Of Grave Concern Part 14

"Just last night."

I took fifty dollars in banknotes and put them on the table.

"I expect that I'm also buying some protection for this."

"You'll have no trouble from me," Deger said, scooping up the bills.

"Partners, then."

"If you like to call it that."

"I do ask one small favor in return."

He looked at me with his bulldog eyes.

"If a man by the name of Armbruster comes inquiring after me, you are to get me word quickly and quietly. No, don't ask-better you don't know. But you'll remember the name, right?"

"I'll remember," Deger said.

Then there was the sound of dogs yapping and through the legs of the cowboys ran a trio of c.o.o.nhounds, followed by a small man in white britches and high hunting boots. And when I say "small," I mean small. He must not have been more than five-two, even in the boots, and his overall impression was that of a child playing dress-up.

Beside the small fellow was a full-sized man with a humorless expression. His hands were clasped in front of him.

"Mayor," Deger said with ice in his voice.

"Marshal," the small man answered with equal venom.

The hounds were creating general chaos underfoot.

"I've got to go," Deger said, rising from the chair.

"Don't you like dogs?" I asked.

"Not all of 'em," Deger said over his shoulder as he huffed away.

"James Kelley," the small man said, extending his hand to me. "But most folks around here call me 'Dog.'"

When I clasped his hand, he bent down and kissed the back of mine.

I tried to keep from laughing.

"This here is Hoodoo Brown," Kelley said, motioning to the dour man.

"The same Hoodoo Brown I've read about in the local paper?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Where'd you get that curious handle of 'Hoodoo'?"

"It's jes' my name."

"Mister Brown is a mite bashful about his powers," Kelley said. "But he is one of the finest conjure men there is. He grew up in Missouri and learned it from his old uncle Ben, who taught him to use the Good Book to cast spells. Some say that his skill with a long gun comes from a certain pa.s.sage in Genesis."

"Hesh up, Dog."

"We're here to talk to you about the ghost of the murdered girl," Kelley said.

"Sit down, gentlemen," I said.

They did.

"We'd like to know if you'd come out and talk to the ghost tonight," Kelley said. "You know, ask her what her name is and what she wants."

"Get right to the point, in other words."

"That's it exactly," Dog said. "What a mystery! It's been driving me mad."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not the only thing," I said, pus.h.i.+ng one of the c.o.o.ndogs off my lap. "Hoodoo, is the account in the paper true? You saw the apparition?"

"I did," he said.

"Blonde hair? Taffeta dress?"

"Not taffeta," he said. "Nothing so fancy. Calico."

"Ah, yes," I said. "And the strange light?"

"It was not as the Times described it," he said. "It wasn't a spotlight. It was more of a soft bluish glow, like very bright moonlight. The whole affair has upset my digestion and disturbed my sleep."

"Ghosts tend to have that effect," I said.

"I'd like to be able to eat without distress, and to sleep the night again," he said.

"Understandable," I said.

"So you will challenge the specter?"

"Gentlemen," I said. "I've had some experience in these affairs, as you might imagine. I must warn you that confronting the ghost might not have the hoped-for result. Something a bit gentler might produce a more beneficial result."

"'Gentler'?" Brown asked.

"A seance," Kelley said.

I nodded.

"When?" Brown asked.

"Tomorrow night," I said. "I have an engagement at the opera house, but there will be time after. Please call upon me at the Dodge House just before midnight."

"Delighted," Kelley said.

"There will be some small charge for my services."

"Only fair," Kelley said. "Because this is a matter of civic interest, I will take the funds from petty cash. How much should I bring?"

"Fifty dollars. Now, if I might ask a question."

"You may ask me anything," Kelley said.

"Why is there an empty grave up on Boot Hill?"

"Two weeks ago, we buried a ranger by the name of Powers, who was shot to death in a dance hall on the south side," he said. "We didn't know anything about him except his name. But his people in Ellsworth read about his demise and came, dug him up, and threw him in a wagon to take home to the family plot."

"And they left a shovel and an open grave?"

The little mayor shrugged.

"I believe it was meant as a sort of editorial comment on our city," he said. "And I must admit, we have seen more than our share of violent death. In the first year alone, fifteen men killed on the streets of Dodge or in her dance halls and saloons. We have been described by the Eastern papers as 'the most wicked town in the West.' Now, these fainthearted editors mean that as a criticism, but I take it as a compliment. Find something you're good at, I always say, and stick with it."

They left, and the dogs followed.

I had one more mezcal.

When I stood, the floor of the Saratoga seemed tilted at a crazy angle. But I threaded my way through the clot of cowboys to the outside, even if my legs seemed a bit heavy.

It was a cool night, heavy with the smell of rain. Overhead, a layer of clouds hid the stars. Far beyond town, a coyote howled. Or was it a wolf?

I took the cigar from my pocket and bit off one end. Then I jammed the Key West in the corner of my mouth. A pa.s.sing cowboy paused, struck a match with his thumb, then cupped his hands around the flame. I pulled Diamond Jim's letter from my vest and held it to the cowboy's match, setting one corner on fire.

"Thanks," I said.

I waited until the letter was fully ablaze before using it to light the cigar.

20.

I woke just before noon in my bed at the Dodge House, with my head throbbing like somebody had beaten me over the head with a shovel. My hair stank of cigar smoke and my mouth tasted like the floor of the Saratoga.

"Oh, Eddie," I moaned, sitting up and resting my forehead on my knees. "What have I done?"

"'Nevermore!'"

"Never," I vowed. "I'm never drinking again."

Then I remembered I had a performance that night, to be followed by a seance with some less-than-charming Dodge City types, and I threw myself back on the pillows.

I thought I saw Horrible Hank leering at me from the mirror on the wall.

"Perfect," I said. "Join the party."

I forced myself to pull on some clothes, stumble downstairs, and walk down Front Street in search of a chemist. On my way, I pa.s.sed Beatty & Kelley Restaurant, and just the smell of the bacon and fried eggs nearly brought me to my knees. I found the City Drug, on the west side of the Saratoga.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm in distress," I said, leaning against the counter.

"Well, come on over here and sit down before you fall over," a man of about thirty with thick spectacles and a halo of sandy hair said. He helped me to a padded chair near the back.

He placed a hand on my stomach. "How far along are you?"

I swatted his hand away. "I'm not with child! I'm hungover."

"Apologies," the man said. "But when most women say they are 'in distress,' it typically means they are pregnant."

"I'm not most women," I said. "Just tell me what you have to relieve the pounding in my head."

"What kind of pounding?" he asked, placing a hand on my temple and tilting my head back to peer into my pupils. "Did you fall, or were you beaten, or did you indulge in too many spirits?"

I again brushed his hand away. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm a doctor."

"Well, I don't like to be touched. Restrain yourself."

"As you wish."

"Are you a real doctor or a conjure man or just another frontier quack?"

"Pain makes people unpleasant, doesn't it?" He was still smiling. "Oh, I reckon I'm a real-enough doctor for Dodge. I studied in Philadelphia, then practiced in St. Louis for a couple of years. Was on my way to Denver when I stopped over in Dodge City to see my brother-in-law and have been here ever since. There was a need, you know."

"So you get what Boot Hill doesn't?"

"I'd rather think it is the other way around. I do as much as is humanly possible, but sometimes there's no way to keep body and spirit together," he said. "I've set broken bones, healed burns, and mined more than my share of lead from the slow and the unlucky."

He said his name was Thomas McCarty. He moved behind the counter and studied his shelves of bottles and boxes.

"I wouldn't argue," I said. "But there's something else."

He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"I'm not myself," I said. "I'm doing things I wouldn't do otherwise. This drinking binge, for instance. Never done that before."

"Always a first time."