Going Where the Wind Blows

by Jan Christensen

  “Silenced the bullet,” Jake said behind her. She gave a start and bumped into him.

  “What?” she asked and turned around. Behind Jake she saw the actor. His eyes were wild-looking.

  “Whoever did it used a pillow so no one would hear the shot,” Jake explained.

  “Oh.” She turned back around and studied the room. The madam sat with her head between her arms that were stretched out on the desk. Nothing in the room seemed disturbed except for the pillow and the empty safe, door wide open, in the corner.

  No one entered the room. Instead, they turned and walked back to the bar where the others sat and stared at them.

  “Not much to see,” Jake said. “Whoever did it knew enough to use a pillow to muffle the sound of the gunshot.”

  One of the other women gasped. The three of them were sitting at one of the booths, Homer squeezed in with Fanny on one side, and Lulu and Lisbeth opposite.

  Jimmy was busy behind the bar, mixing a fancy gin drink for the whores and then pouring straight whiskey into a glass for Homer.

  Rita Mae’s head buzzed. A bit too much liquor, a bit too much lousy sex, and a bit too much murder. She took the same barstool she’d been using since she started work at the whorehouse, put her elbows on the bar and heaved a huge sigh. Jake sat down beside her and ordered a whiskey. Jimmy gave Rita Mae an inquiring look, but she shook her head.

  “Who would want to murder Miz Halley?” Rita Mae wondered aloud.

  Jimmy stopped wiping a glass. “Makes no sense. We all lose our jobs. She never kept a lot of money here—put it all in the bank every morning. More here in the till than in her office.”

  “She must have known something,” the actor spoke up. “Something someone didn’t want anyone else to know. Maybe she was blackmailing someone.”

  The rest of them looked at him with interest.

  “You have personal knowledge of such a thing?” Jake asked.

  “No! No, of course not. I just got into town yesterday. I’m just speculating.”

  But from his manner and tone of voice, Rita Mae had the idea that he knew more than he was saying. She studied him for a moment. He sat loose-jointed, relaxed, on the bar stool. Perhaps a bit drunk.

  “You ever been in San Francisco before?” she asked.

  The actor glanced at Jimmy, then looked Rita Mae in the eye. “Nope.”

  Jimmy stirred behind the bar.

  “You know,” Rita Mae said sweetly, “you’ve got to be the worst liar I’ve ever met. I can’t believe you’re an actor.” She turned quickly to Jimmy. “You’ve seen him here before, haven’t you?”

  Jimmy wouldn’t look at her. “None of my business. I would never call a customer a liar.” He turned his back and fiddled with some bottles on the shelf against the mirror.

  “Who are you?” Rita Mae demanded. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “My name is Shane McDaniels.”

  “Oh,” Rita Mae said, her breath coming out in a whoosh. “You’re Bill’s best friend.”

  “Was,” Shane said, his tone bitter.

  “But why didn’t you tell me right away?” Rita Mae asked.

  “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

  “Oh.”

  “What made you change your mind?” Jake asked.

  “Who says I have?”

  Rita Mae clutched her throat. “I loved him,” she said. “I would never do anything to hurt him.” Tears came, bitter and sad and lonely. “I loved him,” she whispered.

  Jake put his arm around her shoulders. He glared at Shane. “You can tell just by looking at this little lady that she would have nothing to do with murder.”

  Shane snorted. “You don’t look the naive sort. She had a lot to do with bank robbing and whoring. Why not murder?”

  Jake stood up, his hand on his gun in its holster. “Watch yourself now.”

  Shane shook his head. “You gonna defend the little lady’s honor?” His tone was so sarcastic that Rita Mae cringed.

  She stood up. “Please stop. Stop! Just help me find out who murdered Bill. Maybe the same one who killed Miz Halley.”

  Jake took his hand away from his gun. Rita Mae could feel the tension in the bar ease. One of the other whores picked up her glass and took a noisy sip. Jimmy poured himself a beer.

  “How’d you get the acting gig?” Rita Mae asked McDaniels.

  “They were short a player. I’m not that bad.” His tone was defensive.

  Rita Mae raised her eyebrows at him, then looked around the room. Who killed Bill and Miz Halley? Was it even the same person? And where was the money Bill was carrying?

  She turned quickly to Shane. “How’d you know Bill was dead? You came here because you knew, didn’t you?”

  Shane averted his eyes. “I got a telegram. Unsigned.”

  “Who did Bill know in San Francisco? I thought he was a stranger here.”

  “He’d been here a few times,” Shane said.

  “Oh.”

  “Used to come in here,” Jimmy said with a smirk.

  Rita Mae gaped at him. “You never told me that.”

  “Didn’t want to speak ill of the dead.” Jimmy gave her an odd look.

  “Then he knew Miz Halley,” Rita Mae said.

  “Knew Miz Halley. Knew all the wimmen here. Knew the sheriff. Sheriff kept an eye on him, didn’t trust him.”

  But when the sheriff had questioned her, he’d acted as if he didn’t know who Bill was.

  Bill’s money gone, and the safe empty in Miz Halley’s office. Had Bill asked Miz Halley to hold their money? He wouldn’t put it in a bank, of course.

  “Knew Miz Halley rather well,” Shane said. “She was his mother.”

  Rita Mae gasped.

  “Probably why she took you in. I bet no one else would.”

  “True,” Rita Mae said and turned to Jimmy. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Miz Halley? Bill said he was from Manhattan.”

  “His father lived there,” Shane said. “Probably didn’t want to tell you his mother ran a whorehouse.”

  Rita May sat in stunned silence. She and Bill had said how much they had in common—fathers who were thieves, although Bill’s did a lot better than Rita Mae’s. Housewife mothers. That was a laugh. His a madam, and Rita Mae’s a demanding woman who was never satisfied with what she had and used her piousness to cloak her ill-nature.

  Well, what did it matter now? Of course Bill would have asked his mother to hold the money. It had been sitting in her safe all this time. Who else would have known there was a huge amount of money in that safe?

  She looked at Jimmy. He didn’t seem the type, but you never knew. Bill might have told, or bragged, to Shane. Neither of them had been honest with her.

  The three whores had loosened up after a couple of drinks. Their laughter grated on Rita Mae’s nerves. Would any of them have known about the money? Rita Mae didn’t think Miz Halley would have trusted any of them with that kind of information.

  “What else don’t I know?” Rita Mae asked.

  Jake cleared his throat. “Sheriff and Miz Halley had a thing going.”

  “What?” The idea of them together made Rita Mae shudder.

  Jake laughed. “Strange bedfellows, for sure.”

  “Isn’t the sheriff married?” Rita Mae asked, remembering his wedding ring.

  “Thirty-some years,” Jake said cheerfully.

  Thou shalt not commit adultery. Yeah, Mom, I know. But it wasn’t me!

  So who was the most likely to know about the big bunch of money in the safe? The sheriff, of course. Miz Halley wouldn’t tell her bartender, or her whores.

  Shane stirred on his barstool. But Bill might have told Shane.

  The bar doors swung open, and the sheriff and his deputy entered. They smelled of horseflesh and sweat.

  “Everything okay down at the corral, Sheriff?” Jake asked.

  Shaking his head, the sheriff hooked a chair with his foot and sat down heavily. “Sometimes I think
liquor should be outlawed,” he said.

  The deputy sat down opposite his boss. “Couple of beers, Jimmy,” he said, grinning at the sheriff.

  “Those new boots?” Rita Mae asked the sheriff.

  He looked at them proudly. “Yep. Just got them the other day.”

  “Nice,” Rita Mae said. “You get a new watch, too? I see the chain is real shiny.”

  The sheriff pulled out the pocket watch and held it up for everyone to see. The cover showed an eagle holding a shaft of wheat.

  “Pretty,” Rita Mae said. “You come into some money, Sheriff?”

  Quickly, the sheriff slipped the watch back into his vest pocket and took a sip of his beer. “No. Been saving up for awhile.”

  “I see,” Rita Mae said. “Been buying anything else lately?”

  The deputy snorted. “Only a new house.”

  “What?” Rita Mae said. She stood up and walked over to the sheriff. “You took Bill’s money, didn’t you? I bet Miz Halley gave you some, but you decided you wanted it all.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” the sheriff sputtered. “I’m the lawman in this town, and I abide by the law.”

  “Used to maybe,” Rita Mae said. “But you had no compunctions disobeying one of the ten commandments—the one about adultery. Why not another?”

  Thou shalt not steal. Rita Mae stared at the sheriff. She herself was a thief, and a whore. Would murder be the next step?

  The deputy was a bit slow, but he drew his pistol and pointed it at the sheriff.

  The sheriff was a lot faster on the draw. Jake stirred behind Rita Mae, and she glanced back to see him pointing his own gun at the sheriff.

  The sheriff changed the position of his aim so his pistol pointed directly at Rita Mae. “No one move, or she gets it,” he said. He stood up, the chair crashing behind him. He began to back away, but Rita Mae jumped forward.

  “No! You killed my Bill!”

  “He was nothing but a low-down thief, and so are you. Not to mention a whore.”

  Gunfire erupted. Rita Mae heard at least three shots, maybe four. She realized she was falling, but didn’t really feel the floor when she landed. Her side hurt. She put her hand over it and felt something sticky, like molasses.

  She looked up and saw several faces looking down at her. Jake looked sad. Jimmy, Shane, Homer, and the deputy, shocked. The other whores, scared. Where was the sheriff? She turned her head to the side and saw him lying in a pool of blood, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the tin ceiling.

  Blood. Blood was what she’d felt on her dress, and she knew she was dying. She’d always hated her mother and her fake piousness. But now she realized it had given her mother inner strength. Rita Mae had always just gone where the wind blew. She panicked. She didn’t want to die…

  Her mother’s voice sounded for the last time in her roaring ears.

  The wages of sin is death.

  Rita Mae let go, and Bill’s voice drowned out the other.

  Blow with the wind, darlin’. Just blow with the wind.

  THE END