Midnight Cowboy Page 10

  The cat eyed her indifferently. Andy squatted and reached a hand to pet its wet head. The cat flinched, leapt off the porch and darted behind the cabin, heading off across the knolls. Without thinking, Andy moved to follow. Minna caught her by the arm.

  “Don’tcha go chasin’ that cat out there.” Minna’s amber eyes were eerily bright.

  Inexplicably, Andy shivered. “Why?”

  “Mine shafts aplenty all over them knolls. Lots of soft spots in the earth. People has dropped into ‘em and been hurt bad, even killed.” Minna grimaced. “Rattlers nest in some of them old shafts.”

  Andy shook herself. What was she thinking—chasing after a cat? With Jack’s and her lives on the line, she dare not let herself get sidetracked. If she couldn’t get her mind to release the secret of Nightmare Man’s identity—then she’d attack from another angle. Knowledge was power, and right now it seemed the only weapon Jack and she might wield against their nemesis.

  In the motel office she called Information, obtained the phone number for the company whose name was printed on the back of the glossy print, and dialed.

  Suppose this was yet another dead end? With trembling fingers and pinching stomach she stared down at the print of the man and woman standing in front of the same assay office where her father had had his picture taken over twenty years ago. No. If her thief had seen this print, it would also be missing.

  A youthful, high-pitched, feminine voice answered on the second ring. “Western Vistas.”

  Barely curbing her anxiety, Andy introduced herself, stating research for the new book as her reason for calling. “Is Western Vistas a wholesale distributor?”

  “We are.”

  “Where do you get your photographs?”

  “Where?” The high voice whined with puzzlement.

  “Yes.” Andy fidgeted impatiently as Minna strode into the office. “Who do you buy them from?”

  “We don’t buy them from anyone.” The woman laughed—apparently at herself. “I’m sorry. Don’t know where my head is today. We take the photos ourselves, develop them ourselves and distribute them ourselves.”

  “Oh.” Despite warning herself to the contrary, Andy felt hope building. “I’m interested in some pictures taken of an assay office that once occupied the site presently occupied by the Golden Broom Hotel in Alder Gulch. Would it be possible to speak to whoever shot those photographs?”

  “Sure. Give me the ID number.”

  Andy found the number on the back of the print.

  “Hang on a minute.” There was a noisy clank as the woman apparently dropped the phone on the desk. Andy heard some rustling noises in the background and a radio playing the latest Clint Black hit. With her patience thinning, she scooted one hip onto the edge of Minna’s orderly desk, absently noting how surprisingly tidy the whole office was, what with all the cats who had run of the place. From another room the washing machine vibrated loudly. Off balance. Like her.

  “You still there?”

  “Yes.” Her heart leapt into her throat.

  “Wouldn’t you know this is the one print we distribute that we didn’t produce. We—well, you don’t want to know how we did it. Suffice it to say, the people in the photo were old friends of my in-laws, so, for the fun of it, my husband included it in our line. But the truth is, it was taken way before our time.”

  Andy gripped the receiver so hard her fingers ached. “Would you know who shot the original?”

  “No. My husband might, but he’s on a road shoot in Arizona.”

  A sinking feeling plunged through Andy, dragging her hope with it. “When do you expect him?”

  “Not for another week. If you’d like to leave a number?”

  “That’s all right.” Andy noticed Minna had left again. She could hear her talking to someone in the apartment behind the office. One of her cats? A visi tor? Another phone? Andy couldn’t tell. “I’ll try again later.”

  “Say,” the woman said, reclaiming Andy’s attention, “there’s a guy in Alder Gulch who might help you. He’s one of our biggest customers. Virgil Cooper. He used to take scenic photographs, but as the town was restored the demand started overweighing his development facilities and he contracted with us. Maybe he can answer some of your questions.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try him.” Shaken, Andy hung up, blinking at this new twist of events. Had Coop photographed her father in front of the assay office all those years ago? She wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, she swore. Why hadn’t she shown her photo to him? As if reliving the moment, she remembered the odd sensation that had kept her from doing so. What did it mean? Was her subconscious warning her that Virgil Cooper was Nightmare Man?

  It didn’t matter. That possibility wouldn’t stop her. Nor was she waiting until Jack was off work. She was going to see Coop now. Her gaze flicked to the glossy print in her unsteady grip. Her photograph might be gone, but she still had this one.

  Minna appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs. A nutmeg-and-cinnamon scent reached her. “Ya looked like ya could use a cuppa tea.”

  Andy smiled at the woman, grateful for the thoughtfulness. But she hated tea. “Maybe later, okay? Right now I have to see Virgil Cooper.”

  “Surely you kin spare a minute for some apple spiced? It’ll warm yer insides.”

  “I really appreciate your kindness, but, well…” Andy hesitated. Every time she told someone she didn’t like tea, they always insisted she’d like this one, it didn’t taste like tea. No one seemed to understand that she could detect the “tea” taste in all teas and that was what she disliked. She didn’t want to seem ungracious, but she was in a hurry. “I’m not a tea drinker.”

  “That’s what I git fer assumin’. I’ll fix ya some coffee, then. Jest take a jiff.” Minna wheeled for the hallway.

  “Later, please?”

  Minna glanced over her shoulder. Disappointment shone in her amber eyes and there was an odd pink tinge to her flat cheeks, but she nodded. “Okeydoke.”

  Andy hurried outside, her mind embroiled in a war of questions. Why had Coop acted as if he didn’t know where the glossy prints he sold were produced, when he knew perfectly well? Did he actually sell any prints from Taiwan? Or had it merely been an offhand remark?

  On Main Street she saw Jack emerge from the bank. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him, and she realized she was in danger of losing not only her life in this town, but her heart, as well. Oh, Gram, what am I doing? Tim deserves better from me.

  Jack raced for his Appaloosa. The shoot-out was seconds away. The air smelled damp and clean. Forcing her mind off Jack and back to the matter at hand, she darted across the street. The first round of gun fire began as her footsteps clattered on the wooden sidewalk.

  Jack caught sight of her when he reined the Appaloosa toward the center of town. As their gazes locked, Andy’s breath snagged and a smile sprang to her lips. Even at this distance she could read the worry in Jack’s gray-green eyes. Squaring her shoulders, she broke eye contact and headed for the photo shop.

  Through the window of the door she saw Coop behind the counter. The bell jangled overhead as she entered, and the slight stench of ammonia teased her nose.

  Andy strode to the counter. Outside the gunfight was in full swing. “Hello, Mr. Cooper.”

  Coop looked up. His dark eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. As yesterday, he wore his riverboat gambler attire. “Ms. Hart, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She laid the print on the counter.

  He glanced down at it, then up at her, bafflement and uneasiness now swimming in his dark eyes. “Where’d you get this?”

  Andy opened her mouth to speak. Behind her, glass shattered. Reflexively, she jerked toward the sound. Something zinged past the tip of her nose. The window in the door had exploded. Jagged pieces of glass rained on the floor. Shock slammed through Andy, turning her limbs leaden, her mind mushy. As if in slow motion, she gazed back at Coop.

  He looked surprised. Andy tried to speak, but t
he red stain blossoming on his shirtfront captured her attention. She glanced up in time to see his eyes glaze. Then Coop crumpled to the floor behind the counter.

  Andy’s scream died on her tongue as the bell over the door tinkled and the sound of footsteps crunching glass knifed through her shock. Ducking reflexively, she scrambled around the edge of the counter as a man advanced into the shop, his gun barrel pointed directly at her.

  Chapter Eight

  “Andy, what the hell is going on in here?” Jack holstered his gun and hurried to her. Catching her gently yet firmly by her upper arms, he pulled her to her feet. She was deadweight, slumping against him. Jack glanced over her head, seeing for the first time the man sprawled behind the counter.

  Something icy touched his heart.

  Andy lifted her head, her dark hair falling across her shoulders. Her eyes were distant as if she were seeing it all again. “The door. The glass. Exploded. Coop. Oh, God, he needs help.” Strength seemed to return to her then. She shoved against Jack’s chest, righting herself. “We have to get a doctor, an ambulance.”

  “I’ll take care of that. Right now I want you to sit down.” Jack guided her to the bench that Coop used for posing his clients.

  “I’m all right, Jack.” She sat on the edge, anxiously twining her fingers. “Please, help Coop.”

  He rushed back around the counter. Coop’s eyes were wide open, but Jack feared the only thing he was seeing was the bright light of heaven beckoning. Jack dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. None. He removed his jacket and covered Coop’s face.

  With his nerves jumping and his mouth dry, Jack returned to Andy. Her eyes were full of hope. He shook his head. All color drained from her face. He sat beside her and drew her into his arms.

  She leaned against him, but was so still, he suspected she was numb with shock. Dear God, what was going on? She’d promised to stay put in her cabin until he came for her after the noon performance. Something pretty serious must have made her disregard that promise. She understood the dangers. “What were you doing here?”

  “What in the—!” The outcry came from the doorway, suspending Andy’s reply.

  Jack jerked his head up.

  Gene Mott had his electric wheelchair poised at the threshold. His eerily pale eyes were wide with dismay. “Somebody throw a rock through the window?”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” Jack rose, stepping protectively in front of Andy as he moved toward the door. Glass crunched beneath his feet. “Don’t come in.”

  Red Yager and Duke Plummer appeared behind Gene. Plummer said, “Why shouldn’t we?”

  “Go call the sheriff, Yager. Virgil Cooper’s been shot dead.”

  Duke Plummer blinked as if Jack had slapped him. Red Yager reared back in astonishment. But Jack couldn’t tell whether their shocked reactions were real or faked.

  In contrast, Gene Mott’s face was stony with disbelief. His fingers curled around the gearshift of his electric wheelchair. “Outta my way, Jack. I’ll see for myself.”

  “I said, stay out. This is a crime scene.”

  Gene’s eyes narrowed and crimson climbed his neck, but his grip eased off the control, and he breathed deeply as if trying to curb his anger. Jack didn’t have time to worry about Gene’s temper getting out of control. He glanced again at Red. “Now, Yager.”

  Red’s head bobbed and his mustache twitched as he nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course.”

  He wheeled around and hastened down the boardwalk toward his hotel. Jack eyed Duke and Gene. “You two stay put and don’t let anyone in here until the sheriff arrives. I’m taking Ms. Hart back to her cabin at the Motherlode Motel. The sheriff can question her there.”

  Jack disliked leaving the crime scene in the hands of three of his suspects, but he liked less the idea of Andy sitting there with Virgil Cooper’s dead body until the sheriff showed up.

  Minna Kroft was stepping onto the porch of the motel office as they emerged from the path. She was pink cheeked and a bit breathless, as if she’d been running.

  “Whatever is goin’ on?” she asked, before Jack could say anything. “You two look plumb odd.”

  With his arm around Andy’s waist, Jack told Minna the news.

  Minna blanched, then recovered quickly, her face radiating concern as she hurried up to them. “You poor thing. No wonder yer white as snow.” She grasped Andy by both hands. “You come right on in here and let me fix ya some coffee.”

  Before Jack could stop Minna, she dragged Andy from his side and guided her through the motel office to the personal quarters in the back. Dismayed, Jack followed.

  He couldn’t forget Minna stomping the scorpion to death, or his niggling suspicions of her, but her voice rang with the same genuine regard for Andy that he’d often heard in his mother’s voice when she comforted a friend in distress. Was she the world’s greatest actress? Or had he misjudged this woman? Actually thought she might be Nightmare Man? Chagrined at himself, he said, “I think tea would be better.”

  Minna’s kitchen was a large, small-windowed room dominated by an antique oak dining set with mismatched chairs and blue-and-white-checked cushions. Minna shook her head. “She don’t like tea. But some spirits’d fix her up right quick. Bring some color back into those cheeks and take off the chill that’s icin’ her innards.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Jack agreed, feeling more comfortable about his growing belief that Minna Kroft was exactly what she appeared to be: a kindly, middle-aged woman.

  “Take her on into the livin’ room, whilst I fetch the brandy bottle from the cellar.”

  The compact living room was extremely tidy, and although it lacked knickknacks and family photographs, there was a built-in bookcase where some kind of trophies shared shelf space with an array of colorful paperbacks. The furniture, old and mismatched, looked comfortable, a perception enhanced by the big Persian sprawled proprietarily on the middle cushion of the sofa.

  Jack led Andy to the sofa. Her face was pale. Settling on an end cushion next to the big cat, she curled her legs beneath her, and reached out and stroked the animal’s head.

  Jack sat on the other end, separated from Andy by the purring cat. He rubbed his fingers down its soft back, inadvertently brushing Andy’s fingers. His gaze sought hers, and he was relieved to see the glassiness had left her eyes. The shock was wearing off. “What were you doing at Coop’s? You promised you wouldn’t leave your cabin, so I’m assuming it must’ve been important.”

  She told Jack about discovering that her special photograph was missing, about learning that Virgil Cooper had probably been the one who’d photographed her father in front of the assay office. “I had to see if he knew something.”

  He could shake Andy for the danger she’d placed herself in by going to Coop’s alone. And yet, he knew he’d do the same under the same circumstances. Despite the foolhardiness of her actions, he admired her spirit. Besides, he hadn’t thought Nightmare Man would try anything this bold in broad daylight. “Do you think Coop was killed because he knew something about your parents’ murders?”

  “I don’t know.” Was that why Virgil was dead? Or had someone tried to kill her? “I’m not so sure the bullet wasn’t meant for me.”

  A chill plunged through Jack. “I think you’d better explain that.”

  Minna arrived and pressed a cup of brandy into Andy’s hands. “Drink, girl.”

  Andy took a swallow and felt a sudden rush of strength from the bracing heat of the liquor. Jack was still waiting for an answer, his scowl marking his impatience. She sat straighter. “If the sound of breaking glass hadn’t startled me. If I hadn’t lurched away when I turned, the bullet would have struck me squarely in the back of the head.”

  Minna gasped.

  Jack swore under his breath. He wanted to pull Andy into his arms, but not in front of Minna. There would already be enough gossip around town about them, after his insistence on getting her away from the crime scene. He shoved to his fe
et.

  The telephone rang in the outer office. Minna excused herself and hurried off.

  “Maybe that’s the sheriff.” Jack followed Minna across the room. Stopping at the doorway, he spun back, cast Andy a troubled look, ran a hand through his thick black hair, then glanced away. As he paced, his gaze swung across the trophies on the bookcase, and absently he noted they’d been awarded to Minna for her marksmanship with a rifle.

  Andy watched Jack pace as she caressed the cat’s underbelly with her free hand. There was something comforting about the Persian’s presence, and she was grateful her throat no longer constricted as it had when she’d first arrived, grateful her restored memory had abolished her fear of cats.

  It dawned on her that the shock was receding. Her anger returning. She was alive to fight another day. But poor Jack probably thought she’d slipped off the deep end, leaving him to face Nightmare Man alone.

  Setting her cup on the end table, she rose and crossed the room to him. “I’m all right, so, whatever else, don’t waste your time worrying about me.”

  Jack reached down and stroked his knuckles along her chin, his touch so gentle, it sent shivers of awareness to her toes. He swallowed, but didn’t speak. His silvery green eyes showed a momentary spark of pain she could not account for, but she could not have misread the desire in their depths. She thought he might kiss her and, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers, she wished he would.

  He leaned closer.

  “Telephone’s fer you, Andy,” Minna interrupted, shattering the mood. “A Mr. Frettin’.”

  Tim! A hot shaft of guilt knifed through Andy. “Freyton.” She corrected Minna in a muttered breath and cast a flustered glance at Jack.

  “Ya have ta use the phone in the office.”

  With a blush heating her cheeks, Andy nodded and left the room, but she didn’t hurry toward the office. She wasn’t ready to talk to Tim about all that had been occurring. She grimaced, holding back a scream of frustration. So, what am I going to say, Gram? Oh, Tim, you won’t believe all that’s happened—I’m having the most wonderful time in Montana?