by Kari Bovee
“I don’t mind, I find your family fascinating. It’s a pity they don’t like the choices you have made in your life. I can’t imagine my family disowning me.”
Emma leaned in. “Well, she’s the only one.”
“Pardon?”
“As far as Mummy knows, I have been cut off from all finances, but Daddy can’t bear to see his little girl suffer, so he provides a generous allowance. How else do you think I could afford these clothes, the carriage? The newspaper certainly can’t afford my taste.”
“And your father keeps this a secret, your mother doesn’t know?”
“She has no idea.” Emma winked at her.
Two waiters brought them champagne, tea, and a tiered platter of delectable baked goods.
As soon as they poured the refreshments and left them, Emma leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, about Miss Twila Midnight.”
“Did you find something?” Annie scooted closer.
“First of all, did you know that Twila Midnight is thirty-seven years old?”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Yes, I thought she was much younger, as well. Her birth name is Rosalinda Verduci, and her family moved from Italy to America when she was a child. They lived in camps and traveled from city to city, often staying on the outskirts of town.”
“Gypsies. Lillie Smith claims that Twila’s family took her in, after the Shawnees killed her family.”
“That much is true. I found a press report that validates that claim. According to what I read, Twila’s family found Lillie wandering in the forest and took her in. Not long after that, Twila joined Houston Tharpe’s Wild West Review as a snake charmer, leaving her family and Lillie behind.”
“And then what?” Annie sipped her tea.
“Twila traveled with that show for a couple of years, leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake. During the time she traveled with Houston Tharpe’s show, she met someone you’ll find interesting.”
Annie had taken a generous bite of a biscuit so flipped the fingers on her other hand to urge Emma to speak up.
“Dick Carver.” Emma lifted her champagne glass. “And not only that, they became lovers, which infuriated Mr. Tharpe. He made it his mission to break them apart.”
“And?” Annie could barely breathe.
“Houston Tharpe was found dead in a covered wagon, with severe bruising on his torso and neck, and broken ribs. His cause of death was ruled strangulation.”
Annie drew a sharp breath. “Hank! Kimi had bruising on her body too, the kind of bruising that could have been caused by a snake wrapping around her torso—”
“—a snake that could break ribs and bruise a neck and torso,” Emma said.
“A large enough snake could literally smother a grown man.”
They sat in mutual stunned silence for a moment.
“So, did anyone suspect Twila for Tharpe’s murder?” Annie asked.
“I found no evidence that they did, but Twila went on to have other lovers, and one of them also died.”
“Of strangulation?”
Emma took a sip of champagne, shook her head no.
“Any bruising?” Annie asked.
“There’s no record of it.”
“Nothing about poison?”
“No. Nothing.”
“So we still have no proof of anything.” Annie slumped back into her chair.
“Well, we have confirmation that Twila’s had a slew of lovers, and several turned up dead. That, my dear Annie, is a pattern.”
“Do you think she killed Dick Carver?”
“Apparently, Twila and Carver reconnected when she joined up with Colonel Cody’s and Dick Carver’s Rocky Mountain and Prairie Exhibition. The Colonel quickly became Carver’s rival—and she picked the Colonel. The rivalry became so heated that Colonel Cody forced Carver out.”
Annie had been listening so intently she realized she’d been holding her breath. Thoughts spun around in her head, almost making her dizzy.
“The Colonel would have been a fool to shoot Carver.” Annie put down her teacup. “Too many people knew about their rivalry. But it seems quite possible that someone wanted everyone to think he did shoot Carver. We just have to figure out who would benefit from implicating the Colonel.”
“More digging to be done,” said Emma.
“Did you find anything about what Twila might have on the Colonel?”
Emma shook her head and leaned back in her chair.
“So we need proof that Twila slipped oleander in Buck’s water, and we need evidence that she may have killed Kimi, and maybe Carver, too.”
“That sounds about right,” said Emma.
CHAPTER 19
“Break-In at North Star Mercantile. Suspect at Large”
Greenville Gazette – April 20, 1885
Annie arrived back at the Wild West Camp long past dark, tiptoed into her tent so as not to wake Lillie, and discovered Lillie’s bed empty.
Annie changed her clothes and set out for the barn to check on Buck. The full moon cast a beautiful glow on the long grasses undulating like waves on a silver ocean. In the distance, she could see Buck, standing quietly, probably dozing. Annie stopped for a moment and listened to the sounds of laughter from the tipis and music from the saloon drifting on the breeze. As she approached Buck, Annie’s boot crunched on a twig, alerting her beloved horse. He answered with a soft nicker.
“Hey there, fella. All going well out here tonight?”
He placed his head over the fence and sought out her hand. She laid it on his forehead and stroked his white star.
The glow of a glass lamp lit up the barn.
“Hey! You get away from that horse!”
“It’s me, Mr. Post, Annie. It’s okay.”
“Dang, girl. You gave me a fright.” Mr. Post ambled over, light shining through his bow-legged walk. “I’ve been watching over Buck for you, just like I promised.”
“I see that and thank you. I have recently found out that someone slipped oleander into Buck’s water trough.”
“Now who told you that?” He stood up taller, stuck his chest out.
“I don’t blame you, Mr. Post, anyone could have come by and placed it in his water. We just have to prevent them from doing it again.”
Post removed his hat and scratched at his sparsely haired head.
“I suppose I can bring him a bucket of water three times a day and stand by while he drinks it.”
“That would be so helpful, Mr. Post. Just until I find out who it is—or can prove who it is.”
“I ain’t seen that McCrimmon fella for awhile.” Post put his hat back on his head and hooked his thumbs in his belt.
Annie paused, trying to figure out if he would feel a sense of loyalty to Twila. She decided to broach the subject carefully.
“Mr. Post, I saw Twila in the barn the other day. Is that unusual, does she venture out here often?”
“I ain’t never seen her out here. Do you think she’s the one who gave Buck oleander?”
“I’m beginning to have my suspicions.”
“But why would she do that?”
“I think she’d like to get rid of me, and she nearly has—if I weren’t proving a draw for the crowds. The Colonel’s already talking about finding me another horse.”
“But what in tarnation could that woman have against you? You’re plumb near the sweetest girl I ever met.”
Annie shrugged her shoulders.
“Women.” Mr. Post spat out a hunk of chaw. “Okay, then. I’ll empty Buck’s water right now and then give him a bucket in the morning. I’ll stand right beside him until he’s had his fill. Don’t you worry, Miss Oakley.”
“Thank you, Mr. Post. I appreciate your help. Say, have you heard anything about how Michante and Nakota are faring?”
“What’s the matter with them?” His forehead creased downward.
“Oh, you haven’t heard. They’re ill. Some sort of fever, possibly a virus.”
He
let out a slow whistle.
“This place is going to hell in a handbasket.”
“Never mind. You take care now, Mr. Post. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Bah!” He swiped his hand in front of his face. “I ain’t never been sick a day in my life, unless you count a night out with the jug. It can leave you feeling pretty poorly in the morning.”
Annie chuckled. “Good night, Mr. Post.”
“Night, Miss Oakley.”
Annie watched as the old man walked over to Buck’s water trough and emptied out all the water, then she headed for her tent, her mind humming with questions and information. She raised her head in time to notice Frank’s tent brightly lit from within. He obviously hadn’t gone to bed yet. Perhaps he had company. Pain stabbed at Annie’s throat. No matter how he spent his nights, she was done with him. She picked up her pace, walking steadily toward her tent, determined not to think about Frank ever again.
The next morning presented the kind of day that made Annie want to lie in the grass, watching clouds float by in an azure sky. But she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to enjoy the beautiful, late spring weather that had finally cooled. She needed to speak with LeFleur as soon as possible about the oleander.
When he didn’t answer, Annie slipped into his tent, resolved to write him a note, expressing the need to speak with him immediately. As she walked over to his paper-strewn desk, she noticed the large trunk she’d seen in there before, an odd, old trunk, with the forbidding lock. The top of the trunk hung open, the lock, open too, dangling from the clasp.
Annie scanned the desk for a blank piece of paper and a pen, but her eyes were naturally drawn to the trunk, sitting right in front her. What could be in there that required such a lock? She cautiously approached it and looked in to see several cantaloupe-sized burlap sacks, their necks tied with twine, a few books, a stack of dollar bills bound together, and guns—one, a unique revolver, a 9-shot cylinder with shotgun barrel attached below. She’d never seen anything like it before.
When she bent closer, trying to make out an inscription on the lower barrel, her eyes drifted to the burlap sacks. They looked just like the one’s she’d seen in the paper, the story about the stolen Confederate gold. But what would LeFleur be doing with that? He had been a Union soldier in the Civil War, as had the Colonel.
Annie sighed, putting her hands on her hips. Burlap sacks were nothing rare and anything could be contained within them—likely money from the show’s reserves. But she couldn’t help wondering. Only LeFleur and the Colonel would have access to such riches. She leaned over the trunk to open one of the bags—
“Annie? What are you doing in here?”
Annie’s heart nearly leapt through her chest. She spun around to see LeFleur, striding across the room, his face stiff and angry.
“I was trying to find some paper . . . and a pen, to leave you a note.” “In my trunk?” He stood towering over her. “How dare you pry through my personal belongings!”
“I wasn’t prying, honest. I thought I saw a pen in the open trunk—”
“Well, I’m quite certain you would never find one in there.” He snapped the trunk closed. “There’s ticket-sale money in there, and if it came up stolen, I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse our main draw.”
“Oh, I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t steal.” He smiled, but Annie could see perspiration dotting his forehead. “Now, what was so urgent that you needed to leave a note?” He pointed to a chair, and Annie sat.
“I wanted to let you know that I obtained proof that someone tampered with Buck’s water. Someone poisoned it with oleander. ”
“Oleander? It sounds like a plant, not a poison.”
“Lots of poisons are made from plants—mushrooms, for example, can be poisonous.”
“And how did you get this proof?”
Annie bit her lower lip and then released it. “Miss Wilson, the reporter, offered to have a friend of hers—a scientist—test it for me, and he confirmed that the oleander in Buck’s water was enough to make him ill, possibly kill him, if the amount increased.”
“You got a notion in your head that someone poisoned your ailing horse’s water—and you told a reporter?” LeFleur’s eyebrows shot up. “What were you thinking?” The intensity in LeFleur’s voice escalated. “The Colonel specifically told us not to discuss anything with the press, and I know you were there, that you heard him.”
“Emma—Miss Wilson—and I have never discussed Mr. Carver’s death, or Kimi’s.” Annie flicked her eyes up to see if he responded to her mention of Kimi, but he was so full of fury that she couldn’t discern a spike. “Emma befriended me, because she wants me to participate in the shooting matches she’s organizing for women, remember? I told you about them, and you said—”
“So you asked her to have Buck’s water tested because you thought someone in the show was poisoning your horse, and it did not occur to you that she might find that provocative enough to print something in the newspaper about that?”
“Well, no sir, she promised me that she wouldn’t—”
“And you trusted her because she’s a nice person.”
“Well, she’s the one who printed the retraction about my humiliation, so, yes, I do trust her.”
“Good Lord.” LeFleur ran his palm over the side of his pomaded hair.
“I thought you would be pleased that I discovered what ailed Buck.” Annie forced a smile. “Mr. Post agreed to make sure Buck only drinks the water he brings him, and he’ll stick by his side until he drinks it. Don’t you see, Mr. LeFleur? Buck will regain his strength and be able to perform again.”
LeFleur’s jaw flexed for a moment, then relaxed.
“Well, that is excellent news. Did you uncover any evidence about who might have given Buck the oleander?”
“No, that would be hard to prove, but I have something else to report.”
“Pray tell.”
“Miss Wilson knew quite a bit about Twila, and her past.”
“Why in the world would you discuss Twila with Miss Wilson?”
“She brought it up, over dinner at the Southern Hotel. I took it as a woman gossiping, and I won’t be revealing it to anyone but you, and only you, because I trust you to be discreet.”
His eyes flickered and then steadied. He gave Annie a smile of encouragement.
“Twila has never been friendly to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her past might reveal some reason for her to want me out of the show . . . why she might have slipped oleander into Buck’s water to get rid of me.”
LeFleur sighed. “And why would she want to be rid of you?”
“Because of Frank and me.” Annie steeled herself for his reaction.
“But you told me you broke off relations with Frank, was that not true?”
“I told him we were through.”
“Then we may safely assume Twila Midnight will have no reason to behave unkindly towards you or your horse.”
“Perhaps. I’d love to think it’s all behind us, but she does have quite the checkered past,” Annie said, alluding to more information to see how he would respond. “I didn’t say anything to Miss Wilson, of course, but I was surprised to learn that Mr. Carver was one of her former lovers.” Annie could see the wheels turning behind LeFleur’s dark eyes. “She said the newspaper had been digging to find out more about us all and discovered in old news reports that the Colonel bought out Carver’s portion of the show when he fell in love with Twila and wanted Carver out of the picture.”
“No, no, no, that’s not right.” LeFleur pointed a finger. “The reasons were solely financial in nature. Carver had gone broke before, and the Colonel didn’t want his mismanagement to bankrupt their show.” He trained his eyes so hard on Annie she could feel him thinking. “So does our Miss Wilson suggest that the Colonel may have shot Carver?”
“She leaned toward Twila, actually.”
“What reason would she—”<
br />
“Perhaps Carver was blackmailing her.” Annie cut in to keep him off balance. “Perhaps he knew things about her past that she didn’t want anyone else to know?”
LeFleur leaned back in his chair, lowered his shoulders.
“My dear Annie, this all appears to be wildly speculative conjecture on Miss Wilson’s part. She doesn’t have any proof. She was likely trying to get you to tell her whatever you know.”
“Well, I have the good sense to remain quiet. I wouldn’t want her to accuse anyone unjustly. I was only interested in discovering what was wrong with Buck and to see if you might know who would want to harm him.”
“Well, then. I thank you for this information.”
“But what are you going to do with it?” Annie asked.
“I’m going to think about it,” he said, gesturing for her to leave.
The next day, Annie returned to the stable to fetch Buck for a practice run. It had been a while since she’d worked him through the mounted course. When she spotted Buck in the distance kicking up his feet and playing in his pen, a thrill went through her. With each quick turn of his heels, Buck’s long ebony mane whipped from one side of his neck to the other. He looked like an energetic colt.
After her time with Miss Wilson and her confrontation with Mr. LeFleur, Annie couldn’t settle her mind. If someone could slip oleander into Buck’s water, then what would prevent them from slipping it into someone’s . . . tea? Annie’s mind flashed back to Kimi’s slightly overturned, half-empty teacup at the campfire. Also, the empty tea tin that Annie could swear had been full. Her mind raced with the possibilities. If only she hadn’t thrown the rest of Kimi’s tea on the fire.
As she was about to open the gate to Buck’s corral, Mr. Post emerged carrying Annie’s saddle in his arms, and Buck’s bridle draped over his shoulder. The skirt of her saddle had been embellished. Shiny silver Conchos, in varying geometric shapes and sizes, had been sewn on to create a beautiful pattern.
“Is that my saddle?”
“Sure is, kid. Put them on there myself. Don’t it look beautiful?” “Do I owe you for the silver?”