Fatal as a Fallen Woman (14 page)

They strolled in silence for the first circuit. Then Matt slowed his loose-limbed stride and stooped a bit so that she couldn't help but be aware of the serious expression on his face.

"You can't deny Elmira quarreled with your father. Or that she ran away from the police."

"Wouldn't you, if you'd been framed for a crime you didn't commit and knew everyone would believe the worst of you because of your profession?" She rushed on before he could answer. "Please, Matt. Help me discover what really happened that night."

"Miranda—"

"All right. It
could
be someone else. An old enemy. Someone like—"

"Me? There's something you should know, Diana. You're looking for people who had reason to hate your father. I'm one of them."

"I was told you were partners with him once." With a cold, sinking feeling in her stomach, Diana realized she should have considered her old neighbor a serious suspect from the moment she'd learned that he'd been cheated by William Torrence in a business deal. Even a gentle soul could kill if the provocation was great enough.

Matt's voice was completely uninflected. "A bad decision on my part. I came to regret it even before he tricked me out of all my profits and dissolved the partnership."

"I'm sorry."

"If it hadn't been for another investment and the fact that I could earn an income from the practice of law, my mother and I would have been destitute." This time the bitterness did leak through. "Can you be certain I haven't been biding my time all these years, waiting for an opportunity to take revenge? Your father cost me a great deal of money. I was able to recoup my losses elsewhere, but still—"

"Are you telling me I should set the Pinkertons on you?" The suggestion came out more sharply than she'd intended.

"I'm saying you can't be too careful. If I
did
kill him, what would stop me from murdering you to keep my secret?"

"Did you stab my father to death?"

"No."

"Neither did my mother. Help me discover who did."

With a resigned sigh, Matt raked one hand through his hair. "I'll help. But only if you promise me you'll be careful who you talk to. Asking questions of the wrong person in this town could get you killed."

* * * *

Jane Foster's bedroom was under the eaves of the Elmira Hotel. Like the others living there, she usually slept late. She was barely awake when Diana rapped at her door at ten. She opened it still wearing her nightgown, her eyes for once unshielded by glass.

"Diana, what is it? Is something wrong?"

Set on what she had to say, Diana brushed past her mother's assistant into the small, plain room without waiting for an invitation. She'd decided during a long, restless night that she was not about to take Matt's advice. She had to keep asking questions of anyone she could find who'd known her father, as well as of her mother's acquaintances. She could not sit idly by and trust anyone else to investigate, especially someone who was not as convinced as she was of Elmira's innocence.

"You seem to know my mother better than anyone else, Jane. Therefore you're the best one to help me figure out where she's hiding."

Jane fumbled with one hand for the spectacles she'd left on the bedside table and jammed them into place on the bridge of her nose, blinking rapidly. "I'm still groggy. Give me a moment."

She poured cold water from ewer into basin, then splashed it into her face, muttering all the while. As nearly as Diana could tell, she was comparing the coldness of the water to what sounded like "old man Whittud's heart."

"Who?" she asked, amused by the young woman's grumpiness. At a guess, Jane would not be fond of rising early even if she were not in a business that required her to stay up half the night.

Her voice muffled by a towel, Jane said, "The miserly bastard who owned half the town back home. My mother used to work for him."

When she disappeared behind a screen draped with gauze underwear and pink hose to use the chamber pot, Diana surveyed her surroundings. Jane lived comfortably, if more simply than her employer. She had no private bath with running water, but there was a three-quarter size brass bed, a dresser and a commode, a rocker and a straight chair, a thick rug, a lamp, lace curtains, and a writing desk. A large trunk presumably held her clothing, cash, and personal belongings. Only three of the latter were on display, well-thumbed copies of two books by Catharine Beecher,
Physiology and Calisthenics
and
Miss Beecher's Housekeeper and Healthkeeper
, and a photograph of Alan Kent in a gold frame. The picture had been placed in a prominent position on the dresser, making Diana wonder if the two were closer than she had supposed.

Jane reappeared, wrapped in a pale yellow silk dressing gown, still blinking. "Perhaps Mr. Leeves could help." She sounded doubtful, and almost immediately shook her head. "No, better to leave him out of this."

"Mr. Leeves," Diana repeated. "Ed Leeves?" His name had come up before, and always with an exchange of knowing looks. "Exactly who is he?"

"He's an entrepreneur. He owns everything from gambling dens to saloons, and he controls at least a dozen hackmen." At Diana's lifted brow, Jane elaborated. "Drivers pick up tourists at the depot. They're in a position to make . . . suggestions."

"Ah, I see."

"He's also an old friend of your mother's. She told me once that she's known him since she was just a little girl."

"Is he, er, her lover?" That was what the madams had implied.

Jane looked uncomfortable. "I couldn't say."

It was an odd notion, her mother with someone other than William Torrence, but Diana didn't suppose it mattered what kind of relationship Elmira might have with this man. All that counted was locating her and proving her innocent of murder. "Where can I find Mr. Leeves?"

"He spends most of his time at the Catspaw, one of his saloons."

"Then let us beard the lion in his den, since I can scarcely command his presence here."

"It's Sunday," Jane objected. "The saloon will be closed."

"So much the better," Diana declared.

Jane still looked worried. "You can't just barge in. Besides, here in Denver women—even fallen women—aren't encouraged to frequent saloons."

"I need to talk to this man, Jane. There must be a way."

She didn't bother to add that spending time in a saloon would not be a new experience for her. Evan had dragged her into more than one, the sort that had gambling hells on the floor above. He'd called her his lucky charm when he was winning at cards, and less flattering names when he lost.

"You'd better ask the professor," Jane said.

"I will if you'll tell me how to find him."

"His quarters are in the basement. I thought you knew."

"I don't even know his real name."

"It's Alfred," Jane said, opening her trunk and taking out dumbbells, clubs, and pulleys. "Alfred Burke." Abandoning any further effort to dissuade Diana from her plan, she began what was obviously a well-established morning regimen of healthful exercise.

* * * *

Diana found the professor in the kitchen. He heard her out, then sent Ning off with a message. By the time Diana had finished beefsteak, toast, and her fourth cup of coffee, word had come back from Ed Leeves that she should meet him at a building he was converting into a new gambling club.

A short time later, Diana and Jane, the latter resplendent in her best bombazine and a fetching flower-encrusted straw hat, were ready to leave for that appointment. "You don't have to come with me," Diana said.

But Jane seemed to have undergone a change of attitude. "It is an excellent day for an outing, and I find I am curious about Mr. Leeves. He and Elmira always met away from the hotel, you see. I've only met him once, and then only for a moment."

It was a nice day. Several of the boarders had gone out right after breakfast, intent on a breath of fresh air and a bit of exercise before the customers started arriving at two. But Diana had no more than opened the front door when she became aware of a great commotion just down the street. She heard hoofbeats and the rattle of wheels mixed with screams of outrage and panic. Then colorful oaths uttered in high-pitched female voices filled the air.

Big Nose Nellie sat in the middle of Holladay Street, legs splayed, her skirts in disarray and her bonnet dangling by its ribbons. She shook her fist, cursing a blue streak, as a nondescript wagon of the sort known as a dog cart disappeared around the nearest corner.

"Are you hurt?" Diana demanded, rushing to her side. There was a streak of blood on Nellie's forehead and a scrape on the back of her hand, but otherwise she did not seem badly damaged.

"Only my pride," Nellie grumbled. "Damn fool!"

"He aimed right at you," Maryam said.

"Couldn't have. What'd be the point?" Long Tall Linda sounded grumpy, as if she resented Nellie being the center of attention.

Hands on hips, Maryam regarded the taller woman with a sardonic gaze. "Oh, no. No one would ever want to hurt a prostitute."

"Coulda been a preacher," Honeycomb speculated. "He was all dressed in black, you know the way they do."

"Half the men in town wear black on Sunday," Jane reminded her. "And I'm sure no harm was meant. Just a careless driver. Or someone who got roostered and didn't know what he was doing. Drunk," she translated, for Diana's benefit.

Long Tall Linda helped Nellie to her feet and the girls moved en masse towards the Elmira.

"She'll be fine," Jane said, catching Diana's arm as she started to follow. "We'd best be on our way. You don't want to keep Big Ed waiting."

"Was Maryam right? Are the girls threatened with physical harm by the self-righteous bigots of this community?"

Jane shrugged. "We're usually safe enough, as long as we stay on Holladay Street. Respectable folk don't come here," she added with a quick grin, "unless they want to do some sinning themselves. And we aren't 'worthy' enough for the ladies' societies to bother with."

Diana frowned, caught off guard by a stray memory. Elmira, in her respectable past, had once tried to explain to her daughter how the Ladies' Relief Society, to which she belonged, determined which poor people to assist. Most charitable organizations seemed to equate groveling and confessions of wickedness with worthiness. And their idea of helping abandoned and impoverished children was to send them to an orphan's home and indenture them at an early age.

Her mother's view of such things, Diana imagined, had undergone a change in the last four years.

* * * *

The three-story building Ed Leeves was in the process of renovating was on Glancey Street near the ball park, far closer to the Torrence mansion than it was to Holladay Street. Diana and Jane traveled by streetcar, since the tracks of the Denver Tramway Company went everywhere in the city for the same five cent fare.

"This place looks familiar," Diana murmured.

"It used to be Thatcher's Collegiate Institute, a girls' school," Jane said.

"Good gracious. I came close to being enrolled here when I was fourteen, but Mother heard that the teachers discouraged female students from any contact with young men. She said I'd never find a husband that way."

"The last year or so, it's been a second-class gambling house. I hear Mr. Leeves means to make it into a first-class place."

Diana was scarcely listening. "Mother wanted me to marry a doctor or a lawyer," she murmured. Since Ben Northcote was a physician, Diana supposed her mother would approve of him.

She suppressed a sigh. If Elmira Torrence was executed for killing her former husband, she might never meet Ben. And Ben? How was he going to react to learning that Elmira owned a whorehouse, let alone that he'd asked an accused murderer's daughter to marry him? She thought he loved her enough that neither fact would make any difference, but the strength of the bond between them would surely be tested if Elmira turned out to be guilty.

Ed Leeves himself was the second surprise in store for Diana on Glancey Street. She'd expected him to be a big man, given his nickname. In truth, without his highly polished, custom-made boots with the two inch heels, he'd have been only a little taller than she was.

A lean, hard-muscled man in his fifties, Leeves looked as if he'd be equally at home riding the range, dining with politicians, or running one of the gangs of New York. The words "urbane" and "ruffian" both came to mind as Diana studied his face. He had a mane of light flaxen-colored hair, a beard that looked soft and smooth as silk, and snapping black eyes that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his coloring.

"Elmira's daughter," he said, regarding her with a cold, assessing stare. "Interesting."

"I need to talk to her, Mr. Leeves." The note of pleading in her voice appalled Diana but she did not know how else to proceed. Leeves presented no overt threat, but an aura of danger seemed to surround him. She'd not want to meet him at night in a dark alley.

"You and a great many other people are looking for your mother," Leeves said.

"If you know where she is, I'd appreciate it if you'd let her know I'm staying at the Elmira."

He continued to study her with his intense, disconcerting gaze until it was all she could do not to squirm.

"Let me show you around the place," he said abruptly.

Diana blinked in surprise. Did he mean to take her to her mother, after all?

But Leeves had meant his invitation literally. For the next half hour, he conducted an extensive tour of the premises. Diana and Jane saw the public and private dining rooms on the first floor and the saloon and gambling rooms on the second. Red velvet carpeting and draperies and oak-paneled walls dominated the decor, accented with massive portraits of half-naked women.

Diana could not help but think of Aaron Northcote's artwork as she encountered one scantily clad female figure after another. "Have you ever considered using pictures of mermaids?" she heard herself ask.

Jane sniggered. "The purpose of the paintings is to give the patrons ideas. There are apartments on the third and fourth floors, are there not, Mr. Leeves? Available for customers' liaisons with the female staff of the club?"