it?”
Longarm remembered the place. He’d had coffee there often enough before. “What time?”
“Would nine be convenient? I could step out for coffee and a doughnut about then. And bring the pertinent information about the people on the carriage with me.”
“Convenient, Henry? I’d find it convenient to walk through fire if it’d help put Billy’s killers behind bars. Or better yet put the sons of bitches underground. Nine o’clock at Maxwell’s. I’ll be there.”
Longarm did not bother reminding Henry that the unauthorized disclosure of case records would be a violation of federal law. He knew Henry wouldn’t care about that any more than Longarm did.
He said his goodbyes and left Henry alone with an almighty tasty-looking peach cobbler that the housekeeper had also left in the warming oven. For a bachelor, old Henry had himself set up pretty comfortably, Longarm thought as he retrieved his hat and headed out into the night air.
Chapter 21
It was just damn near depressing, thinking about the contrast between the way Henry had his life arranged and Longarm’s own, much more spartan existence in the boardinghouse over on the other side of Cherry Creek. Not that he was uncomfortable in the small room he’d occupied for so many years now. Not that he was jealous of Henry either. Truly he wasn’t. But, well, all of a sudden the evening that loomed before him looked kinda … empty. Lonesome, almost. And dammit, he didn’t feel like going out drinking and playing cards with a bunch of strangers. Not tonight, he didn’t.
Instead he wandered the streets for a bit, smoking and pondering, not really wanting to go back to an empty room and a cold bed, and after a time he decided he might as well drop by to see, on the off chance sort of, if Deborah happened to be home and, well, not doing anything right at the moment. Just in case.
That decision accomplished, he commenced to feeling considerably better. And it wasn’t like he was taking time away from the investigation. There wasn’t anything he could do now until he got those names from Henry come tomorrow morning. Right? Damn right.
Satisfied, Longarm tossed the stub of his cheroot into the gutter and stalked off in search of a passing hack he could flag down and get to take him to Deborah’s place.
“Custis!” She sounded surprised. And kinda mad too, he thought. She said his name like she was reporting the presence of dog shit on the bottom of her shoe.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“What note?”
“I sent you a letter. A couple days ago.”
“You sent me a letter a couple days ago? Last week you stood me up. I thought we were going to have a long weekend together. Did that slip your mind, Custis?”
“Dammit, Debbie, be fair. My boss was murdered. I’m sure you heard ‘bout that. All of us been busy as a kicked-over nest of ants, running around trying to figure out who done it. I had to go down south in the mountains. Didn’t have time to plan for it nor to come by an’ tell you what was up. But I sent you that letter from down there. I swear I did.”
“I haven’t seen any letter.”
“It’s only been a couple days, I told you. It’ll show up in another day or two.”
She sniffed haughtily. But he thought she looked a little less angry. Maybe. He hoped.
This one, this woman in front of him, well, Deborah was kinda special. That’s all there was to it.
Not that she was all that much to look at. At least not the first few times you looked at her. She was a big gal. Big all over, from the bones out. Tall, with wide hips and big tits, and likely she weighed almost as much as Longarm did. But then she was damn near as tall as he was too, and her weight was distributed in a mighty fetching series of curves and indentations.
She had high cheekbones, big lips that he happened already to know were plenty soft and mobile, big furry caterpillars of eyebrows over huge brown eyes, and a kinky-curly mass of strawberry-blond hair that no amount of brushing could ever quite tame. She was Irish and looked it, with her pale, lightly freckled complexion and strong jawline.
She was strong too, with arms that could pick up most patients to turn them over or wash them or whatever, and legs that, although shapely, were powerful enough to bust ribs if she ever decided to clamp down on a man in, say, a fit of passion or something.
She was … hell, she was fine. That’s all there was to it. She was fine.
And if she didn’t seem especially beautiful at the first or third or maybe tenth inspection, eventually a man had to ask himself why he was spending all that time staring at her, and when he did that he just naturally had to come to the conclusion that this big old Irish gal had something special about her. An air, an aura, something that happened to those close by when she was around.
Rooms seemed to open up and get brighter when Deborah walked into them. Colors became clearer and images sharper. Sounds were lighter and happier when she was nearby, and there was always joy and laughter trailing in her wake wherever she walked.
Longarm damn sure liked this handsome woman in her primly starched white dress and bird-shaped nurse’s cap. He hoped he hadn’t gone and alienated her. He removed his Stetson and held it before him in both hands, kind of giving the idea that he was wringing the brim, but at the same time being careful not to muss the felt. After all, it was a good hat and he didn’t want to ruin it while he was making like Little Boy Lost.
He kept his eyes down, a contrite expression on his face and a load of very genuine hope in his heart. “I didn’t go to make you mad,” he said. “I’m sorry that I stood you up. You did hear about Billy, didn’t you?”
She gave him a strange look that he couldn’t quite interpret. Then, after a time that seemed uncomfortably long to him, she sighed and stepped back out of the doorway, pushing the screen door open so he could come inside. “You really mailed me a letter?”
