no telling what they might have overheard. I don’t trust any of them, especially that bitch Cassandra.”
Preacher’s jaw tightened. He suppressed his anger and said, “I still think it’s more likely to have been Dugan or one of his men to blame.”
“Leave the thinking to me,” Beaumont chuckled. “I’m glad you survived, Jim. I’ve come to depend on you.”
“I ain’t done all that much.”
“You saved my life, that first night. And you’ve done everything I’ve asked of you since then. Together we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meanwhile, why don’t you go get cleaned up? Those clothes are probably still pretty clammy after you got dunked in the river like that.”
“They’re a mite damp,” Preacher admitted. “Are you goin’ out tonight, boss?”
“I think I could use a few drinks. We’ll go to Dupree’s later.”
Preacher nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
He went to the servants’ quarters in the rear of the house. He and Lorenzo were the only ones who lived there—Beaumont’s cook and housekeeper just came in during the day—and the old black man wasn’t there at the moment. He was probably still lying low, out in the carriage house. Preacher peeled out of the damp clothes and washed up, then dressed in fresh duds. He had lost his hat in the river and would have to see about getting a new one, but that could wait.
Then he began disassembling, drying, and cleaning his guns, spreading the pieces out on the bed as he did so. It was the sort of work he enjoyed, and he could lose himself in it, not really needing to think as he went about the process that he had carried out hundreds, maybe even thousands of times in his life.
Today, though, he couldn’t keep unwelcome thoughts from crowding into his head. Most of them had to do with the wanton murder of the riverboat crew, but he also couldn’t help but think of Jessie.
Had she actually ordered that slaughter? That seemed to be the most likely answer. She had the most to gain, at least potentially, by taking whatever steps were necessary to protect Preacher’s identity. The fact that she was a beautiful woman didn’t really mean anything.
Preacher had known beautiful women in the past who had turned out to be as treacherous and deadly as black widow spiders.
By the time he was finished with the guns and had them in good working order again, he still didn’t have any answers to the questions that plagued him, but he knew he wouldn’t get answers until he had a chance to talk to Jessie again . . . and maybe not even then, if she chose to lie to him.
Beaumont seemed to be his usual charming, affable self again by the time they were ready to go to Dupree’s that evening. All traces of the furious, wild-eyed lunatic he had been earlier in the day had vanished.
As they went out to the carriage, which a still-nervous Lorenzo had pulled around to the drive in front of the house, Beaumont said, “We’ll be stopping by Mrs. Hobson’s house on the way to Dupree’s.”
Preacher nodded. He knew that Mrs. Luella Hobson was a wealthy widow Beaumont sometimes squired around town. She was the short, curvaceous blonde Preacher had seen with Beaumont the first night he’d watched his quarry visit Dupree’s. He suspected that Beaumont was planning to swindle her out of her money at some point, and in the meantime, she was a woman with quite healthy—and sometimes unusual—appetites, according to the hints Beaumont had dropped.
As the carriage rolled through the streets of St. Louis, Lorenzo said quietly to Preacher, who sat beside him on the driver’s seat, “Appears the boss ain’t foamin’ at the mouth no more.”
“I reckon he’s still plenty upset about what happened this afternoon, but you’re right, he ain’t out of his head about it no more.”
“What ’zactly
Preacher glanced over at the driver. “How much do you know about the boss’s business?”
“More’n I want to, sometimes!”
“Then you probably don’t want to know about this,” Preacher said. “Let’s just say he had something planned for this afternoon, and it went bad wrong.”
“I believe it. I seen the boss lose his temper before, but this was one o’ the worst times.”
Lorenzo wouldn’t think that if he had seen what Beaumont did to Casey, Preacher mused.
They arrived at Luella Hobson’s house, and while Beaumont was inside picking up the attractive blond widow, Preacher asked, “What did the late Mr. Hobson do for a livin’?”
“He owned a bank,” Lorenzo replied. “I never did see how a fella could make a livin’ holdin’ money for other folks. I’d be too tempted to take off for the tall and uncut with all that cash. That’s why I keep all my money hid in a place nobody knows about ’ceptin’ me.”
Preacher laughed. “Bankers have been known to do that very thing. I don’t have to worry about that, myself.”
“You don’t use banks, neither?”
“Never had enough money to bother puttin’ it in one. Bein’ a fella like me, I don’t expect I ever will.”
That was a true statement, in the midst of all the lies Preacher had been telling lately. As long as he had enough money to pick up a few supplies every now and then, that was all he needed. He didn’t support anyone except himself and Horse and Dog, and all three of them could do just fine living off the land if they had to.
At least, that would be true again once they all got away from this damned town, Preacher thought.
When they reached Dupree’s, the manager showed Beaumont to his usual table. Mrs. Hobson clung to Beaumont’s arm so that her ample breasts in a gown with a low neckline pressed against his sleeve. She laughed too loud, and her smile was a little too bright. Preacher figured that deep down, she was a lonely woman, and having a handsome rogue like Shad Beaumont pay attention to her probably meant the world to her. She would be easy pickin’s, once Beaumont finally decided to go ahead and pluck her clean.
