Death on the Mississippi by Peter J. Heck

Author:Peter J. Heck
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

15

The next morning found me still angry about losing money to McPhee. I attempted to reopen the subject with Mr. Clemens at breakfast, but he had no comfort for me. He had told me the night before that, by sleight of hand, a three-card monte dealer could make any of the three cards appear in any position, but that didn’t explain why the bent corner could be on a winning card three times straight and on a losing one the next. “I still don’t understand how McPhee changed the card,” I said.

“Why the devil do you need to know how he did it? All you have to know is that he will do it. Playing cards with the likes of McPhee is just like sticking your hand in a wildcat’s den—you’re lucky if all it costs you is a finger or two. Learn the lesson, and be grateful it was so cheap.” And that was all Mr. Clemens had to say on the topic before he climbed up to the pilothouse “to have a smoke and a look at the river.”

I lingered over coffee, still not satisfied with how things had gone. It was one thing to learn not to gamble with cheats, another to see them go unpunished. I had seen McPhee come into the cabin just before Mr. Clemens’s departure; he had taken his customary seat at the card table, bold as brass, and in short order was reeling out his usual line of cant and braggadocio. My coffee suddenly tasted stale, and I stalked out onto the foredeck for a breath of fresh air.

I saw Miss Patterson first, and then Detective Berrigan, leaning on the rail and smoking his pipe, in his rumpled brown suit. Miss Patterson sat on a bench holding her parasol and reading a book, which upon a closer look I recognized as Mr. Clemens’s Life on the Mississippi. “I see I’m going to have to read that book,” I said, sitting down beside her. “Everyone on board seems to be reading it except for me, and soon I won’t be able to talk to anyone.” I wasn’t sure whether I ought to chide her for having encouraged me to bet against McPhee the previous evening, but I was not about to engage her in an argument with another person present.

She disarmed me with a musical laugh. “Oh, but surely you, who work with Mr. Twain every day, know his work better than I!”

“Not necessarily,” I said, cautiously. “I’ve only worked for him for a short while, you know. But here’s someone you’ve been asking about. Detective Berrigan! Miss Patterson has been wanting to meet you.”

The detective turned, then doffed his hat and smiled. “My pleasure, miss.”

“My goodness, Mr. Berrigan,” she said. “May I ask what mysterious errand brings you onto a simple pleasure cruise? It must be something very unusual.”

“Nothing really unusual, miss,” said Berrigan. “Mr. Twain’s backers in New York think he ought to have a bodyguard, and I’m the fellow they sent.

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