Jonis Agee - The Bones of Paradise

Chance smiled and shook his head. “That was my original thought. But you decided to take matters into your hands. You had your cowboy here and the deeds to the ranches with Drum dead. I had to come up with another. How do you like it so far?”

“Things can go back to the way they were,” she said. Graver heard the desperation in her voice. “You can represent my interests. I’ll even put you on retainer.”

“I will tell you the rest of the story now so you understand.” He smiled, congenial now, eyes light.

“You see, I dropped a most precious keepsake that night at Wounded Knee.” He looked at Graver. “I met you after the massacre, remember? Your husband, too, Dulcinea. I guess none of us have the high ground here, do we?” He poked Graver in the ribs with his foot.

“I hadn’t known exactly where I’d lost it, the locket with the pictures of my beloved parents, not until I was at the trading post on Rosebud last spring, and there was a certain Indian girl there, well, not a girl, rather a young lady named Star, and I happened to spy it around her neck.” He pivoted in the chair, crossed his legs, leaned his elbow on his knee, and propped his chin in his hand like a schoolboy studying the fire.

“I was surprised, of course, and curious as to how she came by it, but I didn’t want to scare her, so I agreed to meet and discuss it. It took three meetings before I was able to ascertain the story—what a relief! She hadn’t told a soul. She had been there that night, with the earl and me—witnessed the whole tragic event. Though I wondered at her lack of feeling. I could hardly have worn the keepsake of my mother’s murderer, but then, Indians are Indians the world over. In that the earl was correct. Too bad.” Chance shook his head. “Too bad he didn’t live to meet her.”

Dulcinea struggled in her chair. “It was you! You killed them!”

He held up a hand. “Please, allow me to finish my story. I’ve never had the opportunity to share it with anyone, and I’m receiving a certain pleasure from the telling.”

Graver knew Chance was going to kill them when he was done. He brought his hands to rest under his chin and gnawed again at the edge of the cloth. Even a small tear would weaken it.

“I lured her into the hills, well, took her to a place we could conduct our discussion in private. Can you believe my luck, though? I’d only begun burying her when my horse whinnied and I hid, just as your husband trotted up. Down he swings, walks right over to the girl’s body, leaving me no choice at all—I had to shoot him.” He scrubbed his face again with a low moan. “I was ready to convince him to join the oil and gas venture, too. Terrible luck.

“My quiet place turns out to be more like a county fair. Before I can bury the girl and J.B., I see another rider coming over the hill in the distance, so I decide there’s only so many people a man can kill in one morning before someone hears the shots and brings a bigger gun. I slip away. Then I’m guessing it’s you who comes up, Mr. Graver, followed by one of the Bennett boys—Cullen or Hayward? My money’s on Hayward, am I right?” He peered at Graver and nodded. “Thought so. Cullen hated his father too much to shoot a man he suspected of killing him.”

Chance stood, pulled out his revolver. “Rose found the necklace. Star’s sister. Again, my unbelievable luck.” He paused and waved the gun in the air. “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be dealing with her when the time comes. You understand, Graver. A man has experiences in war like no other. You fall through the world and then bang, you’re back again!”

He aimed the gun at Graver and shot him in the thigh. Graver’s leg went numb first, followed by a stabbing pain, and he gritted his teeth against it.

Dulcinea yelled and jerked against the strips of cloth that held her to the chair. His body was tense with shock and pain as blood pooled on the floor beneath him.

“Now let’s chat. You can see the problem with me acting as your lawyer when I’m supposed to be dead. No, I’m afraid it’s not going to work. But don’t worry, I have another plan.”

“It was you stabbed Drum,” Dulcinea said, her tone flat.

“I tried to persuade him to work with me, but we couldn’t come to an agreement, so he had to go. Lucky you.

“I need you to sign your mineral and surface rights over to me, Dulcinea. You won’t need them. I’ve decided to let you keep the land, but I need those rights so we can drill this whole region. Oil and gas. Can you imagine how rich I’ll be? If you choose, we’ll be married, and I can keep my name clear of any scandal from recent episodes. That’s how we’ll think of them in years to come, isn’t it, my darling?”

Dulcinea struggled to reply, and Graver swung his legs at Chance’s chair with the intent to tip it over. Chance sensed the motion and kicked his wounded leg. Graver fought to remain conscious. “Try that again, I’ll gut shoot you.”

He turned back to Dulcinea and stroked her bloody cheek with the back of his hand. “You were separated from your husband for so long, I doubt there’s any feelings left to be awkward between us, are there?”

She shook her head. “I thought you were dead. I was going to contact you to sell the rights, but you died.” She looked puzzled. “Who did they bury?”

Chance laughed and shook his head. “Damned if I know. Man stood in front of my buggy as I was leaving after taking care of Drum in the alley, so I ran him down. I’ll tell you, getting him out of his clothes, into mine, well, it was no Sunday picnic. I did a fair job, though. Fools buried him as me. And that, my dear, is the luck that always saves me.” He bowed.

“You surprise me,” she said. “How are you going to explain coming back from the dead?”

“Mistakes were made. They buried the wrong man. I need a few weeks unhampered to put all the pieces together. I could disappear for a time, let everyone forget me, then take the signed papers to Denver and work directly with the company from there. No one here the wiser, especially if the last two heirs meet with the kind of violent accidents that seem to plague your family.” Chance cocked his head and raised his brows. “I should be insulted that you imagined this cowboy”—he nodded at Graver—“had the wit to accomplish what I have.”

There was a timid knock on the door, then it pushed open in a burst of wind-driven snow. As if someone was still deciding whether or not to enter, the snow swirled into the room and the candles fluttered.

“Hello?” a timid voice called.

“Come in, for heaven’s sake!” Chance shouted.

It was too much coincidence that Rose appeared, snow crusted as Chance shut the door behind her. She must have followed him, Graver thought. Did she think he murdered her sister? He was so light-headed from the blood loss, nothing made much sense.

He struggled, and felt a slight give in the strips around his feet, pulled his legs again and felt the cloth give another few inches. He tried his hands and heard a tiny tear.

“Mr. Graver’s uncomfortable, and you need to sit by the fire, Rose, so why don’t you drag him out of the way.” Graver understood that the man was clearing a killing floor.

“He’s too heavy,” Rose said. “Help me.”

Chance laughed. “Unlikely. Leave him there. Be careful you don’t sit in his blood, though.”

Rose squatted with her back to the fire.

“But first, Rose, I know you’ve been curious as to what happened to your mother. Just like your sister. It’s not enough to survive with you people. You won’t let a thing die, will you?”

“You killed my sister,” Rose said, no inflection in her voice, her eyes on the fresh blood that pooled around her.