Giving Up the Ghost by Max McCoy

Author:Max McCoy [McCoy, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

10

The town was a going concern of five thousand residents, and in addition to the Santa Fe depot, there was an associated hotel and dining room, a mill on the Cottonwood River, and a courthouse with a stone barricade around it to make it easier to defend, I was told, in the case of Indian attacks. The barricade had never been used, but the town was ready nonetheless.

We stopped beneath the back porch of the Clifton Hotel, and I asked McCarty how he was feeling.

“Weak,” he said.

“What do you think is the trouble?” Delaney asked.

“Something I ate, perhaps.”

“Now that you mention it,” Calder said, “I’m feeling a bit poorly myself. Headache. Some stomach discomfort.”

For Calder to admit he felt at all unwell meant that he felt downright rotten.

“How are you feeling, Ophie?” McCarty asked.

“Normal,” I said.

“What did we eat, Jack, that made us sick?” McCarty asked.

“The sandwiches,” Calder said.

“What was in those sandwiches?” McCarty asked.

“Just the usual, I suppose,” Delaney said. “Ham. Cheese.”

“The meat in the sandwiches could have turned,” McCarty said.

“Where did they come from?” Calder asked.

“A restaurant along the line,” he said. “They shouldn’t have been bad. They were kept on the same ice as the general manager’s oysters—”

Calder held up his hand.

“Please,” he said, fighting a gag reflex. “I don’t want to hear about oysters right now.”

“Are you two going to be all right?” I asked.

“Of course,” McCarty said. “Just a touch of bad food.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Headache, stomachache,” he said. “Thirst. Flux.”

“Should we summon a doctor?”

“Nothing to be done for a mild case of food poisoning except to allow it to pass,” McCarty said. “Let’s continue, so we can find something else to occupy our minds.”

“No,” I said. “Both of you look like walking death.”

“You need us,” McCarty said. “We’ll get a second wind once—”

“Don’t argue with me,” I said. “We’re going to get you a room and allow the both of you to rest for a few hours. I can start my inquiries, and if I find myself in dire need of you, I will send word.”

McCarty was too sick to fight, but Calder shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

And then he dashed to the edge of the porch and vomited.

“Young Delaney,” I said. “Go find Engineer Skeen at whatever roundabout or siding he has placed the Ginery Twitchell and tell him about the problem with the sandwiches, and ask if he knows where they came from. Then, personally see to it that the sandwiches are disposed of, so nobody else will fall sick after eating them. I’ll take care of getting these two some lodging.”

“The hotel is likely full, because of the stranded passengers,” he said, while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. “But there is a room on the third floor reserved exclusively for railway use. Please hand the clerk this and ask for room 312.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Where should I meet you after?”

“Come back to the hotel and check on these two,” I said. “If they appear to be recovering, come find me at the station.

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