Ashes of Yesterday

Chapter 44

It seemed that every time they appeared at the mansion for dinner, the list of guests was smaller than the one before. Tonight, there was only Alfred, Albany, Flix, Phalen, and Emory. A very small cast, indeed. Flix tried not to let his eyes wander toward Albany, but it was proving very hard. What was it about her, he wondered, that drew him like a moth to a flame?

Knowing what he did about her did not seem to dampen his lust for her. He wondered again if the bullet done had more damage than he'd thought. His finger rose unconsciously to touch the scar. Had the speeding projectile somehow penetrated something deep inside his brain and altered his personality in some way?

He did not know. He only felt the burning desire for the beautiful swan who sat staring out the window looking for something that she could not find. What was it, he brooded, that kept her locked so tightly within her shell?

"I thaw Veda Dutcher, thith afternoon," Emory said.

Poor boy. He was trying so hard to be a congenial dinner guest. The rest of the folks at the table, Flix included, were hardly up for light conversation. They were all lost in thoughts that were far from the cheery room that was so elaborately decorated. Phalen was still thinking about the letter he'd sent Lillian. He was very subdued, hardly acknowledging the other guests at the table. What would be Lillian's answer? Would she even answer at all?

Hard to say.

Alfred the Great was in another world, as well. Word was that things with DaneValley's replacement were not going well. Tom Steele was a major part of that problem, no doubt. And what about the money woes that had been hinted to? Just how much had Kimball and Buck and Steppson sunk into the failed get-rich-quick land venture?

Madness. Money. Love. Hate. Revenge.

Those words kept twirling around in Flix's mind like leaves caught in a whirlpool. He stared down at his cake. It was a fancy little bit of sweet. Too rich for his tastes. He could tell just by looking at it. He forked off a tiny bit and was bringing it to his mouth when a door crashed open.

Tom Steele barreled into the dining room. The crumb of cake fell off Flix's fork and dropped to the floor. All eyes looked up at the large man swaying in the doorway. He was obviously drunk. A little more than usual from the looks of it.

"You tried to buy me off with a lifetime contract," Tom began.

His voice was so slurred it was hard to make out a word he was saying. Nobody moved. There was a gun in Tom's hand. He was pointing it wildly about the room, first at Steppson, then, unable to hold it steady, at anything and anyone nearby.

"Tom," Steppson said, "let's talk about this. I know you're upset. We all are."

"Shad-up," Tom said. "I'm tired of your talk. Tired. You hear! God, I'm so dead tired."

As if punctuating his exhaustion, Steele's eyes half-closed. It was at that moment that Phalen sprang from his chair and grabbed the gun. The two men grappled for a few seconds, hands entangled, pistol waving toward the chandelier. Flix jumped up to assist his friend. They managed to wrestle the pistol from Tom and move him to a chair at the perimeter of the dining room.

"I'll get on the horn to the cops," Steppson said. "You're through, Tom. I mean it! I've had enough. I don't know why I've put up with you this long."

Tom sat very still, staring off into space. Flix and Phalen were standing on either side of the drunken cowboy.

"You put up with me! You're the one who tried to pay me to dust off Kimball."

He had said the words softly to himself. If the two men had not been so close to Tom, they never would have caught what he was mumbling.