Katie Rose (28 page)

He shook his head. Frankly he didn’t know what to make of it, except that perhaps her nervous strain was beginning to show itself. And he couldn’t blame her if it did. Emily Potter wasn’t safe anywhere now, and until that gold was safely locked away in a bank vault, she never would be.

His horse slowed to a walk as he approached Greeley’s center, and he realized that something meaningful within him had changed. Whereas the most important thing to him had been the recovery of the gold, Emily’s safety now held as much weight, if not more.

Climbing off his horse, Thomas tied the animal to a hitching post and walked into the dry goods store. A lone Indian looked askance at him from a dark corner of the shop, while the shopkeeper himself beamed at the prospect of a customer.

“Need help, sir?”

“Just directions. I’m looking for Bertie Evans.”

The shopkeeper frowned, shaking his head thoughtfully. “I don’t recall anyone by that name. Do you have an address?”

Thomas handed the man a slip of paper and his
face cleared. “Oh, that would be Miss Higgins. She’s only been in town a few months. Lives alone. You can’t miss the place, it’s just past the canals.”

“Thanks.” Thomas walked out of the store, his frown deepening. Bertie Evans had changed her name. Why? From one viewpoint, it was a prudent thing to do, especially after her association with the bordello, but it could also mean something else: Bertie knew something, and had correctly guessed that someone would eventually be asking for her.

Remounting his horse, Thomas followed the man’s directions, past the remarkable canals that irrigated the area. Named for Horace Greeley, the town was really an oasis in the midst of a prairie. Green undulating fields stretched before him, a stark contrast to the vast emptiness of the plains. It was an experiment that was obviously a success.

As Thomas approached the modest house, he saw a woman hanging clothes outside. From her appearance, he guessed her to be Bertie, and he approached her cautiously.

“Miss Higgins?”

The woman glanced up, clothespins in her mouth. She nodded, her eyes narrowing as he came closer. Bertie was a short, plump woman, like a little sparrow, with wonderfully alert eyes and a brisk manner. Thomas removed his hat and saw her tension wane as she noticed his collar. She removed the pins from her mouth.

“Morning, Preacher. What can I do for you?”

“I came to talk to you about Shangri-La. It’s important.”

Her eyes widened and she glanced back at the cottage, as if preparing to make a run for it. Thomas gave her his most ingratiating smile.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not the law, nor any kind of trouble. In fact, I’m trying to prevent that. You are Bertie Evans, am I correct? Do you know a man called Colter?”

The woman’s eyes grew impossibly larger. She nodded in answer to both his questions, her face draining of color.

“I have learned that Emmet was involved in the murders of John Potter and Rosie. You do know that Potter’s daughter, Emily, has taken over the house? And that Lizzie Wakefield is missing?”

The woman trembled. Sinking down onto a bench, she began to shake from head to toe. “I don’t know nothing! I came up here to get away from that place! I only want to live in peace, to forget that night.”

“I understand,” Thomas said gently. He laid a hand on hers, trying to comfort her. Her skin felt like ice. “I came here to help you. Emmet’s looking for you, and it won’t be long until he tracks you down.”

“My God!” The woman rose quickly. “I have to pack! Emmet Colter! Lord have mercy …”

“Please, Miss Evans,” Thomas tried again. “I’m trying to help Miss Potter, and trying to prevent any more killings. Part of my reason for coming here today was to warn you. The other part is that I need your help. Whatever you can tell me about the murders would assist us tremendously.”

To his surprise, the woman nodded, and he had to
admit—if only to himself—that Emily’s coaching had been valuable. Bertie Evans indicated the house, and she walked inside a few feet ahead of him, her plump body quivering like a plate of jelly. He felt sorry for her, but was grateful that he’d found her before Emmet did. He kept picturing Lizzie’s housekeeper, lying dead on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Reverend. Your news has me so scared I didn’t think to offer you tea. Would you like a cup?”

Thomas nodded, and the woman bustled about the kitchen, obviously more comfortable with something to do. She brewed the tea, setting out cups, her every motion a measure of efficiency.

“I don’t know what all I can tell you except that I’ll never forget that night. I was in the kitchen, in the rear of the house, cleaning up after dinner. Rosie and Mr. Potter had just finished up, and were making plans for the evening. It seems to me they expected a guest, for they asked me to remove the supper dishes earlier than usual.”

“That’s interesting.” Thomas made a few notes. “Do you know who they expected?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “No. I could hear them talking, then Rosie must have gone upstairs, for it got real quiet. The China girl, Sung He, had been helping me in the kitchen, then she went up to see Rosie. Right around the same time, there was a knock on the door. I heard Mr. Potter answer it himself.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Yes. Normally, one of the servants would open
the door and bring the calling card into the parlor, but Rosie had given the butler the night off. I thought it was odd, but with what went on in the house, mysterious callers sometimes came. I didn’t think much more about it.”

Thomas noticed the woman’s face get hot as she glanced at his collar once more. He struggled to hide his smile as the woman continued reluctantly.

“I thought I heard Mr. Potter talking softly, friendly-like. He sounded like it was someone he knew well. I couldn’t hear his company, but I was all the way in the back of the kitchen, scraping plates. I was thinking of going in there, to see if they wanted anything, when it happened.”

The housekeeper’s eyes glazed over, as if she were picturing something terrible. Thomas nodded encouragingly. “Please. Go on.”

The woman shuddered. “Next thing I know, I heard gunshots. The plate fell out of my hand and crashed into the sink. Somehow I knew he was dead. I think Rosie must have come down the stairs, for I heard her cry out as well. I didn’t think twice. I just ran toward the woods out back and hid in the shrubbery. I saw someone run out the back door after me, then heard the sound of horse’s hooves coming around the house. It looked like the rider was searching for someone. I didn’t move. I just lay there, sick to my stomach, praying I wouldn’t die.”

Thomas leaned closer and patted the woman consolingly as she began to sob. “That’s all right. Did you see who was in the yard with you?”

She lifted her face, tears streaming down her round cheeks. “When I finally got the nerve to look around, I realized that it was Sung He who had run out of the house, and that she was hiding near the woodshed. The horse finally rode off, then I saw her slip into the hills and she was gone.”

“I see.” Thomas scribbled furiously, the excitement building within him. Sung He, from the woman’s account, was a possible eyewitness! No wonder no one would tell him where she was!

But the killer must have seen her as well, for why else would he circle the house instead of riding off? He surmised that Bertie’s guess was right—the killer had seen the Chinese girl run, and had searched the grounds for her.

“What happened then?” Thomas asked gently as the woman fought to compose herself.

“I never went back. I came here, to save up enough money to go out to California, or somewhere safe. When things seemed to die down, I stopped worrying. I got a job here working in the Trapper house, and thought to live out my life quietly. Looks like that ain’t going to happen, now.”

Her face was so miserable that Thomas felt truly sorry for her. He smiled in an attempt to comfort her. “Do you have any relatives you could visit for a few weeks?”

The woman nodded, then blew her nose. “I can telegraph my sister back East. We don’t get along as a whole, but she might be able to take me in for a spell.” She looked up hopefully. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken about Emmet?”

“I wish I was.” Thomas rose. “Go to your sisters. I’ll make certain you’re notified once Emmet is behind bars.”

“Thank you, sir,” the woman said, as she looked forlornly around the meager house she would soon be leaving.

Emily walked into the town hall, her basket under her arm and her heart in her throat. Somehow facing outlaws seemed easier than attending the monthly meeting of the Ladies’ Sewing Circle. Swallowing her trepidation, she forced herself to hold her head high as she entered the room.

The women milled around a table covered with sweets, glasses of lemonade, and cups of tea. They chattered animatedly among themselves, until one woman spotted Emily and lightly nudged her neighbor. She glanced Emily’s way, notified her nearest acquaintance, until one by one the hall fell silent.

Emily wanted to run. Thomas had warned her how hard this would be, but the reality was worse than she’d ever dreamed. Faced with the possible rejection of all of the town’s ladies en masse, she became even more aware of how desperate she was to make a good impression. Yet the censorious expressions she saw gave her little hope. She wondered how long it would take them to throw her out.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Potter. I despaired of your arrival.”

Emily’s shoulders slumped in relief as Eleanor Hamill approached, rapping her cane sharply on the
floor. The imperious old lady indicated a chair along the wall.

“You are to sit beside me. I wouldn’t dare miss one word of your captivating conversation this evening. I must say, we are all delighted to have you. Aren’t we, Edith? Joyce?”

The ladies glanced at each other helplessly, forced to nod in Emily’s direction. “But of course! We are very glad to have you. Pray take some refreshment and join us.”

The knot in Emily’s throat seemed to dissolve and she put her case next to Eleanor’s seat. As she filled a plate, she felt someone staring at her. Across the table, to Emily’s dismay, was the woman who had been on the stagecoach with her when she’d come into town—the same woman who’d witnessed her “Science of Deduction” at the dry goods store. Emily smiled weakly, but her adversary practically harumphed her displeasure aloud. Taking up three cakes, she gave Emily a wide berth.

“Don’t let Amelia bother you,” Eleanor whispered, taking Emily’s arm. “I daresay you made an impression on her that she won’t forget. Some people just don’t understand Holmes’s brilliance.”

“I see.” Emily more than saw, especially when the woman began tittering to her companion. Still, she had Eleanor’s support, and that was a start.

Following the older woman to their seats, Emily tried not to notice that some of the others had reached for their stitchery and some simply stared at her. Although a few of the braver souls, emboldened by Thomas’s speech, had made their way to her shop
that morning, most of the faces were unfamiliar and far from friendly. Emily forced down a dry cake, and followed it up with a swallow of bitter tea.

“Miss Potter, I’m so glad you decided to join us this evening. I must say, we’ve heard so much about you.”

The woman Eleanor had introduced as Edith spoke softly, but her kind words were followed by more than one choking sound. Emily could hear the hisses of disapproval. She smiled as graciously as she could at the woman.

“Thank you. I do appreciate that. I know I’ve been remiss in not introducing myself earlier, but I’ve had so much to do. I finally set up shop in town, and am in the process of fixing up my house. I’m sorry I didn’t meet many of you at my reception.”

In the silence that followed this remark, Emily realized she’d made another misstep. Eleanor leaned toward Emily. “
They
should be sorry, my dear, for I had a wonderful time that evening. The house itself is magnificent, and you’ve already done wonders with it. And the books!” Turning back to the sewing circle Eleanor said to the room at large, “Are any of you familiar with the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”

The ladies looked perplexed, and Eleanor nodded as if confirming her own suspicions. “That is exactly what I thought. It is little wonder Miss Potter has been so misunderstood by you all, for she is attempting to emulate Doyle’s fictional hero, a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Holmes, you must understand, is the world’s only consulting detective.”

“A detective!” one of the younger woman exclaimed. She turned to Emily in amazement. “You don’t mean to say you are a Pinkerton? I’ve never heard of them employing women.”

“Nor I,” Emily answered truthfully. “But I have never let my sex be considered a hindrance. I think a woman’s mind is as fine as any man’s, in spite of those recent theories suggesting that because our skulls measure smaller, we aren’t as capable. By studying Holmes’s methods, and learning the Science of Deduction, I’ve been able to shed light on cases that were very dark to the local authorities. I daresay even here in Denver, I’ve been able to practice successfully.”

“I heard about the incident at the dry goods store,” another woman said softly, putting her sewing aside. “Is it true you were able to tell everything about the man simply from examining his cuffs?”

The women leaned closer, and to her amazement, Emily realized they were genuinely interested. She glanced at her mentor, but Eleanor simply winked and sat back in her chair. Encouraged, Emily continued.

“Well, I also had some help from his watch and the plaque he displayed there. By reading these clues, one would have to be very dim indeed not to deduce the man’s story. I wasn’t proud of that event, for I was motivated more by my own pride than science. Still, it is helpful to sharpen one’s skills continually.”

“I find that fascinating,” the younger woman who had been on the stagecoach remarked. “And I think your notion of a woman being equal to a man in intelligence
is gratifying. I have always thought much the same thing, and I am delighted that one of us has the courage to say it. I’ve been thinking of calling on you, to ask a favor, so it must be fate that brings you here today.”