Devils Unto Dust(62)

“Well ask Levi, then,” Ben says to Curtis, carrying on a conversation I missed most of. “Someone’s gotta have a mule for sale.”

“I heard tell Rivera brung a couple animals down from Rath City,” Levi says.

“Rivera’s a good hunter, but he don’t know horseflesh,” Curtis says. “I ain’t paying a dime unless I see the animal myself.”

“You’re a hardfisted bastard,” Levi laughs. “Beggin’ your pardon,” he says to me with a wink. I roll my eyes, and he laughs again.

I listen to them argue and eat as much of the soup as I can keep down, and then I just move the food around on my plate some. Mrs. Keen brings out spice cake and stewed fruit for desert, and I take a small slice to be polite.

“I’m too full,” I tell Micah, rubbing my belly. “You want the rest?”

“Since when do you turn down food?” he asks.

“You want it or not?”

Micah narrows his eyes at me, but he jabs my cake with his fork. I push my chair away from the table and lean back. My eyes feel heavy, and the day is barely half over.

“Will,” Micah nudges me.

“Hm?” I look up, and he points toward the door, where Mrs. Keen is motioning to me.

“Darling, do you have a moment?” she asks. “I hate to interrupt your dinner, but there’s someone asking for you.”

I get up from the table immediately to follow her, glancing back at Micah. It’s Pa; it has to be. How did he find us?

“He said it was urgent, or I would’ve sent him away,” Mrs. Keen tells me apologetically.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Keen, I was finished anyhows.”

She leads me through the parlor and into the entrance hall, where a man is standing with his back to me.

“Here she is, then,” Mrs. Keen says, and the man turns around and I brace myself to see my father’s face. Instead, I see a gray moustache and it takes me a moment to place it.

“Mr. Alameda,” I say, confused.

“Ah, Miss Wilcox,” he says, and he looks nervous. “I was hoping I could speak to you in private.”

Mrs. Keen looks from him to me, and I shrug.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you two alone,” she says, giving Mr. Alameda a warning look as she leaves.

Mr. Alameda stands awkwardly in front of me, rubbing one hand with another.

“What can I do for you, sir?” I ask him.

“Miss Wilcox, what I said to you before, that were the truth—I don’t know where your pa is.”

“I believe you, Mr. Alameda,” I tell him, frowning. “You didn’t need to come all this way.”

He swallows, and his throat moves up and down. “I don’t know where he is,” he repeats. “But—” and he pauses.

“But?”

“But I can guess,” he finishes, looking down.

“Please tell me,” I say, my head starting to pound.

“Grayson’s—the saloon—there’s an old stable out back that’s empty now. Grayson lets him sleep out there sometimes.” Mr. Alameda shifts uneasily, edging back toward the door. “That’s where I’d check.”

“Mr. Alameda,” I say, and he stops moving to look at me. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says. “Good luck to you.”

I watch him leave from the hallway, considering. The saloon isn’t far from here, if I can remember the way. The others are talking in the dining room, laughing and eating cake. Standing here in an empty room, I feel as far removed from laughter as I can be. I’m miles from them, and they don’t even realize it. I don’t belong with them anymore; I’m already gone.





50.


I set out purposefully, retracing our steps from earlier. I have a few choice words in mind to say to that bartender, and none of them are “thank you.” The nerve of that man, lying to our faces. I conveniently forget the many lies I’ve told over the past few days; my righteous anger won’t be dampened.

I turn right and look for the hotel; I’m pretty sure this is the street I want. I scan the buildings for the green roof, but I don’t see it. I swear under my breath and keep walking; maybe it’s the next clump of buildings.

Footsteps suddenly pound fast behind me, and I duck around a corner, pressing myself flat against a wall.

“Nice try,” Ben calls, slightly out of breath.

“Damn,” I say. So much for doing this alone. I peel myself away from the wall and turn to face Ben, who approaches me with an annoyed expression.

“You know, you hired us to guard you. You running off like this, it kinda defeats the purpose.”

I cross my arms. “This is Best, not the open road. I think I can manage.”

Ben shakes his head. “Oh, no you can’t. Someone spits on you again, you’re likely to get killed in a bar fight.”

I snort, half amused and half aggravated. “Fine. Come on, we’re going back to that saloon.”

“Hold up,” Ben says, looking over his shoulder.

“What? Who else did you drag along?” I look past him and see Micah hurrying toward us.

“I didn’t drag him, he wouldn’t stay put.”