A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

“No, ma’am. She doesn’t have to do that. I’ll see to it.”

  “Good. See, Phoebe, you can come inside now. Remington will take care of the horses.” She curled her fingers in invitation. “Do you need help dismounting? Help her, Thaddeus. Please?”

  He released her hand and dropped down the steps. “Come here, Phoebe.”

  She gave Remington Mrs. McCauley’s reins and levered herself off the mare, dropping easily into Thaddeus’s waiting arms. His hands tightened briefly on her waist and he dropped a kiss on her brow before he turned her over to Fiona.

  “I’ll go with Remington,” Thaddeus said. “She’s yours.”

  Fiona nodded. “Yes. She is.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Did you tell him?” asked Phoebe. Hot water lapped at her breasts and curling ribbons of steam rose from the tub. She waved them away and slid deeper until the water almost touched her shoulders. Fiona sat on a padded stool beside the tub. Her fingers dangled in the water. Sometimes she made ripples. The soap floated toward Phoebe but she didn’t reach for it.

  “No,” said Fiona. “I didn’t. I think he knows. Maybe he has all along, but it’s for me to say, isn’t it? Thaddeus is a good man that way. He waits for me. When I’m ready, I’ll tell him.” She slowly made a spiral in the water with her fingertip. “This is how he drizzles honey on a biscuit.” She made the spiral again. “He’s so particular about it. Very careful. He leaves his clothes all over the floor in the dressing room. How do you understand a man like that?”

  Phoebe smiled, thinking of Remington’s wadded clothes on the line. “I don’t know. Who wrote ‘Woman’s at best a contradiction still’?”

  “I think it was Pope.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Well, he should not have been pointing fingers at our sex.”

  “True,” said Fiona. “‘What a piece of work is man.’ That’s something worth pondering.”

  Phoebe smiled wryly. “Especially when it’s so easily taken out of context.”

  Fiona shrugged. “When it serves, it serves.” She glanced at the floor near the foot of the tub, where Phoebe’s clothes lay in a heap. Leaning over, she used a thumb and forefinger to pick up the chambray shirt. “Shall I burn this?”

  Phoebe merely raised an eyebrow.

  Fiona dropped it. “All right. I’d put it all away if it didn’t need a thorough washing. Everything smells like wood smoke. Your hair, too. I suppose that means you were able to keep warm.”

  “Yes.” She did not elaborate.

  “Where did you get these clothes?” She glanced at the pile again. “And the hat.”

  “You know.’

  “He bought them for you, didn’t he?” When Phoebe was quiet, she said, “I suppose I did know. These were in the parcels and boxes we took right out of his hands, weren’t they? How you must have laughed when I helped you carry them. I recall adamantly opposing the purchase of items such as these.”

  “I didn’t laugh, Fiona. Neither of us did.”

  “Didn’t you? Well, you got what you wanted over my objections. It’s hard to believe he did not take special delight in it.”

  Phoebe felt as if their fragile peace was fraying at the edges. She ducked under the water and stayed there until her hair was thoroughly wet. When she came up, she held out her hand for the soap, and Fiona obliged her by slapping the slippery bar in her palm. She worked up a lather and applied it to her hair.

  “Why do you dislike him so?” she asked.

  “He is rude. Arrogant. Unpleasant. Is that enough for you?”

  “More than enough, I think.” Phoebe scrubbed her scalp and then soaped the rest of her hair. She twisted her hair into a rope, wound it on top of her head, and left the soapy crown there while she began to wash. “Will you tell me what you did to provoke him?” She gave a little start when Fiona slapped the water and sent competing waves in every direction. “Why did you do that?”

  “Why? Why do you think? You put that ridiculous question to me, that’s why. It is offensive, Phoebe, that you believe I must have done something to goad him into behaving badly. I’ve known him a great deal longer than you, and while Thaddeus thinks his son can do no wrong, my view of his base nature is decidedly different.”

  “You don’t even like to say his name,” said Phoebe.

  “Remington. There. I’ve said it. I don’t know what you imagine is changed by it.”

  Phoebe searched Fiona’s stubbornly set features and recognized that they were at an impasse. She could only offer a contrite smile to ease the tension in the moment. “Will you help me rinse my hair?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  And just like that they closed the door on the subject of Remington Frost.

  • • •

  Thaddeus tossed a brush to Remington after they removed the tack from the animals. He picked up another one and began grooming the mare. “How did this one do?” he asked.

  “Fine. She led Phoebe around a little, but Phoebe doesn’t know that. They’re both feeling their way.” Remington paused and looked over at his father. “You know what Phoebe named her? Mrs. McCauley.”

  Thaddeus gave a bark of laughter that made both horses stir. He quieted the mare. “I’ll be damned,” he said, applying the brush again. “Suits her, though, doesn’t it?”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “So tell me. Did you treat her right?”

  “I wondered when you were going to get around to asking. I think it’s safe to assume you’re talking about Phoebe.”

  “I am.”

  “You probably should ask her, then.”

  “I might do that, but I’d feel better hearing it from you. Fiona says that Phoebe could drink hemlock and would only admit to a mild case of dyspepsia. That’s about verbatim.”

  Remington chuckled. “And it sounds accurate. As to your question, yes, I treated her right.” He told his father most of what had transpired at Thunder Point, and if Thaddeus suspected there was a great deal left unsaid, he did not press to hear more. Remington was grateful for that. He had no illusions that Fiona would let Phoebe off so easily.

  Thaddeus said, “Tell me again what she said about Shoulders.”

  Remington repeated the description that Phoebe was able to give him. “She thinks she has seeds in her brain. Maybe she does. She can recall the odd detail now and again. I don’t think her memory is playing her false, but I don’t suppose we’ll know for sure until we find Mr. Shoulders.”

  “We?”

  “Me. Sheriff Brewer. Blue Armstrong. The detective from Northeast Rail.”

  “You’re not going to leave it alone, are you?”

  “I know what you said the night we found her, but is that what you really want?”

  Thaddeus said nothing for a time. He brushed Mrs. McCauley’s coat with increasingly harder strokes until Remington laid a hand over his and stopped him. “I don’t care about the money—you know that—but I don’t imagine that’s your motivation. I won’t ask you to let it go.”

  Remington held his father’s gaze. For all that Thaddeus’s eyes were a clear shade of blue, they could still be as impenetrable as his own darker ones. But that was not the case now. “You know something,” he said, and watched his father’s eyes dart sideways before returning to him. As a lapse, Thaddeus’s shifting gaze was infinitesimally brief, so brief, in fact, that Remington might have been convinced he had imagined it if his father had tried to explain it away. He did not, though, and Remington amended his thinking to an earlier notion he’d had when his father had announced that there would be no pursuing Shoulders and the others on Phoebe’s account. “You suspect something.”

  Thaddeus shook his head.

  “You do,” said Remington. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing, is what it is. Phoebe’s safe. I can be content with that. Jackson will
do what his job requires. So will that detective. I’d like to see the passengers have returned to them what was stolen, but after all this time, I suspect there’s nothing left. As for Phoebe’s abduction, that’s a stone I’d rather not overturn. I won’t put her through the unpleasantness of a trial.”

  “Supposing Shoulders and his men are eventually found, surely that would be her choice.”

  “Hmm. Has she said that she wants her day in court?”

  “We never talked about it.”

  “And maybe there’s a reason. Are you confident that she’s told you everything that happened when they took her to Thunder Point?”

  Remington’s first inclination was to say that he was, but he hesitated, and then held back his answer entirely.

  “Precisely,” said Thaddeus. “You don’t know. You’ll want to think about that when you’re going after Shoulders. Could be that things happened there that she doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  Frustrated, Remington lifted his hat, plowed his hair with his fingers, and then reset the hat. “Is that something you’ve been chewing on for a while, or did someone, say, your wife, spoon-feed that to you?”

  “Why do you dislike her so much?”

  “She’s selfish. Bad-mannered. And she acts as if she’s entitled.”

  “Entitled? To what?”

  “To everything.”

  “She is my wife, Remington. There are entitlements; however, you are my heir and that is made clear in my will. But if something happens to me, I expect that you will take care of her.”

  Remington sighed heavily, shook his head. “How did we arrive here? Let’s finish. I want a bath and breakfast, and not necessarily in that order.”

  And just like that, Fiona Apple Frost was no longer a bone of contention.

  • • •

  Natty Rahway fingered his mustache. The dark tips brushed his upper lip. He was aware of Doyle Putty’s narrow-eyed stare and ignored it. Willet was ignoring his brother as well, tucking into his scrambled eggs with the ferocity of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. Natty could barely look at him.

  He lifted his cup, finished his coffee, and gestured to the waitress to bring more. “I noticed you fellas are still trying to unload certain . . . um, articles, shall we say. Seems like Denver would be the place for that. Wouldn’t attract attention.”

  “You hear something?” asked Willet. He spoke with his mouth full. Bits of egg coated his tongue.

  “Jesus, Willet. Swallow your food and drink some coffee. You have the manners of . . .” He was at a loss to find an appropriate comparison until he glanced at Doyle. “Of your brother.”

  “Hey,” said Doyle. “No call for that.”

  Natty sat back while the waitress filled his cup. “Thanks.” He watched her walk away, liked the gentle sway of her hips. Her daddy owned the place and Natty liked the rooms and the food well enough not to risk eviction by making a pass at the daughter.

  “Did you hear me, Natty?” Willet asked. He coughed weakly when he aspirated coffee because he tried to talk and drink at the same time. Doyle slapped him hard on the back. Natty just shook his head.

  Doyle took up his brother’s question. “Is there something you want to tell us, Natty? Maybe you heard someone say something about one of the pieces?”

  “Didn’t hear a thing. Saw a woman, though, showing off a ring to a couple of her friends. Sure looked like something I’d seen before. I thought you were going to melt that gold.”

  “Now what do we know about that? And what else was I supposed to say when those women on the train objected? Where did you see this anyway? We never sold no rings to a woman.”

  “Do you know Sylvia Vance?”

  “The whore?”

  “The madam. It was at her place.”

  “You go all the way to Collier to fuck a whore?”

  Natty looked around to see if Doyle had drawn the notice of any of the other diners. It did not appear that he had. “I was never one for fishing in my own pond.”

  Willet shrugged. “Here suits me just fine. Always did like Harmony gals best. Those bitches in Frost Falls? Not one of them will let you dip your wick for less than a dollar.”

  Natty said, “You should stay away from Frost Falls.”

  “Now, didn’t I just say I didn’t like the gals there? But even if I did, where’s the harm? No one knows it was us.”

  “Just the same, better you don’t go.” He cut a triangle into his small stack of pancakes and lifted his fork to his mouth. Syrup dripped on his plate and he waited for the last drop to fall before he ate. “About the ring,” he said. “I guess you still want to hear about that.” When they looked at him expectantly, he went on. “One of the girls—doesn’t matter who—was showing off the sparkler she got from the man she swore was going to marry her and take her out of the life. Why she hadn’t run off with him already was a question in my mind, but I didn’t want to show interest in the bauble or in their conversation. I figured she didn’t trust her man all that much. Probably thought that diamond was paste. I could have told her different. You two remember the woman that Phoebe Apple got all bothered about when you tried to take her ring?”

  Willet and Doyle exchanged questioning looks and then nodded in unison.

  “It was hers. Can’t recall her name if I ever heard it, but it was her ring, the one she tried to hide by wringing her hands together like a Nervous Nellie. Now, do you think that little pear shape diamond was paste?” He didn’t wait for them to respond. “Because I sure don’t, and now some gal’s showing it off to her friends in an establishment frequented by men from all over. There is no tellin’ who might see it, might recognize it. Do either of you know where Nervous Nellie was going?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Yeah, well, neither do I. Maybe she was on her way to here. Why not? People come here. And maybe she is no longer the apple of her husband’s eye, and he visits Sylvia Vance’s house from time to time. You see how this goes? He sees the ring and tugs on that thread and pretty soon that spool’s completely unwound.” He stared the Putty brothers down to make sure they understood. “Whatever you have left, fellas, get rid of it in Denver. It’d be a needle in a much bigger haystack.”

  • • •

  Blue Armstrong pulled up his suspenders and gave them a satisfying snap. Behind him he heard Caroline Carolina, she of the improbably musical name, give up a giggle just as improbably musical.

  “One of these days, Blue, you’re going to leave a bruise snapping your suspenders that way. It’ll hurt so bad, you’ll probably drop your britches, too.”

  “And wouldn’t you just like to see that?” He leaned across the bed and bussed her cheek when she offered it. Caroline didn’t like lip kissing and he’d settled with that a long time ago. She was his favorite girl at Miss Sylvia’s place, so he was willing to compromise.

  Coming to Collier was also a compromise. Once he’d become a deputy, he started taking his carnal pleasures outside of Frost Falls. It just seemed that he should; a matter of principle, he called it, although he’d never taken the time to suss out the particulars.

  “Next week?” he asked, headed for the door.

  “Sure. If I’m here.”

  That stopped him. He turned around. “What do you mean? Where would you be?”

  Caroline Carolina had a triangular face and a deeply dimpled smile. She gave her bright yellow hair a toss to make sure Blue saw her best feature clearly. “There’s a fella been seeing me regular that might have other plans for me. Wanna see?” When Blue nodded, Caroline reached for the drawer in the bedside table and opened it. She did not have to root long before she found what she wanted. She slid the diamond ring on her finger and held up her hand for him to see.

  Blue’s eyebrows lifted. “I do believe my eyes have seen the glory. I want to look at that up close.” He returned to the
bed and took her hand, turning it this way and that in the lamplight. He whistled softly. “Who’s this fella that has a mind to remove me from your affections?”

  “I’m not saying,” she said saucily, removing her hand from his grasp. “Besides, I’m not counting my chickens just yet. The smart thing to do is have it appraised, leastways that’s what Sylvia says I ought to do. Who knows, if it’s as real as it looks, maybe I won’t wait for my knight. Maybe I’ll just sell it and go off on my own. Buy a nice house, have girls working for me for a change.”

  “Good to know you’re not overreaching. Maybe I can still visit you.”

  “Sure.”

  Blue studied the ring. Could be nothing. Could be something. “How are you going to find someone to give you a fair evaluation? I would hate to see someone telling you that diamond’s paste if it’s real.”

  “I haven’t worked that out yet. Sylvia’s asking around for me.”

  “You trust her?”

  Caroline hesitated. “Yes?”

  “You askin’? Because you don’t sound certain to me.”

  “Well, I trust her some. She’s been no worse than any other madam I’ve worked for and better than most.”

  Blue nodded. “Fair enough. What about me? Do you trust me more than Sylvia or less?”

  There was no hesitation this time. “More. And it’s not on account of you being the law; it’s on account of you being you.”

  “Well, that’s real nice of you to say. I’ve got a thought about that ring and who might know its true value.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s a fella I’m acquainted with over in Liberty Junction. You know where that is?”

  She nodded. “Straight down the line from Frost Falls.”

  “That’s right. Now, this man I’m talking about isn’t any kind of jeweler, but he’s managing the hotel and gambling house over there, and if there’s anybody shrewder than a man operating a hotel and gambling establishment, I haven’t met him. He’s used to making trades for chips. He has to make sure the games run fair and smooth and he doesn’t want to cheat his players any more than he wants to cheat himself.”