Chapter Seven

Benjamin Madison looked across the wide expanse of the Butterworth’s lobby and dining room for Thaddeus Frost. The hotel had opened its doors in the middle of the night to accommodate the passengers who spilled out of No. 486. When the Northeast train had finally arrived, four hours late, the scene was as close to bedlam as Ben thought he’d ever see. That was some thirty minutes ago and it was not much calmer now. People who had been waiting for hours at the station, and he was one of them, were relieved by the arrival and full of piss and vinegar when they heard the explanation for it. The passengers were tired and excited at the same time. It did not take long for them to turn cranky.

Ben saw Thaddeus standing near the kitchen door, his silver-threaded head and sharp profile inclined ever so slightly toward the sheriff. Whatever the sheriff was saying must have been agreeable to Thaddeus because the two showed none of the usual indicators that they were about to be at loggerheads. Ben wended his way through the crowd so he could hear what was being said. He should have been at Thaddeus’s side, but one of the passengers, an older gentleman with a broken and bloody nose, needed assistance, and Ben had stopped to help. In the short time it took to find a chair for the man and thrust a clean handkerchief at him, Thaddeus had disappeared, or at least it seemed that he had. Now, when Ben was within ten feet and a cluster of six bodies away, he was stopped again, this time by a tug on his coat sleeve.

He was prepared to jerk away but good manners prevailed. He drew back the step he was about to take and looked down at his sleeve. The hand was small, possibly delicate, but that was hard to tell when it was balled into such a fierce fist that the knuckles were white. At the risk of being swallowed by the press of people around him, Ben hunkered down so he was eye to eye with the little girl who had attached herself to him like a burr.

Ben was confronted by a pair of blue eyes made unnaturally bright by a wash of tears. “I’m Ben,” he said. “You’re not here alone, are you?” Blond ringlets bounced as she shook her head. A tear dropped, then another. Ben used the pad of his thumb to wipe them away. “What’s your name?”

“Madeleine.”

He nodded. “Well, Madeleine, as it happens, I’m looking for someone, too. He’s gone missing in the crowd. What about you? Who’s gone missing?”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Mama.”

“Let’s find her, shall we?” He looked pointedly at his sleeve then at her. “Let me have your hand.”

“No. I want up.”

“All right. Makes sense. No one can see us down here.” He still had to pry her fingers from his sleeve, but when he did, she practically leapt at his chest. He hoisted her as he stood, giving Madeleine her first opportunity to look around from this new vantage. Her head had barely broken the surface of the sea of black hats, white hats, bowlers, bonnets, and dainty feathered hats when she began squealing and squirming like a piglet rooting for a sow’s teat. That meant, he assumed, that Mama was in sight.

“Madeleine!”

Ben rocked back on his heels as Madeleine threw her arms up in the air and leaned toward her approaching mother. He couldn’t see the woman, but recognized her advance as people began to step sideways to allow her through. When she finally appeared, Ben saw a blend of exasperation and relief on the woman’s face. He knew that blend, having seen it often enough in the handsome features of his own mother. With a chuckle, he gave Madeleine over.

“Thank you,” she said. “I called for her, but I don’t know how she could have heard me.” Awkwardly, she held out a hand. “I’m Mrs. Bancroft. And this is Madeleine.”

“We’ve already introduced ourselves.” He took her hand. A reticule dangled from her wrist, swinging like a pendulum. “I’m Ben Madison.”

“Are you from around here, Mr. Madison?”

“I am. I wasn’t on the train, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It was, in a way. Maddie, you have to loosen your arms around my neck, dear. Mama can’t breathe. Yes, that’s better.” She smiled apologetically and raised the hand with the dangling reticule. “Could you take this, please, and give it to the sheriff?”

Ben removed the reticule, which was heavily decorated with seed pearls and jet beads, and clutched it in his hand. “This isn’t yours?”

“No. I saw it lying on top of the lobby desk when we were filing in from the train. My only excuse for not understanding the significance of it immediately is that I was still brain-addled from our experience.”

“Understandable. But what is the significance of it?”

“It belongs to her. Mrs. Apple. The woman they took.”

Ben’s eyebrows, a deeper shade of red than his hair, rose high enough to ladder his forehead. He looked at the reticule and then at Mrs. Bancroft. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I saw them take it from her after she shot the big man. I told Mrs. Tyler that I saw it, described it to her, and she agreed with me. I left Maddie with her while I went to get it. There was no one at the desk to ask if I could have it, so I took it upon myself to carry it off. I intended to give it to the sheriff straightaway, but then Mrs. Tyler found me and said Maddie had disappeared, and”—here she took a deep, steadying breath—“and here I am.”

“So you are,” said Ben. Madeleine had removed her face from her mother’s neck and was staring at him. He smiled at her. “Yes, I’ll give it to the sheriff. Of course I will.” He looked around. The bodies were pressing in again. “Should I help you find—” He stopped, regarded her questioningly because he could not remember the name.

“Mrs. Tyler. No. Unlike my daughter, she will be precisely where I left her. But thank you.”

Ben bounced the reticule in his palm. It had some weight to it. All those seed pearls and jet beads, he supposed. “I’ll take this to the sheriff right now. That’s my boss with him. He’ll be interested, too. He surely will.”

• • •

Thaddeus Frost made room for Ben when he saw him coming. “Thought I lost you there, son. I want you to hear what Jackson has to say.”

“Sheriff,” said Ben as he stepped in to make the third leg of a triangle. He raised the hand holding the reticule and unfolded his fingers, presenting the beaded bag on his open palm.

Jackson Brewer looked Ben over. The young man was as lean and ropy as a steer at the end of a cattle drive, and Jackson supposed that no amount of his ma’s cooking was going to put meat on the boy’s bones. The same could not be said for Thaddeus Frost. Ellie Madison had been setting a fine table for the owner and his hands at Twin Star since before Mary passed, and it was finally beginning to show on Thad just north of his belt. Of course, those extra pounds could have something to do with Thad’s relatively recent marriage. His old friend was probably spending more time in bed than he was on the range.

“What do you have there?” asked Jackson. “Someone lose that?”

“A woman gave it to me. She’s from the train and she says it belongs to Phoebe Apple. ’Course, she called her Mrs. Apple. I didn’t understand that.” He addressed Thaddeus. “She’s not married, right? You never mentioned it.”

“She’s not married. Apple’s her surname, same as it was my wife’s. The woman’s just mistaken. Where is she?” Impatient, not waiting for an answer, Thaddeus looked over the crowd. He was half a head taller than either Benjamin or the sheriff, and therefore in a better position to do so. “I want to talk to her.”

“She’s probably still holding her daughter. Madeleine will be easier to spot. Yellow hair.” He made a curling gesture with his index finger. “Ringlets.”

“I see her.” He brushed past Ben without excusing himself.

Jackson looked after Thaddeus, shook his head, and then turned to Ben. “Man on a mission. Go on. You tell me what you learned. I’ve got my deputy getting volunteers for a search party.”

“I volunteer.”

“Actually, you’ve already been volunteered. Thad did that.”

“Good.” He nodded for emphasis and handed the reticule over. “Mrs. Bancroft said the reticule was taken from her. Mrs. Apple, that is. Or Miss Apple. Whatever.”

“Let’s agree to call her Phoebe.”

“All right. Phoebe. This was hers. She shot the big man. That’s what she called him.”

“Mrs. Bancroft.”

“Uh-huh. Phoebe shot the big man and the bag was taken from her.”

Jackson Brewer knuckled the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “That squares with what I heard from two fellas hereabouts. Similar story. They were in the car, saw what happened, or mostly saw. They were pretty shook.”

Ben screwed his mouth to one side and rubbed the back of his neck as he considered the presence of the reticule. “How do you think it got here?”

“Now there’s a mystery because she’s sure not around.”

“You’re sure? The Bancroft woman says she saw the bag just lying there on the lobby desk when she was walking in with everyone else. Didn’t hit her right away, then it did, and she went back for it. Now you know what I know.” His attention turned once more to the beaded reticule. “You think we should open it?”

“No. I think I should open it. You can be my witness.”

“All right,” Ben said easily.

Jackson loosened the strings, inserted two fingers inside the bag’s throat, and spread the opening wide. “Feel’s like some lady stuff inside.” He pulled out a red enameled etui and gave it to Ben. “Needles, thread, and such in that.”

“I know what it is.”

“Comb. Tortoiseshell. My wife has one like it.” He handed it over. “Spectacles.” He held them up to eyes. “Looks like they’re for reading.” He refolded the stems carefully and laid the spectacles on Ben’s open palm. “Pencil. He put the stub behind his ear. “Ah. Here’s a notepad. Could be she wrote something down.”

“Sure. Something like, ‘Here I am; come get me.’”

Jackson curled his lip. “Don’t let Thad hear you making light of this. He’ll cuff you so hard your ass will never find your head.” The tips of Ben’s ears reddened and the sheriff knew his point had been taken. He opened the slim notepad, wet the pad of his thumb, and used it to riffle the pages. The first six were blank. He stopped on the seventh. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Ben leaned in and tried to see what Jackson was looking at. “What is it?”

“Not, ‘Here I am; come get me,’” he said. “But close enough.” He held up the pad so Ben could read what was scrawled on the paper.

“Two thousand dollars.” His blue eyes widened. “They want two thousand dollars?”

“Seems so. Looks like we’re seeing a ransom demand.” Jackson wet his thumb again and carefully lifted the page. As expected, there was more. “‘Cooper’s Rock,’” he read. “There’s a dollar sign. Guess that’s where we’re supposed to leave the money.”

“That’s where we’ll find her?”

“You are young, Ben Madison. Always thought it was the carroty hair that made you seem so, but I’m thinking now that you just are.”

“I’m twenty-three, old man.”

“We’ll take it up later. I’m just saying, that she’s not going to be at Cooper’s Rock. That’s not the way these things are done. Go get Thaddeus and haul him over here. He needs to be part of this.” As soon as Ben began to push his way through the crowd, Jackson turned another page. He read what was written and nodded to himself. Yep, that’s how he would have set it up, too.

• • •

The Jones and Prescott bank manager was already among the volunteers gathered by Brewer’s deputy when he was summoned to open the bank. The two thousand dollars Thaddeus Frost required cleaned out two shelves of the safe, but to his credit, Mr. Pleasance never once hesitated. He bundled the cash, stuffed it into three cloth sacks, and handed it over. He did not ask for a receipt.

There were nine chosen from among twenty-five volunteers. Sheriff Brewer wanted a manageable number and nine was what he settled on. He divided them into three groups of three with instructions to fan out when they were closing in on a mile from Cooper’s Rock. The two flanking groups would act as scouting parties, while the head of the spear would ride straight ahead to the rock.

Thaddeus and Sheriff Brewer were at the head of the spear. Thad chose Ben as the third member of their group, which was fine with Jackson. They each carried a sack of money secured behind their saddles.

Jackson insisted that all parties stay quiet and alert, but he allowed himself, as leader, to bend his own rule. Sidling his mount closer to Thad, he asked, “Are you holding out much hope that Remington’s tracked her down?”

“I always hold out hope.”

“That’s some kind of luck that he was on the same train, in the same car, as she was.”

“That’s why I hold out hope, Jackson. Sometimes we get lucky.”

“Hmm.”

“You weren’t standing there when I introduced myself to Mrs. Bancroft. Her eyes went as wide as silver dollars when I told her my name. Her companion, that Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler, put a hand over her heart, she was that taken back. They told me all about Remington setting out after Phoebe.”

Ben moved in on the other side of Thaddeus. “You talking about Remington?”

“We are.”

Ben nodded. “Thought I heard his name. Some piece of luck, him being on the train and all. And in the same car.”

Jackson gave Thad a significant look that included an eyebrow arched halfway to his hairline. See? it said.

Thad ignored his friend. “Jackson was just saying something like that.”

“Not something like it,” the sheriff said under his breath. “Exactly like it.”

Ben leaned forward in his saddle and looked past Thaddeus to Jackson. “What was that, Sheriff?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” He backed off, let them ride ahead, while he marked their location and then waved to the other groups to go their separate ways. “Slow and steady,” he told Ben and Thad when he caught up. “We don’t want to give anyone a reason to shoot us.”

They reached Cooper’s Rock, a cliff with a broad face that overlooked a waterfall and a swiftly moving stream a dangerous distance below. Moonlight turned the rush of water into a silver ribbon. They tethered the horses a safe distance from the edge of the bluff and removed the money sacks.

“Should have brought a damn lantern,” said Thad.

Jackson snorted. “Sure, and make ourselves bigger targets than we already are. Let Ben look around. He’s got young eyes.”

Ben rolled those young eyes at both of them and went searching for the note that was supposed to be left for them. It did not take him long to find it wedged in a crevice, one white ragged edge sticking out. The piece of paper was the same size as the notepad. Jackson had predicted that when he saw a couple of pages had been torn out. The paper wasn’t folded, but Ben didn’t glance at it. He handed it to Thaddeus. “Figure it’s your right to see it first.”

Thaddeus took it, squinted at what was written, and handed it to Jackson. “Don’t have my damn spectacles either.”

Jackson had to squint as well, but he could make out the writing. “You know that cabin up at Thunder Point? The one that belonged to Old Man McCauley when he was prospecting in these parts?”

“I know it,” said Thaddeus.

“Can’t say I do,” said Ben. He took the note when the sheriff held it out to him.

“That’s a map from here to there,” said Jackson. “Waterfall. The stream. The cabin. Even drew a little smokehouse, though I would have figured that for having collapsed years ago.”

“So that’s where we’ll find her?”

“Yes. We leave the money here, and that’s where they’re telling us she’ll be.”

But she wasn’t.