by Kari Bovee
“Yellow. Bellied. Traitor.” Bobby’s words came out behind his gritted teeth in a rasp. Annie gripped harder on his shoulder.
“Traitor? How do you mean? Did he betray you? The Colonel? Bobby, if you know anything about the murders, you have to tell me.”
Bobby squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his thumb and forefinger to them, but tears seeped out anyway.
“No. I won’t tell you.”
“Bobby, when I was laid up at the hotel and you came to visit me, did you have oleander in your pockets?”
“How did you—?”
“I found it on the floor. What were you doing with it? I thought we were friends, Bobby.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “We are, Annie. It wasn’t mine. I found it.”
“Where?”
“Can’t say.”
“Bobby.”
“I can’t say. But I found it and I thought about giving it to that detective, but—”
“But what?”
“I can’t, Annie, please, I can’t explain. It will all come out, I reckon.”
“Does Mr. LeFleur know about this? I saw you two arguing.”
“I’m sorry, Annie.” Bobby slammed his hat onto his head and sniffed. “I never should have mentioned it. Please don’t say anything, to anyone. I beg you.”
Annie watched Bobby compose himself. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but it was clear he was going to stand his ground.
“All right, Bobby.”
As he left, Annie saw a group of cowboys mounting up for the search. Fancy awaited, all tacked up and ready to go.
CHAPTER 25
“More Bad Luck for Wild West Show—Buck the Wonder Horse, Annie Oakley’s Sidekick, Goes Missing.”
St. Louis Times – April 27, 1885
They arrived back at the campgrounds well after dark, still no sign of Buck. As he’d promised, the Colonel instructed the Indian scouts to continue their search for the next couple of days. Annie grew increasingly discouraged, dreading the day she’d have to accept that Buck, like Frank, was never coming back—and she’d be headed back to Ohio, whether she wanted to go or not.
Bobby hadn’t ridden with her today in the search, which disappointed her. She wanted to know more about the secret that seemed to be eating him alive. His admiration for Mr. LeFleur had sure taken a fall—a bit surprising as both LeFleur and the Colonel treated him like a son. But come to think of it, LeFleur’s behavior had changed of late. Once buoyant with enthusiasm, cheerful, and eager to share his wisdom and knowledge, now he seemed moody, nervous, and agitated. Perhaps that’s just the way she saw him because she had rebuffed his feelings for her.
In weary silence, the group of searchers removed the tack from their horses, brushed the horses down, and stabled them. Bobby finished first and quickly strode away toward the tents. Annie didn’t know if he purposefully avoided her, but it made her determined to know what troubled him—particularly if it related to the murders.
Once she’d gotten Fancy rubbed down, Annie led Frank’s horse into her stall where a fresh pile of hay and a bucket of oats awaited her. The mare gave a low nicker as Annie removed the bridle and, as soon as Annie removed the bit, plunged her nose into the bucket and munched noisily on molasses-soaked oats. Annie absently patted Fancy’s neck.
On her way to the tack room, she decided to check on Mr. Post. She found him in his tiny abode, sitting on his soiled cot, sipping coffee from a tin cup.
“You’re better!” she said, as she stepped into the room, careful not to tread on a pile of dirty clothing.
“Right as rain.” Post raised his chin. The man still looked like a corpse, but his cheeks flushed pink and he’d lost the glassy-eyed look of the fevered. “Still no sign of your boy?”
Annie sighed. “Nothing. I fear he’s gone, forever. The Colonel agreed to send trackers to search for the next couple of days, but I’m losing hope.”
“I’m to blame, Miss Oakley, and I’m terribly sorry.”
“Please don’t say that, Mr. Post. Please don’t feel that way. You were out of your head with fever. It’s not your fault. It couldn’t be helped.” How she wished she’d bunked Buck outside her tent, like she’d seen the Colonel do with Isham from time to time. But there was no point in looking back.
They heard a clatter of boots outside the door, and one of the cowboys stuck his head in Post’s room.
“There you are, Miss Oakley. You have to come quick. Something’s happened. Lillie is out of her head, and she keeps asking for you.”
Annie and Post stood up simultaneously, the wool blanket sliding off Post’s shoulders and crumpling into a heap on the floor.
“Well, what is it that’s got her going, son?” he asked.
“It’s Miss Midnight. She was found dead in the kitchen. We can’t be sure, but it looks like she was poisoned. She got awful sick before—”
“Oh, dear God,” Annie hiked up her skirts and hauled her fatigued legs as fast as they could go toward the mess tent. She could hear the youthful steps of the cowboy and Mr. Post shuffling along behind her.
Annie reached the mess tent out of breath, sweat trickling down the sides of her face. She reached up to wipe away the moisture and felt the grit and grime of the day smear across her cheek. The Colonel, Bobby, Chief Sitting Bull, several of the cowboys, and a few of the Indians had gathered around a table. A couple of opened bottles of liquor and shot glasses littered the tabletop. The Colonel sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. His hat slumped forward hiding his face. Annie heard soft sobbing.
The Chief met Annie’s eyes and nodded his head to direct her behind the counter.
“She’s been asking for you. Won’t let us near the body, not even the Colonel. We are waiting for the detective.”
The men remained silent as Annie hurried around the counter and found Lillie holding Twila’s lifeless torso against hers, rocking back and forth, as if comforting a child.
“Oh, Lillie.” Annie knelt down next to her.
“She’s dead,” Lillie whispered. Annie could smell liquor and vomit and nearly retched when she spotted the vomit next to Twila’s body.
Lillie’s face burned bright red and her eyes looked wild with fury.
“I’m so sorry, Lillie.”
“She’s my only family . . . the only family I have left.”
“I know, Lillie, but it’s not good to stay here. Why don’t you come with me?” Lillie drew Twila’s body closer. “There’s nothing you can do for her, Lillie, she’s already gone.”
“She’s already cold, Annie, she’s so cold.” Lillie pressed her face against Twila’s, and sobbed.
Several people rushed into the tent, Detective Jonas among them, his eyes searching the room and immediately alighting on Annie, who held up her hand to signal him to wait a moment.
“Lillie,” she said softly, “the sheriff and Detective Jonas are here. They’ve come over now to find out what happened. Won’t you come with me?”
Lillie violently shook her head. When she looked at Annie, her eyes had the haunted look of someone gone mad.
Annie reached out her hand. “Take my hand, Lillie, come with me . . . please. They have their jobs to do.”
Lillie looked down into Twila’s face, wiped a smear of vomit away.
Annie scooted closer, gently pried Lillie’s hand from Twila’s face and wrapped it in her own. “Look at me, Lillie. Come with me.” Lillie began to wail again. “Let’s go get that drink you wanted earlier, okay, just slowly release Twila and come with me.”
Lillie locked eyes with Annie and began slowly releasing her grasp and lowering Twila’s torso gently to the floor. Annie held tightly to Lillie’s hand and drew them both to their feet. Detective Jonas stepped in to hold Lillie’s other arm, and together they walked her out of the kitchen.
“I’m taking her to our tent,” Annie said. “You can find us there if you need us.”
Detective Jonas nodded his approval, and Chief Sitting Bull brough
t Annie a bottle of liquor. Annie nodded her thanks. As they passed into the cold night air, Annie noticed LeFleur speaking with a detective at the door, but she said nothing.
Once in their tent, Annie settled Lillie onto her bed, helped her change into a nightdress, and brought a wet cloth over for her to wipe her face. Lillie cried throughout and reached for the liquor bottle when she’d been tucked under the covers. She pushed her back against the pillows and swigged a long draw of whiskey, then held the bottle out for Annie.
Annie took in a long breath, staring at the bottle. What did that brown liquid contain that drew people in for comfort, but only ended up tormenting them? She thought of Joshua, McCrimmon, and Lillie. She wondered, what would it taste like? She raised the bottle to her lips and took a small sip. The liquid burned her mouth, and its bitter taste made her wince as she swallowed it down in one gulp. Normally, Lillie would have laughed at Annie’s reaction to the liquor—but nothing was normal anymore. Still, Annie couldn’t see the value in drinking oneself silly.
“I can’t believe she is gone,” Lillie said, staring straight ahead.
“I’m so sorry.” Annie placed her hand over Lillie’s. “I know you loved her . . . and she loved you.” Annie had finally seen the goodness in Twila—she’d loved baby Winona with a mother’s fierceness.
Lillie buried her face in her hands and shook her head back and forth. A few drinks later, she turned to Annie, a pained look on her face.
“I have something to tell you, Annie.”
“What is it?” Annie braced.
“I don’t know why you’re nice to me. I haven’t been nice to you. I gave you a hard time from the moment we first met, and you hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Why do you do that, Annie, why are you always so nice to people?”
Annie shrugged. “I know you didn’t mean half of it. You were siding with Twila from the start, so I didn’t like you much in the beginning, but now I mostly worry about you.”
“But I broke your heart.” Lillie had downed another swig.
“I don’t understand.”
Lillie placed her hand on Annie’s uninjured hand and squeezed it tightly.
“I helped Twila convince you that Frank wasn’t being true to you. It wasn’t my idea, but I helped her, Annie, I did you wrong.”
Annie widened her eyes in disbelief, her heart thundering.
“Twila wrote the note, but I brought it to you, and I banged a pan outside the tent.” Lillie’s words came out in a rush. “I . . . I betrayed you, Annie. I did what I had to do so you’d rush over to Frank’s tent, at just the right time, so Twila could put on a show, but it wasn’t Frank—he didn’t know anything about it. Twila made sure—”
“Wait, you and Twila—?”
“I am so ashamed,” Lillie said, nodding, taking another swig of whiskey, “You’ve been nothing but good to me and I’ve . . .” she raised her head but glanced away. “I’ve been downright mean to you, Annie, and I am awful sorry about it now.”
Annie’s body began to tremble. She tried to stand, but her legs folded under her. She sank back onto the bed, fighting an urge to strike Lillie. They’d tricked her, made her believe that Frank succumbed to Twila’s seductive powers—mere hours after she and Frank had first made love. And she’d judged Frank without clearly asking him if it were true. She’d thought the worst of him. She’d pushed the first man she ever loved away . . .
“If it wasn’t Frank, who was it? I know I saw someone in bed with her.”
Lillie raised her eyes to Annie’s. “That man who’s been following you, McCrimmon.”
Annie’s stomach lurched. She couldn’t believe the depths that Twila would sink to in order to get back at her. So that’s what Twila and McCrimmon had been scheming up together.
Lillie reached out her hand, but Annie turned away from her.
“Aw, damn it, Annie, say something. Call me a low down rat, a vile varmint—”
“Stop, Lillie, stop.” Annie held her hands up to her ears. “I don’t want to hear your ramblings.”
Lillie whimpered like a wounded animal. Annie turned her back to her, fuming. Neither one spoke for a long while. Too mad to cry, Annie wanted answers, she wanted the truth.
“Look at me, Lillie,” Annie said, and Lillie lifted her eyes. “I knew from the start that Twila was jealous and vengeful toward me, and I know you loved her, but what you two did to me . . . and Frank . . . was cruel.”
Lillie nodded her head and closed her quivering lips to still them. Annie sighed, frustrated.
“I know Twila poisoned Buck,” she said, clenching her fists. “She confessed to me and everyone who came out to see what all the yelling was about yesterday. So I want the truth, Lillie, I want you to tell me the truth, as you know it. Did Twila murder Kimi and Carver?”
“No, I swear no, Annie.” Lillie shook her head. “She could be mean and vengeful, I know, but she could never kill someone. I don’t think she had the guts. She couldn’t stand watching you with Frank. She knew he’d fallen in love with you, and it just made her crazy with jealousy—but she didn’t have it in her to murder someone.”
“What about the pistol found in her belongings? Did she know how to fire it?”
“No, Twila didn’t know how to shoot. I’d tried to teach her once, but she didn’t cotton on to it. That’s why I know she couldn’t possibly have killed Carver. That shot took some aim, in between all those people. That was the work of a marksman.”
Annie sighed, thinking back to that day. The day Frank missed all his targets, the day they made love, the day Lillie and Twila crushed her heart. She put away her anger for the moment. Lillie had a point. Shooting Carver in the head, during a performance, with all those people around, took some skill.
Since Frank, Lillie, and Bobby were performing at the time, the only sharpshooters left were the Colonel and LeFleur. She’d seen that fancy revolver in LeFleur’s trunk. He said it was a rare, unusual keepsake, nothing more, but you could draw the same deductions about Twila’s pistol. Annie regretted that she hadn’t gotten a closer look at LeFleur’s gun . . . it could have been the same weapon, but who used it to shoot Carver?
“I have to go back to the mess tent,” Annie said, lying. She needed to slip into LeFleur’s tent to get another look at that gun.
“Why?” Lillie sounded like a small, whining child.
“I just want to follow the trail.”
“But, Annie—”
“Don’t worry, Lillie.” Annie placed her hand on Lillie’s arm. “You just go to sleep and let me worry about this. I won’t be long.”
CHAPTER 26
“Miss Midnight Released on Her Own Recognizance.
Carver Murder Investigation Continues.”
St. Louis Times – April 27, 1885
Annie urged Lillie go to sleep and tucked the blankets around her plump body. She didn’t wait for Lillie’s response. Lillie looked up at her, still sobbing, but didn’t say a word and continued crying into a rag, wiping her nose and face repeatedly, like a cat cleaning itself.
About to step outside, Annie paused and saw her gun belt with the two pearl-handled pistols nestled inside. Listening to her instincts, she grabbed one of them.
The sky had grown dark, and the air crisp. Annie’s legs felt like lead from the long day’s ride searching for Buck, but she walked fast, her curiosity driving her forward. LeFleur would be with the detectives for a while longer. If what she suspected was true, LeFleur’s gun would be gone.
When Annie reached LeFleur’s tent, she stepped inside the darkness. She blinked her eyes, waiting for them to adjust.
On his desk, she spotted a half-burned candlestick in a silver-plated candleholder. She scanned the desk for some matches and found some in a metal box. She lit the wick and soon the tent glowed orange and yellow with the diffused candlelight.
Annie’s eyes immediately went to the trunk, which was locked—of course. She perused the tent, looking for another way to break the lock—an ice p
ick, a file, a knife. Anything.
On a chair in the corner she saw a pair of pants flung over the back, and some boots below, on the floor. A boot wouldn’t be strong enough to break that lock.
Annie walked over to the chair to look behind it, thinking maybe a tent stake had come loose and she could use that to force open the lock. She picked up the pants to toss them aside when she heard clinking come from them. Annie shoved her hand inside one of the pockets, and her fingers hit on something hard. She pulled out the object.
A gold coin.
She held it up in the dim light. The face and back of the coin had been etched clean of their markings. She dug her hand in the pocket again and pulled out another. She thrust her hand into the other pocket, which was empty, but her fingers fell through the loose seams. She turned the pocket inside out and stared at her two fingers, sticking out through a hole in the fabric.
Mr. LeFleur had lost the coin in her tent, next to her trunk where the tea tin resided.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Annie dropped the pants, gripping the coins in her hand so hard that her fingernails bit into her skin.
She had to get into LeFleur’s trunk. She’d have to shoot the lock open. Far too late for target practice, a gunshot would definitely be heard and people would come running. Annie made her way to LeFleur’s bed and grabbed the down pillow and one of the quilts. She wrapped the quilt around her pistol and held the pillow up to the lock. She knew the sound would be muffled, but not silent. She had to shoot the lock open on the first try.
Making sure everything lined up, Annie aimed and pulled the trigger. Downy feathers shot out of the pillow in a puff and wafted gently to the ground. She pulled the pillow away and grinned. She’d shot clean through the lock, and it hung open. Setting her gun on the ground next to her, Annie flung the pillow and blanket to the side and slipped the lock out of the hasp.