This Gun for Hire Page 31

  Pitman’s shoulders rose and fell. “I will do my best by your father,” he said. “And the rest will be in God’s hands.”

  Ann nodded sharply and fled the room, blinking back tears.

  Calico and Quill exchanged glances. Without a word passing between them, they were comfortable believing they had reached agreement. It was Quill who addressed Pitman. “Do you believe his condition can be attributed to something he ingested at a single meal?”

  The doctor gave Quill a considering look and then darted a glance at Calico. “Miss Nash. Perhaps if you would go to Miss Stonechurch, you could be a comfort to her.”

  Quill said, “You will not get rid of her that easily. She stays and hears whatever you have to say. I can assure you, it is what Mr. Stonechurch would want.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to. What I require is that you trust me and, by extension, that you trust her. Your patient does. He hired us to protect him and his family, and you can see that we are failing. Now, before Beatrice returns, tell me what you are really thinking.”

  Abraham Pitman did not surrender his skepticism easily. “Trust you? Trust you over Beatrice Stonechurch? Over Ann? Why would I do that on your say-so?”

  Calico took a step forward, loosened the belt of her robe, and tugged on the right sleeve to reveal the long scar across her upper arm. “This was not the result of Ramsey Stonechurch misfiring his weapon, Dr. Pitman, and I believe that there has always been some part of you that suspected as much.” Calico had no idea if that was true or not, but she erred on the side of the man having a measure of common sense. “I was shot because I was with Mr. Stonechurch. The bullet I took was meant for him. Ann and Beatrice do not know that because Mr. Stonechurch kept it from them.” She yanked up the sleeve of her robe. “Now, tell Mr. McKenna what he wants to know before I strangle you with your stethoscope.”

  Appalled more than alarmed, Pitman’s eyes widened over the top of his spectacles.

  Quill said, “Usually Calico threatens to shoot someone, so I would say this is progress.”

  Pitman’s mouth snapped shut and then slowly parted. “Calico? Miss Nash is Calico Nash?” His mistake was in putting the question to Quill. He had to take a step back as Calico took a menacing step forward. He put out his hands defensively. “I apologize,” he said, although he had no clear idea what he was apologizing for. “I just thought you would be—”

  “Taller?”

  “No. Not that. I thought you would be mud fence ugly.”

  Calico threw up her hands as she walked away. “Talk to him, Quill. I will look out for Beatrice.” She went as far as the doorway and stood there, acting as sentinel for Beatrice’s approach.

  Dr. Pitman gave Quill his attention, though from time to time he cast a wary eye in Calico’s direction.

  Quill said, “You understand you do not repeat what you’ve just learned.”

  The doctor’s head bobbed several times and very quickly. “Who are you?”

  “Still Quill McKenna. Nobody special.” Behind him, he heard Calico snort. It warmed him some. “Now that we are done with the unpleasantness of threats, I need to know what you do.”

  “It’s not food poisoning,” he said. “Not the way we tend to think of it. But do I believe he’s been poisoned? Yes. Small quantities over time would be my guess. He did not eat a poisonous mushroom, for instance. That would have killed him quickly. It’s possible he ingested more tonight and that is what caused his coma. But what led up to it? That took time. Patience.”

  “Specific knowledge?”

  “I would say so, yes.” It was when Quill raised an eyebrow that the doctor seemed to hear what he had just said. He shook his head and even lifted a hand as though he could push the words out of the way. “I am making no accusation. Absolutely none.”

  “But she could do it.”

  “No. She could not, and you will not get me to say so.” He pointed to Calico’s back and whispered, “Even under threat of violence.”

  “All right,” Quill said agreeably. “What kind of poison? I caught a scent that I could not identify.”

  From the doorway, Calico said, “Ask him why Ramsey’s cheeks are cherry red.”

  Quill did not repeat the question. He simply gave the doctor another inquiring look.

  “Drink, most likely. Too much of it. He likes his whiskey.”

  Calico slapped the doorjamb hard with the flat of her hand. She turned then because she knew she could expect that she had the attention of both men. “It is not from drink. I’ve seen this before, or something very like it. He’s had trouble breathing. He’s still having trouble.”

  “I examined his lungs.”

  “I know you did. I saw you. I can see his chest moving. He’s breathing, but not breathing.” Frustrated because she did not have the knowledge to explain any better, she turned her back on the doctor again.

  Pitman stepped closer to his patient and set his stethoscope against Ramsey’s heart and then moved it to his back to listen to his lungs again. His proximity made him the first to be aware that the purgative was about to work. He pushed the basin close to Ramsey’s mouth and held the man’s head. His patient’s body began to spasm. Ramsey’s legs jerked and bent at the knees. They were drawn involuntarily toward his chest. His arms flailed, contracted, and he would have dislodged the basin if Quill had not stepped in to help restrain him.

  The retching was difficult to listen to. Sounds that did not seem at all human came from deep inside him. He soiled himself, and he continued to heave after it was clear he had emptied the contents of his stomach.

  Calico crossed the threshold into the hallway and closed the door behind her as the men went about the business of cleaning Ramsey and changing the sheets. Quill came to get her when he and the doctor finished. He carried the soiled linens in his arms.

  “Beatrice?” he asked.

  Calico shook her head. “Give me those. I’ll take them to the laundry tub and see what’s keeping her.”

  Quill did not argue. He quickly made a bundle of the linens and passed it to Calico. “I think the purge helped,” he said.

  “Good.”

  Her terse reply caused him to give her a second look. “Calico? What is it?”

  “It could be an accident, you know. Not intentional. She might have—”

  Quill put a hand on her shoulder. “You heard Dr. Pitman. Ramsey was poisoned over time. I am not sure how that indicates an accident.”

  “I don’t want it to be true.”

  “I know. I like her, too.”

  Calico did not comment. She hefted the bundle. “I better go. I suppose it will be a test of Dr. Pitman’s confidence if he drinks the coffee she’s preparing.”

  Quill watched her go. She took the back stairs to the kitchen. He waited until he was certain Beatrice was not coming up by the main staircase before he returned to the room. He trusted that Calico would find Lucrezia Borgia still in the kitchen fussing over Dr. Pitman’s coffee while she calculated her next move.

  “Any change?” asked Quill, approaching the bed.

  The doctor did not answer the question directly. “I believe there is reason to hope.” Now that Ramsey’s stomach had been purged, he could lie on his back. Pitman changed the warm compress he had placed across his patient’s forehead. He also wiped Ramsey’s face and wet his lips.

  “I told Calico that the purge seemed to help. Was I lying?”

  “No. But then I am also questioning myself. It can be hard to gauge improvement against hopefulness.”

  “I understand.”

  Pitman laid the used compress on the lip of a basin of fresh water. He closed his medical bag. “So you are not Mr. Stonechurch’s attorney.”

  “No, but not for lack of an offer on his part.”

  The doctor turned and faced Quill
. “And Mr. Stonechurch really hired you to . . . what? Keep him safe?”

  Quill glanced at Ramsey. Failure weighed heavily. “All evidence to the contrary, yes.”

  “You have been living here for quite a while. What happened that prompted Mr. Stonechurch to seek you out?”

  “Anonymous threats, but you’re mistaken about him seeking me out. I found him.”

  Pitman frowned. “How does that happen?”

  “He told someone about the threats, someone who took them more seriously than he did. That person came to me and I went to Mr. Stonechurch.”

  “Then you’ve done this before.”

  “I have.”

  “Calico Nash?”

  “To look after Ann. You know there were . . . let’s call them mishaps.”

  The doctor nodded as he sank slowly into the armchair. He absently rubbed his left knee. “I had no idea she was in real danger.”

  “No one does. That was the way Mr. Stonechurch wanted it.”

  “I wondered about you living here at the house, but then I know how Ramsey Stonechurch works. I decided that he wanted you at his beck and call at all hours.”

  “You were not wrong. As it happens, I am a lawyer.”

  “Oh. And Calico Nash is a teacher?”

  “No. She’s a bounty hunter.”

  Pitman removed his spectacles and cleaned them on the sleeve of his jacket. “It is a little overwhelming.”

  “I can see that.”

  He nodded slowly and returned his spectacles to his face. “Elderberry,” he said quietly.

  “How is that again?”

  “Elderberry. The leaves, stems, roots are all poisonous. The boiled berries are harmless, but the other parts of the plant must be removed. Anyone who makes jams, pies, and wine with elderberries knows that. I recommend and use an elderberry tonic for rheumatism. The apothecary keeps a supply.”

  “You think that’s what Ramsey ate?”

  “I cannot be certain, but the symptoms fit. Miss Nash mentioned loss of appetite, which he would naturally experience because of mild nausea and other unpleasant symptoms. He would be uncomfortable, but he would not be alarmed.”

  “Dyspepsia,” said Quill.

  “Yes, that would be the logical conclusion. If he had come to me, it would have been mine. I had already diagnosed an ulcer.”

  “I do not mean this as an insult, but in this house, you would be the second opinion. He would have gone to his sister-in-law first.”

  “Without a doubt. Beatrice Stonechurch has educated herself on the healing herbs. She knows tonics and tinctures and teas. I would trust her to nurse me if I were unwell. You know she cared for her husband from the moment he was carried out of the mine until his death. I never said as much—I would not have dared—but I did not believe Leo would live a full week. She had almost twelve months with him, and had it not been for his lungs, she could have had longer. She made remarkable strides with improving his leg strength—”

  “I am aware,” Quill interrupted. “I want to hear about these other symptoms.”

  “The flush in his cheeks. That’s telling.” He put out a hand when Quill would have interrupted again. “I know what I said to Miss Nash, but please appreciate how difficult this is for me. I will do right by my patient, but to be put in the position of accusing Beatrice, that I cannot do. What Miss Nash observed is the result of Mr. Stonechurch not being able to use the air he is breathing. The toxins in the elderberry affect the body’s capacity to carry oxygen. He would have experienced shortness of breath on previous occasions, but since the symptoms can pass if he ingested only small amounts, he would think it was his heart. About tonight, all I can say is that if he has even half the determination of his brother, he will recover. I will never think that he cannot.”

  “I want to believe that.” Quill glanced at the open doorway, frowned. “I need to go downstairs. Someone should be bringing your coffee by now.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Go on. I will call for you if I need help. And Ann is close by.”

  Quill nodded. He left the doctor changing Ramsey’s compress yet again and followed Calico’s back stairs route to the kitchen. The quiet that met him as he neared the bottom of the steps put him on alert. By the time he reached the door, every hair on the back of his neck was standing up.

  He pushed through cautiously. A lighted oil lamp on the table was casting its dim light in a small circle around it. The stove had not been fired. There was no evidence of a coffee canister or the pot anywhere in the room. The cups and saucers were all accounted for in the dish cupboard.

  He stood still, listened, and when he heard nothing, he decided there was only one direction worth pursuing. He headed for the back door off the mudroom and found it was blocked.

  Calico’s body lay sprawled across the threshold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quill went back for the lamp and set it on the floor beside Calico. There was no obvious injury. He ran his fingers through her hair and over her scalp. He found a small lump near the crown of her head but no blood. She had been cracked hard enough to knock her unconscious but her assailant had stopped at one blow.

  Quill laid one hand on Calico’s shoulder and shook her while he said her name. She moaned softly the second time he gave her a shake and opened her eyes on the third. He gave her a moment to collect herself, which for Calico involved cursing and self-recrimination, and then helped her sit up. She put a hand to her head and gingerly felt around the lump with the tips of her fingers.

  “This is not done swelling, I think,” she said.

  “What did she hit you with?”

  “I’m not sure. I only had a glimpse of her, but I would not be surprised if one of the guns in Ramsey’s case is missing.”

  “Let’s get you out of the mudroom and into the kitchen.” He helped her up, but once she was on her feet, she shrugged him off and moved to the kitchen table unassisted. She did accept the chair he pulled out for her. “You think she’s left the house?” he said. “Are you sure of that? I can look around.”

  “She was dressed for outside. I saw that much. When I got here and found the kitchen empty and no coffee made, I figured she had been planning her escape since Dr. Pitman arrived. She seized the opportunity when he asked her for a cup of coffee.” Calico rubbed the bridge of her nose as she considered the order of events. “She must have gone to her room, dressed, and then gone downstairs when I moved out of the doorway. I went down shortly afterward. I was thinking it through when I heard the back door open. I figured I could stop her, so I followed. She was still in the mudroom, and that’s when she clubbed me.”

  Shaking her head, Calico sighed deeply. “God, that I could be so careless. I have had less trouble from men twice her size.”

  “True, but then you drugged some of them.” He merely grinned at the sour look she gave him.

  “You don’t seem concerned that she’s gone,” said Calico.

  “It had not occurred to me that I should be. Aren’t you Calico Nash?”

  She was silent a moment, taking that in. Her senses were not so boggled that she couldn’t recognize the compliment. “What a lovely thing to say.”

  Quill took her hand, squeezed it. “Whether or not Beatrice has figured out that you’re Calico Nash, I don’t know where she imagines she can go that she can’t be found, and if she has realized who you are, then she must know she has very little freedom left.”

  “She could have killed me.”

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying. The infection that festered in your wound was a good attempt.”

  Calico remembered the brown stain on the bandage. Beatrice had assured her it would help. “All those teas she insisted that I drink . . .” Her short laugh was humorless. “I might have died if she had ever served me one that I liked or stayed around to watch me drink entire
pots of the stuff. I wonder if I have ever misjudged anyone as I misjudged her.”

  “You’re in good company. I asked her to help you with exercises for your arm.”

  “And she did. She also took the time to encourage Ann’s newfound interest in Boone Abbot. And then she came to my room with steamed towels and informed me that I had made a mistake in introducing the pair. She said Ramsey would not approve, that Boone is a painful reminder of his brother’s accident and death.”

  “She said that? That Boone is a reminder?”

  “She did. She said that Ramsey would not allow him to return to work in the mines for that reason.”

  “I happen to know that Ramsey has offered Boone a position in his office on several occasions. Boone turns him down. Boone Abbot is happy where he is. He likes the horses and his wages are good because Ramsey supplements them through an arrangement with the livery owner.”

  “Why would Beatrice make it out to be different than it is?”

  “Maybe we’ve been thinking about this wrong. Ramsey has said he wants his daughter to leave Stonechurch and experience the larger world. What if it is really Beatrice who wants to keep her close? So close that she sees even someone like Boone as a threat to her. All her words to the contrary, she never accepted you. Hell, she tried to kill you.”

  “I don’t know. Ramsey has kept Ann on a short leash. She was never allowed to attend the local school. She is not permitted to visit the mines. She doesn’t ride. She does not—” Calico stopped because Quill was regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “Oh. I see. The Beatrice effect.”

  “She has more influence than either of us has suspected. That’s probably true for Ramsey and Ann as well. Can you imagine Ramsey Stonechurch admitting that his sister-in-law has manipulated him? Not only recently, but for years. Where Ann is concerned, he was an easy mark. He loves his daughter, he wants what is best for her, and it would not be hard for Beatrice—for anyone—to use that against him.”