Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack

That thought settled across the table for a moment, then Valentine said with an uplifting tone, “Most assuredly, Allie.”

She smiled, removed her napkin from her lap, and placed it on the table.

“Well, then,” she said with a chirp in her voice that was meant to change the direction of the conversation. “Enough of that sort of rigmarole. How about a recital?”

“That would be lovely,” Valentine said.

Virgil looked to me as Allie got up from the table and walked to the piano.

“Any requests?” she said.

She paused and turned back to the three of us sitting at the table.

“Valentine,” she said. “I can’t play that many by heart, I only know a few, but I can read music.”

“Whatever your heart’s desire, Allie,” he said. “Whatever your heart’s desire.”

Virgil was getting more and more comfortable with Valentine. I was not sure if he would ever be completely at ease with him, but there was at least a growing feeling that there was enough space for the two of them in the same room. After Allie’s fifth tune, I excused myself and left Virgil, Valentine, and Allie and walked to the Colcord Hotel. Earlier in the day after the preliminary hearing I had a chat with Daphne Angel that concluded with a proposal from me that we get together after my scheduled dinner, and she agreed.

When I stepped into the lobby of the Colcord and went to the bar in the dining area, our designated meeting place, Daphne was nowhere to be seen. The place was empty except for an older couple sitting at a corner. They looked to be having a romantic moment, giggling as if they were youngsters. I bought a beer at the bar, then stepped out the door and onto the back porch. I walked over to the railing and looked off out into the darkness beyond the spilling light of the hotel, and for some reason I thought about Ruth Ann Messenger, about what really happened to her. The details that were presented during the preliminary hearing came to mind, about how she was discovered with her clothes ripped off her body and how badly she had been beaten.

Who could have done this, I thought, and why?

Boston Bill Black and Roger Messenger both had personal enough reasons to kill Ruth Ann. Her husband was obviously ashamed, embarrassed, belittled, had been made to be the fool and was drinking heavily, had basically become a mess over Ruth Ann flaunting her relationship with Black. And Black found himself in a situation with a woman that was obsessive and wanting a relationship.

But why would either of these men do away with her in the way she was killed?

It did not add up. Leaving blood on the steps of the inn, then ripping her clothes from her body and then beating her.

Which one of these guys was the killer, which one of these men savagely beat her to death... or was it someone else?

“Boo.”

I turned to see Daphne standing behind me in the doorway.

“Sneaked up on you.”

“Glad you did.”

She looked stunning. She was wearing a dark gray dress with a silvery lace shawl that dropped down some, exposing her bare shoulders.

“What do you see out there?” she said, nodding out to the dark.

“Oh, I was just... just standing here... thinking.”

“Penny?”

“Not worth it.”

“No?” she said.

“Naw...”

“Maybe I should be the judge of that,” she said with a smile as she moved over to me by the rail.

“You think?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

She placed both of her hands on the rail and looked out.

I looked down at her hands. She followed my look, then covered up the two fingers of her right hand that were stained.

“Ink of the trade, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Maybe try a pencil.”

“Not good enough for permanence.”

I smiled and she laughed.

“Sorry, I was running a little behind,” she said.

“Better than running in front with someone chasing you.”

“Depends on who’s doing the chasing,” she said with a smile. “And for what purpose.”

I laughed. She grinned.

“Well, no apologies necessary here,” I said.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she said, blushing.

“Well, I instigated it,” I said.

“I guess I have been cooped up too long,” she said.

“Well, I am glad I got you out.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Mr. Pritchard is fair and generous, but he can be demanding.”

“Had you working this late?”

“Well, prior to the preliminary hearing we went and visited with Bill today.”

“I heard about that,” I said.

“Mr. Pritchard is... well, upset?”

“And you?”

“It’s hard,” she said. “I... well, I don’t know what to say really, other than today set me back. Not to be insensitive. On the contrary, I’m very sensitive to what’s happening, this is just awful... but I keep records for Mr. Pritchard’s multiple businesses and I am always on a deadline it seems, and, well, there just is not enough time in the day.”

“All work and no play,” I said.

“There you go again.”

I smiled.

“Believe me,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

I intentionally left alone the fact that she mentioned the hearing and the talk of Bill. I figured there might be an opportunity to maybe learn something about Bill and Pritchard that might be of interest, but I avoided furthering the conversation in that direction. Mainly because reminding her of the details regarding Bill’s incarceration and Ruth Ann’s murder was not part of my bid for good favor.

“No appreciation necessary,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

“I can see that,” she said. “But you are right, too much work leaves little time for taking care of the fun stuff.”

“What you get for being good with numbers,” I said.

“We all have a cross to bear, it seems,” she said.

“You sure don’t look like a bookkeeper.”

“What do I look like?”

“Beautiful.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Hitch.”

“Everett,” I said.

“So what do other bookkeepers look like, Everett?”

“To be perfectly honest, you are the only official bookkeeper I have ever met.”

She smiled, looked out into the dark, and took a deep breath.

“What a beautiful evening,” she said.

“It damn sure is,” I said.

She looked at me and smiled.

“Nice to see you,” she said.

“Nice to see you,” I said.

“And how are you?”

“Better now,” I said.

She turned her body, looking at me in the eyes, and grinned.

“Good,” she said.

I held up my mug and said, “What can I get you?”

She looked back to the bar, then back to me.

“I would love to get out of here.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Surprise me,” she said. “I have been in this hotel too long. I work out of my room and I eat their food and, well, it’s nice, but a little too nice, and...”

“’Nough said.”

We left the hotel and walked for a half-block on the boardwalk before either of us said anything. Daphne spoke up first and asked about my work. She wanted to know about my lawman history, and about how I met and began working with Virgil and how we ended up in Appaloosa. I gave her a brief version, starting with my days at West Point, through fighting Indians, then becoming an itinerant lawmen and up to being current-day marshals.

“Dangerous,” she said.

“Can be.”

“But danger is your business,” she said.

“Not all of it,” I said. “But some.”

“I just can’t imagine.”

“It’s a profession.”

“Oh, it’s more than that,” she said. “Why, it’s upholding values of good versus evil and... protecting the innocent.”