Angel

Chapter 31

The detective’s name was Phineas Kirby. He had taken a room in the same hotel, even on the same floor. But Cassie didn’t rush off to his room as soon as she read his note. As much as she deplored the necessity of having to disturb his sleep, she hated even more the thought of having to explain to her mama that she’d hired a detective and why.

So she waited until Catherine went to bed. And she wasn’t taking any chances. She even prepared for bed herself and lay there for several hours in case her mama couldn’t sleep tonight and wanted to come in and talk some — she’d done that before.

It was shortly after midnight when Cassie dressed again and cautiously left her room. She found Mr. Kirby’s room at the far end of the hall. She knocked so quietly, it was quite a while before she finally heard grumbling on the other side of the door. A few moments later it was yanked open, and she was about to be snarled at by a very annoyed-looking man in a bulky yellow robe with socks peeking out below its long hem. He was middle-aged and on the portly side, with nondescript features and sharp blue eyes.

He must have changed his mind about snapping at her when he got a good look at her. “Sorry, miss. I thought you were one of the hotel staff. Are you lost?”

“No, sir, I’m Cassie Stuart. I sent for you.”

He was back to frowning. “Do you know what time it is, Miss Stuart?”

She winced. “Yes, I know, but I couldn’t wait until morning. I’m here with my mama, and I’d rather she didn’t know that I’m hiring you. She doesn’t like my husband, you see, and this has to do with him.”

Phineas sighed. “Then I guess you better come in and have a seat.”

There were two chairs before the fireplace. He moved to drop another log in the grate before he sat in the chair that his clothes had been draped over. He pulled a jacket down from the backrest and searched through it until he found a notebook in an inside pocket.

“So what can I do for you, Miss Stuart?” He started scribbling in the notebook as he asked.

Cassie sat down in the chair across from his. “I’d like to locate my husband’s parents.”

“They’re missing?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “And he’s not really my husband — well, he is, but we’re soon to be divorced.” At his raised brow, she assured him, “This has nothing to do with that. I’d just like to reunite him with his family as sort of a parting gift to him.”

“Very commendable,” he remarked. “So what are the names of these people?”

“That’s going to be the difficult part. He was too young to remember their names. You see, he was taken from them, stolen by a mountain man right out of this city about twenty-odd years ago, and spent the next nine years in some isolated cabin up in the Rocky Mountains. He’s not sure if he was five or six years old at the time he was taken. And his folks didn’t live here. He recalls coming here on a train, so they were either passing through or visiting someone here.”

“He was with both parents?”

“Probably not. He doesn’t remember his papa being around much.”

“Well, we at least have the boy’s name.” Phineas said it as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Cassie gave him a small, helpless smile. “Not really. He goes by the name Angel because that’s all he remembers his mama calling him.”

The detective seemed surprised. “That’s strange,” he said, more to himself. After a moment’s reflection he asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather find him?”

“No, I know where I can find him. I’d just like to find his parents, both of them if they’re still living. I figured someone here must remember a tragedy like that happening, a small boy turning up missing and never found. I wouldn’t know myself how to go about locating anyone who might know something about it. Neither did Angel, I guess, since he came back here after that mountain man who stole him died, but he didn’t have any luck finding out anything.” She sighed. “I know this isn’t much to go on—”

“On the contrary. I should have the names for you in a day or two. It may take a bit longer to get an address where these people are living now, but my agency has excellent resources in most every state, and the telegraph simplifies my job tremendously. An amazing invention, that. It’s helped to capture a great many criminals.” And then he was musing and mumbling to himself again. “Angel, huh? I wonder how many go by that name this side of the Mississippi.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” Phineas stood up to escort her to the door. “I hope you don’t mind if I start working on this in the morning.”

She blushed. “Certainly. I am sorry about the hour, but it’s not easy to get away from my mama during the day, and I’d never hear the end of it if she found out what I was doing. She really doesn’t like my husband.”

“Then she’s urging the divorce?”

“Yes, but it was already a mutual decision, since we got married by accident in the first place.”

“That’s a new way to put it.”

“Can you think of a better word for a shotgun wedding?” she asked.

He grinned. “I suppose not. And I can see why you would want a divorce. It can’t be easy, being married to a gunfighter, even for a short time.”

“How did you know he was a gunfighter?”

“With a name like Angel — it was a good guess.”

Cassie was impressed. The man was obviously a genius, and her money would be well spent.

Phineas wasn’t a genius, he’d just been sent here straight from his last assignment in Denver and happened to sit next to a gunfighter on the train by the name of Angel. He’d even spent a pleasant hour grilling the man with questions, his instincts telling him that anyone who looked like Angel did had to be on someone’s Wanted list. His instincts had been wrong in that respect, and he’d come damn close to getting himself shot for his persistence, but he liked living dangerously or he wouldn’t be in the line of work he was in.

And he didn’t go back to bed. An hour later, after trying three hotels and getting lucky with the fourth, he was knocking on a door himself.

A gun cocked in his face the second the door opened. He stared down its barrel before looking at the man holding it.

“Just met your wife,” Phineas said agreeably.

“My what?”

“She’s here in St. Louis.”

“The hell she is. She’s on her way back to Wyoming.”

Phineas smiled. “Little lady with great big silver-gray eyes?”

Angel put his gun away to the accompaniment of a foul expletive. He’d gotten halfway to Wyoming before he decided he’d rather not be in Cheyenne when Cassie got home. Putting distance between them hadn’t worked yet to get her off his mind, so he’d come to St. Louis to try once more to find his mother. That was one reason he was there. The other was, he figured it was about as far as he could get from his wife — and her damn divorce papers.

“I guess you were telling the truth about not having any other name besides Angel,” Phineas was saying. “At least not one that you know of. Sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

“You still are,” Angel said in pure disgruntlement. “So what do you want this time, Kirby?”

“Just a little information. Your wife has hired me to find your parents. It would be helpful if—”

“She did what?” Angel exploded. “Hell and I don’t believe that woman is meddling again this soon. She couldn’t even wait until she got home. And in my business this time!”

Phineas rocked back on his toes. He loved watching human reactions. Drop the right word or phrase, and people behaved in the most fascinating ways. He wouldn’t have expected this man to lose control, though. Just went to show that everyone did have at least one weakness.

Phineas tried again. “It would be helpful if you could supply me with a description of your parents, and anything else that you can remember about them.”

Black, emotionally charged eyes came back to the detective. “She hired you. Get your information from her.”

“Now, how did I know you wouldn’t be very cooperative?” Phineas replied. “They’re your parents, but I guess the little lady you married is the only one who wants them found.”

“All right, Kirby, you’ve made your point,” Angel said disagreeably. “I don’t remember my father, but my mother had black hair, curly, and dark eyes.”

Phineas whipped out his notebook before he asked, “As dark as yours?”

“No. I think they were brown.”

“Any scars or distinguishing marks?”

“Not that I recall.”

“What about her age or nationality?”

“She was young and pretty.”

“All mothers are pretty to their five-year-olds. Did she speak with an accent maybe?”

“If she did, then I would have, too, so I wouldn’t have noticed a difference, now would—?” Angel paused, looking slightly abashed. “Now that you mention it, I recall Old Bear said I talked funny when he first took me. ‘Course, he butchered the English language himself, so maybe I didn’t.”

“Then,” Phineas added, bringing back Angel’s scowl. “But, of course, you’re a product of your upbringing, which I imagine was quite primitive.”

“I don’t have any problem making myself understood,” Angel said in clear warning.

Phineas chuckled. “I don’t imagine you do. Guns always do speak louder than words.” And then he got back to the subject. “Now, my first guess would have been that, with your coloring, you’re part Indian, but you don’t really have the bone structure for it, and that mountain man would have known enough Indian not to remark on it if you spoke one of the dialects. My second guess is you’re Spanish, possibly pure. At any rate, the likelihood that she was a foreigner will help narrow down my questioning if I can’t locate any old newspapers.”

“You really think in a city this size that the disappearance of one kid would have been mentioned in a newspaper?”

“Absolutely. The problem will be finding one that keeps old issues. Most can’t afford the storage space, though some of those make an effort to at least keep their front pages. Then, too, news printers come and go just like other businesses. But like you said, this is a large city and has been for a very long time, so with any luck, there will be at least one paper that’s been around for the last twenty or so years.”

“And with my luck, that won’t be the one that keeps old issues.”

“You’re feeling unlucky these days?” Angel just grunted, causing Phineas to laugh. “Well, your luck’s about to change. This is one of my easier assignments. It’s tracking people with unlawful reasons not to be found that is time-consuming. This case won’t take any time at all.”

Angel wasn’t going to hold his breath. “If you do find ‘em, bring the bill to me. I’m not going to owe another debt to that woman I married.”

“I doubt she’ll appreciate that. She seemed to be looking forward to finding them for you.”

“Too bad.”

“But there’s a matter of ethics involved. She did hire me first.”

“Then I’m firing you on her behalf and hiring you on mine. Last I heard, a husband can still do that.”

“Up until he’s a divorced husband he can.”

“Get out, Kirby.”

Phineas was chuckling as he left. Angel slammed the door shut behind him. A few moments later, though, it hit him, forcefully, that Cassie was actually here in the city, probably no more than a few blocks away— and his damn body reacted to that knowledge with a vengeance.