdoch's mistrust of him, but now he knew his father had been manipulated by an expert.
As he turned into the parlor, he was several steps into the room before he realized that Murdoch was sitting in a chair, a gag covering his mouth. He heard a grunt and Johnny fell against him, nearly sending him to the floor. He whipped around, ready to catch his brother before he hit the floor, but a man stood to the right of the door, a gun pointed directly at his heart. Johnny hit the carpet with a groan and stayed there.
Knowing a false move could cost him his life, or the lives of his family, Scott lowered his arms. His military training, gained at such a high cost, came back to him.And so did Johnny's warnings: Know your surroundings, and above all, know your enemy. He knew Latchford. He had been too young to voice his opinion when his grandfather had decided to sell fifteen percent of Garrett Enterprises to Conrad Latchford and another fifteen percent to Evan Moore. He hadn't trust them then. Nowhe knew his instincts were right.
"Scotty." Latchford grinned. "Welcome home."
"Not much of a homecoming," Scott said flatly. Calling him Scotty was like salt in an open wound. And now, knowing what he knew of Harlan Garrett's actions, it stung even more.
Latchford chuckled, but there was no humor behind those eyes. "I'm afraid that's your fault, Scotty. You were never supposed to make it this far. It appears I underestimated you." Latchford drew a derringer from his pocket and pressed it against the back of Murdoch's head. "Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered across these walls, you'll do as I say. Hand over your gun to Walt."
"I don't have a gun."
Latchford nodded to Walt. Scott looked back just in time to see Walt kick Johnny hard in the ribs. He heard his brother grunt, but Johnny didn't move a muscle. He lay just as he had fallen, sprawled face down on the carpeting. Scott'sconcern edged a little closer to alarm. He had at first thought Johnny was just playing possum, but now he wasn't so sure.
Scott snapped his head back around to face Latchford. "There's no call to hurt Johnny. I told you, I don't have a gun. I never carried one when I was living here, and I'm not carrying one now."
"Search him," Latchford ordered, and Scott stood stone still as Walt patted him down for a hidden gun.
"He's clean, Boss," Walt reported.
"And your brother?" Latchford asked. Scott heard the contempt in the word brother, and it took every bit of willpower to keep from lashing back at the man. But now was not the time. "Johnny's not armed. He couldn't strap on a gunbelt with that cast, and he wouldn't let me strap it on for him."
Latchford signaled Walt and again Walt kicked Johnny hard in the ribs.
"No!" Scott shouted, and dropped to one knee, gently turning Johnny over onto his back. He felt the pit of his stomach tighten even more. Johnny appeared to be deeply unconscious. His hope that Johnny was just feigning seemed less and less likely. "Forgive me, Johnny," he whispered under his breath and hedrew out Johnny's Coltfrom the inside of his sling and handed it to Walt.
"Very good, Scotty." Latchford eased the gun away from Murdoch's head. "You were always a smart boy. So, did you and your brother find your friend at the Common?"
Confused at first, Scott saw the almost imperceptible nod from Murdoch.
"Yes," he answered. "And I was surprised to find out that I have been in Europe all this time."
Latchford laughed. "That was your grandfather's idea. Brilliant actually. But he couldn't have foreseen how he was playing right into our hands"
.
"I assume you mean you and Moore."
"It was the moment Evan and I had been waiting for for years. Even when you had gone against his wishes and joined the war effort, your grandfather still had an abiding respect for your courage, as misplacedas he thought it was. But when you left him for Murdoch Lancer, he couldn't accept that. He was angry and humiliated."
Scott looked toward the empty space on the wall above the fireplace. "He took my portrait down?"
Latchford shrugged. "You betrayed him, Scotty. He ordered Weatherly to remove it."
"I don't understand. His letters were…"
"You were both so gullible. Didn't you notice there was nothing personal in those letters?"
Scott looked toward Murdoch. He suddenly felt very sick. "Grandfather never sent those letters, did he?" His mind reeled. He'd been so absorbed in his new life at Lancer he had not noticed. Had there been a difference in penmanship? If he had paid more attention would he have noticed a difference?
"Of course he didn't." Latchford replied, as if talking to a child. "And he didn't receive any from you. He felt abandoned, cast off by his only living relative - his Scotty. It hurt him deeply."
"You intercepted all my letters to Grandfather?"
Latchford sighed dramatically. "You were so lost at first. So unsure of your place at Lancer. So close to giving up and coming home. I'm sure your grandfather would have been very pleased to know that not all was well with you. That you found it so hard and frightening to have a half-breed gunslinger for a brother. He would have known nothing about your life without the reports from his spies. When he learned that you and your brother had found a common ground he became incensed. When he found that you and your father had come to terms with his abandonment he was furious. You hurt him, Scotty. You hurt him deeply."
"You son of a bitch!" Scott took a step forward and felt Walt shove the gun into his spine.
"Easy, Scotty. You want to hear the rest of it first, don't you?"
"I know enough."
"Oh, no, Scotty, my boy. You don't know the half of it. Come over here and sit down."
When he hesitated, Walt kicked Johnny viciously in the ribs again. Johnny still didn't move, only a groan of pain slipped past his lips. Scott realized he had stepped right into their trap and brought Johnny with him. Every wrong move he made Johnny would suffer for. He had no alternative but to obey Latchford. He walked across the parlor to a chair next to Murdoch.
"No, not that one. Here." Latchford pointed to a chair six feet away from Murdoch. Close enough for Walt to keep an eye on him, Murdoch and Weatherly, but too far for him to get any help from his father. "Now turn around." Scott arms were pulled behind him and Latchford bound his wrists.
Scott looked toward Murdoch. His father's face had gone red with anger beneath the gag. He looked toward Weatherly. The old servant sat erect in his chair, his hands behind his back. Was there something he could do? And where was Sam?
Latchford stepped around in front of Scott and smiled. "We might as well have all our guests here. Walt, tell Jessup to bring the good doctor in."
Scott had hoped that somehow Sam had gotten away, but now even that hope was gone. He watched Walt head for the door. Latchford would be the only one left in the room. It might be his only chance to make a move. But Walt simply stood in the doorway and called out for his partner then stepped back into the parlor, nudging Johnny again with the tip of his boot.
"Leave him alone!" Scott yelled.
"Leave him alone," Latchford admonished. "You two can have your fun later. Get the good doctor settled."
Scott watched the man named Jessup push Sam toward the chairs. He noticed Sam's hands had already been tied behind his back. Scott closed his eyes. Their only hope lay unconscious on the floor.
Johnny heard every word. Walt's shove had caught him by surprise, and the heavy cast had unbalanced him. He had hit the floor hard enough to stun him, but when he regained his senses he knew his only hope was to make their captors think that he was not a threat to them. He only wished he could somehow let Scott and Murdoch know that he was all right. But any move might give him away. His gun was gone and Scott had heard enough to tear his heart into pieces. He had to do something. Then he had heard Latchford call for Sam.
He opened his eyes to mere slits. Johnny could see Walt standing in the doorway, close enough for him to kick out at his legs and send the hired gun to the ground. But he would only get a bullet from Latchford for his trouble. Instead he forced himself to stay relaxed, even when Walt drove his boot into his side again. From the feel of it, Walt had cracked a rib, maybe two.
Sam appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. Why had he let Sam tag along with him? His instinct told him not to involve anyone else…but he had let Murdoch and Sam talk him into what he knew was dangerous. Sam was pushed past him and now he could see nothing but empty doorway again.
"Well," he heard Latchford say, "we are all together now. Just one happy family. You know, it would have been much easier on all of you if my plan had worked from the start. Your brother should have died in that creek removing that stump. Casey cut the rope just enough so it would give when the most pressure was applied to it."
Johnny hoped no one saw him flinch. Casey Owens was a good hand. He had stood tall and true against Day Pardee, had stayed on after Pardee was beaten. He rode the fence lines by his side and never seemed to tire of the relentless work on a ranch the size of Lancer. He was a quiet man and Johnny had liked him. Murdoch had hired him before he and Scott had arrived and he always seemed a part of the ranch. When had he lost the ability to gauge a man's worth?
"Casey was supposed to kill Madrid if the rope and tackle didn't do the job."
"His name is Lancer," Scott said. "Johnny Lancer."
Johnny felt a surge of pride that Scott would defend him, even here and now when their lives were on the line.
"In the end, "Latchford said, "it was only a minor setback. Your brother foolishly stuck his nose in where it didn't belong."
"It wasn't foolish," Johnny yelled silently. He would do it all over again. Just not make the same foolish mistakes.
"It's just a shame," Johnny heard Latchford say contritely, "that you all came here for nothing. Garrett Enterprises is now in our hands."