C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Preston shoved Matilda into the chair by her sewing machine and took up a position behind. He waved Samantha away when she started to kneel in front of her employee. “She doesn't need to read your lips Samantha, Mrs. Frye, can hear as well as you or I.”
“Wh… what do you mean she can hear as well as us?” Samantha quavered.
Matilda sat rigid, her countenance a stony mask.
“It is a rather long and complicated story,” Preston said. “I have been piecing this puzzle together for many months. As your father has been loosely informed, Samantha, I am in Way-cross on a federal investigation regarding the banking industry. Matilda is one of the masterminds behind an organization that has been assuming possession of small town banks throughout the territory. Moody, I briefed you earlier today, so I won't belabour that issue. Anyway, I'm certain to know more when I've perused these scorched documents….”
A swirl of wind brought a shower of rain through the broken window. The lamp dimmed, its flame threatening to die. Samantha retrieved the material she had planned to use for a temporary covering, extracted several long pins from her sewing basket and hurried over to the opening. Dexter, seeing her intentions, moved to help. Over his shoulder he grunted, “Keep talkin' McBain.”
The captive shifted in her seat and Preston warned, “Don't make me have to tie you up.
“You see, Matilda Frye is truthfully Mrs. Ethyl Rittinger, twenty year wife of Governor Sheffield Rittinger….”
Samantha dropped her end of the canvass as Dexter turned so fast he pulled it from her hands. “She's what?” he croaked.
McBain nodded. “Yes, she and the governor are married. Matilda has used other aliases in the past, the most infamous, Louise Lafayette; you have her picture on an old warrant in your office, Moody, and frankly, though it barely resembles her, it was that dodger that gave me cause for consideration.”
Samantha grasped the material and, taking a large stick-pin from her mouth, asked, “Who is Louise Lafayette?”
“Miss Lafayette is one of the people who profited immensely from the Credit Mobilier Scandal ten years ago. Both she and the not yet governor, Rittinger were up to their necks in embezzling Federal subsidies for railroad construction. But no one knew they were husband and wife; that information and the realization that he was involved in the scandal have come as a result of my investigation. When the situation grew too hot, Miss Lafayette, most conveniently, died….”
A second gust of wind tugged the curtain from Dexter's hands. He grumbled, “Sam, let's pin this damn thing up here before the twister hits again.”
Preston continued, “Though not directly involved with that part of the case, I had access to pertinent information and followed the federal investigation quite closely.” He touched Mrs. Frye's shoulder. “What was it, Matilda, you were pushed off a train? Yes, I think that is what happened. How ironic you should die while riding with the railway company you stole a fortune from!”
“Louise Lafayette was, ostensibly, killed and she took the fall, not just from the moving train, but also for the missing money. Her share was never recovered. Rittinger, smooth politician that he is, came under no suspicion.”
The pair at the broken window managed to fasten the canvas securely. It bulged inward but kept out the moisture as the intermittent drops spattered dully on the sheet. Dexter reached for his makings and fashioned a cigarette. Addressing the subject of McBain's dialogue he asked, “So, Matilda, what did you do with all that money?”
The widow Frye allowed no indication that she had heard and Preston answered for her.
“It is a safe assumption that capital for the initial buy out of the local banks came from proceeds of the Credit Mobilier Scandal.”
Mrs. Frye squirmed in her seat; hot, seething anger flashing in her eyes.
Samantha looked away. Sadness steeped in her voice as she begged, “Tell me this isn't true, Matilda. Please tell me you aren't this Louise Lafayette, or, or Governor Rittinger's wife.”
“He can't prove anything,” Matilda snarled. “He is just….”
Samantha whirled to face the prisoner. “He is just what, Matilda? He has just proven that you are not deaf, you could not read my lips when my head was turned… that makes Mr. McBain's accusations easier to believe…” Samantha's voice broke, “…knowing that you have deceived me for so long….”
Dexter moved to his stepdaughter's side and placed a comforting arm around her.
The gunpowder and smoke had gone out the window; now, with the canvass sealing up the room, the smell of blood and death emanating from the grotesque body lying exposed in the door way began to permeate the air.
Footsteps sounded on the walk, paused, then a hesitant knock preceded the opening of the door and a haggard George Kirwin poked his head in. “Saw the shop lamp. Everything all right in here?”
Diamond, who had placed one hand on Matilda and the other on his Colt, relaxed.
Dexter answered, “We've had another shootout, George. There's a dead man stretched out here on the floor.”
Kirwin stepped in, closed the door and came close enough to see the dead stranger. “Not one of ours,” he sighed his relief. Then, searching the faces of the living, he said, “What's going on now?”
“McBain, here, is telling us a story. I'll fill you in later, George. I'm not so sure I understand things as they sit right now.”
The mayor frowned at his exclusion, but Preston extinguished protest, “Mr. Kirwin, this body should be moved to the morgue. Could you round up a couple lads to take it there?”
Kirwin's mouth worked several times. He was not used to being told what to do, but the authority in McBain's voice precluded argument. He grumbled, “Russell Frost's funeral parlour is already quite full… I'll see if he can fit in another corpse.”
“I'll wait here for you, Mr. Kirwin,” Samantha offered.
The mayor left abruptly and McBain returned his attention to the captive. “Ethyl Rittinger became the driving force behind Sheffield Rittinger's rise to the governorship. With a change in identity, a change in appearance —trust me, it is easy to do— she moved west and assumed the role of the loving wife of a budding politician. But something went awry… maybe someone saw through the disguise or recognized Louise Lafayette. Perhaps an accomplice from the past returned to haunt them. Mrs. Rittinger suddenly became ill and died —for the second time— in a small town hospital. The glib Sheffield Rittinger played on the sympathy of key personalities, using this devastating setback as the final leg up to the governorship.”
Dexter drew a chair from the second sewing machine and planted his weary frame on the seat. He removed his hat and brushed a sleeve across his forehead. Relighting the stub of his dead cigarette he growled, “How do you know all this? Where did you find this information?”
Preston noted the sheriff used the term “information” instead of his earlier “hogwash”.
“Mostly, I worked with a handful of my own suspicions and a confusion of suspicious acts by others. For instance: When I first received orders to commence this investigation, I found it curious that the complaint made to the President contained no reference to territorial representatives. Subsequently, I learned that Governor Rittinger has been oblivious to the recent change in ownership of thirty financial institutions. That in itself could be an outrageous coincidence, however, he must certainly have been made aware of the squeeze these new managements have placed on the citizens in his bailiwick. Obviously, these protestations never went further than Rittinger's desk. A group of citizens finally circumvented the Governor's office to bring the matter to a higher level of investigation. This latter revelation, along with several other responses to my queries, arrived via telegraph late yesterday. The telegrams supplied sufficient background for me to draw firm conclusions.”
Deliberately shifting back, Preston continued, “I do not know the whereabouts of the late Louise Lafayette or Mrs. Ethyl Rittinger during the interim while she and Sheffield concocted a scheme to inherit half of the territory. Probably about the same time Ethyl Rittinger died, Matilda aged twenty years and became Mrs. Frye. The Widow Frye was an ingenious cover for the dead aliases; Samantha provided the perfect situation when she issued the advertisement for a seamstress. What better place to hide than Way-cross?”
“Hiding in my sewing shop!” Samantha cried. “Matilda, how could you do this to me? We were… I thought we were friends.” She turned to McBain, an appeal in her tear-filled eyes, “Brad, Matilda can't be who you say she is. She couldn't have fooled me this long.”
Dexter sighed, “Sam, she fooled you into thinkin' she was deaf; that's a fact.”
“Mrs. Rittinger, Widow Frye, has fooled many people in her lifetime,” Preston said. “The day I rode into town, as you recall, Moody, someone took a shot at us from atop this sewing shop. I knew it was me, not you, they were trying to kill. When the shooting started, I noticed the head of the sniper was bare —not remarkable, for a man would have removed his hat in order to keep a lower profile— but a man would not have his hair tied up in a bun. It was a very quick glimpse —I wasn't positive— regardless, I deliberately aimed off-target when emptying my gun, feeling that the assassin may be more valuable to me alive than dead. Subsequently, I climbed up on the roof to fix the bullet holes, and,” Preston searched a pocket, then extracted a small piece of gray cotton material. “This remnant was hooked on the head of a nail. This is a coincidence, I must admit, but Mrs. Frye is now wearing the dress which this piece came from. One night I watched through the kitchen window as she mended the tear. If you were to inspect the lower hem, you would find evidence of repair work.”
“You filthy, peeping son of a bitch!” Matilda swore.
Preston ignored the outburst. “That same night, I also began to suspect that Widow Frye wasn't deaf: I felt certain she heard the whistle on the kettle when her tea water boiled.”
Sheriff Dexter's lips were moving but no words came out. Samantha stared vacantly at Matilda.
McBain went on, “Frank Collier, the desk clerk at the Grand Hotel, informed me that Rittinger often stayed in Way-cross. I didn't think much of this information, for the town is the end of the line for Union Pacific and there is a substantial area of the Governor's territory beyond the rails. However, I did check on him from time-to-time during his last visit. On one occasion, the night of the storm, he had female company in his room. Though the voices were indistinguishable, I determined that they were more than casual acquaintances. I waited outside the Grand's rear entrance and saw a lady leave the hotel later that evening. The lamp blew out and I could not be absolutely positive….”
With a lie Diamond baited the trap: “Frank Collier admitted it was Widow Frye.”
And Matilda stepped in with both feet: “Sheffield is my husband!” she shrieked. “Of course we spent time together! We don't have a normal marriage anymore….” She bent forward, covering her eyes with her hands as sobs shuddered through her body.
Samantha stepped closer to console the lady whom she had come to regard as a dear friend.
In a flicker, the vulpine Widow Frye snatched the sewing basket from her machine and drew out a small .38 revolver. Fully cocked, she pointed the deadly weapon at her former employer. Matilda snarled, “Nobody touch me or the gun goes off. Back away, McBain. Dexter, keep your hands clear or I swear I'll shoot your daughter dead.”
Horror struck, Samantha stared at the muzzle. Dexter stepped away, his hands raised high. McBain calmly reached over the lady's shoulder and prized the gun from her fingers.
Unfortunately, not before she managed to squeeze the trigger.
Click.
Samantha's knees sagged and Dexter stepped forward to catch her. “Damn it, McBain, the old bitch would have shot Sam. How the hell did you know the gun wasn't loaded?”
Preston delved in another pocket and palmed six brass cartridges. “Remember the day I put Muley Trippett through Samantha's window? I used a measuring tape from Mrs. Frye's sewing machine; the tape lay partially covered by the sewing basket and when I raised the basket the weight seemed quite out of proportion. Tonight when Samantha and I came in the shop, I noticed the sewing basket again and my curiosity was renewed. So, while Samantha was lighting the lamp I looked inside and found the revolver. As a precaution, I unloaded it.”
Shock masked Samantha's face. “Matilda, you tried to shoot me…You would have killed me….”
McBain attempted to soothe the distraught girl. “Her heart pumps pure venom, Samantha, there is not a drop of true blood in her veins. You would not be her first victim…”
Dexter glowered at Matilda, “Who else did you try to kill?”
Preston answered for the mute lady who had conveniently become deaf again. “Mrs. Frye hired Muley Trippett to spring Kenny Lester from your jail, Moody. She is the one who paid them the five Double Eagles to murder me. She is the killer who shot Muley Trippett dead in his cell; murdered him in cold blood so he wouldn't talk.”
Samantha shuddered, a mask of horror on her face. “Oh, Matilda… How could you…”
“The truth may never come to light, but I believe that my encounter with the Lester brothers before reaching Way-cross was simply misfortune. They desperately needed horses and I had one. It is entirely possible, but I do not think Mrs. Rittinger had a hand in that misguided hold-up.
“The Chief was hired, by Governor Rittinger, I suspect, to draw me into a fight in which I would surely be killed. I know the two of them were mutual acquaintances.”
Dexter, now entirely convinced of McBain's credibility, grunted, “Well, that didn't pan out for 'em either.”
“So they brought in this fellow,” Preston nodded toward the dead gunman, “and four others to tidy up the loose ends. I think the Rittingers had hoped to stop before Way-cross —it was too near for Matilda's comfort— but they knew I had to be eliminated. Perhaps they had a scheme to incorporate my demise with the attempted assassinations at the bank. Possibly pressure from other members in their organization drove them to tip over one more money house. No doubt, they feared losing control, a small slide had turned into an avalanche.
Preston changed the topic. “I wonder what's happened to Kirwin? He ought to have returned or sent someone by now.”
Dexter shrugged. “Probably making room at Frost's; like George said, the place will be fillin' up.”
Samantha sighed. “Charlie Morris and the little Deitrict boy in with all those dead thieves and murderers, it doesn't seem right.”
Dexter stiffened, “What about that feller you shot out the hotel window? What about that bastard making off with Sam?”
“That is one of several pieces I had a very difficult time putting into place. Ballard —that is the word written on his plaster cast and also the name he used when I knew him in Clarkston— must have been part of a another plan to be rid of me. He left the note in my room; the writing matched the scrawl on the cast. I suspect the idea was to lure me out of town to find Samantha, and then Dunvegan and Peel —that is the names of two more men who died this afternoon— would be waiting in ambush along the trail.”
“But how come I cannot remember being taken away with that dirty man, the one you call Ballard, the one with the broken arm?” Samantha interjected. “How come I can't remember… some other things?”
The shop door was pushed open to admit George Kirwin and two young men from Way-cross. Preston recognized one as an employee at the former mercantile. The mayor said to them, “Take that body down to Russell Frost.” Then he addressed the others, “Sorry I took so long, Russell needed help making more space.”
While the helpers lugged the gunman past them Preston kept a firm hand on Matilda's arm.
Mayor Kirwin closed the door behind the men then turned back to the quartet in the sewing shop. Folding his arms with an air of finality, he said, “Now, Sheriff, I would like to know just what the hell is going on in my town.”
“A hell of a lot, George. A hell of a lot. McBain here, is in the middle of rolling out a tale I can't hardly believe, but it all fits, near as I can tell. Right now he's talkin' 'bout that feller who kidnapped Sam; the one he shot out the window of the Grand.”
Kirwin nodded at McBain, “I'm listening.”
Preston gazed into Samantha's troubled blue eyes for a moment before continuing. “Your trusted employee is the reason that you cannot remember anything of your abduction. She is also responsible for the other gaps or lapses in your memory.”
“But she never did anything,” Samantha protested. “I wasn't drugged. Why did I suddenly wake up on the back of a strange horse out on the wagon road by the forks? I wasn't tired or even drowsy. And, why did I have your gun in my hand that day,” Samantha reddened, “That day we went for walk in Dad's pasture?”
“There may have been other instances you do not even suspect,” McBain said. “For example, you were in my room one afternoon when I was out… my travel trunk had been tampered with but you could not slip the lock.”
Dexter flashed a glance at Kirwin; the sheriff would not tolerate malicious rumours of his daughter being in a stranger's hotel room. “Now, how do you know that, since you weren't there?”
“The expensive perfume Samantha sometimes wears, the fragrance given her by Mrs. Frye; it is quite unique and quite alluring. The scent of it lingered in my hotel room when I returned one evening.”
Dexter scoffed, “Now that may be stretchin' too far. Any gal could'a wore that same kind o' perfume. Maybe it was the Dixon girl, the chambermaid.”
Samantha touched her fathers arm. “No, Dad, there isn't likely another bottle of that within a hundred miles of Way-cross.”
“Then how the hell did it get in McBain's room?” Dexter expostulated.
The widow had clammed up entirely. She no longer struggled, seldom even blinked. She sat relaxed, completely composed. Kirwin remained silent but his eyes followed the banter like a cat watching a chickadee.
“Matilda Frye is a hypnotist.”
Sheriff Dexter and Samantha drew back as if McBain had announced Matilda was a rattlesnake.
Widow Frye stiffened and her lips curled in a snarl.
Preston Diamond had just trumped her last ace.
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