Petticoat Detective (17 page)

He tipped his hat politely and held the door open for her. “Ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

He might have been less gallant had he known his mop of brown curls and oily smile reminded her of Deadeye Pete, a man now on trial for murder.

She planned to drop her letter in the mailbox but at the last minute decided to hand it to the postmaster directly to see his reaction.

He didn’t recognize her, either. Neither did Mr. Piker at the Gun and Bakery Shoppe. Nor did his wife. Not only did Mrs. Piker sell her a cherry tart, but she engaged her in a pleasant conversation about the weather.

People apparently didn’t look at prostitutes that closely, or maybe they just didn’t see the person beneath the paint and fancy clothes. It was an extraordinary discovery, one she intended to use to full advantage.

Confident now that she could conduct her business in town without the bother of having to dress in a way she abhorred, she hurried along the boardwalk toward the leather and candle shop, its owner on the suspect list.

Suddenly, a body shot out of the Idle Hands Saloon and Dance Hall and sprawled facedown at her feet. Amy immediately recognized the checkered suit of the man in the hotel dining room.

She bent to shake him on the shoulder, wrinkling her nose against the strong smell of alcohol. “Are you all right, sir?”

For answer the man merely groaned. He then raised his torso off the wooden walk and squinted through unfocused red eyes. Climbing to his feet, he rubbed his jaw and spouted a slurred curse as he staggered away.

She was so intent in watching him she failed to notice Mr. Colton until he was only a few feet in front of her. He stopped; their eyes met and she heard his intake of breath.

“Amy?”

Startled, she shook her head and stepped off the boardwalk onto the dirt-packed road. No one else had recognized her. Why had he?

Dodging a horse and wagon, she hurried across the street, her heart beating as fast as her racing feet.

A
my was still running by the time she reached Miss Lillian’s. Hoping no one would see her, she rushed around back and lifted the cellar trapdoor. Closing it after her, she walked down the steps and stopped to catch her breath before moving through the dim underground room to the stairs leading to the kitchen.

She was in luck; Coffey hadn’t started the noon meal yet and was nowhere to be seen.

Tiptoeing down the hall, she glanced in the parlor. The draperies were shut tight, and the candles were lit. A man Amy didn’t recognize sat at a small round table opposite Miss Lillian. Both were staring into the crystal ball.

The man’s pointy chin whiskers and hooked nose reminded her of the notorious outlaw J. C. Bitterman, who robbed thirty-seven stages before she’d trailed him to his boardinghouse where he was arrested.

“I see something,” Miss Lillian said in a hushed tone. “I see the letter
M
.”

The man sat forward. “M for money?”

Shaking her head, Amy hurried up the stairs. How could anyone believe in such nonsense? Only God knew what the future held.

She didn’t see Coral until she reached the second-floor landing.

Coral looked her up and down, her chocolate-brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where have you been? And why are you dressed like a poor farmer’s wife?”

“I wasn’t feeling well so I stepped outside for some air.” She moved away from the stairs, but Coral blocked her way.

“Seems like you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business what I do.” She tried to dodge around her, but Coral refused to let her pass.

“I think it is.”

A door opened and Buttercup stepped into the hall. “What’s going on?”

Coral folded her arms. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Polly’s head popped out of her room. “L–leave her alone, C–C–Coral. She’s still new.”

“Yes, she
is
new.” Coral’s eyes narrowed. “And, in fact, started work the very same day Rose was murdered.”

“So what are you saying, Coral?” Amy kept her voice deceptively calm. It was the same voice used to pacify union rioters. She sensed Coral could be a formidable foe, and that was the last thing she needed.

“I’m saying that it seems like a strange coincidence.”

Buttercup’s gaze swung from Coral to Amy. “It does seem like that. And why are you dressed in those clothes?”

All three women stared at her.

“As I told Coral, I wasn’t feeling well and stepped outside to get some fresh air. And I did not kill Rose. I didn’t even know her.” Did they believe her? It was hard to tell. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She walked past Coral. Moments later she stood in her room staring at herself in the mirror. Tom Colton had recognized her when no one else in town did. What a nuisance. From now on, she’d have to dress like a proper scarlet lady—or risk having him guess the truth.

Tom sat in the hotel lobby. Tapping the arm of the chair, he watched the door. It was the third day straight he’d waited for Amy. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had the annoying habit of popping up in his thoughts at the most inopportune times. He even imagined seeing her in town on occasion. One poor woman he’d mistaken for Amy had run from him like a scared rabbit without giving him a chance to apologize.

He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t even know Amy’s full name. Not that it mattered; his only interest was business. He could never fall for such a woman. Not like his brother …

Dave, oh, Dave
. He’d been in town for nearly three weeks, and what did he have to show for his efforts? Nothing! He was no closer to finding his brother’s killer than he was when he first arrived. No closer to finding out if his brother really had turned over a new leaf. If anything, the opposite seemed to be true, and he had more questions than answers. That was the reason he wanted to see Amy. The
only
reason.

Was she avoiding him on purpose? Or did she simply have nothing to report? Frustrated with his own lack of progress, he decided it was time for action. If Amy wouldn’t come to him, he would go to her.

Only this time, he’d keep his eye out for bullets. Better make that both eyes.

It was just after dark when he arrived at Miss Lillian’s Parlor House and Fine Boots. A thin crescent moon seemingly mocked his presence as he tethered his horse and walked up the pathway to the porch. A new sign had been tacked onto the front door. S
HOOTING
L
ESSONS
, T
WO
F
IFTY
.

His eyebrows shot up. Miss Lillian was at it again. The way these women wielded their firearms, she’d be advertising a funeral home next.

He rang the bell, and a tall dark-skinned woman, whose name he couldn’t remember, opened the door.

She gave him a once-over before letting him in. A strange screech-owl sound greeted him as he followed her past the rampant display of boots for sale and into the parlor. Miss Lillian played the piano as she sang. The woman couldn’t carry a tune in a corked jug, but that didn’t stop her none. “If you can’t sing well, sing loud” seemed to be her motto.

All the working women were present and seated upon ottomans amid clouds of colorful silk and taffeta skirts. The upholstered chairs was reserved for johns or, as Miss Lillian liked to call them, guests.

Several men were scattered about the room holding glasses of alcohol and puffing on cigars or pipes. Some Tom recognized from town, but not all. One he even remembered seeing in church on Sunday. Trying not to let his dislike for the place show, his gaze lit on Amy.

For some reason, she stood out from the rest. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. Tonight she wore a dazzling green gown. Though the room was cool, she held a fan in such a way as to allow a tantalizing peek at a creamy white shoulder, while keeping the valley of her neckline hidden.

Compared to the others, she looked as prim and proper as a preacher’s wife at a prayer meeting. Given her attire, that was saying something.

Clearly, she was surprised to see him, but she looked away when he took the seat next to her.

The men came in various sizes and shapes and ranged in age from late twenties to early fifties. They all had one thing in common; they all sported shiny new boots, putting his old leather dogs to shame.

Miss Lillian finished her song and scooted around on the piano bench to face them. Though her singing voice gave her much to be modest about, she accepted the thin applause with an air of entitlement.

With a wave of a jeweled hand, she brushed aside a red curl and pressed her hands together. “Tonight, gentlemen, I have a treat for you. Amy has agreed to play ‘For Eloise’ by Mr. Lewd Wig Bay-toven.”

Amy rose amid a round of clapping hands. “That’s ‘Für Elise.’ ” She smiled before adding, “By Mr. Ludwig van Beethoven.”

It was all Tom could do not to laugh out loud at Miss Lillian’s gaffe. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to look appropriately at ease.

Amy seated herself on the piano stool and raised her hands to the keys. She looked perfectly composed and comfortable, as if the piano were but a mere extension of her.

Almost instantly, the lilting tune filled the air, and he listened with rapt attention.

It didn’t seem possible that this was the same tuneless piano that moments earlier had sounded like a dying cow. Even the occasional wrong note didn’t spoil the pleasing musical sound.

There were four other men in the room, and they all sat forward. Amy’s playing seemed to draw them in like a magnet.

All too soon, she completed the piece. She stood and accepted the applause with a modest bow.

“Bravo!” called out a bearded man who saluted her with his whiskey glass.

“Well done!” cried another.

The bald-headed man directly across from Amy gave her a broad wink and patted the seat next to him. His complexion was as lumpy and pitted as a bad road, and his eyes bulged out like a toad’s.

Tom felt a strange and totally unexpected protective surge rush through him. Where it came from, he had no idea. It was all he could do not to drag Amy away from the leering glances of the other men.

He balled his hands into fists to keep from acting on the impulse. What went on between these walls was none of his business. He wasn’t out to save the world. All he wanted was to find his brother’s killer.

Either Amy didn’t notice the gesturing man or chose to ignore him. Instead, she let Colton catch her eye. For a split second it seemed as if he and Amy were the only two in the room, but the feeling passed when she took her seat.

“Gentlemen, it’s time to choose your partners,” Miss Lillian announced.

Tom shot to his feet. “I choose Amy.”

The silence that followed suggested he’d acted out of turn. He glanced down at Amy, but she offered neither help nor encouragement. The guests weren’t quite so neutral, and the bald-headed man’s expression was downright hostile. If looks could kill, Tom would be gasping for his last breath. As it was, he felt compelled to loosen the bolo tie donned specially for the occasion.

Miss Lillian’s hands fluttered around all nervous-like. “Amy is already spoken for.”

“I believe this will speak louder.” Tom reached into his vest pocket and slapped two bills on the low table. If he didn’t watch out, Miss Lillian would send him to the poorhouse.

Just as he thought, the madam wasn’t about to turn down such a generous amount of money. She exchanged a meaningful and maybe even an apologetic glance with Amy before shrugging to signal the matter closed.

He frowned. Amy and the madam were evidently in cahoots. He wouldn’t put it past them to have a plan to wring him dry.

The toad-eyed man protested, but Miss Lillian hooked an arm around his. “Would you care to have your fortune told, Mr. Newhall, on the house?”

While the madam pacified him, the other women sprang into action and one by one led the other guests away with flirtatious chatter.

Tom expected at the least a little friendly banter from Amy. He did, after all, save her from toad man. What he got was an angry glare before she stomped out of the room and up the stairs ahead of him.