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Hunter leaned forward and banged his fist on the table. “I’ve been looking for him way too long. I intend to make sure he pays for his crime.”
“Now hold on there, boy. Don’t you go doing anything that will make me put you behind bars.”
Hunter turned on his heel and left the room. Their shouting must have reached the outer area since everyone stared at him as he barreled past. As he’d suspected before he even entered the place, this had gotten him nowhere. If he couldn’t get Smith behind bars, he’d have to find another way to get Emily away before she was seriously injured.
He yanked on the doorknob when the officer’s voice stopped him. “Don’t you forget what I said, boy. I don’t cotton to having people take the law into their own hands. You stay away from Smith.”
Chapter 13
Jeremy Steele stepped off the train at the Galveston station, then turned his head aside and winced.
Damn, who needs all this fucking sunshine?
He turned up his jacket collar and lowered the brim of his hat. Head down, he picked up his satchel and headed away from the depot. A chatty woman on the train with two children had told him of a hotel only a couple of blocks away. He’d soon cursed himself for asking because it had opened a floodgate of conversation in which he had no interest.
A short walk brought him to the hotel the woman had recommended. The place seemed decent enough. After waiting for a sleepy-eyed clerk to register him, Jeremy was handed a key to room three forty-two. The climb to the third floor wasn’t too bad, but he was getting close to needing another injection. He would take care of that, and then mosey on over to the boardinghouse where Hunter was staying.
He tossed his bag on the bed and sat to catch his breath. He sure wasn’t in good shape anymore. He hadn’t received a Ranger assignment in a while, and he felt it in his bones. Once this business in Galveston was taken care of, he’d have to contact his superior and find out what was going on. Despite the morphine, there was no reason he couldn’t work. Hell, he was taking on an assignment for Henderson, wasn’t he?
The climb down was much easier, and Jeremy hit the street feeling like himself. He wasn’t sure when he’d eaten last, so he downed a bowl of soup at a restaurant along the way. He had to start eating more, his clothes were beginning to hang off his large frame. Soon he would cut down on the morphine. The pain for which he’d originally been given the drug by the doctor had ended months ago, but he still seemed to need morphine to get through the day.
Not that he was addicted, of course.
Once on Strand Street he glanced at the paper Hunter had sent him, and checked for two thirty-four. Five houses down was the correct number. Ballinger Boardinghouse. The building was a large home that must have housed a single family at one time, but now catered to those needing a room and unwilling to stay in one of the many hotels on the island.
The clapboard exterior was painted white with black trim. Four wicker rocking chairs sat on the porch, along with several planters with colorful fall flowers. As he climbed the steps he noted the well swept boards that looked as if they’d recently been painted. Whoever owned the house took very good care of it.
The doorbell sounded, echoing inside, easy to hear with the neighborhood being so quiet. No dogs barking or children squealing with laughter. Since it was early afternoon, most likely kids were in school.
A stout woman of middle years answered the door, her ample figure wrapped in an apron covered with some type of food. She smiled and pushed back the curls that fell over her forehead. “May I help ye, lad?”
“I’m Mr. Jeremy Steele and I’m here to see Mr. Henderson. Is he at home?”
“Aye, he’s been expecting ye. Step in, and I’ll let him ken you’re here.” She moved backward allowing him to enter the house. The inside was as well-kept as the outside, and delicious smells drifted from the back of the house.
The woman lumbered up the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron as she climbed. He took a survey of the area. The entrance hall opened to a pleasant parlor on his left, with striped wallpaper and a worn, but clean carpet on the floor. The area was filled with clocks, knick-knacks, and books. Several oil lamps sat on tables next to numerous folded newspapers, which would provide a comfortable retreat to spend time after supper.
The place reminded him of his childhood home, where he had been so anxious to leave. He was hit with a feeling of despondency, knowing with his parents dead and his brother off to who-knew-where, he’d never see his home again, or have that feeling of security it had brought.
He shook off the strange feelings just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Jeremy.” Hunter gripped his hand with a firm shake, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s so good of you to come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, partner.” He grinned, happy to see the only real friend he’d ever had.
“We can go in here and talk, things will be quiet until the rest of the boarders return from work.” Hunter led him into the parlor Jeremy had just been admiring.
“Mr. Henderson, would ye like some coffee for ye and yer guest?” The woman who’d opened the door reappeared, still wiping her hands on her apron.
Hunter looked at him, but Jeremy waved his hand. “Not for me, I just had breakfast.”
“Not right now, Mrs. Pettiford. Thank you, though.” He turned his attention to Jeremy. “It looks to me like you’ve lost some weight.” Hunter studied him carefully.
“Just a few pounds. I was sick recently, but I’m fine now.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with Henderson’s scrutiny. “What’s this problem you want me to investigate?”
Hunter sat back, resting his booted ankle on his bent knee. “There is a man in Galveston who has an investment firm. From what I’ve heard, he’s well respected and has been in business here for over five years. However, I have firsthand information that he’s been cheating his clients for years. He takes their money to invest and then does very little with it except spend it. He pays his earlier clients with the minor amount of interest he gets, plus the money from the more recent clients.”
Jeremy let out with a low whistle. “Sounds to me eventually it all has to collapse.”
