The Assassin (Isaac Bell 8)

He bowed over Nellie’s hand. “What a treat to observe you without getting a crick in my neck.”

“Will you join us for supper, Mr. Abbott?”

Bell said, “Don’t you have an appointment with a witness, Mr. Abbott?”

“Not on an empty stomach.”

“That would be too cruel,” said Nellie. “You must let him have a bite first, Mr. Bell.”

“Rabbit first,” said Edna. “Witness later.”

The champagne lasted until night was falling and it was nearly dark.

“If you boys will open the Chablis, Nellie and I will ladle out the rabbit.”

The sisters gathered around the fire. Bell got to work on the wine bottle.

“Two lovelies!” Archie said in a low voice. “Count ’em, two. Beautiful, intelligent, charming, accomplished, and single. An abundance of riches.”

“Hands off,” said Bell. “I haven’t made my mind up yet.”

“Fear not, Ma-ma is vetting prospective fiancées.”

The Abbotts of New York had lost their money back in the Panic of ’93. Archie was supposedly on a hunt to replenish the treasury, but Bell doubted it would happen. He was more likely to fall in love, and money would be the last thing on his mind.

“Funny,” said Archie, “how they keep turning up wherever you’re investigating.”

“Intelligent,” said Bell. “As you said.”

“Come and get it!” cried Nellie.

“Don’t mind if we do,” bawled a loud voice at the edge of the firelight.

Six or seven drunk cowhands and oil workers had wandered over from the board-on-barrels saloon.

“You mean the food or the gals?” yelled a rangy rigger.

“Both!” howled a cowboy.

Isaac Bell and Archie Abbott stood up.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Archie. “Go away.”

“Make me.”

Archie took a lightning step forward and threw an even faster left hook. The rigger tumbled backward into his friends. When they pounced at Archie, Bell was ready with a hard right that dropped the cowboy and a left cross for a burly roustabout.

The four drunks still standing were quickly joined by four more.

The two detectives stood shoulder to shoulder. Archie muttered, “Any more and I’m pulling a gun.”

“Too many folks around for gunplay,” said Bell.

“Bloody hell, you’re right about that.”

Nellie Matters laughed. “Go away! Our hearts are spoken for.”

If Nellie’s joke was designed to defang the mob, thought Bell, it had the opposite effect. She seemed oblivious to the danger. But Edna, Bell noticed, was coolly eyeing the tent flaps behind which was propped her shotgun.