J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

“From what I hear, he’s not all that cheap. He owns a very successful business.”

“A saloon. And a saloon in the Barbary Coast, at that.”

“And he’s become a member of San Francisco society.”

Mrs. Carlyle shook her head. “More of a pretender than a member. But for reasons I can’t fathom, he’s been issued invitations to a number of soirees the likes of him and that crass woman he’s married to never should have attended. I think she must be the one behind it. She has that desperate hunger for approval you find in women who come from a less than sterling background.”

As Conrad recalled, Francis Carlyle’s background wasn’t all that sterling itself. Her father had been a railroad conductor. But she had married a man who was a stockholder and an important executive with the Southern Pacific, and that had been her entry into society.

Conrad didn’t say anything about that. “Do you know if Lannigan is going to be attending any of those parties in the near future?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you want to meet the man!”

“It might be mutually beneficial for the two of us to have a conversation.”

It might be easier to do while they were on neutral ground, Conrad thought, rather than him trying to approach Lannigan at the Golden Gate. If Lannigan wanted to keep his wife’s position in society secure, he wouldn’t cause a scene at a party.

“You intrigue me.” Mrs. Carlyle’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Something’s going on here, and I want to know what it is.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you any more ... right now.” Conrad’s words held the promise of future information, as they had with Jessup Nash.

“ Quid pro quo ,” Mrs. Carlyle snapped. “I know you studied Latin. You’re familiar with the concept.”

“Of course. But my hands are tied at the moment. However, I can tell you this much. If my conversation with Lannigan goes as I hope, I can promise you there will be a story, and a good one.”

“And that story will be mine?”

Conrad shrugged and inclined his head, indicating agreement without actually saying as much.

Suddenly, Mrs. Carlyle laughed. “You’re trying to trick me, young man. It won’t work. I’m on to all the tricks young men use to make poor women like myself believe they’ve promised something when they really haven’t.” She picked up a copy of the newspaper lying on the desk and tossed it closer to Conrad. “I won’t haggle with you, especially since what you want to know is already in print. And you’d already know it if you had bothered to read my column this morning,” she added caustically.

Conrad picked up the paper, which was that morning’s edition folded back to Mrs. Carlyle’s column. He had scanned those pages that very morning while eating breakfast, but hadn’t noticed what seemed so obvious to him now.

One of the notes in the column was about a party to be held in four days at the Nob Hill mansion of Mr. and Mrs. Madison Kimball. Among a long list of guests expected to attend were Mr. and Mrs. Dexter Lannigan. The name had meant nothing to Conrad when he read it in the paper that morning, but he should have noticed the D.L. initials, he told himself.

It hadn’t occurred to him the man possibly responsible for trying to have him killed would be attending a high society ball.

He looked up at her. “Do you think you can arrange for me to be invited to that party?”

“I don’t think it’ll be any trouble at all,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “If Roberta Kimball knew you were in town, you would have already gotten an invitation, even if she had to deliver it personally. I’ll mention that I’ve seen you, and you should hear from her before the day’s over. Where are you staying?”

“At the Palace.”

“Of course you are. I’ll tell Roberta.”

“Thank you.” Conrad put the newspaper back on Mrs. Carlyle’s desk.

“Oh, a simple thank you isn’t going to be enough. Not by a long shot.”

“Then what can I do to repay you for your help?” he asked with a smile.

“Let me share the story with that little reporter Nash when the time comes. And have dinner with me.”

Conrad had a hunch Francis Carlyle’s plans for him included more than dinner. But he would deal with that when the time came. As for sharing the story with Jessup Nash, he was confident he could make some sort of arrangement.

“I think that’s fair enough.” He got to his feet. “Thank you for your help.”

Mrs. Carlyle came around the desk and laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t forget, we have a deal.”

“I won’t,” Conrad promised.

“If there’s anything else I can do for you while you’re in town, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Conrad leaned closer and kissed her on the cheek. “Of course,” he murmured.

She was smiling when he left the office. As he eased the door closed, his thoughts immediately turned back to Dex Lannigan. Waiting four days to confront the man would be difficult, but that seemed like the best course of action. He would just have to be patient, Conrad told himself.

He had waited this long to find his children. A few more days wouldn’t hurt anything.

Chapter 14

“Did you find out what you wanted to know?” Nash asked as Conrad stopped at his desk.

Conrad nodded. “I hope so.”

“The old witch didn’t make you promise your firstborn in return for her help?”

Conrad managed not to wince. Nash didn’t know anything about the reason he was in San Francisco, he reminded himself. The reporter didn’t mean anything by the comment about Conrad’s firstborn.

“We reached an equitable arrangement. And I’d hardly call Francis Carlyle an old witch.”

Nash shrugged. “I’m probably being unfair to her. But watch yourself when you’re dealing with her, Conrad. She’ll steal a story right out from under you if you’re not careful.”

“But I’m not a reporter,” Conrad pointed out.

“She can be a little predatory when it comes to young men she finds attractive. At least so I’ve heard,” Nash added. “I don’t seem to be her type, thank God.”

Conrad shook hands with his old friend. “I’ll be in touch.”

When he reached the lobby, he spotted Patrick Dugan sitting in a chair next to a potted palm. Dugan was reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to. His gaze roved around the lobby constantly as he kept a lookout for trouble, the way a good bodyguard should.

He spotted Conrad and stood up, leaving the paper in the chair. “Get your business taken care of ?” he asked as he walked over.

Conrad nodded. “Yes, we’re going back to the hotel now.”

He wasn’t sure how he was going to fill up the time during the next four days as he waited for the ball at the Kimball mansion. Maybe he could actually force himself to rest and relax, as Claudius Turnbuckle had suggested, although if he was being honest with himself, he considered that possibility rather remote. After everything that had happened, he didn’t think he was capable of going back to a life of leisure.

A thought occurred to him as he and Dugan walked back toward the Palace. “Were you ever a policeman, Patrick?”

“Because I’m a big, redheaded Irishman, you mean?”

“Because you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, yeah, I was on the force for ten years. Did right well for myself, too. Worked my way up to bein’ a detective. But then Mr. Turnbuckle offered me more money to work for him, and well, I had hungry mouths to feed. I couldn’t turn down the job.”

“What do you do for Claudius besides bodyguard work?”

“Whatever needs doin’. I’ve handled quite a few investigations for him, workin’ on one case or another.”