Beyond the Pale Read Online Free PDF Page A

with a puff of night air the deputy was gone. Travis grabbed a tray, collected empty beer glasses, and did his best not to think about the deputy’s words.
    Half an hour later, the phone rang.
    Max answered, then with a resigned look held the phone out across the bar toward Travis. That Max never got any calls had been a slight point of contention lately. Max was of the opinion that at least some of the calls to the saloon should be for him, and he seemed to think it some sort of conspiracy that this wasn’t the case. The fact that Travis was the owner of the Mine Shaft and not he didn’t seem to play a significant role in Max’s logic. Travis set down a tray of mugs and took the phone.
    “Travis,” the voice on the other end said in hoarse relief. “Travis, I am so thankful to have reached you.”
    “Jack?” Travis cupped a hand around the phone and tried to block out some of the clamor of the saloon. He recognized the voice of his old friend Jack Graystone. “Jack, is that you?”
    “Listen to me, Travis.” Jack’s faint words buzzed in his ear. “I am afraid I haven’t time to explain properly, so I can only hope that, as your friend, you will see fit to trust me.” There was a potent silence. Then, “You must come to the Magician’s Attic at once.”
    Travis was taken aback. He had never heard Jack soundlike this. Jack’s voice was shaking, almost as if he were alarmed. No, Travis realized with a chill—almost as if he were
afraid
.
    “Jack, I can’t just leave the saloon.” Travis tried to keep his voice down. All the same, Max shot him a curious look. “This is our busiest night of the week.”
    “But you must, Travis.” As if through great force of will, Jack’s voice calmed and slipped into the smooth, indeterminate European accent with which Travis was so familiar. “I wish I could explain over the phone what has transpired. However, I dare not.”
    “Explain what?” Travis said.
    “I am afraid that must wait until you come to the antique shop. I cannot trust anyone who might be listening to our conversation. Now, you mustn’t repeat to anyone what I have said.” Jack’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But you have to believe me when I tell you that my life is in grave—”
    There was a
click
, then a hissing noise filled Travis’s ear as the phone went dead.

4.
    The saloon’s door shut behind him, and Travis stepped into the night. He hunched broad shoulders inside his sheepskin coat. The crescent moon hovered over the parapets of Castle Peak, and its light rimed dark ridges like frost. The warmth and glow shut behind the buckshot-dented door of the Mine Shaft seemed suddenly far away.
    He had left without much explanation, but Jack Graystone was his best friend and, however odd they seemed, Travis couldn’t go against Jack’s wishes. Besides, Max had been only too happy to have a chance to run things himself for a while. Yet what
had
Jack been talking about? Travis couldn’t imagine what anyone might gain by threatening the grandfatherly proprietor of a small-town antique store. There had to be a more mundane explanation for the phone call.
    Travis headed to his pickup. He reached for the handle, noticed something wedged into the door crack, and plucked it out. It was a tuft of fur, silver-brown in the moonlight. Hefrowned. Now how had this gotten stuck in the door? A chill breath of wind snatched the tuft from his fingers, and it danced away on the wind. That most likely answered his question. He climbed into the truck, mashed down the clutch, and cranked the ignition. The engine turned over three times, then wound down with a feeble whine. He tried again. This time he was rewarded with a metallic death-knell buzz that signaled yet another battery had succumbed to the high-country climate. He smacked his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration, then climbed out.
    Common sense said he should head back to the saloon and ask someone for a jump start, but if he did,