Killer Poker

Chapter 7





“You want me to go with you to a dinner party at Mr. Hudson’s house?” Rose Sullivan asked with a surprised but happy smile on her face.

Hudson cleared his throat as he stood in front of Rose’s desk with Conrad. “This was Mr. Browning’s idea, not mine,” he said, as if he wanted to be on record about that.

“I think it’ll be fine, Ellery,” Conrad said. “Will any of your guests actually know Rose that well?”

“I’m sure some of them have seen her here in the office. . . .” Hudson shrugged. “But if she wore her hair down, say, and was in an evening gown rather than business attire . . . we could tell people that she’s Violet’s niece or cousin, something like that, visiting from back east.”

A frown replaced Rose’s smile. “You want me to pretend to be somebody I’m not?”

“Just for this evening,” Conrad said. “And it would be very helpful to me.”

“Well . . . is this part of my work, Mr. Hudson?”

“Of course I can’t order you to do it,” Hudson said quickly. “But it would be a favor to us, and Mr. Browning and I would appreciate it.”

“Then certainly I’ll do it.” Rose got to her feet. “And I won’t disappoint you, Mr. Browning.” A worried look suddenly came over her face. “But I don’t have a gown that would be all right for something like that.”

“Julia can help you,” Hudson said. “The two of you can go out and buy whatever you need. Have the bills sent here to the firm.”

“That would be wonderful.” Rose smiled again. “I’ll go tell Mrs. Moorehead right now.”

As she bustled down the hall, Hudson looked over at Conrad. “Are you sure about this?”

“It’ll be fine, Ellery,” Conrad assured him. “And it’ll be an evening Rose never forgets.”

Hudson grunted, as if that might not be such a good thing.

Conrad went back to the Lansing House and told Arturo about the plan. “I’ll see to it that your best suit is cleaned and pressed, sir. And if I may be so bold, perhaps you should pay a visit to the barber.”

“Getting a little shaggy, am I?” Conrad laughed. “All right. I’ll do that.”

Conrad spent the rest of the day getting ready for the dinner party. In his mind, he went over the people he knew who were important figures in Denver’s society circles, trying to remember if any of them had been particularly close to Pamela. He thought of several people he definitely wanted to talk to that evening. Even if they weren’t close, Pamela might have gotten in touch with them when she passed through Denver three years earlier.

By the time the buggy picked him up at the hotel shortly before eight o’clock that evening, he didn’t look anything at all like Kid Morgan anymore. Elegantly dressed, carefully barbered, smelling a little of bay rum, he carried himself with the casual arrogance of the very wealthy. The people he would be seeing at the party would expect that of him.

But in the back of his mind, he unexpectedly found himself thinking that he would have been happier in some lonely trail camp far from civilization, drinking Arbuckle’s and eating bacon and beans next to a campfire. He couldn’t help but wonder if The Kid was now the real person, and Conrad Browning only a pose.

He put that thought out of his head. Conrad Browning was the father of those two children, so Conrad Browning he would be.

The buggy’s driver was a burly, middle-aged black man. “Good evening, Mr. Browning.”

“Good evening. We’ll need to pick up Miss Sullivan—” Conrad stopped short. “Blast it. I don’t know where she lives.”

The driver smiled. “Mr. Hudson provided me with her address, sir. That’s where we’re going next.”

“Excellent.” Conrad nodded. “Ellery usually thinks of everything. I suppose that’s what makes him such a good lawyer.”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver sent the buggy rolling over Denver’s cobblestone streets and pulled up a short time later in front of a boarding house.

“Is this it?” Conrad asked.

“Yes, sir. Miss Sullivan should be ready. Would you like me to fetch her?”

Conrad stepped down from the buggy. “No, I’ll get her. I’m her escort for the evening, after all.”

He went up the walk to the boarding house’s porch. The building was a gabled, three-story Victorian and appeared to be fairly new. It even had a bell-push next to the front door, instead of a knocker. Modern progress was everywhere in Denver.

A middle-aged woman answered the door. She smiled at Conrad and said, “Oh, my goodness. You must be Mr. Browning. Rose has told me all about you.” She stepped back. “Please, come in. I’m Mrs. Sherman, her landlady.”

As Conrad went into the foyer, he took off the soft black hat he was wearing. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Is Rose ready?”

“I’m sure she is. I’ll just go and let her know you’re here.”

Mrs. Sherman started toward the stairs, but before she could get there, Rose appeared at the second-floor landing. She started down the stairs, being careful in her descent.

The long-sleeved, dark blue gown hugged Rose’s body closely enough to show it off to her advantage, and the square-cut neckline was low enough to reveal the start of the valley between her breasts. The glittering necklace she wore drew even more attention to that area. Fine white lace at the cuffs and neckline of the gown set off the dark blue color of the material. Her honey-blond hair hung down around her shoulders with an attractive wave now that it wasn’t pulled up on her head in a more conservative arrangement.

Conrad waited at the bottom of the stairs for her, and as she reached them, he held out a hand to her. As she took it, he said, “You look lovely, Miss Sullivan.”

She blushed prettily. “Under the circumstances, shouldn’t you call me Rose, Mr. Browning?”

“All right,” he said with a smile. “And I’m Conrad.”

“Of course . . . Conrad.”

Her voice was a little husky as she said his name. He felt himself reacting to her. He was only human, after all.

But he was also engaged in important business, and Rose had a part to play in that business. “Shall we go?”

“Certainly. Just let me get my shawl.”

Mrs. Sherman stepped forward holding a lace shawl. “It’s right here, Rose. My, don’t you and your gentleman friend look fine tonight, just fine!”

Conrad didn’t bother correcting the landlady about him being Rose’s “gentleman friend.” He didn’t know what she might have told Mrs. Sherman about what was happening, and it didn’t really matter. As long as Rose did her job and gave him a chance to find out what he wanted to know, that was all he cared about.

With Mrs. Sherman beaming and clasping her hands together in front of her, Conrad and Rose left the boarding house and walked out to the buggy. He linked his arm with hers as he did so. Might as well get used to acting like they were a real couple, he told himself.

The driver didn’t waste any time getting the buggy rolling briskly through the streets, and it wasn’t long before they pulled up in front of the mansion that belonged to Ellery and Violet Hudson. It was similar to the boarding house where Rose lived, but it was built on a much larger and grander scale. If it had been daylight, Conrad might have been able to count all the gables, but he probably wouldn’t have bothered. A flagstone driveway led through a large lawn dotted with shrubs, flower beds, and trees, and the brightly lit house made a pretty picture as the buggy approached.

A number of other buggies and even some old-fashioned carriages were parked in front of the house, where the drive made a circle around a big flower bed. Guests were climbing out of some of those vehicles.

When the driver brought the buggy to a halt, a liveried butler was there to help Conrad and Rose get out. Conrad hopped lithely from the buggy and motioned the man away, then turned back to take Rose’s hand. She smiled in appreciation of his gallantry.

Another servant was at the door to greet them and take Rose’s shawl, which he turned over to a maid. The man led the two of them into a large, luxuriously appointed room where people with drink in their hands were mingling. Laughter and talk filled the air, just like it would have in a saloon, but it was a much more subdued sound.

Once again Conrad was struck by how strange it all seemed to him. At one time in his life, he had spent many of his evenings in settings just like that one. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago, as if someone else besides him had lived through those experiences and somehow the memories had intruded into his brain.

“Conrad, there you are!” Ellery Hudson emerged from the crowd to shake his hand. Then he turned to Rose, put his hands on her shoulders, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “And Rose, you’re looking as lovely as ever.”

She looked shocked, until Conrad leaned close to her and whispered, “You’re supposed to be a member of the family, remember?”

Rose smiled brightly, gave Hudson a hug, and said, “Ellery, darling. How are you? How’s Violet?”

“Anxious to see you,” Hudson said as he slipped out of her embrace. “She’s right over there.” He pointed to an attractive brunette in a green gown. “Why don’t you go say hello to your cousin, dear? I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Of course,” Rose murmured.

As she moved through the crowd, smiling and gracious, Hudson said quietly to Conrad, “Quite a little actress, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Conrad agreed.

“I’ve been talking to people about you,” Hudson went on. “You know how this crowd likes to gossip. Whenever I brought up your name and said that you were going to be here tonight, nearly everyone brought up the tragedy that befell you, if I may speak frankly.”

“Please do,” Conrad said with a nod.

“Everyone’s very glad that it turned out you weren’t killed after all.”

Conrad smiled tightly. “That’s good to know.”

“A few people brought up Pamela as well. They remember when the two of you were engaged.”

“Do any of them remember her being here three years ago?” Conrad asked. His heart began to beat a little faster as he waited for Hudson’s answer.

“Actually, one man did remember her paying a visit to Denver about the time we’re interested in.” Hudson put a hand on Conrad’s arm. “But brace yourself, Conrad. He didn’t know anything about the children.”

Conrad felt a surge of disappointment. He swallowed it and told himself that was just the beginning. Whoever the man was, he might know more than he realized, especially if he had spent any time with Pamela while she was there. “Who is it? I want to talk to him.”

“That’s the odd thing about it . . . I don’t believe you even know him. He didn’t live in this area when you and Pamela were engaged. He became acquainted with her when she was here the last time. I’ll introduce you.”

Hudson guided Conrad through the crowd. As they approached a knot of men standing in front of a huge fireplace that wasn’t lit at that time of year, he heard loud laughter coming from them, evidently prompted by something one of the men had said. That man stood with his back to Conrad, his broad shoulders seeming to stretch the expensive fabric of his coat.

“Excuse me,” Hudson said as he and Conrad stepped up to the group. “Conrad, I’d like for you to meet Ransom McKinney—”

The big man swung around in response to the lawyer’s voice. Conrad recognized him instantly.

The man was the son of a bitch who had attacked Conrad in the Palace gambling room the night before.