Chapter 43

Special Note: all links within the chapters open up a new browser window. To return to the chapter, simply close the new window!

Will leaned back against the wilted, lumpy pillow and reached for the remote. Another holiday at a tacky roadside motel. Just hang tight, young Will, he muttered to himself, Soon your dreams will be realized and this whole sordid adventure will be behind you!

Pulling the remote control off the nightstand, he knocked his tattered copy of Sooner Than Never to the floor. He'd promised Laura he would go back over chapter 7 and have some ideas for her by the time she returned. But even as he reached for the book, he knew he just couldn't bring himself to do it. "It's Thanksgiving!" he whined aloud. "Scruffy, beer-bellied straight men all over the country get to lounge, gorge themselves, and order their women around today! Why should I miss out on all the fun?"

Will looked from the book in one hand to the remote in the other, and made his choice. There would be no gothic novel just yet. Today was made for lounging.

Will snapped on the t.v. and took mental stock of the past year. Just one year ago, they were fresh out on their journey. Centralia and Chicago were behind them; the adventure had just begun. In fact, he recalled, last Thanksgiving was even less festive than this -- weeks of recovery after flipping over in their car in the midst of the prairie. I guess I should breathe a silent prayer of thanks that I'm not in that situation again, he admitted to himself.

The past year had taken them to Colorado and California, to the house of Miss Amy and Anabella Huntington's crypt. Then up the coast to the Winchester House and a long lay-over at the Stinking Onion, and on to New York and Nebraska. It had split them up and brought them back again.

And now, this current locale, Cheyenne, Wyoming. Slipping out of Bayard had been surprisingly easy. Will and Laura had disguised themselves as Faye and vampyr and made a break for it hidden beneath the ample and obscuring padding of their ski parkas. The trip to Cheyenne had taken but a few hours, and somehow, their new locale had not been leaked to the press. It had all been easy so far.

Except for finding the damn clue, Will sulked, riffling through the soiled pages. He tossed the novel to the other bed, and turned his attention to the television.

A perfectly painted visage, framed by smooth platinum tresses, dominated the screen. "Ah! Jezebel!," Will cried out, hucking his pillow at the t.v. as the motel door opened.

"What are you doing?" Laura scolded as she stepped in from the cold.

Will pointed dramatically at the battered set. "It's Vesper! She just keeps turning up like bad penny! That evil woman should be locked up -- not dancing about like the Queen of May at the head of a parade!"

"Will, are you watching the Macy's Parade?" He sheepishly avoided her gaze. "I thought you were going to do some sleuthing while I was out."

"It's Thanksgiving!" he sighed plaintively. "Just the morning off ... then back to work. What did you bring me?" he wheedled.

"Doughnuts." She said flatly, handing him the bag. "Festive Thanksgiving doughnuts -- decorated with little turkeys and pilgrim hats. Now eat up so we can get back to work."

She settled in on the bed and handed him a cup of coffee, a cream and two sugars. "Orange or brown frosting?"

"One of each. Diet be damned, it's Thanksgiving!"

"A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips ..." she cooed to him. "So what has Simon rigged up this year?" Laura asked, turning her attention to the parade.

"It's a replica of the billboard he's put up in Times Square, with a sort of game-show dumb show going on in front. Very much 'Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.' Oh look!" he pointed. "There's Tim Phizer, as the toothless, hillbilly contestant. It's good to see him getting work."

She camera panned back to Simon and Vesper, perched atop the faux billboard, casting fake dollar bills down over the crowd.

"She's playing Lady Luck," Will wryly pointed out.

Laura grabbed the remote and turned off the t.v. "Ugh. I can't even bear to watch her, knowing what she's done. It gives me chills. Let's just get back to work, OK?"

Will sighed dramatically and reached for the book.

"When we last left our hero and heroine they were fleeing the house of Violet's evil father, bolstered by a new love as revealed by Harlowe's locket and the note hidden therein. If you'll recall, after their desperate flight through the Lopellop Mountains (with its terrifying vision of the wasted lands in her father's domain), they had sequestered themselves at the Laramy Brothers Monastery, and committed themselves to the gentle care of the Exalted Father Carey. So far, so good. We know that Cheyenne is in Laramie County, so we're in the right place. We've checked the local churches, but no clues have turned up. What next?"

Laura settled back against the creaky headboard and thought. "Let's review Violet's first night in the monastery. That's got a lot of weird stuff in it."

Will silently assented, and began reading in low, thrilling tones.

Violet tossed on the hard, straw mattress, a trickle of sweat coursing down her brow. The visions had returned. She dreamt she was pursued by a fiery stallion, rearing its head against a crimson sky. It chased her around a courtyard ringed with spectators. They cheered the inflamed beast, sparing no pity for young Violet's strange plight.

The shock of the fall dazed her momentarily. Looking up through the golden screen of her tresses she beheld -- the outside world! It was a doorway leading onto the highroad, a quick escape for those who wished to travel on. As tempting as it was to leave now, she knew she could not make her escape until she tried the other door. Deep within her she felt this sojourn would not be finished until she learned what was behind the first door. But she also felt the gravity of this moment -- the strange foreboding that what she would learn behind that door would change everything for her ... and forever!!

"Poor, sweet Violet! Suffering yet again so wretchedly," Will lamented. "Little help?" he prompted, as he reached for the doughnuts.

Laura handed him the box. "Better go easy on those. Our lives, of late, have been a bit sedentary. I'd hate to see you go soft in your youth."

"Oh, pooh! The tension of the last few months is enough to help me keep my girlish figure. What do you think of our tale so far? Think ole Simon has a tunnel fixation, or what?"

Laura meditatively bit into a pumpkin muffin. "Yeah, he's definitely a bit short on imagination at this stage in the game. What do you think the two doors mean?"

"Two separate paths to the next clue? A two-part clue? A red-herring -- one clue that is true and one that is ... not? Shall I continue?"

Laura nodded, and Will picked up the book.

Closing the door, Violet turned her attentions to the other portal. It was less worn than the first, less a prey to the elements. Reaching for the knob, she felt it give smoothly and noiselessly beneath her hand. She began to slide it open, but stopped at a mere crack. What was that sound? Voices. Merry voices in compact of agreement.

Poor Violet could not bear it. She felt as if her heart was breaking. Sadly, she slid the door back, and stood stonily still in the corridor. What path should she take next?

"End of chapter!" Will intoned sonorously. "Well! That gives us a lot to work with!"

"I'll say. Do you think this might have something to do with a lock?" Laura deadpanned."

"Ah, yes. The glory of repetition." Will brushed an orange crumb from his lip. "But where is it pointing? Locks. Foot lockers. Locksmiths. Canal locks. How far is the Erie Canal?"

"Too far. That's no go. Besides, I think we've established that the clue is here. Laramy Monastery ... Laramie County. It also fits that Violet has that dream about the stallion and the onlooking crowd. Cheyenne is pretty much rodeo central around here." She pulled out a visitors' brochure she had taken from the motel lobby. "They have an annual rodeo every summer. Here it is: 'Cheyenne Frontier Days, a western celebration and rodeo which is known as The Daddy of 'em All."

"Now that's pithy marketing. Such a 'down home' feel. Especially with the truncation of 'Them' into ''em.' I can actually hear the voices of the Old West."

"Wait a second! Give me the book." Will held out the tattered copy of Sooner Than Never which Laura greedily snatched up. She riffled through it, finally stopping to stab at a single, greasy page. "Exalted father! Daddy of 'em all!! The mysterious figurehead of the monastery points to Cheyenne's premiere social and historical event! Yep, Cheyenne is the place!

"Should we go to the rodeo? Is the clue there?"

Laura studied the tourist guide. "I don't think so. The rodeo is in July. We could check out the rodeo fairgrounds. But I don't think that's it. I think it's just part of the evidence leading us to Cheyenne. Along with the number 119. And the Centralia anchor."

"But what of its mysterious numbers, 8/14/28?" Will's eyes lit up. "Do you think? The numbers -- they refer to, maybe, a lock ... and its combination!"

Laura leaned in. "That could be it. It certainly ties a lot of this together. If we can just find a place in town that rents public lockers with combination locks, maybe we'll have our clue."

"One of them, anyway," Will interjected. "Remember our two doors. Two clues? A false clue and a true?"

"Point well taken -- but we've got to work with what we've got. And who knows? Maybe what's inside the locker will point us to the second clue!"

****

Leia Freitag leaned forward over the sleek, art deco desk. It was time to clamp down. Her little vacation at Vesper's posh loft had been fun, but it wasn't really getting her anywhere. She was convinced that Vesper was the key to winning the treasure. Chad, in his mad ravings, had intimated as much. But no matter how many trances she had sent him into, how many piercing questions, he failed to put the pieces together. The answer lay just out of reach.

Leia hunched in closer to the text and continued reading. Sweet Violet, so alone in the world, dogged by ...

"... these beautiful floats! And there's Barney, a 40-foot high balloon, right behind. Every year, you think the good people at Macy's can't outdo themselves, and every year they do!"

"Shilah!" Leia hollered over her shoulder. "Turn down that racket! I'm trying to think." Shilah's brow puckered just a bit as she fiddled with the remote.

"Thank you," Leia huffed, and returned to her labors. She knew that Vesper wore many hats -- many male hats. She knew she was on the outs with Simon Waterbury. She knew that she was once more intimately involved with both Simon and Chad -- though the thought made Leia cringe. What some women will do ..., Leia sniffed. And now there was this new element added to the mix, this Takamoto who asked for Christian Redding. A quick look into the phone book had led her to Takamoto Industries, with offices in Tokyo, Chicago and Los Angeles. But how did that fit? She had to think.

What I need, Leia thought, Is something to focus my thoughts. To limber me up. I need ... my beauty kit. A nice facial and manicure. That would be just the thing.

"Shilah, I need you to run an errand." She pulled her keys from her bag. "Go to my apartment and fetch my beauty kit from my vanity. It's in the boudoir -- the BEDROOM." That Shilah was such a dimwit. You really had to spell things out for her.

Shilah took the keys and turned to find her coat. She didn't like to leave Ms. Shillington's things unattended, not with that woman there, but close quarters made the errand attractive. "All right, Ms. Freitag," Shilah bobbed her head and pulled on her tennis shoes. "I'll be back in a twinkle."

"Take your time," Leila smiled stiffly.

****

"I didn't imagine Cheyenne was such a big town," Will puffed to Laura as they chugged across Thomas Avenue.

"The blocks are much bigger when you're walking them than when you're looking at them on the map. And it doesn't help that so many of them are blocked off."

Thanksgiving weekend was apparently a hotbed of holiday festivity in the frontier town, with a parade, a Christmas craftshow and a special Christmas concert -- featuring "nationally known performer, Stephanie Ann, with her delightful blend of bluegrass and country music."

As a result, things in Cheyenne were definitely not business-as-usual. Local stores were closed and hospitality booths were swamped with tourists. On a whim, Will suggested they check the local post office. "It won't be open," Laura warned. "It's holiday."

Will considered this. "True," he assented. But at least we can see if it has public lockers -- or private mailboxes." It was better than nothing, Laura had agreed, and off they went in search of the elusive lock.

But the way was not easy. The annual Cheyenne Parade was gearing up for its premiere just after sundown, and roads had been blocked in advance to hold back the crowds.

"Damn!" Will exclaimed, as they faced yet another roadblock. Only four more blocks to go, but we can't get there!" Sawhorses and portly policemen blocked entry to the street just ahead. Will's eyes glittered with determination. "Hang on, girl! Here we go!"

Grabbing her hand, Will plunged Laura into the street, sidestepping a sawhorse and slipping by a uniformed officer who was munching on a pastry. Just as they passed, he spun around, dusting doughnut crumbs from his uniform, and waved frantically after them.

"Hey! Stop!" he shouted through a mouthful of sodden crumbs. "Can't go there!"

Will pulled Laura to the opposite curb and darted down the sidewalk trailing her in tow.

Mid-block, Laura stopped him. "Will!" she cried breathlessly. He spun around. "Did you see the name of that street? Carey Avenue!"

He looked at her quizzically. v "Father Carey -- the exalted leader of Laramy Monastery! Do you think the clue is somewhere on Carey Avenue?"

"Oh, God! I hope not!" Will exclaimed. "That's one of the main drags on the parade route! We'll never find the clue with the crowds. But it's worth keeping in mind. I say we follow our present course, and then swing back after we check out the post office."

Laura nodded, and they moved on. Will pulled Laura through the crowds of tourists, townies and officials, forcing their way past roadblocks, booths and screaming children. Finally, the Cheyenne post office -- main branch -- appeared ahead of them like beacon in the chilly late morning sun.

The post office was deserted. "Looks closed," Laura sighed dejectedly.

"Buck up, my pet. There's still much to be learned. Let's take little peak in the door."

They climbed the steps and approached the double glass doors. "Bingo!" Will cried out. "The post office is closed, but the front lobby is open!" He pointed to a sign on the door. "After you," he flourished, ushering her in the doorway."

The front lobby was large, marble and empty. A glittering, golden statue of a valiant postman fighting the elements hung above double doors leading into the post office proper. Will tried the doors, without success.

"No trouble," Will chimed brightly. "I think what we need is here." He gestured to the rows and rows of private post office boxes lining the lobby walls. "Let's get to work."

Laura followed him to box #1, and stopped his hand on the combination lock. "Will, there are hundreds of boxes here. Let's be smart about this. What number is significant right now."

His eyes lit up. "I get your drift, you saucy thing. Are you proposing we start at box #119?" She smiled in agreement and followed him.

Will spun the lock -- 8 -- 14 -- 28 -- and heard a click. "Excellent suggestion, my prairie chick. And now," he swung the small door open, "We see our prize!"

He reached inside and felt a small, cold, flat object. A locket. "I have a feeling we're on the right path," he said, pulling it out to show Laura.

"Bingo," she replied solemnly. "Does it open?"

Will worked his fingernail along the smooth, grooved edge of the locket. It sprang open. Two photos were framed within. One was readily recognizable as Lily Waterbury. The other was less recognizable but eerily familiar. Laura stared at the photo, and her eyes widened.

"It looks like Vesper Shillington! Vesper as a man!"

Will took the locket from her. "Let me see. No, not Vesper! It looks like my sexy devil from down-under, Sebastian Moffat. I'm willing to bet you this is a portrait of our mysterious stranger, Philip Huffman."

"So, Philip Huffman opposite Lily Waterbury. They're linked together in the locket. Like Violet and young Harlowe. Are Violet and Harlowe doubles for Lily and Philip?"

"It all fits together. Lily and Philip paired as lovers -- as some of the tabloids of the day linked them -- like the pairing of Violet and Harlowe. Harlowe betrays Violet -- for the benefit of himself and her father. So did Philip betray Lily? Did he run off with her? Did he kill her?

A chill went through Laura. "That's a possibility," she said quietly.

Will examined the locket more closely. "Laura! Look at this." He carefully popped the photo of Philip Huffman out of the locket. There's another photo here." He turned the disk over to reveal a small portrait of Vesper Shillington. He looked significantly at Laura. "They're paired in some way," he offered. "Maybe because they are indeed the treacherous and infamous Huffman siblings!"

"Or maybe," Laura replied, "Because they are the same person. One faked death I can believe. But Louise Huffman is dead and buried. Are we supposed to believe that she also faked her death?"

"It's possible. Certainly more possible than the ludicrous suggestion that Vesper Shillington is a man! And what's more, a man with whom I shared a night of hot passion! I don't chase girly men! No lover of mine could ever pass for a woman!"

Laura was bemused. "I don't know, Will. I'm just suggesting a fairly plausible line of reasoning. Is there anything else in the locket to push it one way or the other?"

Will palmed the double photo, and looked at the locket. "There's an inscription on the inside. It was hidden by the photos of Vesper and Philip."

Evil paired with evil.
Back to back.
Two faces of the same coin.

Mixed face.
Like Tiresias.

"Chintzy," Will sniffed."It doesn't even scan. Simon is getting tired. But I think it's clear. They're paired. As brother and sister. Twins."

"Um, nice try, Will. 'Tiresias.' Remember? He alternated back and forth between male and female identities. Vesper and Philip are the same person!"

"I am shocked. Simply shocked," Will sputtered. "I'd rather not countenance your ludicrous suggestion, but for the sake of peace, we'll leave it at that. But if it's true, it may put one more murder on Vesper's head -- that of Lily Waterbury. And clearly, Simon knows!"

"But why would Vesper, uh, Philip, want to kill Lily? All the press talks about how she was an agreeable, and really harmless, young woman. Did Simon know about the murder? Did he sanction it? Why didn't he turn Philip in ... or Vesper? When did he find out Vesper was Philip ...?"

"Whoa, young filly!" Will halted Laura's questions with a wave of his hand. "That's too much to unravel right now. Let's return to the locket. My guess is, there's another side to Lily's photo as well."

Laura took the locket from him and slid her nail along the edge as he had done. The panel popped out, revealing a second image on the other side. It was a black and white photo of an infant.

"A baby," Laura breathed. "Their baby?"

"Is there another inscription?"

They peered at the locket's inner surface, now revealed by the removable panel. It read:

This is a secret for those who know.
The other door leads to the next clue.

"Duel clues, after all," Will mused. "And this clue is removable. It's only for 'those who know' -- those who are astute enough (thank you very much) to get both parts of the puzzle."

"And this part isn't part of the treasure hunt proper. The 'other door' -- the door Violet opens in Sooner Than Never -- leads to the next clue."

"A clue on Carey Avenue?" Will offered.

"You're guess is s good as mine. Let's go back to the hotel and think it through."

****

Chad Bismarck reclined on the unmade sofabed, channel-surfing. The Macy's parade, he smirked. Oh, that ought to be charming.

He was wondering how long he could string that Freitag bitch along. Hypnotist, my ass, he thought. It wasn't her 'spiritual trances' that had brought Chad out of his lunatic stupor; it was independence from Vesper's daily ministrations of hallucinogenics. Pump someone full enough of chemicals, and you'll scramble their brains good.

But Chad was unscrambled. He had been for weeks. But he wasn't ready to blow his cover just yet. He had gotten Freitag to do his leg-work for him. Goading her on to a treasure he feigned was just out of reach, he had easily 'suggested' that she hole up at Vesper's to gather more information. She reported back frequently, tossing out fresh clues to work on his so-called addled brain. He let just enough out and kept just enough back to make himself the information clearinghouse. Soon he would have enough information to find the treasure himself -- and wreak his horrible revenge on that bitch Shillington. Freitag wouldn't even know what hit her.

Chad was jarred from his reflections by the sound of a key sliding into the lock. Ahh, the little woman, he thought sardonically, working up some spit to dribble in honor of Leia's return.

The door creaked open, and in darted a small, be sweat-suited figure.

"Shilah!" Chad cried out, momentarily dropping his lunatic facade. "What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Chad?" Shilah queried uncertainly. "Is that you?" He pulled the sheet over himself, painfully aware of his nakedness. For once, Shilah saw how things were and saw them clearly. "You're all better. You're not a cussed madman!"

Chad thought quickly, or at least, as quick as he could. "Yes, Shilah. I'm all better. But that Leia Freitag is a bad, bad woman." Shilah's eyes widened. "But I can help protect you from her."

"And Miss Shillington?"

Chad smiled smoothly. "Yes, Shilah. And Miss Shillington, too."

The afternoon light had waned. The town was abuzz with the promise of impending holiday festivity at the 9th Annual Cheyenne Christmas Parade.

Will and Laura, their jackets pulled tight against the cold, skipped in and out of the crowds jostling along the parade route. It was the closest way, even if it meant weaving in and out of the parade-goers.

All afternoon, Will and Laura had focused on the second clue. Using a local map and countless visitor pamphlets, they narrowed in on the most likely locale for the next clue: The Cheyenne Old West Museum. As the guide book told them:

The Cheyenne Frontier Days Old West Museum puts Cheyenne Frontier Days and the American west on display 365 days a year! For visitors during Cheyenne Frontier Days, the Museum features a spectacular Art Show & Sale which brings together over 50 premier western artists. Year-round the Museum features exhibits on the American west, a Cheyenne Frontier Days history exhibit titled "Dust and Glory: 'The Daddy of 'em All,'" and one of the country's finest collections of horse-drawn vehicles.

The location: 4610 Carey Avenue.

As they hit Carey Avenue, they were surprised to find that only the first few parade attractions had turned the corner from 17th Street onto Carey. The banner announcing the parade, followed by baton twirling junior high girls, dotted the street. The loud clamor of a marching band and the glow of the first illuminated float was the sign of the tidal wave of festivities to follow. The sidewalks were choked with families. The street was empty. Will looked at Laura. She gulped and nodded. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the street, running full-tilt up the parade route.

The best time to check things out is during the parade, when the town is distracted, he thought. So we need to step on it. As the first float bore down on them, he kicked it into high gear, poor Laura trailing in his wake.

A roar came up from the crowd on the sidewalk. Will smiled and waved as he ran, gently nudging a skinny, satin-clad pre-teen out of is way. He dodged under the parade banner, almost pulling Laura to her knees as he went, and burst out in front of the leaders. Running full-tilt, he cleared the street and dived into the crowd where the parade route turned at 24th street.

Will thought his lungs would burst. "So much for me needing to watch my diet and exercise," he wheezed triumphantly to Laura, who panted in exhaustion and surprise beside him. Standing on the lawn in front of the Capitol building, he leaned over to rest for a second, hands on his knees.

Catching his breath, he stood up and announced with authority, "Now, to the Museum."

Snaking their way up Carey Avenue, they caught site of the museum ahead. It was a quaint building with a circular roof. The lights were out.

"I think it's time to play spider man," Will whispered to Laura and headed around to the back of the building. Climbing atop a storage lean-to at the back the building, Will braced beneath a wide, wood-framed window.

"Will, stop! What if there's an alarm?"

"If there's an alarm, we run. If not, we take a look around."

He shoved on the frame. Surprisingly, it gave rather easily, and slid open far enough to admit him. Will reached down to Laura, offering to pull her up on the lean-to. "Ally-oop!" he cried, as he pulled her up.

In minutes, they found themselves in the rear display room of the museum, surrounded in semi-darkness by the country's largest collection of horse-drawn vehicles. "Ah," Will sighed. "The trappings of an earlier age."

The two split up as they surveyed the room. Laura wandered in and out of the various buggies, carefully examining the descriptive signs with the aid of a small flashlight. Will perused the display cases that lined the wall.

"Oooh. A vaquero!!" Will swooned, gesturing to a mannequin in a display case. "I'd like him to rope my cattle!"

"Will," Laura intoned curtly.

"I'll behave," he answered sheepishly. "I'll check out the next room."

Laura returned to the buggies, painstakingly reading each display label. She was reminded of the displays in Takamoto's lobby. It can be anything, she silently reminded herself. It could be as loud as the Carpenters blazing over the Chicago river, or as small as a tiny piece of jewelry. And it could be removable, a new trend in Simon's clue. The key is to stay alert to all possibilities.

"Hey!" Will whooped from the other room. "Look what I found!" Laura hurried to the adjoining room to find Will clad in a pair of undersized sheepskin chaps, a tiny faux leather vest and a miniature cowboy hat. "It's an interactive children's museum! I'm a cowpoke! You want to be my prairie lass?" he asked, holding a flowered bonnet out to her.

Laura frowned. "Don't interrupt me again unless you have a lead," she growled and spun on her heels.

Will removed his wee costume and moved into the main hall of the museum. He scanned the several corridors leading off the main hall, chose one, and followed it to a door marked "Archives." Slipping his sleeve over the knob, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He hurried back to the buggy display and hissed at Laura.

"I've got a hunch." Laura followed.

Back in the archives, Laura and Will surveyed scene. The room was lined with file cabinets. More storage units filled the room. And a staircase leading downstairs opened out on yet more storage space. "It's promising," Laura admitted, "But daunting. Where do we start?"

Will ran his fingers through his hair. "8/14/28. It's a combination. What else could it be?"

"A date?" Laura asked hopefully.

"No harm in trying." Following the cabinets along the wall, they eventually located a bank of drawers labeled "1928." "We'll start here," Laura said, focusing on the drawers. "If nothing turns up, we'll try 1828 -- though that's a bit far back for the 'old west.'"

Will nodded and followed her down the aisle. "April, May, June, July, August! Here is is." She ran her finger down the cabinet, pulled open one of the drawers and selected a file. "August 14, 1928."

The file held a collection of news clippings dating back from the 1960s. "America Serves as Breadbasket to the World," screamed one. "Surplus Grain to be Shipped Over Seas," another cried out. "U.S. Bail-Out of Third-World Nations Means Food For All," and so on, throughout the file.

"Grain," Laura noted. "U.S. imports. The agriculture industry. And they're all from Chicago newspapers. What do you think it adds up to?"

"I don't know," Will answered, "But I do know it has nothing to do with the old west, or 1928, so I'm guessing ole Simon planted it. Are you satisfied?"

Laura nodded, cradled the file in her arms and followed her partner back to the buggy room and out the window.

home page * table of contents * previous chapter * next chapter

You are visitor #

---

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page