Slaughter of Eagles Read online

  “Yes. Well, we can’t be sure of that now, can we?” Boyd said. He shook his head. “You had better make some other arrangement, Miss Wellington, because I have no intention of marrying you.”

  Janelle did not tell anyone of her pregnancy until it was no longer possible to keep it a secret. After much persuasion she finally told her family who the baby’s father was.

  “What?” Joel asked angrily. “Why didn’t you say something before? I would have kept that scoundrel here, and I would have forced him to marry you.”

  “I know, Father,” Janelle said. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I could not marry someone who does not want to marry me.”

  Janelle went into confinement shortly after that, staying in her room and seeing no one. When it came time for her delivery, her father found a doctor who didn’t know them, nor moved in their social circles, extracting a promise from him to say nothing of the bastard boy child.

  Two months after the baby was born, without consulting with her parents, Janelle made the decision to leave New York. She took her baby to her sister, then left town that same day.

  Pulling herself out of her reverie, she realized she’d been in Phoenix for two months trying to make a new life. She thought of her baby—the baby she had abandoned, not by choice, but by necessity. She told herself that once she was established in a good paying job, making enough money to not only buy a house, but to hire a full-time nurse for the baby, she would ask her sister to bring the baby to her. She was determined that one day she would reunite with her baby. She could see them living in one of the houses on the outskirts of town.

  She smiled broadly, and wrapped her arms around herself. With the prospect of a job at the bank, a job she was sure would pay well, she might very well be able to fulfill that dream. Oh, what a joyous thing that would be. For the first time since leaving New York, for the first time since giving birth, she felt a sense of intense joy and anticipation. She had to get the job. She simply had to.

  When she reached the bank she saw a sign on the front door of the building, informing the public that the establishment would not be open for business until nine o’clock. It was exactly as she had expected. Mr. Montgomery had said he would leave the side door open for her.

  Janelle started up through the little pathway that separated the bank from the Phoenix Tonsorial Salon, stepping around the red and white striped pole that advertised the profession. Three quarters of the way to the rear of the bank building she saw a door that opened onto the little pathway and when she reached it, she tapped lightly, and called out, “Mr. Montgomery?” Getting no answer she tapped again, then she turned the doorknob and pushed. The door opened easily, and Janelle stepped inside. “Mr. Montgomery?” she called again, though not loudly.

  “You have no right to it,” a man’s voice said. Even though the voice was angry, Janelle recognized it as belonging to C. D. Montgomery.

  “The man died in my jail. The city is out the expense of his burial. Now, if he has anything of value, I am claiming it in the name of the city,” another voice said. There was no anger in the voice. It was cold and calculated. Janelle recognized it as belonging to City Marshal Cairns.

  She walked up to the office door. It was open just a crack and she peeked through. Mr. Montgomery and Marshal Cairns stood in the middle of the room, confronting each other.

  “Before he died, he told me he had left a map with you.”

  “What if he did? A map in itself has no direct value,” Montgomery replied.

  “It must have some value, or you would not have loaned him any money against it. You did loan him money, didn’t you?”

  “Suppose I did?”

  “Then that means the map has some value, and as I said, I am now, officially, confiscating it.”

  “Not without a court order you aren’t going to confiscate it. Do you think having that city marshal’s badge gives you the authority to confiscate private property?”

  Drumm pulled his gun and pointed it at Montgomery. “Oh, but you forget, Mr. Montgomery, I am not only a city marshal, I am a city marshal with a gun,” he said with a laugh so evil it made Janelle shiver.

  “Put that gun down, Cairns. Do you think you can frighten me with that? There is no way you are going to shoot me. How would you explain it?”

  “That won’t be hard. I will just tell them I came in here and caught you robbing your own bank.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  “Give me the map,” Drumm demanded again.

  Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Montgomery leaped toward him.

  “You crazy fool!” Drumm shouted. He jumped back even as he was pulling the trigger. Janelle saw flame and smoke leap from the end of the barrel. The roar of the gunshot was deafening. It covered Janelle’s loud gasp as she saw a red hole suddenly appear in Montgomery’s chest as he fell down.

  “Why didn’t you just listen to me? If you had given me the map, this would not have had to happen,” Drumm said in a growling voice. He leaned over and took something from Montgomery’s jacket pocket, then raised up and looked around.

  Realizing that he was about to come toward her, Janelle moved quickly away from the door and hid behind a settee as the marshal came through the outer office to exit through the same door she had just entered. As soon as the marshal left, Janelle went into Montgomery’s office, then knelt beside him. He was still alive.

  “Miss Wellington, I’ve been shot,” Montgomery said, his voice strained as he looked up toward her.

  “I’ll get the doctor.”

  “No, there’s no time for that. Get the map.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s behind the picture on the wall. Get it. It must not fall into Cairns’ hands.”

  “What map?”

  “Please, get the map,” Montgomery gasped out.

  Curious as to what he was talking about, but anxious to fulfill his wish, Janelle looked behind the picture, and seeing an envelope glued to the back of the picture, she removed it and took it back to show him.

  “Is this what you are talking about?” Janelle asked.

  “Yes,” he said, the word coming out as a sigh at the exhalation of his last breath.

  “Mr. Montgomery?

  There was no answer.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  The banker was no longer breathing.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Montgomery, you son of a bitch. What are you trying to pull? This isn’t the map!” the marshal’s voice came from the outer office.

  Janelle quickly stuffed the envelope into the bodice of her dress, managing to do so just before Cairns came back into the room.

  Startled at seeing Janelle, he stopped. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I had an appointment with Mr. Montgomery,” Janelle replied. “You killed him. I saw you shoot him.”

  For a second the marshal’s face reflected shock, then, inexplicably, a smile spread across his face and Janelle shuddered. Had the devil incarnate appeared before her, his smile could not have been more satanic.

  “No, my dear,” Drumm said. He pulled his pistol and pointed it at her. “I saw you shoot him. It will be my word against yours, and I am the law.

  There was a loud knock on the front door of the bank.

  “Mr. Montgomery, are you all right? We heard shooting! What’s going on in there?”

  Drumm turned his head toward the front and when he did, Janelle dashed out the side door. Drumm pointed his pistol at her and pulled the trigger. Janelle felt her stomach leap to her throat in fear—then she heard the click of the hammer falling, but no shot being fired. It was either a misfire, or he was out of bullets.

  Once outside the bank, Janelle ran down the pathway toward the alley behind the bank. Turning south, she ran down the alley until she reached Adams Street. There, she saw two freight wagons rolling slowly out of town and—unseen—she slipped into the back of the second wagon, then slid under the tarpaulin.
r />   Miraculously, she had gotten away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Drumm considered going after Janelle, but he was reasonably certain she would not get away. Hurrying to the front of the bank, he opened the door. There were four or five people standing there, customers who had heard the gunshot while waiting for the bank to open.

  “Did you see her?” Drumm shouted, holding his pistol in his bent arm as he pushed through the crowd.

  “Did we see who?” Sullivan asked. Like some of the others, he was there to draw enough money from his account to operate his store.

  “The woman who works at the Buckner Emporium. Wellington, I think her name is.”

  “Are you talkin’ about the lady who won the horse race last week?”

  “Yes, that’s the one I’m talkin’ about. Did you see her?”

  “No, I didn’t her. She didn’t come this way,” Sullivan said.

  “She had to come this way!” Drumm argued in an agitated voice. “I seen her shoot Montgomery, then run this way. I tried to take a shot at her, but my gun misfired.”

  “Wait a minute? Are you sayin’ Miss Wellington shot Mr. Montgomery?” Sullivan asked incredulously.

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “I don’t believe it. Why would she do that?”

  “Are you callin’ me a liar, Sullivan? How do I know why she did it? She just did it, that’s all. And I seen her do it!”

  “Mr. Sullivan, it isn’t that far-fetched when you stop to think about it,” the apothecary White said. “I mean, we all saw her ride in the race and you have to admit, that is certainly nothing any normal lady would do.”

  “Yeah, well, if she did do it—and I still don’t believe she did—she didn’t come this way,” Sullivan said.

  “Maybe she left by the side door,” White suggested.

  “Yeah, that could be,” another added.

  “Come on, let’s go. We’ve got to catch her before she gets away. She kilt Montgomery,” Drumm shouted.

  “Mr. Montgomery’s dead?” someone who was just arriving asked with a gasp.

  “Yeah, he is,” Drumm answered, his voice void of all expression.

  “Come on, fellers, we can’t let her get away!” called out one of the many who had gathered around the front door of the bank. At the call, the others spread out, running through the town, calling out to still more to join in the hunt for the woman who murdered Mr. Montgomery.

  Smiling with a degree of self-satisfaction over the way things were panning out for him, Egan Drumm watched the frantic motions of the impromptu, but growing posse. He removed the misfired cartridge from his pistol and stared at it. The firing pin had clearly struck the detonator, but the bullet had not fired. If it had, it could have all been put away neatly.

  It still might work out all right for him. He was sure the woman would be found within an hour or so, and with any luck, she would be killed in the process, saving the trouble of a trial.

  His two deputies, John Forbis and Bert Appleby came running up with their guns drawn. “What happened?” Appleby asked.

  “C. D. Montgomery has been killed.”

  “Who done it, do you know?”

  “Yes, I know. It was the Wellington woman, the one who works over at Buckner’s Ladies’ Emporium.”

  “Damn, are you talkin’ about that good lookin’ woman that won the horse race last week?” Forbis asked.

  “Yes, that’s who I’m talkin’ about.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “You don’t believe what?”

  “I don’t believe Miss Wellington killed Mr. Montgomery.”

  “I seen her do it with my own eyes, Deputy,” Drumm said. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, sir, I’m not calling you a liar, it’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  “It’s just that it doesn’t seem possible she did it, is all,” Forbis said.

  “Possible or not, she did it. And it just happened, so she couldn’t have got far,” Drumm said. “I’ve got the whole town out lookin’ for her. You two go out as well. If you find her, bring her to me.”

  Drumm watched his deputies run down the street to join the others, then turned and went back into the bank. He had to find that map. He started searching Montgomery’s office, jerking open the drawers of his desk and a cabinet. He brushed the shelves clean, dumping papers, pictures, and bric-a-brac on the floor, but the map was nowhere to be found.

  On the wall he noticed the picture hanging askew and hurrying to it, he took it down. A small piece of paper adhered to the back of the picture, as if a larger paper had been glued there, and left a bit of residue when it was pulled off.

  “Damn!” Drumm said aloud. “She has the map!”

  “Marshal, are you back here?” someone called.

  “Yeah, I’m back in the office.”

  O’Dell came in then. “This has been a busy day,” he said. “First your prisoner, and now Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Yeah, you ought to do real well today,” Drumm said.

  “Marshal Cairns, I resent that, sir!” O’Dell said indignantly. “It isn’t a matter of money, it is a matter of respect.”

  “Respect, huh? But you don’t do it for free, do you?”

  “All professions deserve some compensation,” O’Dell said. It wasn’t until then he noticed the condition of the office. “My oh my, what happened here?”

  “I think Miss Wellington was looking for something, and when Mr. Montgomery came in and saw her, she panicked and shot him.”

  “What a shame, what a shame. Poor Mrs. Montgomery. I saw the two of them at the restaurant last night, celebrating Mrs. Montgomery’s birthday. She was wearing a new hat he bought her. She will be devastated.”

  “Everyone who dies has someone who is devastated over them,” Drumm said flatly. “Get the body out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nellie and Ken Buckner were arranging bolts of cloth on a display table.

  “Do you think the red looks better here, or over there?” Nellie asked.

  “Here, there, it doesn’t matter,” Ken replied.

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters. Oh, never mind. I’ll ask Janelle. She has a good eye for such things.”

  “She doesn’t work for us anymore, remember? She works for C. D. Montgomery.”

  “Well, he hasn’t hired her yet, though I’m sure he will. Anyway, Janelle said she would drop by from time to time, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she didn’t come by today, after work. She’ll be so excited that she will have to come by and tell us all about it.”

  Ken chuckled. “She’ll do that, all right.” He got pensive for a moment. “Nellie, have you ever thought that if little Melinda hadn’t caught the fever when she was six months old, she would be about Janelle’s age?”

  Nellie smiled and nodded. “I have thought about it, Ken. I think that’s one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed having her around so much.”

  The little warning bell on the front door rang as it was opened and Ken and Nellie looked toward the front.

  “We’re back here,” Nellie called.

  Deputy Bert Appleby came to the back of the store. He had never been in the store before and Nellie was surprised to see him, but that surprise changed to concern when she saw that he was holding his pistol in his hand.

  “Where is she?” the deputy asked, his voice stern and demanding.

  “Where is who?”

  “The woman that works for you. Janelle Wellington. Where is she?”

  “She doesn’t work for us anymore,” Nellie said. “At least, not after today. She will be working over at the bank for Mr. Montgomery. Why do you have your gun out?”

  “You don’t mind if I look around your store, do you? Just to make certain?” Appleby said. He made no effort to holster his pistol.

  “Look for what?” Ken asked.

  “Look for that woman.”

  “We told you, she i
sn’t here. What is this all about?” Ken asked, the curiosity in his voice changing to one of irritation.

  “I told you what it’s about. I’m tryin’ to find Janelle Wellington.”

  “And we told you that she isn’t here. If you want to find her, try the bank. Ask Mr. Montgomery where she is.”

  Appleby shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

  “What do you mean you can’t do that?”

  “C. D. Montgomery is dead.”

  “What? Mr. Montgomery is dead?” Ken gasped. “When? How?”

  “This mornin’,” Appleby replied. “He was kilt by Janelle Montgomery.”

  “No! That’s impossible! She would never do anything like that,” Nellie cried.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I know her. Why, a sweeter girl never lived.”

  “Uh-huh, so you say. But the truth is, C. D. Montgomery caught her red-handed tryin’ to steal somethin’ from his office, so she shot him.”

  “With what?”

  “What do you mean, with what? With a pistol of course.”

  “What I mean is, where did she get it? Janelle didn’t have a gun. Why, I doubt she’s ever even held one in her hand.”

  “Well, she held one in her hand when she kilt the banker. The marshal seen it with his own eyes.”

  “Are you saying the marshal is claiming he actually saw Janelle kill Mr. Montgomery?”

  “I don’t know if he actually seen it, or just seen her standin’ there afterward with the gun in her hand.”

  “So there’s no proof that Janelle did it,” Ken said.

  “Well, she run from the marshal. Seems to me like that’s about proof enough,” Appleby said.

  Forbis came in then. “She’s not over at the Poindexter place,” he said.

  “They say she ain’t here neither,” Appleby said. “But I ain’t searched the place yet.

  “No need to search,” Forbis said.

  “What do you mean there ain’t no need to search? The Marshal told us to search for her.”

  “If Mr. and Mrs. Buckner say she isn’t here, then she isn’t here.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Forbis,” Ken said.