Two in the Field (39 page)

“Jim won’t talk about the trouble between them,” Ophelia said. “But there was some. I’ve noticed he steers a wide path around Ham Baker.”

“Maybe he owes him money.”

“That’s what I’d guess, something of the sort.” She drank from her brandy snifter and then pointedly looked down at my
crotch. “Do you want to know how he reacted to hearing about your … infirmity?”

“Not really.”

“He crowed like a rooster.”

“Thanks for sharing that.”

She slid close to me, the tops of her breasts visible above her low-cut dress. “I might know a little more to tell you,” she said coyly. “For a kiss.”

“Look, I told you—”

She took hold of my ears and pulled my face to hers, her lips and tongue moving against mine. I started to pull away, then thought what the hell, information probably had to come at a price. When things started to get too steamy I pushed her gently back.

“Time to go,” I said. “Do you really know more?”

“Lots of things,” she said sweetly, then pouted when I got to my feet. “Very well, here it is,” she said. “I suspect that Jim sold Ham Baker worthless stock.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what that stock might have been. “Thanks,” I told her, and moved toward the door.

“One more kiss?” she said. “For goodnight?”

I closed the door behind me.

I went on in that semi-formal vein and finished by saying I hoped she was well. I refrained from using the L-word, although I wanted to. So far I hadn’t bothered to tell her that I worked in a casino. And I saw absolutely no point in mentioning Ophelia du Pree.

Report to my office
, said Morrissey’s note. No pretty please. No at my convenience. A blunt command. I wasn’t too surprised, therefore, to find McDermott up there with Old Smoke, looking more than a little pissed.

“Something queer happened in the poker room last night,” Morrissey said without preamble. “Jim suspects a crooked deal. He says you was there at the time.”

“There
have
been some odd hands lately, all at the same table,” I said. “I’ve been trying to keep an eye on it.” I looked McDermott in the eye. “Checking for things like holdouts.”

“See any?” Morrissey said.

“Nope.”

“What about the little dandy who got that no-draw flush?” he demanded. “A stranger, Red Jim tells me.”

“I checked to make sure he had enough cash for the upstairs tables,” I said blandly. “Grogan was there, too. The small man struck us as just another sport.”

“Any sparklers?” Morrissey asked. Gamblers always noted jewelry, a form of professional appraisal.

“I don’t remember any.”

They exchanged a glance.

“Red Jim thinks you might know more about it than you’re letting on.”

I shrugged to convey that I couldn’t be responsible for his muddled thinking, meanwhile heating up at the nerve of McDermott trying to spin things against me.

“Ever seen the little swell before?” Morrissey pressed.

I shook my head.

They looked at me silently.

“Do you ever wonder,” I said flatly, “if Red Jim skims some off your take?”

“I’ll have your goddamn tongue for that!” McDermott shouted.

I gave him the sort of tight smile I imagined a Pinkerton might use.

“I’ll not have my Club House under the slightest shadow,” Morrissey said. “No man can say I’ve ever turned a dishonest card or struck a foul blow.”

What do you consider the head butt you gave me?

“Good,” I answered, “because I don’t know of any shadow—but then I haven’t questioned the dealer of that game.” I looked at McDermott. “Do you want me to do that?”

Red Jim glared daggers. Morrissey waved me out of the room. As I passed near McDermott, he said through clenched teeth, “Your day’s nearly here.”

Baker counted the cash between us—$13,500 for him, $1,500 for Slack and me; we’d tripled our money. He pocketed his and said, “Now I’m even with that swindler.”

“Red Jim cheated you?”

The look Baker gave me wasn’t particularly friendly. I decided to push the issue anyway, thinking there wasn’t much to lose. “I know about the stocks,” I said in a sympathetic tone.

His eyes flashed and he seemed to make an effort to control himself before saying tersely, “Losing doesn’t set well with me.”

“No kidding.”

“Being shown up as a fool is even worse—and McDermott did that to me. He slickered me into buying some of those bogus land certificates you’re tracking. I didn’t believe his sorry act
later, when I asked about the big dividend he’d said was a sure thing—only to have him tell me the whole operation had gone under.”

“What’d you do?”

“Talked to Morrissey, but he just pooh-poohed it and said I should be more careful. That’s when I suspected they might be in it together.” He smiled, his eyes cold. “And that’s when I vowed to get back at Red Jim.”

“You could have told me earlier.”

“Didn’t trust you.” He patted the pocket that held his money. “Not like I do now.”

“When did it happen?”

“Maybe six months ago.”

“Do you have the certificates?”

“I burned the damn things.”

“Do you remember the name?”

“Never forget something like that,” he said. “ ‘Bonanza Western Land Company’.”

“Involving Nebraska territory?”

He nodded. “ ‘Rich land on the way to the gold mines,’ was Red Jim’s main pitch, ‘bound to grow in value.’ ”

I felt an adrenaline rush that seemed equal parts anticipation and dread. “Any other reason to think Morrissey was in on it?”

“Well, those certificates were floated out of Albany, which is where Old Smoke does his politickin’ when the State Senate’s in session.” Baker’s forehead creased in a frown. “The other thing was that about a week later he offered to cover my losses. No need for that. Said he didn’t want his employees scheming on each other’s money. But why’d he wait so long? I think the whole damn thing kicked up on ’em.”

I reflected gloomily that if Morrissey and McDermott were in it together, then my job at the Club House offered no protection.

I thought I’d been clever to insinuate myself here, where I could observe and plot. Now I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was the one being observed. And with LeCaron on his way, I badly needed a plan.

Finding Cait’s letter in my hotel box, I’d tried to brace myself against disappointment, and so was pleased to find her tone a trifle warmer than before, though still maddeningly impersonal. Mostly she wrote of teaching Kaija a bit of Gaelic in return for some coaching in basic Finnish, and about Lily’s daily doings. One sentence I read over and over:
Their presence means so much, for otherwise it has been lonely here
.

The implication was that she missed Tim. But perhaps me, too. And there was no mention of Tip McKee. My eye drifted back to
heartened
at the beginning, and to the letter’s closing,
Sincerely, Caitlin
. Hardly the outpouring that I wanted, but better than before. Little by little, I told myself.

Ophelia bent down to deliver the customary brandy, her dècolletage lower than ever. She caught me looking at her breasts, laughed, and suddenly was in my arms again. Her lips were remarkably soft and full and expressive. For a long moment I forgot all about Cait and kissed back. My hands moved over her and she seemed to melt against me. If she hadn’t reached downward to double-check my amatory potential, I don’t know what might have happened.

But she did.

“War wound?” she asked in her sultriest voice.

The knowing tone and her ironic smile, broke the mood. For the first time I noticed that the striking gray eyes were slightly mismatched, one larger than the other. Beneath the makeup on her cheeks I made out tiny bumps. It wasn’t really the imperfections that dampened things, though. Just the awareness that she was not Cait.

I took a breath and said, “I guess that shows I’m not made of steel after all.”

“Mmmm.” Ophelia glanced significantly at my crotch. “I wouldn’t swear to that.” She made a kittenish flounce on the cushions. “You thought of
her
, didn’t you?”

At that moment it seemed that I had never missed Cait more. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?”

“How about LeCaron.” A subject guaranteed to shrivel lusty urges. “Any idea when he might show up?”

“Jim hasn’t let on,” she said, her face sobering, “but I suspect it will be within the fortnight.”