Going Where the Wind Blows (2 page)

The sheriff came through the swinging doors, looked around, and approached Rita Mae. She stiffened on the bar stool.

“Where’s Miz Halley?”

“I…I don’t know. Around, I guess. I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

The sheriff looked at Jimmy who shrugged. The sheriff walked down the back hallway, boot heels loud on the wooden planks. Rita Mae noticed he had new boots, all shiny. Was that snakeskin?

A few minutes later he came back, his skin pale. He wiped his face with a red bandana, stuffed the cloth back into his pocket and walked right over to Rita Mae. “Where you been all evening?” he asked.

“Why, right here, Sheriff. What’s wrong?”

“Miz Halley’s dead. Shot in the head.”

Rita Mae gasped and put her hand over her open mouth. She felt suddenly sick and almost toppled off the barstool. Jake caught her and held her.

Two of the other girls came clattering down the stairs, heads bent together. When they reached the last step they giggled, but stopped abruptly when they saw the sheriff.

He gave them a glum look. “Where have you ladies been?” he asked.

Both hunched their shoulders slightly, and their eyes darted around the bar. “We were upstairs,” Lulu said. She had a doll-like face and blond hair, which she curled into an intricate fashion. Rita Mae often wondered how she kept it looking so good after all the time she spent in bed.

“Together?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes. Miz Halley gave us the evening off, it being so quiet an’ all.”

“Miz Halley won’t be giving you any more time off. She’s dead. Murdered. You know anything about that?” The sheriff leaned casually against the bar but Rita Mae noticed he still looked rather ill. He had everyone’s attention, and the room was the quietest Rita Mae had ever heard it.

Jimmy gave the bar a swipe with his cloth and glared. Rita Mae suddenly realized they were all out of jobs. What was she going to do now? With four of them out of work, it was going to be hard to whore somewhere else.

Tinkling laughter broke the silence. At the top of the stairs, Fanny stood with Homer, their arms entwined. Rita Mae had taken an instant dislike to Fanny when they met, and she was pretty sure Fanny felt the same way about her. Homer was a regular who preferred Fanny, but if she was busy, he would go with any available girl. So skinny he looked frail, Rita Mae had felt his strength the one time he’d bedded her. He’d been crude, and she’d had to tap down the sudden flair of hatred she’d felt toward him when he’d grabbed her arms and pinned her to the bed, then kissed her roughly. He’d been rough as he rode her, as well, and she gritted her teeth for awhile, but then she said, “Be careful with the merchandise. It’s all I’ve got to survive.”

He paused for a moment, then gave a bark of a laugh and continued on as if she hadn’t spoken.

As she looked at Homer and Fanny now, she decided they deserved each other.

She almost felt sorry for the sheriff. He looked a bit lost. She saw the effort it took for him to pull himself together. “I want to know where each of you was every minute of this evening,” he said, his voice louder than it needed to be.

No one spoke.

He looked at Rita Mae who suddenly wondered if there was a connection between this murder and Bill’s. She closed her eyes, rocking on the barstool.

What, after all, did she really know about Bill? Other than he was the most exciting man she’d ever met, and the most handsome? He’d entered the general store in Denver where she was clerking after her parents’ death and changed her life. He’d never spoken much about his past, only that he’d been born in Manhattan and that he’d been roaming around the country since he’d turned sixteen. It hadn’t taken him long to lure her into helping him with the bank jobs. The excitement gave her an incredible high. She’d known since she was sixteen that her father was a small-time crook who robbed people when the opportunity came along. The rest of the time he tutored rich people’s children. Perhaps the thrill of thievery was in her blood. Bill had made her feel more alive than she ever had. A wave of grief coursed through her as she sat in the grimy bar with three whores, their customers, a bartender, the sheriff, and the murdered madam in a nearby room. She shuddered and felt a strong need to flee.

The bar doors crashed open and one of the deputies rushed in, out of breath. “Sheriff, there’s a gunfight down by the corral. You better come quick.”

Scowling, the sheriff barked, “No one leave the bar,” and ran out with the deputy.

Everyone remained quiet. Glances darted towards the hallway. Rita Mae felt an insistent pull to go see for herself. She climbed down from the barstool and walked toward the doorway leading down the hall. She felt someone behind her, but she didn’t bother to look. She stopped abruptly as soon as she could see into the madam’s office. Feathers were everywhere. They covered the floor, the desk, and stuck into Miz Halley’s hair. As Rita Mae put her hand up to cover her mouth, a feather flew lazily down from a picture frame and landed on Miz Halley’s outstretched hand.

“Silenced the bullet,” Jake said behind her. She gave a start and bumped into him.

“What?” she asked and turned around. Behind Jake she saw the actor. His eyes were wild-looking.

“Whoever did it used a pillow so no one would hear the shot,” Jake explained.

“Oh.” She turned back around and studied the room. The madam sat with her head between her arms that were stretched out on the desk. Nothing in the room seemed disturbed except for the pillow and the empty safe, door wide open, in the corner.

No one entered the room. Instead, they turned and walked back to the bar where the others sat and stared at them.

“Not much to see,” Jake said. “Whoever did it knew enough to use a pillow to muffle the sound of the gunshot.”

One of the other women gasped. The three of them were sitting at one of the booths, Homer squeezed in with Fanny on one side, and Lulu and Lisbeth opposite.

Jimmy was busy behind the bar, mixing a fancy gin drink for the whores and then pouring straight whiskey into a glass for Homer.

Rita Mae’s head buzzed. A bit too much liquor, a bit too much lousy sex, and a bit too much murder. She took the same barstool she’d been using since she started work at the whorehouse, put her elbows on the bar and heaved a huge sigh. Jake sat down beside her and ordered a whiskey. Jimmy gave Rita Mae an inquiring look, but she shook her head.

“Who would want to murder Miz Halley?” Rita Mae wondered aloud.

Jimmy stopped wiping a glass. “Makes no sense. We all lose our jobs. She never kept a lot of money here—put it all in the bank every morning. More here in the till than in her office.”

“She must have known something,” the actor spoke up. “Something someone didn’t want anyone else to know. Maybe she was blackmailing someone.”

The rest of them looked at him with interest.

“You have personal knowledge of such a thing?” Jake asked.

“No! No, of course not. I just got into town yesterday. I’m just speculating.”

But from his manner and tone of voice, Rita Mae had the idea that he knew more than he was saying. She studied him for a moment. He sat loose-jointed, relaxed, on the bar stool. Perhaps a bit drunk.

“You ever been in San Francisco before?” she asked.

The actor glanced at Jimmy, then looked Rita Mae in the eye. “Nope.”

Jimmy stirred behind the bar.

“You know,” Rita Mae said sweetly, “you’ve got to be the worst liar I’ve ever met. I can’t believe you’re an actor.” She turned quickly to Jimmy. “You’ve seen him here before, haven’t you?”

Jimmy wouldn’t look at her. “None of my business. I would never call a customer a liar.” He turned his back and fiddled with some bottles on the shelf against the mirror.

“Who are you?” Rita Mae demanded. “I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Shane McDaniels.”

“Oh,” Rita Mae said, her breath coming out in a whoosh. “You’re Bill’s best friend.”

“Was,” Shane said, his tone bitter.

“But why didn’t you tell me right away?” Rita Mae asked.

“I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

“Oh.”

“What made you change your mind?” Jake asked.

“Who says I have?”

Rita Mae clutched her throat. “I loved him,” she said. “I would never do anything to hurt him.” Tears came, bitter and sad and lonely. “I loved him,” she whispered.

Jake put his arm around her shoulders. He glared at Shane. “You can tell just by looking at this little lady that she would have nothing to do with murder.”

Shane snorted. “You don’t look the naive sort. She had a lot to do with bank robbing and whoring. Why not murder?”

Jake stood up, his hand on his gun in its holster. “Watch yourself now.”

Shane shook his head. “You gonna defend the little lady’s honor?” His tone was so sarcastic that Rita Mae cringed.

She stood up. “Please stop. Stop! Just help me find out who murdered Bill. Maybe the same one who killed Miz Halley.”

Jake took his hand away from his gun. Rita Mae could feel the tension in the bar ease. One of the other whores picked up her glass and took a noisy sip. Jimmy poured himself a beer.

“How’d you get the acting gig?” Rita Mae asked McDaniels.

“They were short a player. I’m not that bad.” His tone was defensive.

Rita Mae raised her eyebrows at him, then looked around the room. Who killed Bill and Miz Halley? Was it even the same person? And where was the money Bill was carrying?

She turned quickly to Shane. “How’d you know Bill was dead? You came here because you knew, didn’t you?”

Shane averted his eyes. “I got a telegram. Unsigned.”

“Who did Bill know in San Francisco? I thought he was a stranger here.”

“He’d been here a few times,” Shane said.

“Oh.”

“Used to come in here,” Jimmy said with a smirk.

Rita Mae gaped at him. “You never told me that.”

“Didn’t want to speak ill of the dead.” Jimmy gave her an odd look.

“Then he knew Miz Halley,” Rita Mae said.

“Knew Miz Halley. Knew all the wimmen here. Knew the sheriff. Sheriff kept an eye on him, didn’t trust him.”

But when the sheriff had questioned her, he’d acted as if he didn’t know who Bill was.

Bill’s money gone, and the safe empty in Miz Halley’s office. Had Bill asked Miz Halley to hold their money? He wouldn’t put it in a bank, of course.

“Knew Miz Halley rather well,” Shane said. “She was his mother.”

Rita Mae gasped.

“Probably why she took you in. I bet no one else would.”

“True,” Rita Mae said and turned to Jimmy. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Miz Halley? Bill said he was from Manhattan.”

“His father lived there,” Shane said. “Probably didn’t want to tell you his mother ran a whorehouse.”

Rita May sat in stunned silence. She and Bill had said how much they had in common—fathers who were thieves, although Bill’s did a lot better than Rita Mae’s. Housewife mothers. That was a laugh. His a madam, and Rita Mae’s a demanding woman who was never satisfied with what she had and used her piousness to cloak her ill-nature.

Well, what did it matter now? Of course Bill would have asked his mother to hold the money. It had been sitting in her safe all this time. Who else would have known there was a huge amount of money in that safe?

She looked at Jimmy. He didn’t seem the type, but you never knew. Bill might have told, or bragged, to Shane. Neither of them had been honest with her.

The three whores had loosened up after a couple of drinks. Their laughter grated on Rita Mae’s nerves. Would any of them have known about the money? Rita Mae didn’t think Miz Halley would have trusted any of them with that kind of information.

“What else don’t I know?” Rita Mae asked.

Jake cleared his throat. “Sheriff and Miz Halley had a thing going.”

“What?” The idea of them together made Rita Mae shudder.

Jake laughed. “Strange bedfellows, for sure.”

“Isn’t the sheriff married?” Rita Mae asked, remembering his wedding ring.

“Thirty-some years,” Jake said cheerfully.

Thou shalt not commit adultery. Yeah, Mom, I know. But it wasn’t me!

So who was the most likely to know about the big bunch of money in the safe? The sheriff, of course. Miz Halley wouldn’t tell her bartender, or her whores.

Shane stirred on his barstool. But Bill might have told Shane.

The bar doors swung open, and the sheriff and his deputy entered. They smelled of horseflesh and sweat.

“Everything okay down at the corral, Sheriff?” Jake asked.

Shaking his head, the sheriff hooked a chair with his foot and sat down heavily. “Sometimes I think liquor should be outlawed,” he said.

The deputy sat down opposite his boss. “Couple of beers, Jimmy,” he said, grinning at the sheriff.

“Those new boots?” Rita Mae asked the sheriff.

He looked at them proudly. “Yep. Just got them the other day.”

“Nice,” Rita Mae said. “You get a new watch, too? I see the chain is real shiny.”

The sheriff pulled out the pocket watch and held it up for everyone to see. The cover showed an eagle holding a shaft of wheat.

“Pretty,” Rita Mae said. “You come into some money, Sheriff?”

Quickly, the sheriff slipped the watch back into his vest pocket and took a sip of his beer. “No. Been saving up for awhile.”

“I see,” Rita Mae said. “Been buying anything else lately?”

The deputy snorted. “Only a new house.”

“What?” Rita Mae said. She stood up and walked over to the sheriff. “You took Bill’s money, didn’t you? I bet Miz Halley gave you some, but you decided you wanted it all.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the sheriff sputtered. “I’m the lawman in this town, and I abide by the law.”

“Used to maybe,” Rita Mae said. “But you had no compunctions disobeying one of the ten commandments—the one about adultery. Why not another?”

Thou shalt not steal.
Rita Mae stared at the sheriff. She herself was a thief, and a whore. Would murder be the next step?

The deputy was a bit slow, but he drew his pistol and pointed it at the sheriff.

The sheriff was a lot faster on the draw. Jake stirred behind Rita Mae, and she glanced back to see him pointing his own gun at the sheriff.