The Union (19 page)

Then let me drown in him
, her answering thought volleyed.
Yes, let me drown.

Samuels' store sat next to Patterson's combination store and boardinghouse. Dietz reluctantly turned in. He would have preferred patronizing Patterson's. Why not help fill the pockets of a fellow detective? Not that Dietz imagined Patterson needed money. Recently widowed, Patterson had no wife to spend his salary, no home to keep. Being single had its advantages. The agency paid well. And Patterson was making money playing store on top of it all. What a strange life they led. The odd thought struck Dietz—was he still single? He didn't know anymore.

Dietz's restlessness drew him out this afternoon, running errands for Keely to keep from going mad. The last two days had been quiet. Too quiet. Like the eye of a storm. Tense. Still. Humid and sticky with tension. Dietz was getting fidgety. Adrenaline filled him as he waited to play his next move. But he had to wait for the union to make its attack on the Tiger and Poorman. And for now they were playing good boys. Damn, he hated being on someone else's schedule.

Samuels' place smelled of dust and sweat, stale. Samuels was nowhere in sight, but his assistant Big Frank called out to him as Dietz stepped into the darkness from the bright day outside.

"McCullough." Big Frank nodded. "Glad you stopped by. You got yourself a letter. Came this morning in the mailbag."

"A letter?" Why hadn't he thought that someone would write to McCullough? After all, short of him, who knew McCullough was dead? Dietz hadn't exactly advertised the fact.

"Don't seem so surprised, McCullough. You got yourself a few friends back East, I suppose." Big Frank wiped his meaty hands on the soiled apron he wore and stepped from behind the store counter to the mail counter. He pawed around a bit before handing Dietz an envelope addressed in a bold, masculine hand. Dietz took it without comment and stuffed into his pocket, measuring Big Frank's attitude. The man seemed almost smug. Well, there would be time later to see if the letter had been tampered with, to see if any justification lay behind the smirk.

Big Frank stepped back behind the store counter. "What brings you today?"

"Keely sent me after dried onions. She ran out, and the ones in her garden won't be ready for a few more weeks."

"Ain't that the way with onions. We got some in the cellar I can sell you." Big Frank chuckled. "So it's come to this already. Out running errands for the missus."

Dietz snorted. "There's nothing happening in this forsaken town. It's either help the wife or sit on my hands."

"I thought you were supposed to be cooking up plans." Big Frank sounded almost accusing.

"Oh, I am. But I have to wait for the big boys to say jump before I act."

"Waters is planning something big. Soon. Don't you worry." Big Frank's eyes gleamed wickedly. These men enjoyed violence. "How many onions you going to want?"

Five minutes later, Dietz dumped the onions on the kitchen counter without running into Keely and disappeared out back, up the hill out of sight where he could read McCullough's letter without getting caught. He studied the postmark. Pennsylvania. Then scanned the envelope. Sure enough, the union boys, or maybe just Samuels and Big Frank acting alone, had opened and resealed the letter. Time to find out what Big Frank found amusing.

"Well, McCullough. Let's see what's been going on in your absence," Dietz said aloud to the trees and spread the letter out on his lap.

McCullough,

You lucky son of a bitch, Maggie has decided to drop the assault charges. Well, for a nominal fee, which you can feel free to repay me at any time. So does she forgive for love or money?
 

She looked a fright after you took your fists to her the last time. But I suppose you know that. Not that I can say I blame you. Maggie has always been an aggravating woman. And I've always said the two of you together were like an unstable explosive. So I suppose you have to let off a head of steam from time to time just to keep from killing her. But she looks better now, and she's missing you. I suppose she'd take you back should you come home now. And since the law doesn't want you anymore, you can. The whole matter was kept hushed up, the scandal secret. You lucky dog, what do you do to your mistresses to keep them pining after you? Myself, I think they should give up.

So have you actually married the young wench, Mick's sister? Is she as pretty as he claimed? The respectable wife you've been wanting in your bid for respectability? The young, sympathetic thing to get the vote in your bid for election? Ah, McCullough, I keep picturing it, but it isn't easy.

If she's as innocent as Mick claimed, then you should have no problem stepping out behind her back. I don't suppose Maggie minds sharing. She never has before.

Write and let me know how it goes.

Wilcox

Dietz tossed the letter aside.
Damn the bastard! That explains McCullough's benevolence in taking on the care of Michael's sister. Political aspirations, charity case for a wife to appeal to the voters.
 

Dietz balled his fists as dark, mercurial thoughts slipped through his mind. Hideous images of McCullough touching his Keely. Coward, philanderer, woman beater, anarchist, murderer. The man had loved violence on every level.

Guilt had not particularly plagued Dietz since killing McCullough. He'd already been fully aware of McCullough's character, or so he had thought. Dietz inhaled deeply. Any sorry ass coward who drew a gun and intended to shoot a man in the back deserved what he got. And self-defense was self-defense. But now Dietz thanked God that providence had intervened and he had lived while McCullough had died. To think of McCullough abusing Keely—

He cut the thought short and reached for the letter, intending to shred and burn it. But he stopped suddenly and folded the letter, returning it to his pocket. Who knew? Maybe there would come a day when it would be important to prove McCullough's character. He hoped not.

Waters smiled across the room at Samuels. Gaffney, who moments earlier had lounged insouciantly in the chair by the door, now sat straight-backed. A vicious look gilded his face. Fine, good. The boy had always been sweet on Keely Byrne. His anger over the revelations Samuels had shared from the letter to McCullough might come in handy someday, should McCullough become too powerful. Let Gaffney take care of him. For now, McCullough was exactly the kind of man the union needed.

"Good work, Samuels," Waters said.

Samuels smiled. "I came right away."

Waters shoved a cigar across the desk to him to show his appreciation. "Smoke?"

"Thank you."

Gaffney continued to stew. Might as well release the boy. He looked as if he could use a little action to cool off. "Gaffney, why don't you take the afternoon off? Go have some fun?"

"Yes sir." Gaffney strode into the sunshine and the furious heat of early summer afternoon. He liked heat. It matched his temperament.
Damn that McCullough. If he lays a hand on Keely—
Gaffney didn't bother trying to calm himself. Thoughts whipped through him too quickly, anger boiled too hotly for any attempt at peace.
 

Sweat collected in Gaffney's palms. He wiped them against his pant legs, trying to push away the ugly nausea that thoughts of killing, and memories of Michael brought. He'd killed Michael to get Keely. He would kill McCullough to save her. He had to, he owed Michael that.
 
But how to do it?

Chapter 12

"How was your time in Spokane?" Lacy gave Keely a knowing look as she wiped her floured hands on a kitchen towel. Keely watched her friend thump and knead the bread dough on the table before her. Lacy's kitchen felt cool and comfortable this afternoon, a pleasant contrast to the boardinghouse, which seemed to soak up the heat.
 

Lacy laughed. "You should see your face, Keely. You're positively glowing. I take it your man isn't holding back anymore, is he?"

"Oh, Lacy, if he is, I'm not." Keely's gaze swept the room, taking in the improvements obviously made by the plodding Kyle Vandergaard. Mended chairs, a window that finally latched again, a milk pail in the corner, and ample food on the table all spoke of him. Lacy seemed, if not exactly happy, then content. For a brief moment Keely envied Lacy her domestic contentment. But would she trade passion for it? Would she wish McCullough less secretive, less strong and committed to cause?

Lacy smiled. "You love him."

"It's that obvious?"

Lacy dumped her dough into a bowl to rise and covered it with a clean towel. "Should it be a secret?"

"No."

"Something bothering you?"

"Oh, Lacy, I love that man so much it scares me. If something happened to him…"

"Why should something happen to him?"

Keely traced patterns with her finger in the flour dust on the table in front of her. Should she burden Lacy with her fears? "Do you have to ask? Something is afoot. Something dark and sinister, so secret that McCullough cannot even hint of it to me. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the quiet these last few days. What is it that holds the men at bay? Boredom chases them to the bordellos, bars, and gambling halls. They're in none of those places now. Why? Because they're planning something. They've got something to occupy themselves now, something more fun than drinking and women." Keely took a deep breath and without thinking stood and began pacing.

"The union's changed since the jackals from Montana and elsewhere took it over. Gone are the principles and sense of honor. The men that fill the highest offices in the Gem Union these days—" Keely shook her head. "Outlaws and criminals, men without ethics or morals. Men who love violence and the power fear gives them.

"Michael realized it and tried to fight it." Keely shuddered involuntarily. "McCullough's right in the middle of it. He's like Michael. He'll do the right thing, no matter the cost. I used to think that's what I wanted. I used to believe McCullough would be my avenging angel come to take retribution for Michael's death. Come to make the owners pay. I never thought we'd be fighting our own. I never imagined that what I wanted could jeopardize all my dreams, my heart."

"Sit, Keely. You're pacing."

"Sorry." Keely walked to the chair but couldn't force herself to sit. Instead, she gripped the back of the chair. ”I'm worried about McCullough. He doesn't think I notice, but I see the tension in his face. He's trying to protect me from his struggles, like Michael did." Keely pulled the chair out and sat.

"What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong! If he insists on keeping to himself, how can I help him?"

"By just being there." Lacy spoke with authority. "Sometimes that's all there is—being there."

"No. There has to be more I can do. You and I have both lost too much to the mines. I can't sit by and lose McCullough, too." Keely sighed. "You can bet the union isn't planning a peaceful demonstration. Much as Michael and now McCullough try, they can't shield me from what goes on in town—the beatings, the vandalism done to the mines, the evictions. The men have been out on strike now for close to four months.
Peace
has not worked. There will be violence and it will be horrific, a real uprising.

"McCullough promises me daily that he'll try to stop it. And I know he means to be the voice of reason. But this thing is bigger than all of us, and if McCullough means to be in the middle of it, as he no doubt does, then I will be there, too."

"Let the men handle things, Keely."

Keely stared at Lacy, knowing her talk had frightened her. Lacy's house sat at the edge of camp, and she had children to protect. Kyle might work for the dairy, but when terror reigned, would the men remember and leave the Vandergaards alone? Somehow Keely feared the scope of things would be too big, that no one would be safe. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Lacy." She forced a smile. "You have Kyle to protect you now." She stretched her arms out, encompassing the room. "Look what a fine job he's done fixing the place up."

Lacy smiled. Maybe she was warming to Kyle.

"Are you happy?" Keely asked.

"Happy enough. Kyle's handy with a set of tools and good with the children."

"And you, too."

Lacy laughed. "Maybe. He's awful fond of me. Kyle isn't like your McCullough. He wears everything he feels and thinks right out there on his face."

"Good for you, Lace." Keely thought about McCullough and the deep secret she knew he carried. If only he would confide in her.

"I suppose you've heard about the new family camping out by the woods."

"New family?"

"So you haven't. Woman and three bitty kids camping in a tent. Their name's McKenna. Her man had been working in Montana, but lost his job and came to the Valley looking for work. He hadn't heard they shut down months ago. Those poor folks ran out of money. He left them alone while he goes to find work. Breaks your heart." Lacy's voice cracked.
 

Keely supposed Lacy was remembering her own meager days of living hand to mouth.
 

"I do what I can," Lacy said. "But I'm not so far away from those days myself. Kyle has been so good, but I can't ask him to support another family, too. Is there something you can do?"