Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  After researching the situation and locating the suspect, Mrs. Warne adopted a disguise as L. L. Lucille, a fortune-teller, and set up a room nearby. It wasn’t long before the superstitious maid found herself in Madame Lucille’s crystal-bedecked den for a reading. Knowing the maid’s fascination with the afterlife and that she’d lost a brother three years earlier, Detective Warne launched into a series of warnings that supposedly came straight from the maid’s concerned brother.

  Calista had sat on a tufted footstool with a plate of bonbons on her knee, listening wide-eyed as her father relayed the story. “You are cursed,” the Pinkerton agent posing as Madame Lucille posing as the dead brother had intoned. “Give back the necklace or you will suffer with me for eternity.”

  Although Calista’s mother did not approve of fortune-telling—“But it was a farce,” her father had protested. “Isn’t it all a farce?” her mother had replied—Pauline York was happy when the sparkling rubies were back in her hands. And in Mrs. Warne, Calista had a sparkling example of a woman taking her future into her own hands.

  But to solve the world’s problems, one had to leave the safety of her hotel room.

  Calista slid her retractable baton into her pocket. In the two cases she had worked before, there hadn’t been a deadline. Establishing herself as a new member of a community took weeks. Working her way into the confidence of an embezzling suspect’s wife had taken a couple of months. Caution was valued over speed. But this case was different.

  Lila Seaton might not be any younger than Calista, but she was no match for whatever deviousness she’d fallen prey to. Every access that Calista was denied meant more chances that Lila was being harmed. Every failed attempt to get inside the underbelly of Joplin’s seedy world meant more of a chance that Lila would be spirited away and they’d lose the trail once again.

  Calista paused at the hotel lobby to ask directions to Dr. Stevenson’s office. Working with family nearby presented unique challenges. In smaller towns, where ladies were always trying to determine who your people were, it took time to be accepted, but even though she’d grown up in Kansas City, Calista would have no problem establishing herself in Joplin. The Kentworth name would give her instant respect. The difficulty arose in that she didn’t want respect. She wanted to get behind walls where respectable people wouldn’t go. It would be a fine line to walk with Olive and Aunt Myra observing.

  Slowing in front of the flower store on the other side of the alley, Calista bent over the tubs of blooms. The dainty tea roses gave off a strong scent for their size. Ever so gently, she let her palm skim over the buds. If she couldn’t get a position at the doctor’s office, the flower shop would be her next move, and then she’d try at the Children’s Home, although that Mrs. Bowman had done her best to discourage her.

  Calista found the doctor’s home at the edge of a respectable neighborhood. A nicely lettered sign pointed the way for carriages to arrive at the back. Taking the footpath, Calista followed the brick walkway through a dense, overgrown garden around to the side of the house, noting that a buggy could easily come to the office door without any of the neighbors being able to see the passengers before they were inside.

  A bell rang when she opened the door. She stepped into a waiting area.

  “Ahhh-choo!” A sneeze exploded from a man as he lurched forward on a bench. Calista wished she could shut her nostrils up as tightly as she was closing her eyelids. She turned her face away, reminding herself that a nurse would be used to sloppy outbursts. If she wanted to interact with the girls at the brothel, this might be the only way.

  Mustering her resolve, she pried her eyes open, ready to smile at whoever was hacking with the nasty, phlegmy cough at her left.

  It was Aunt Myra.

  Calista’s heart sank. Her mother had always pitied Uncle Oscar and his wife. Ever proud, they wouldn’t accept charity from the family, and Aunt Myra thought it poor taste for her daughters to wear Calista’s hand-me-downs, as they would look presumptuous on girls of their limited means. Calista had always felt sorry for Willow and Olive because of the things they lacked, but now, faced with her aunt’s painful condition, she realized the dresses weren’t the girls’ biggest concern.

  Growing up had its disadvantages.

  “Aunt Myra!” Calista knelt by her aunt’s feet. Taking her hand, she squeezed it carefully. “You don’t sound well.”

  Aunt Myra still had a strong grip. “Regardless, I’m happy to see my darling niece. What are you doing in town?”

  “I’m working on a project for school. The professor wants us to prove that we’re capable of managing in an unknown environment, so I came here.” She moved aside to take a seat next to her aunt.

  “You didn’t say that part last time.” Olive’s mouth twisted up on one side. “Calling Joplin an unknown environment is cheating, Calista.”

  “Not really. Granny Laura never let me come to town.” She started to grab the armrests of her chair, then remembered the condition of the people in the room and decided she’d rather not touch them.

  “When Olive told me you might visit, I was tickled. You’re just the diversion I need. But why in the world aren’t you staying at the ranch?”

  “I’m required to be in town, but also to work with some people who are underappreciated by Granny. If I limit my work to people whose company she enjoys, then I’d have no work at all.”

  Aunt Myra and Olive nodded their understanding. Granny didn’t suffer fools gladly, and it turned out that she had crossed paths with a lot of fools. Most she’d be glad to give a hand up and set them on the right path, but those who either didn’t need her help or who disregarded it weren’t to be bothered with.

  “Mrs. Kentworth?” A lady with thin hair pulled back into a puny bun made a mark on her clipboard. “Dr. Stevenson is ready for you.”

  Calista got to her feet and fell in behind her family as they moved toward the office, but Aunt Myra stopped her.

  “There’s no reason for you to go in. You might as well wait out here.”

  “I came to see you . . .” But Calista knew better than to argue. Her aunt wouldn’t waste her breath saying it if she didn’t mean it.

  Dejected, Calista returned to the seats they’d vacated and tried not to think of all the sick people who’d sat there before. The only ones who interested her weren’t here yet, but being a nurse at this office would give her opportunity to interview each of them. If it wasn’t for her aversion to sick people, it was the perfect plan.

  When the door from the examination room opened, Calista jumped up so quickly that the nurse startled.

  “Hello. I’m Calista York, and I wanted to talk to you about employment,” Calista blurted. “I’m a nurse, just moved to town, and I’m looking for a position at a small establishment. This place seems clean, efficient, and has reliable clientele.”

  “Reliable?” The nurse shot Calista a sidelong glance. “Are you suggesting we can count on them to remain sickly?” She shook her head. “Mr. Johnson, here’s your prescription. Come back if it doesn’t do the trick.”

  The sneezer stood, took the slip of paper from the nurse’s hand, then exited the building, leaving Calista alone with her.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Calista said. “It’s just that I’ve looked at some of the more dignified practitioners in town, and those aren’t the patients I want to work with. Women who lack nothing but attention, bothering us with phantom ailments. Men thinking they can bribe time into delaying their decay. Your clientele . . . well, at least we can be reasonably sure they’re sick, or they wouldn’t be here. And I can’t imagine that it’s easy to find nurses willing to work with them.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward the nurse. “Especially the girls who are coming in today. I’m from Chicago, and I’ve seen it all. I might look young, but I’ve lived a life that’s prepared me for just about anything. Nothing you face would shock me.”

  The nurse took a step back and surveyed Calista from head to toe. What a boon
that she’d packed these scuffed boots to go with her working wardrobe. In Calista’s opinion, they added an authenticity to her modest dress. But the nurse hadn’t focused on the boots. Instead, she seemed fixated on Calista’s hairline.

  “The widow’s peak,” she said. “I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but you were in here talking to Mrs. Kentworth, and there’s no denying the family resemblance. And if you are Mrs. Kentworth’s niece, then more than likely you’re Pauline’s daughter. Last I heard, she’d married some wealthy businessman in Kansas City, not Chicago. As far as living a rough life . . . well, that’s just another big story you’re trying to get me to believe. I don’t know what you’re up to, miss, but if you think Dr. Stevenson is going to hire one of Laura Kentworth’s granddaughters and put her to work with . . .” Her raised eyebrow finished the statement.

  “Aunt Myra comes to you for treatment, so she couldn’t object,” Calista countered, “and Granny Laura doesn’t even know I’m in town. Besides, she’s a busy lady. She doesn’t have time to keep track of all her grandchildren.”

  As fate would have it, the door burst open, and two people stumbled inside. Calista felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. What were Amos and Maisie doing here?

  This could only mean one thing.

  “Granny Laura wants to know what you’re doing in town and why you didn’t tell her.” Maisie’s skirt had twisted around her waist so that the buttons ran crookedly down the side. Her braids looked childish on a lady of her age—only a year younger than Calista—and even from across the office, Calista could see that her hands were sticky.

  The cool appraisal of the nurse rankled. “Miss York, I think my point has been proven.”

  “I’ve never seen these people before in my life!” But even Calista knew that her disavowal was futile.

  “Welp, I reckon you’ve seen me ever since you opened your eyes and saw the light of day,” Amos drawled.

  “You’re interrupting a conversation,” Calista said. “I’m trying to find employment—”

  “You? Work?” The siblings looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Can’t you wait outside?” Calista pleaded, but her time was running out.

  The door opened, and Aunt Myra and Olive came out of the office with Dr. Stevenson at their heels.

  Stepping around her aunt, who didn’t seem at all surprised to see two more family members in the reception area, Calista approached the doctor. “Hello, sir. I was wondering how my aunt’s health is faring.”

  The doctor’s face scrunched up. “Why don’t you ask your aunt?”

  She wouldn’t normally have dared to use her aunt’s condition to further her investigation, but she had no other choice. “I have some medical training, and I thought there might be some information you’d be willing to share with me that a civilian wouldn’t be able to understand.”

  “Calista York!” Aunt Myra lowered her ever-present handkerchief from her mouth. “What could you possibly understand that I don’t? I’ve suffered from this ailment for years. And when did you get medical training?”

  “Medical training?” Amos laughed. “If she so much as sees a paper cut, she’ll fall into a dead faint.”

  “What about the experiment you’re doing?” Olive asked. “Is this part of your finishing school?”

  “Finishing school? I thought you were looking for work at a doctor’s office.” In Calista’s opinion, the nurse didn’t need to look so satisfied at sharing that piece of information.

  “Boy-howdy,” Maisie exclaimed. “You’ve got more stories than the Carnegie Library. This is the most fun I’ve had since—”

  “Since you stole that watermelon?” Calista was tired of everyone looking at her. She wasn’t the only person getting into trouble. “Amos, you dripped juice on your cuff, but at least you bothered to wash your hands.”

  “He owed me,” Amos protested. “I took the watermelon as payment.”

  “You took a watermelon from Mr. Tormand?” Olive slammed her bag into a chair with a thud. “He’ll pay you when he can. You don’t know what it’s like to have money trouble.” Usually the sweetest, most patient of the cousins, Olive had the hottest temper when riled.

  “Calista is the one misbehaving,” Maisie said. “I don’t know how you’ve come around to talking about us.”

  The family hadn’t had a row this public since Uncle Bill’s Fourth of July fireworks prank. Only when Aunt Myra began her painful, thundering cough did the bickering stop. They watched helplessly as Aunt Myra dropped into a chair and heaved with all the strength she had remaining.

  Amos elbowed Maisie. She dug her toe into the soft pine flooring. “Sorry, Aunt Myra. We didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

  “She’s too weak to walk home,” Olive said, “and they won’t want her on the streetcar when she sounds this bad.”

  “I have my horse,” Amos said. “I’ll see her home.”

  “You can take mine and ride along with him,” Maisie offered to Olive. “I’ll walk to your house.”

  Again Calista felt the unfamiliar unease of being with someone who was so awfully ill. What was one to do? It was like an ongoing funeral. She didn’t know how Olive and Uncle Oscar managed.

  They trooped out of the doctor’s office as a group. Aunt Myra, Olive, and Amos mounted and took out toward their home in a more modest neighborhood. Calista took her remaining cousin by the arm and strolled beneath the young trees lining the street.

  “What do you mean, scolding me?” Calista asked Maisie. “You should know that once cousins start tattling on each other, there’s no telling what will be unearthed.”

  “I didn’t tell Granny Laura anything. Neither did Olive. Uncle Oscar is the one who let the cat out of the bag, talking about your plans to meet Aunt Myra for lunch.”

  Of all the people who might be suspicious of Calista’s activities, Granny would be the worst. She was the one person with the fortitude and the means to stop Calista, and the one most likely to either disapprove of or disbelieve Calista’s claims about her schooling. Calista had hoped to have solved the case before her family interfered. She’d underestimated them.

  A transport wagon with three rows of seats came rumbling down the street. It was unusual for a conveyance that large to come into a residential part of town. The wagon slowed as it passed them. Calista watched over her shoulder as it turned into Dr. Stevenson’s hidden drive.

  She slapped Maisie on the arm. “C’mon, we gotta run.” Grabbing her skirt at the knees, Calista lifted it as she ran back toward the doctor’s yard.

  To Maisie’s credit, she didn’t need any inducement besides curiosity to follow. She would have outrun Calista if she’d known where they were going. When they reached the overgrown path beside the doctor’s house, Calista squatted down. Motioning Maisie down as well, she crept forward.

  “Who are we looking for?” Maisie whispered.

  “I’ll know when I see her.”

  The girls crawled forward as they peered through the hedge. The large coach had barely stopped rolling when the door opened. Maisie pried a gap in the hedge with her strong, tanned hands. It turned out Calista’s untamed cousin could be an asset on an assignment like this. Years of rough-and-tumble summers full of pranks and plots had honed all of the family’s senses to expect the unexpected and to improvise when necessary, but if word got back to Calista’s parents that she was undertaking such a dangerous profession, that would be the end of it.

  Willow, Olive’s sister, had kept Calista’s secret when she’d encountered her on the railroad case. Then again, Willow was married and traveling the country with her rich husband. Maisie didn’t possess Willow’s quiet reserve.

  “Are those fancy women?” Maisie leaned into the bushes as she gaped at Calista. “Are we hiding in the bushes just so you can stare at fancy women?”

  Calista was so busy searching faces that she hadn’t noticed what they were wearing. On closer inspection, the women weren’t dressed much d
ifferently than the wife or daughter of a moderately successful miner. They were going to the doctor, after all, and had the same resigned expression that typically accompanied that ordeal.

  “What makes you think they’re fancy women?” Calista whispered.

  “You never see that many women traveling without a man unless they’re fancy women, suffragettes, or temperance ladies. Those ain’t no temperance ladies.” Maisie pulled a branch down, making the gap bigger. “Look there. See that red scarf? And the lining of that one’s hat is red too. Yep. They might be taking the day off, but they are what they are.”

  The finality of Maisie’s judgment annoyed Calista. She thought of the haunted girl in her photograph. Many of those girls probably had similar stories—they’d run off looking for adventure or, even worse, had been kidnapped from their families. But Calista was here to find just one of them. The wagon had parked close to the office door, but everyone couldn’t fit into the small reception area at the same time. From her hiding spot, Calista worked through the dozen milling women, waiting until each turned her face and she could eliminate her as a match.

  Maisie stirred. “If you want to see them, what are we hiding for? Might as well go over and say howdy.”

  Calista caught her cousin by the arm. “How did you know that about the red clothing? I have a crimson dress. There’s nothing sinful about a color.” There were two women who hadn’t turned toward her yet. One of them looked thicker and older than Lila would be. The other . . .

  “There’s something wrong with it in Joplin. I had my eye on a winter coat last year—black wool with red lining. Ma had a fit. Said there was no way her daughter would wear red. Maybe it’s not like that everywhere, but here it’s the same as handing out a calling card with your profession on it.”

  “Consider me warned,” Calista said. And here she thought she’d prepared for this assignment. The last girl turned. Calista sighed. It wasn’t Lila, but it was someone just as young and vulnerable-looking. “Come on,” she said. “You’re going to pretend you have a bellyache.”