Tunneltown had only one thoroughfare that attained the stature of a
street. It had a network of lanes, wagon tracks, and alleys. They slid
between buildings, twisted around woodpiles, lumbered over ditches
on makeshift bridges. Many of these wound back to the main drag or
meandered off into the woods. Others converged on a large log building
of chalet-like aspect known as "the townhouse." This structure had two
identical front entrances, one near each end. The southernmost of these
led to the town offices and a small courtroom. The other end of the
building provided a spacious residence for Duke Parker's widow.
Tesno's thump of the ornate, pear-shaped knocker was answered by a trim
young woman in a maid's cap. As soon as she heard his name, she swung
the door wide and stepped back as if she had been expecting him.
Surprised, he followed her into a large living room. Simple maple
furniture and light blue draperies gave the room a touch of luxury
without seeming out of place up here in the wilderness. A wide doorway
led to the dining room, where he glimpsed two persons seated at a table.
"I vill tell Mrs. Parker you are here," the maid said. She had a slight
Swedish accent.
"Have him come in, Stella," a feminine voice called.
Tesno followed the maid into the dining room. Persia Parker was
having dinner with Sam Lester, the town treasurer, whom she promptly
introduced.
"Will you join us, Mr. Tesno?" she said. "We're having duck."
Silverware and stemmed goblets glistened on a snow-white tablecloth.
Red wine sparkled in the goblets. The duck looked delicious.
"Thanks," Tesno said, "but this is a business call, Mrs. Parker. I'm
sorry to interrupt...."
"You haven't had dinner; I can sense it. Sit down, Mr. Tesno."
Persia Parker smiled deliciously, and he sat down. Stella immediately
set a place for him. He grinned and said, "You have a sixth sense, Mrs.
Parker."
"At breakfast and lunch I just grab and gulp," she said, "so I like to
make a little ceremony of the evening meal. So it's a treat to have a
guest--oh, Sam doesn't count."
Thin-haired, hunch-shouldered Sam Lester looked up from his plate. He
wore shot-glass-thick lenses that hid his eyes and gave his face a
froglike placidity.
"She feeds me," he said. He put down his fork and reached for a wine
bottle. Persia shook her head in refusal. He filled Tesno's glass and
then his own.
"Sam lives above the offices in the other part of the building," Persia
said, smiling again.
She had white, even teeth, the complexion of an angel, and hair as pale
as Montana gold. Her eyes were a mysterious shade that Tesno couldn't
decide about, but they were frank and friendly.
"I drag him in to dinner most every night," she went on. "Sometimes
I think he would prefer to bolt down a sandwich and get back to his
precious bookkeeping. What part of the country are you from, Mr. Tesno?"
The wine was mellow, fragrant with the scent of some fertile, faraway
valley. "I was born in New Mexico Territory," he said. "Got into
railroading when the Santa Fe was fighting the Denver & Rio Grande for
Raton Pass."
Stella set a plate before him with half a roasted duck on it. He was
hungry, but he ate without tasting, captivated by the charm of Persia
Parker.
She pried him with questions about himself, touching him with eyes that
were green or gray or hazel, smiling when he smiled, making him feel
that every word he said was important to her. He was not a talkative
man, but now he talked as he seldom had before.
He told about his parents being killed by Comanches when he was a few
months old, about the whisky-running renegade who had bought him from
the Indians and raised him. He told how he had hired out as a wrangler
when he was twelve, how a rancher's wife had taught him lessons and
lent him books to read. And Persia Parker laughed and frowned and
touched him with her eyes, warily now, as if afraid of the tenderness
he saw there, afraid he might misunderstand.
Sam Lester seemed content to be ignored. He finished his coffee
quickly, muttered that he had paper work to do, and left them alone.
Persia lead Tesno into the parlor. She was taller than he had expected.
She wore a simple, black, ankle-length dress, and he remembered that
her husband had been dead less than three months. Yet black set off her
pale hair, and he couldn't picture her in anything more becoming. She
indicated a chair for him and sat down on a sofa two feet away.
"I expect you're a busy woman," he said. "I'd better get to the point."
"I'm not half as busy as you'd think, Mr. Tesno," she said. "The town
pretty much runs itself. And my position is entirely unofficial, you
know. My husband was mayor, and after his death, I took over some of
the more ceremonial duties of the office--temporarily, I thought. But
the town council likes the novelty, and I'm afraid, the notoriety, of
having a 'lady mayor.' This is no ordinary community, and they seem to
feel that anything that adds to its uniqueness is good for business. So
they keep postponing the election of Duke's successor."
"You also own most of the business property in town," he said. "Isn't
that true?"
She nodded readily. "Duke didn't try very hard to sell lots because
when the tunnel is finished, the town will fade away. At least, that's
the probability. So he put up buildings and leased them to businessmen
on a percentage basis. A few businesses he operated himself, of course."
"So as heir to his estate, you're in a position to tell the town
council what to do."
"Not exactly," she said, frowning. "At least, I don't. In fact, it
seems as if somebody is always telling _me_ what to do. Sometimes I
feel a bit trapped, Mr. Tesno."
"You know I work for Ben Vickers?"
"I presumed you did."
"You must know what the town is doing to his men. A booze town and a
construction job don't mix."
"It isn't a nice town," she admitted soberly. "But it makes money. And
I owe Ben Vickers nothing."