Longarm 245: Longarm and the Vanishing Virgin (3 page)

“So Miss Nora's gone, the papers don't know it, the police don't know it, and you want me to find her,” he said.

Both visitors nodded. “Can you help us, Marshal Long?” asked Palmer.

Longarm looked across the desk at Vail. “What do you think, Billy?”

Vail shrugged his shoulders and said, “I reckon I can't help you on this one, Custis. It's up to you. I can't order you to take an assignment that's technically out of our jurisdiction.”

The answer didn't particularly surprise Longarm, and he knew Vail meant it. Billy was just as human as the next fella, and when a couple of gents as rich and powerful as Bryce Canady and Senator Jonas Palmer came to him asking for his assistance, his first impulse would be to help them. But Billy Vail was a lawman, first and foremost, and he wasn't going to force anybody else to bend the rules, not even for a good cause. Longarm knew that he could turn down this job if that was what he wanted.

On the other hand, he sort of felt sorry for Canady and Palmer. He was curious too about a gal who would take off for the tall and uncut less than twenty-four hours before she was supposed to marry the most eligible bachelor in the state. Longarm shifted in his chair, tugged on his earlobe a couple of times, frowned in thought, and finally cleared his throat before saying, “I reckon I could look into it a mite, see what I can turn up.”

Bryce Canady's rugged face split in a grateful grin. “Thank you, Marshal,” he said as he stuck out his hand. “I can't tell you how much we appreciate this. I'm sure you'll be able to find Nora. Marshal Vail says that you're the best man on his staff.”

“He does, does he?” asked Longarm as he shook hands with Canady. He shot a sly grin at the uncomfortable-looking Vail.

Palmer shook hands again with Longarm too, and said, “You'll keep us apprised of your progress, won't you, Marshal?”

“If I find out anything, I'll let you know as soon as I can.” Longarm looked at Canady. “I'll have to come to your house and poke around a little.”

Canady frowned. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

“Might be something in Miss Nora's room that'd put us on the right trail,” Longarm said. “I reckon you've probably searched it already, but sometimes a fresh set of eyes sees something everybody else missed.”

“Very well. Can you come this evening? After dark?”

Longarm shrugged. “Sure, if that's what you want.”

“I think it might be best. Less chance of someone from the newspapers seeing you that way.”

“Won't the reporters know that the two of you came here to the Federal Building this morning?”

“Yes, but that's easily explained,” said Palmer. “As a senator, it's nothing unusual for me to come here.”

“And the same is true for me,” said Canady. “I often have to visit various offices here in connection with my business.”

“All right. I'll come by your place about eight tonight, Mr. Canady.”

Canady stood up. “We'll be waiting anxiously. And please, Marshal Long, remember ... discretion.”

There were handshakes all around again, and then Canady and Palmer left the office. When Longarm and Vail heard the outer door close behind them, Vail said, “Thanks, Custis. I know this is sort of irregular, but ...”

“But I'm the best man you got,” Longarm finished with a grin.

Vail flushed. “Don't let that go to your head. It just so happens all my
real
deputies are out on actual cases right now.”

“Whatever you say, Billy,” Longarm said, still grinning as he reached for a cheroot.

“One more thing, Custis ... be careful. I've got sort of a bad feeling about this job.”

Longarm bit down on the cheroot and nodded. “I know what you mean. Like something about it's not quite right.” He flicked a lucifer into life with his thumbnail and held the flame to the tip of the cheroot, puffing until it was glowing red. “But don't you worry. If anybody can find that gal, I'll do it.”

Henry was the only other person who knew that Canady and Palmer had come to see Vail and Longarm, and Vail swore him to secrecy. Longarm took a closed cab to Canady's mansion that evening, and he kept his snuff-brown Stetson pulled down low over his face as he got out, paid off the driver, and walked through the open gate of the estate.

Canady had bragged on his guards, but Longarm didn't see any of them around tonight. He had only gone a few paces along the gravel drive, however, when a voice sang out from the shadows underneath the trees that dotted the yard.

“Just hold it right there, mister,” it said in rough tones that carried the accent of County Cork. “There be three guns pointin' at ye. Who are ye, and what's yer business here?”

“Mr. Canady's expecting me,” Longarm said. “My name's Long.”

“Aye, that he is. Have ye proof yer who ye say ye are?”

Longarm was carrying his badge and bona fides in their usual leather folder inside his coat, but he hesitated to take them out and display them. He didn't know if the guards were aware that Canady had gone to the Justice Department for help in this matter.

“My word's good,” he said bluntly. “Just tell Mr. Canady I'm here.”

“We'll do more than that.” A bulky figure stepped out of the shadows. The man was tall and wide and wore a derby hat. He gestured with the shotgun he held in blunt-fingered hands and said, “March on up there. We'll let Mr. Canady see ye for his ownself. But I'm warnin' ye ... try anythin' funny, and I'll use this scattergun to scatter yer innards from here t' Killarney.”

Longarm smiled tightly. He had no doubt that this big Irishman meant what he said.

With the guard at his back, Longarm marched on up the drive toward the brightly lit house. It was a massive pile of stone, three stories high, built on a huge lot in the most exclusive neighborhood in Denver. Everybody who lived on this street was either a silver king, a railroad tycoon, a cattle baron, or some other sort of magnate. With the one exception, Longarm reminded himself, of the woman who owned the fanciest, most expensive whorehouse in Denver. She lived in this district too, even though the source of her wealth was down on Colfax Avenue.

As they drew nearer to the house, Longarm glanced back at the man behind him. The guard was only an inch or so shorter than Longarm, and his shoulders were a bit broader. His chest was like a barrel. The growing light revealed a face that had seen more than its share of hard knocks. The features were scarred and lumpy, and the prominent nose had been broken more than once. More like a dozen times, Longarm judged.

The guard had Longarm stand to one side of the front doors while he pulled a bell cord. One of the double doors opened a moment later, and the guard said in his rough voice, “A gent here t' see Mr. Canady. Says he's expected.”

A black man with a bald pate and a tonsure of white hair around his ears stepped out of the house. He was wearing a sober black suit and was most likely the butler, Longarm decided. He looked Longarm up and down and then said, “Indeed. Very well, O'Shaughnessy. You may return to your post now.” The butler's accent was British.

“Figgered I'd take him to the boss, I did,” the guard said belligerently. “What if he ain't who he says he is? What if he tries t' cause trouble?”

“Then I shall deal with him.” The butler's voice was cold and clearly hostile toward O'Shaughnessy.

Longarm was anxious to get inside and get started on the job that had brought him here. It had rankled bad enough just waiting all day to visit Canady's estate. With every minute that passed, the missing Nora could be getting farther away.

“Listen, you two,” he said. “Settle your grudge later. I've got important business with Canady, and I intend to see him now.” He took a step forward.

Both the guard and the butler shifted slightly, so that they completely blocked the door from Longarm. The friction between them was momentarily forgotten as they closed ranks against the man they regarded as a possible intruder.

“Mr. Long.” Canady's voice boomed out in the entrance hall. “I'm glad you're here. Come in, come in.”

The butler and the guard moved aside instantly. Longarm stepped between them and into a high-ceilinged foyer. Canady was waiting there. He pumped Longarm's hand and said, “Please, come into my study.” He glanced at the butler. “Jennings, bring us some brandy.”

“Of course, sir,” murmured the butler. He closed the door, and the last glimpse Longarm got of O'Shaughnessy, the big guard was fading back into the shadows.

Nora Canady must have had some sort of secret way out of the estate, to have gotten past a roughneck like that, Longarm thought.

Even with a couple of fancy lamps lit, Canady's study was a dark place. Probably had something to do with those shelves and shelves of heavy, leather-bound books, Longarm decided. He hung his hat on a gold-plated hat tree and sat down in the chair in front of a huge desk while Canady settled down behind it.

“Jonas isn't here this evening,” Canady began quietly. “He's left it to me to show you Nora's room. All the reminders of her are rather ... painful ... for him.”

“I reckon they must be for you too,” commented Longarm.

Canady leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desktop. “Yes, that's certainly true. But Jonas is afraid that some harm has befallen Nora, even though she seems to have left here voluntarily, while I ... I steadfastly refuse to believe that such a thing is possible. I know that she is all right, and that you will bring her home safely, Marshal Long.”

The study door opened behind Longarm as Canady spoke, and the big lawman looked back to see the butler, Jennings, entering the room carrying a silver tray with a decanter and two snifters on it. He set the tray on the desk and began to pour the brandy.

“You can speak freely in front of Jennings, Marshal,” Canady went on. “He knows about Nora's disappearance, of course. We couldn't very well keep it from all the servants.”

“And I appreciate your trust, Mr. Canady,” Jennings said smoothly.

“Hell, yes, I trust you,” said Canady. To Longarm, he continued, “Jennings was a freedman working on the railroad with me back in Virginia. We've been together ever since.”

“What about O'Shaunnessy?” asked Longarm.

“A gandy dancer while the Union Pacific was being built. I hired him to be in charge of my guards several years ago.”

“Does he know about your daughter?”

Canady nodded. “But the other guards don't.”

Longarm took the snifter of brandy Jennings handed him. Canady lifted his glass and said, “To the success of your mission.”

Longarm nodded and drank. The brandy was like liquid fire as it slid down his throat and into his belly. He couldn't help but let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“Yes, it is good, isn't it?” Canady's smile was bittersweet. “Money can purchase the finest liquor in the world ... but sometimes it can't bring back the things that are most precious to us.”

Longarm knew the man was talking about his daughter. He took another sip of the brandy, then set the snifter back on the tray. “I need to see Miss Nora's room.”

“Of course.” Canady set his glass aside and stood up. “I'll take you up myself.”

He led the way to a magnificent staircase that curved up from the entrance hall to the second floor. Longarm had been in fancy mansions like this before, but they always made him a little nervous. He couldn't imagine living like this, being surrounded by such luxury day in and day out. He wondered if a fella could even scratch himself in such surroundings without feeling self-conscious about it.

Canady took him along a hallway with a thick rug on the floor and stopped in front of a heavy door. “This is Nora's room,” he said as he grasped the knob and turned it. The knob was made out of crystal and gave off a shimmering reflection of the light from the lamps along the hall.

A lamp was lit inside the room too. It sat on a mahogany table next to a big four-poster bed with a silk and lace canopy over it. The rug on the floor in here was even thicker than the one out in the hall. A massive wardrobe sat along one wall, and opposite was a dressing table with a large mirror over it. Another wall was taken up by a spindly-legged divan covered with brocaded upholstery. Two heavy chairs rounded out the furniture. The paper on the walls was decorated with flowery curlicues, and the windows were covered with lace curtains that matched the canopy on the bed. It was undoubtedly a feminine room, yet Longarm thought there was something ... oppressive ... about it. The place oozed wealth, but there was still something cold about it. The whole house was that way.

Longarm's eyes were drawn to a painting hung on the wall above the divan. It was a landscape, a golden plain in the foreground, a range of mountains in the background. Longarm recognized the Rockies. He'd seen the view often enough. There was Pikes Peak in the center of the painting, and he figured that the artist must have been down in Colorado Springs when he painted it. Most of Longarm's experience with art consisted of barroom nudes, but something about this picture captured and held his attention.

Canady saw what Longarm was looking at, and said, “Nora's quite talented, I suppose. A shame that nothing will ever come of it.”

Longarm looked over at him. “Your daughter painted this?”

“That's right. She's been drawing sketches and painting pictures for as far back as I can remember. Pity that she'll have to give it up when she marries Jonas.”

“Give it up?” echoed Longarm. “Why should she do that?”