Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8)

Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8) Page 50

Here, she mouthed silently to Dillon.

He nodded to show he understood.

Here. The gold was right here.

“Let’s have a tune, George,” Dillon said. “And a song, Milly.”

Timothy began to play “A Bird in a Gilded Cage,” and Sandra choked out the words.

“Good,” Dillon said approvingly. “John Wolf had the winning hand. He and Mark Davison—that’s you, Rudy—were the only ones still in the game. Ringo was bored, and Percy…he knew you were coming, Varny. He knew because he had warned you that I was heading back to town. He suspected that I knew where the gold was, and that you had to get to it fast, before I could. You terrorized him into doing your bidding. Sad, because deep down, I think he wanted to be a good guy. He just wasn’t quite there yet. You know, a lot of religions believe that we’re reincarnated, and that we grow with each life. I think Percy’s finally found his courage, and that in this life, he’s going to be a good man.”

“What the hell is all this?” Darrell Frye demanded. “Shut up already and get to the gold!”

Timothy suddenly pulled Jessy down to the piano. He smiled at her and put her fingers on the keys. She kept playing, kept singing in a low soft voice. She turned and her heart froze; Timothy was gone.

“Now you arrive, Varny,” Dillon said. “You come up to me and get in my face about the gold. Come on, Sarah. If you want it, play it out.”

As he spoke, Jessy found herself holding back a gasp. Sandra let out a low moan and stopped singing, and Reggie clutched her mother tightly.

Suddenly, everything seemed real. There were four men at the poker table. There was cigar smoke in the air. Beyond the swinging doors, the sun was falling lower, a bloodred blossom in the sky.

The men around the table suddenly rose. Hugo screamed, and Jessy knew that he could see them, too: Ringo, Tanner and Rudy, all in period attire and armed with six-guns. He screamed again, drew his own gun and fired, but his shot went wild.

Dillon, too, had come to the gunfight—with a gun. He fired, dropping Hugo, then spun on a dime, and Darrell Frye, his hands shaking as he tried to aim, went down next. Then Dillon turned to Sarah.

But she had her gun leveled on him. “Not yet, cowboy,” she said smoothly. “And I don’t care what visions you’ve conjured. They’re not real. And I still want my gold.”

The saloon doors suddenly swung open with a vengeance, drawing Sarah’s attention. She shot wildly at the doors, but there was no one there.

Ringo took a step forward, and Sarah’s eyes darted in the direction of his clinking spurs.

Dillon took advantage of the moment, but he didn’t shoot her. He slammed his fist into her gut, and she cried out in agony, dropping her gun as she crashed to the floor.

Suddenly there was a silhouette in the doorway, and an authoritative voice said, “I’ll take it from here, Dillon. Good thing Mr. Sparhawk slipped out the back to warn me not to come charging in or I’d be shot full of holes now. The shooting’s all over for the night, folks.”

“Dillon!” Jessy screamed. It wasn’t over. Sarah had reclaimed her gun and taken aim at Dillon again, a crazed glint in her eyes. “They’re not real!” she screamed.

Gunfire exploded. Dillon had no chance to take aim and fire, but Sarah made a shocked, gurgling sound, and a pool of blood was staining her shirt.

Ringo Murphy was standing a few feet away, a small trail of smoke rising from the barrel of the Colt he had leveled at Sarah Clay. She stared at him, seeing him and finally believing in him, as the glare of fury, hatred and bitterness faded from her eyes until there was nothing there at all. Ringo might be a ghost, but he had taken a real gun from the fallen body of Hugo Blythe, and with it and the legacy of the past, he had dealt justice with it in the present.

Sandra started to sob, hugging Reggie. Timothy went over to her, taking her into his arms. “It’s all right, Sandra, it’s over now.”

“What…the hell just happened?” Cheever asked.

“Just a trick of light and energy—and time,” Dillon told him. Cheever would know, if he thought about it, that it couldn’t have been so simple, but he would accept the explanation, because the reality would be just too hard to acknowledge.

As Jessy stood and walked unsteadily over to the table, she heard the sounds of sirens, car doors slamming and the voices of Adam, Brent and Nikki, as well as a number that she didn’t recognize. People would be all over them in a minute. She threw herself into Dillon’s arms, and he held her tightly, whispering against her hair before pulling away and kissing her lips.

“Oh my God, Dillon, you did it,” she whispered.

“With help,” he said, smiling.

“Ringo was brilliant.”

“Yes, he was. But I meant you. You kept everyone alive until I could get here.”

She laughed. “Only because she believed you could find the gold.”

“As a matter of fact, I think I have a pretty good idea where it is,” he told her.

She drew away, smiling. “I know,” she said.

“You do?”

“I walked with Timothy’s ghost dancers in a dream, and I saw John Wolf. It’s here. He looked at his Mariah, and that’s what he said, ‘Here.’”

He laughed. “That’s it. The exact answer. Here in the saloon. We’re standing on it.”

Epilogue

A month later, Jessy was fiddling with her bouquet when Dillon came over and stood next to her. The organist was getting ready, the crowd had assembled and the service was about to start.

“They found it,” he whispered.

“Who found what?” she whispered back.

“The excavators found the gold. The vein was right there, running under the saloon. Now the Paiute nation will have the gold, and the town will come back to life.”

She rose on her toes and kissed him. “That’s great. Now, please, get out of my way. I have somewhere to be.”

It was a simple ceremony, but Jessy wanted everything to be right. When the music began, she looked back. Sally Teasdale, hiding behind the door, gave her a wink and a wave. Jessy started down the aisle, tossing flower petals as she went, until she reached the make-shift altar. The music changed, and to the traditional strains of “Here Comes the Bride,” Mrs. Teasdale, in simple but elegant pale blue with a matching veil, came walking down the aisle, smiling radiantly.

Timothy, tall and handsome, was waiting for her.

The ceremony was presided over by a minister and a shaman. Words were spoken in English and in Sioux, and Jessy was certain that the guests understood everything that was said, no matter what language. The ending was traditional, as the minister and shaman spoke together and said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Timothy kissed the new Mrs. Sparhawk, and the assembled group of fifty or so—friends and anyone from the home who wanted to attend—applauded mightily.

It was time for the meal. Jessy took her seat next to Dillon, and Adam, Brent, Nikki, Jerry Cheever, Doug Tarleton, Sandra and Reggie all joined them at the table.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Jerry Cheever said.

“Absolutely,” Sandra agreed. They’d been on two dates already; this was their third.

“I should have been the flower girl,” Reggie said, shaking her head.

“I was the maid of honor,” Jessy told her. “I just happened to throw flowers, too.”

“And you’re too old to be a flower girl,” Sandra said.

“You can be a bridesmaid at my wedding,” Jessy told Reggie.

“Are you getting married?” Reggie asked.

“Well, if I ever do,” Jessy said.

“If you want us to stick around for that wedding,” Nikki said, “it had better be soon. We can’t stay here in Vegas forever.”

“Actually, if Jessy agrees, you might still be here for our wedding,” Dillon said. His dark eyes flashed as he looked at Jessy.

“Is that a proposal?” she asked him.

He nodded.

“It wasn’t a very good one.”

Dillon laughed and slipped to his knees by her side. “Jessy, will you marry me? I know we haven’t been together long, but I also know I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you or want to spend my life with anyone else.” He paused. “Was that better?”

She laughed. “Yes, yes, you can get off your knees. Why the hurry?” she whispered for his ears alone, but he just shook his head.

“Later,” he whispered back.

“She’ll be Jessy Sparhawk Wolf. Sounds like a zoo,” Reggie said, shaking her head.

“I’ll be going with you to pick out the bridesmaids’ dresses. I do not wear pink or anything ridiculously frilly.”

Everyone laughed, and the talk turned to planning and guest list.

That night, as they lay in bed together, she finally found out why Dillon was in such a rush.

“Ringo is leaving,” he told her.

“What? Why?” she asked, distressed.

“He says he’s a third wheel. But the truth is, he’s finished what he’s tried to do for over a hundred years. He told me he can feel the light calling to him, says he can see it in a way he never did before. And he’s longing to go.”

She nodded. She was sad, but she understood.

Six weeks later they were married. It ended up being a huge affair, with all the entertainers and casino friends Jessy had ever worked with in attendance, along with friends of Dillon’s from Nevada, and beyond. Sandra and Nikki had gotten together to do most of the planning, and the end result was both traditional and contemporary. None of the trimmings that came with a wedding meant much to Jessy, though. She was in love with a man who was also her best friend and her strength.

Two days after the wedding, Jessy and Dillon made another drive out to Indigo. Ringo was with them, squishing Jessy in the middle between himself and Dillon. She tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway.

He tried to comfort her. “Don’t be sad. It’s just time.”