Katie Rose (14 page)

Emily leaped up, placing a few of her precious coins beside the plate. “Thank you, the pie was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck, and tell Lizzie not to be a stranger.”

Emily followed the boy down the dusty road, her mind spinning. Thomas had been here before her. Why? Suspicion, cold and unnerving, wound its way through her thoughts. Could Thomas have been pumping her for information last night? Was his seduction simply part of a scheme to learn what she knew?

A cold ache spread through the pit of her belly when she realized she had been used. Fortunately her logical mind came to her rescue, reminding her that she had been suspicious of him from the beginning.
Yet she couldn’t completely dispel the pinprick of disappointment that shot through her, or the hurt that came after.

The laundry boy entered a tiny white cottage nestled in a grove of cottonwoods. Emily saw a housekeeper answer the door, snatch up the bundle, then slam it closed. The boy walked away grumbling, but without another word to Emily, tossing a penny into the air. Emily waited a few minutes, then when all was silent, she knocked on the door.

The housekeeper answered almost immediately. “What do you want now?” Her eyes popped open wider when she saw Emily, then narrowed into tiny slits. “Who are you?”

“I’ve come to see Lizzie.”

“Lizzie don’t see no one,” The woman said, and began to slam the door once more.

Deftly Emily put the case between the jamb and the heavy door. “Tell her I was sent by a friend. Tell her Nancy sent me.”

“I don’t care who sent you, she doesn’t see anyone.” The woman tried once more to close the door, and then Emily heard a sweet, musical voice from somewhere inside.

“That’s all right, Aggie, you can let her in.”

Emily gave the housekeeper a smug look, then marched past her into the parlor. The woman muttered something unintelligible, glancing up and down the road as if expecting to see other intruders, then—at last—slammed the door again.

“Would you like some tea? I was just going to have some myself.”

Emily stared at one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Lizzie Wakefield was blond and blue-eyed, her hair swept up in charming disarray with a few springy curls framing a face that could only be described as angelic. Her eyes were huge and doelike, fringed with black lashes, and her skin was luminous. Even without rouge, she was lovely, and the black lace wrapper she pulled more tightly around herself revealed a perfect figure.

A momentary flash of jealousy went through Emily as she pictured Thomas speaking with this woman. Reminding herself that Thomas was a suspect, and not of any possible interest to her, she smiled and extended a hand, inhaling the essence of rose water that Lizzie wore.

“My name is Emily Potter. I just need a little of your time, if you don’t mind.”

The woman waved a hand toward a chair, then waited until Aggie had left the room before speaking. Her eyes ran over Emily’s face and she nodded, as if confirming something for herself.

“I heard John’s daughter had returned to Shangri-La. I must say I was surprised that you took over the house.” She seemed a bit nervous, as if agitated by the thought. “Have you … seen anything strange since you’ve been there?”

“The house is haunted, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The cup dropped from Lizzie’s hand and crashed to the floor. Lizzie gave Emily a tremulous smile, then scrubbed at her gown with a linen napkin.

“I’m sorry, you did give me quite a start! You say Shangri-La is … haunted?”

Emily nodded. “I know you may find it hard to believe, but it’s the truth. Rosie appeared to me. I know she and my father were murdered. I have to find out who did it, and see that justice is done.”

“I see.” Lizzie took a new cup from the tray, and poured herself more tea. She managed to stop shaking long enough to fill the cup, then she drank deeply of the brew. When she looked back at Emily, her blue eyes were wider, but calm.

“I believe you. You see, I went to the house one night after the killings to get my things and I, too, heard Rosie.”

“You did!” Emily leaned forward, her voice filled with excitement. It was such a relief to hear that someone else knew she wasn’t crazy.

Lizzie nodded. “No one believed me, but I know Rosie’s voice, and I know it was her. What exactly did she tell you?”

There was an odd inflection in the woman’s tone and Emily shrugged, reminding herself to be cautious. “Not much. She doesn’t remember who did it.”

Lizzie frowned, her beautiful brows drawing closer together. “But why can’t she remember?”

“She thinks it all got erased when she passed to the other side,” Emily explained.

“She didn’t say anything about the money?” When Emily’s eyebrows flew up, Lizzie continued. “It’s legend in these parts. Mullen, I mean Potter, was supposed to be hiding out. A few months before the murders, a man came to the door to ask for him, a man with a wooden leg. Potter nearly climbed out the window he was so scared. Shortly after that, he

started locking the doors and windows, and wouldn’t go anywhere without his gun.”

“Because of some money?” Emily asked carefully.

Lizzie shrugged. “Everyone thought your father had stolen a payroll. Two million dollars’ worth, from what I hear. Vandals tore the place apart after he died, but no one ever found a cent. You haven’t found anything?”

Lizzie searched Emily’s face, but the former bordello girl’s eyes were fearful.

Emily shook her head. “No, and I’m not really convinced there is any money. I’m more interested in solving the murders. Is there anything else you remember that might help? Where were you on that night?”

Lizzie’s hands began to shake once more and she placed the cup on the tray before her. “I told the sheriff everything I knew. I was at the house earlier, but I went out that night. By the time I returned, it was over. I’ll never forget it, seeing them lying there. Rosie almost looked like she was asleep, except for the blood. I just couldn’t believe they’d been killed.”

“Did you enter the parlor, then?” Emily asked eagerly.

Lizzie shook her head. “No, I ran right back out. When I returned, the place had been cleaned up and the bodies were gone, thank God. It was so horrible!”

A tear formed in her eye and she wiped quickly at it with the back of her hand. Emily felt compassion for the beautiful, agitated woman as she tried to compose herself. After a moment, Lizzie valiantly continued. “In any case, I couldn’t stay there. I left
town determined to start over. I still can’t get that vision out of my head, nor the sound of Rosie’s voice.”

Emily scribbled a few notes, then looked up again. “Is there anyone else who might remember something?”

Lizzie nodded slowly. “Well, there was a woman, Bertie Evans, who took care of the place. You shouldn’t have much trouble finding her—someone in town should know where she is. She was the housekeeper, and knew just about everything that went on.”

Emily took a deep breath before asking her final question. “I heard there was a preacher man here this morning. What did he want?”

“Please!” Lizzie cried, distraught. “I’d never seen the man before! Just let me be!”

“Miss Wakefield.” Emily rose and faced the woman sternly. “You must know something that makes you so afraid.”

“Miss Potter, please listen to me.” Lizzie leaned forward urgently. Her face grew deathly pale, and the light in her eyes made her look as if she’d gone mad. She grabbed Emily’s arm and held so tightly Emily couldn’t pull away. “You must listen. For your father’s sake, stay out of this. Sell the house, leave this place. Or you, too, will die.”

Outside, all was still. Unnerved by the woman’s words, Emily looked around, making certain no one was following her. The stretch of road before her was lonely, and as she walked she disturbed a grouse
from the brush. It made her feel a little better to think that no one else had passed that way for a time, but when she reached a crossroads, the uneasiness inside her grew again.

She didn’t know how to get back. She hadn’t paid enough attention when she’d followed the boy to the house. Determinedly she picked the left fork, but had only walked a few hundred feet when she realized nothing looked familiar. She had retraced her steps and started down another path when the sound of a horse’s hooves made her heart skip. Turning quickly, she felt a strange mixture of apprehension and relief when she recognized the horseman.

“Thomas!” she breathed. Then fear crept up her spine as she remembered what Lizzie had told her. Was her warning about Thomas? Emily didn’t really believe he was dangerous, but the evidence was mounting. Was it simply that she didn’t want to think he was a killer, after the intimacy they’d shared?

He sat astride a black quarterhorse, his preacher’s collar completely at odds with his demeanor, once again. He looked anything but pleased to see her, and his eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

“I guess I don’t have to ask you what the hell you’re doing here. This isn’t a good part of town to be wandering around. Give me your bag.”

Emily handed him the case and before she could protest, he had thrust it over the saddle horn and hauled her unceremoniously onto the horse in front of him. Emily’s corset cut into her and she gasped for breath, struggling to stay upright.

“Who do you think you are!”

“Just a humble preacher, helping his fellow man, or woman, stay out of trouble,” Thomas responded, apparently unperturbed by her outburst. Emily scrambled for balance, gripping the saddle horn, trying desperately to maintain some kind of dignity. Thomas solved part of her problem and exacerbated the other by pulling her into his lap. In spite of the awkward position, at least her skirts settled into place. Furious, she turned to give him the set-down she felt he deserved.

“You have some nerve! I gave you no leave to follow me here, nor to interfere! Just who are you really, and why are you involved in all this?”

She was almost sorry she spoke. His face turned hard and his arm stiffened around her, just below her breasts. “Emily, I warned you to stay out of this. Someone has to look after you, and unfortunately, it looks like I’ve been elected. You just don’t seem to understand that this is dangerous. Nothing you discover can possibly help. The sheriff has already been to see Miss Wakefield, and has her sworn statement. I’m not telling you again to leave it alone.”

It occurred to Emily that he was angrier than she was. He spoke in that gritted-teeth tone that she was beginning to recognize as genuine fury. Still, she was too angry herself to be cowed by it. She lifted her head defiantly.

“I will not leave it alone. I have a right to investigate. He was, after all, my father. The sheriff may be willing to talk to you, but he’s been of no use to me at all. And at this moment what I want to know is, why
are you involved in this? Why aren’t you preaching or something, and staying out of my life?”

“Emily.” She thought his teeth would break from the force with which he was clenching them. The arm holding her tightened again, and she was pulled against him so intimately that she blushed. Fortunately her face was turned away from him, for she was now seated directly between his legs and the contact was oddly exciting. The hard muscles of his thighs cradled her bottom, and she couldn’t help but recall his naked form in the tub, or how it felt to be held more tenderly in his arms.

When he scolded her this time, it was considerably more strained. “This isn’t a game. I came here this morning because I knew you’d show up and question Lizzie. What you don’t know is that Miss Wakefield is the lover of an outlaw, and outlaws don’t take too kindly to strangers. You were liable to get your fool head blown off.”

“Lizzie is involved with an outlaw!” Emily whistled through her teeth, forgetting her suspicion of Thomas in her excitement. “No wonder she’s living in seclusion! Do you know who it is? Maybe he’s somehow connected—”

“Emily! For chrissake, don’t you listen—”

The words had no sooner left his mouth than gunfire spat out from the surrounding woods. Emily ducked as Thomas pushed her head down toward the withers of the horse, then kicked the gelding into a gallop. The scream died on Emily’s lips as the gunfire blasted around them, the sound deafening as well as terrifying. The bark was torn off a cottonwood
as a bullet made contact just inches from her face, and she cried out again, wrapping her arms around the gelding’s neck. Watson popped out of the open bag, curious about the sounds and sudden motion. Emily reached blindly for him.

“Forget the damned cat! Stay down!” Thomas yelled as another volley of gunfire burst from the trees in front of them. Forcing Watson back into the case, she closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at the ground as it sped past her. Emily choked as clouds of dust from the horse’s hooves rose up around them. Dust which was probably all that saved their skins, she realized when she could breathe again.

The noise finally died, and the ground beneath them appeared to grow harder. Sounds of normal everyday life replaced the fusillade of bullets behind them, and she surmised that they must be near town. It was only then that Thomas slowed the horse’s frantic pace. Emily peeked between the horse’s ears and saw that they were back on the main street. There was the bank, the stagecoach stop, the hotel and restaurant, and the townspeople, all going about their day as if nothing unusual had happened.

Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her body. Glancing over her shoulder and seeing Thomas’s nod, Emily straightened. Her spine had practically been bent in half. Her corset cut deeply into her sides. But her discomfort was the least of her concerns as she frantically opened her case. Her breathing slowed to something much closer to normal
when Watson poked his head out indignantly and mewed. She sighed and slumped backward against Thomas.

“Good Lord, what was that all about?” Emily asked tremulously.

“What do you think I’ve been talking about all this time?” Thomas said, although he too seemed shaken. “You aren’t meeting with the ladies’ sewing circle, Emily. These are dangerous people and dangerous times. Maybe now you understand what I’ve been trying to say. You’ve got to trust me.”