15 Legends Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  A preacher stood beside the open grave, directing pallbearers to lower the casket, raising his hand heavenward as he offered a final prayer. Joshua subtly edged his way toward Thespen. When the man turned, he spoke up.

  “Mick? Mick Thespen?” He held out his hand.

  Mick looked puzzled for a moment.

  “Joshua Farmer. We met at the Red Onion, the night before you left for the Klondike.”

  Vague recognition dawned.

  “It appears you’ve done well for yourself. I’m happy to see a man achieve success.” He clapped Mick on the shoulder, smiling broadly. “Connell and Gariston left shortly after you—did you see them out there, by chance?”

  With the other two names, Thespen finally placed the conversation. He gave Joshua a warm smile.

  “That I did. Gariston stayed, but Connell found a lucky place and panned some decent nuggets. He’ll be arriving in Skagway this afternoon and I offered to take him out for a celebratory drink. Say, would you care to join us?”

  Joshua accepted but before Mick had walked out of sight began to doubt himself. He would be expected to pay for his share, he felt sure, and his cash was depleted. He could perhaps sell another of his mining tools and come up with enough. He squared his shoulders and walked through the crowd.

  A ripple of disturbance caught his attention near the edge of the cemetery. He spotted Harry and hurried that direction.

  “Joshua! Pull the pair of handcuffs from my back pocket,” Harry said, struggling a bit as he held both arms of the man he’d come to capture. Despite Durant’s limp, the man was strong.

  Two men stepped forward the minute Harry said he was a Pinkerton detective. They helped subdue the prisoner while Harry fastened the rigid metal cuffs onto Durant’s wrists. Joshua and Harry gripped his biceps and guided him toward the carriage.

  “I’ll restrain him but I surely could use your help in making certain he doesn’t cause any trouble on the way back to town,” Harry told Joshua.

  He positioned Jessie Durant in the center of the carriage’s long seat and looped a length of chain through the handcuffs and around a metal bar near their feet, securing it in place with a padlock that he drew from the satchel he’d brought along. He pulled a pistol from a holster under his jacket.

  “Joshua, please drive.”

  The ride back to town felt endless. The bank robber kept eyeing Joshua, as if he would be only too happy to push him out and take over the reins. Twice, Harry nudged the man with the barrel of the gun.

  “Drive straight to the police station, Joshua. Durant, you’re waiting in a holding cell until I arrange for your trip back to face justice in Washington.”

  But they found the police station empty, closed up. Harry tried the door while Joshua stood beside the carriage with the reins in hand.

  “They must have all gone to the funeral,” Harry said, “those who weren’t arrested last week for taking part in Soapy Smith’s shenanigans. Let’s go to the wharves. The Queen is in port. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  They took up their positions once again and Joshua steered down to First Avenue where the steamship was, indeed, moored at the Juneau Wharf, the same where the shootout had taken place. Harry jumped down from the carriage, leaving Joshua in charge of both the reins and the pistol.

  Durant growled at him, low in his throat, and laughed aloud when Joshua flinched.

  Scoundrel.

  Harry reappeared within ten minutes.

  “Good news. She sails at five o’clock and they have a secure bin below decks where I can lock this one away. I’ve had them telegraph my office in Seattle to expect us and to meet the ship with law enforcement aplenty.”

  Joshua started to hand over the pistol, unsure what to do next.

  “If you can stay around a few more minutes ...” Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw that two burly crewman from the ship were approaching. “The Pinkerton Detective Agency has something for you. But first, I need to see to this.”

  With the sailors at hand, Harry opened the padlock and the three of them muscled the prisoner down from the carriage and started toward the gangway to the hold of the ship. Joshua ran his hand down the horse’s neck, his thoughts going a hundred directions as he watched the bustle surrounding the busy harbor.

  Harry had said the officials at the other end of the line would meet ‘us.’ That meant he was leaving. Joshua felt a small premonition of loneliness. He would miss his friend, the only man he’d met here who seemed a hundred percent genuine. He blinked hard when he saw Harry walk down the gangway and come toward him.

  “This is the official reward for assistance,” Harry said, holding out some folded bank notes. “I’m sorry it isn’t more, but I have added a little extra because I’ll ask that you return the carriage for me. I need to stay here and be sure no one mistakenly opens that storage space.”

  “So, it’s goodbye then.”

  Harry nodded. “Unless I can talk you into coming along. We’ve talked about this before, friend. You know my advice: leave the gold behind and get home. There might even be a starting position available at the San Francisco office of Pinkerton’s. I would be happy to give a recommendation.”

  Joshua stared at the money in his hand. “I don’t have the—”

  “I could advance you enough for your ticket. It’s not a problem.”

  “I— I’m not sure.”

  Harry busied himself holstering the pistol Joshua had handed him. “Fair enough. Think about it. My offer stands until she sails at five o’clock. I’ve booked a cabin for myself but it’s a double and you are welcome to the second bunk. Be here by four-thirty if you want it.”

  Joshua felt torn. Maddie would love for him to be home. He would love to see her again, and soon. But something about this town and the lure up in the Canadian Rockies pulled at him.

  “I shall return the carriage,” he said. “And you might see me later.”

  Harry patted his shoulder. “I hope so. If not, I wish you luck. It’s been nice knowing you.”

  Despite their words, the goodbye felt permanent. Joshua climbed into the carriage and took the reins.

  Leaving the blacksmith’s an hour later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Still want that drink?” It was Mick Thespen.

  With money burning a hole in his pocket, Joshua tipped his hat and fell into step beside the other man.

  “Alastair says he’ll meet us at The Board of Trade.” Mick talked nonstop as they walked. “He told me he came back with over a thousand, after only two weeks! I did better than that myself, but it took me darn near the whole season.”

  Joshua soaked up the news, including the fact that the saloon at The Board of Trade was reputed to be one of the nicer ones in town. At gold rush prices, his twenty dollars probably wouldn’t buy much. He would have to pace himself.

  They walked into the neatly painted building with its wide windows across the front. Alistair Connell sat midway back in the large room, at a four-place table, and it was apparent that he’d begun drinking earlier in the day.

  “Josh, old man, good to see you again!” he exclaimed, exhaling the scent of Scotch whiskey.

  Joshua held out his hand, smiling despite the fact that he never allowed anyone the familiarity of shortening his name.

  Mick pulled two chairs out and plopped himself into one of them. A woman in an extremely low-cut gown came over.

  “I’m Bitsy,” she said. “Would you gentlemen like to buy a lady a drink?”

  Mick and Alastair gestured for the woman to take the empty chair, and she signaled the bartender to bring over a bottle.

  Joshua felt his eyes grow wider. “How much will—?”

  Mick interrupted Joshua’s question, leaning toward him. “Never mind. I’m buying.” He patted his side.

  The bartender carried over a tray with a whiskey bottle and three empty glasses.

  “Ain’t you having none, sweetheart?” Alistair asked after the man walked away.


  “Silly Joe, he forgot a glass for me!” She was out of her chair and scampering up to the bar before any of the men could move.

  Mick poured a generous two fingers into each of the glasses, and Bitsy returned with a glass already filled for herself.

  “Here’s to all of your success in the beautiful Klondike!” Bitsy said, raising her glass. “Drink up, boys.”

  Alistair tipped back his glass and drained it. Mick took a more restrained drink from his; Joshua only sipped.

  Bitsy gave Alistair a wink. “Looks like this one needs a refill,” she said, reaching for the bottle.

  Connell didn’t flinch as he downed the second glass, and Mick finished off his first one. With each refill, the laughter grew louder, the tales of their exploits on the trail more outrageous. Joshua eyed them carefully. The more they drank, the less careful they would be. He excused himself to use the outhouse and stepped to the back of the saloon.

  Beside the back door a man stood, leaning one shoulder against the wall of the narrow hallway, eyeing the festive atmosphere in the bar.

  “Hope you’re one of the rich ones,” he said as Joshua walked past him.

  He paused. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a percentage woman,” the man said. “Every woman here is.”

  “A what?”

  “You never met one? Well, the deal is that they’ll get you to buy ’em drinks. Except you notice she don’t fill her own glass from the same bottle? The bartender always fills hers. She’s drinking weak tea. But you’re buying whiskey, usually the most expensive one in the house. Bartender gives her a percentage of all the sales for your table. And if someone wants a little female company later in the evening, she’ll be happy to do that too. After you’re too drunk to care about the price.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Hell, I don’t work here. I just keep an eye out for the innocent ones, and you look like you just came in off the boat.”

  Joshua felt himself bristle. He walked out the back door without another word and pushed open the door of the crudely built latrine. Did he really have such a gullible look about him? First the town merchants, then Soapy Smith, now a woman named Bitsy—all out to take advantage. Even Thespen and Connell had gone off to seek their fortunes without including him—were they any more entitled to the riches in their pockets than he? The unaccustomed liquor raced through his veins and his thoughts turned dark. He finished his business, buttoned his pants and stamped back inside.

  At the table, the whiskey bottle was empty. Bitsy drained her glass and stood, offering to go to the bar and get another.

  “To our new friend Bitsy!” Alastair slurred. “May we spend even more hours in her lovely company.”

  Joshua thought of the man near the door. He raised his glass.

  “To Bitsy. And to all the other lovelies in our fair city.” A solid gulp of the whiskey burned its way down his throat, emptying his glass. “We can’t spend all our energy in one place, can we now?”

  He turned to Mick. “How about if we visit a few other places in town first?”

  Mick seemed surprised but he stood up, and since all the others were standing Alistair did, as well. Only Bitsy seemed a little taken aback.

  “I’ll ask the bartender for your check,” she offered.

  “What’s this about?” Mick said under his breath.

  “Just wanted to see what some of the other saloons are like,” Joshua said with a shrug.

  Outside, the evening air had a crisp bite to it. Music drifted from a different establishment each time a door opened, creating a disjointed jangle of sound.

  “Where to?” Mick asked. “Clancy’s, The Red Onion, one of the hotels?”

  Alistair wove a little unsteadily as they began to walk.

  “I hear interesting music this way,” Joshua said, turning into an alley a half-block from where they’d started. “Let’s find it.”

  Ten feet into the narrow alley, the path disappeared into blackness. Joshua turned abruptly and Alistair ran into him, tripping and landing face-first in a muddy puddle. The water splashed over Joshua’s trousers legs and he let out an exclamation. Mick began to laugh, bending down to assist his friend, and the white of his neck showed in a faint gleam under the half moon.

  A slender, vulnerable band of white.

  Joshua didn’t allow himself to think—he raised his arm and sliced downward with the bladelike edge of his hand, a quick chop. Mick fell, unconscious, on top of Alastair who hadn’t made a sound since his own fall.

  Quickly, working as quietly as possible, he rolled Mick over and felt the man’s pockets. The bulk of a leather purse revealed itself and Joshua plucked it from inside Mick’s silk-lined jacket. He jammed it into his own trouser pocket and shoved the limp man aside.

  Alistair’s face was covered in mud when Joshua rolled him over. He couldn’t tell if the unconscious man was breathing or not. At the moment he didn’t care. He rooted through pockets—pants, jacket, vest—finally coming upon a clutch of bills wedged into a silver money clip.

  Voices sounded at the far end of the alley. Like a cat, Joshua leaped over the two prone men and fled the way he had come, back onto Holly street. He caught sight of the boarded up, dead-eyed windows of Smith’s Parlor. What he had just done, was it any different from what he’d witnessed here when the card dealer stole a man’s pouch of gold? He shoved the thought aside and made his way as casually as possible back to his rooming house, his heart thumping audibly.

  Chapter 18

  It had been decided that Chief Branson would meet Katherine Ratcliff at the airport and talk with her at the station before bringing Mina and me into it. I found myself re-dusting the furniture and actually cleaning the refrigerator as I waited impatiently for his call. The station was only a few blocks’ walk, but still, I found myself eager to learn how it would all turn out. When the phone rang at eleven-thirty, I jumped.

  I’m not sure what I expected of our missing man’s sister, but I found myself surprised to be facing an elderly woman. Katherine stood up when I entered the room and I greeted her a little breathlessly—granted, I had speed-walked all the way from our place. She had a puffy cap of short, white hair and a gently lined face that attested to an indoor lifestyle and the mild, humid climate of the Pacific Northwest—as opposed to the leathery look of outdoorsy women in the dry Southwest. She may have once been about my height but stooped shoulders and an uncertain posture had taken away some inches. She wore a pantsuit of pale blue with a flowered blouse in the same tones, and I noted that the blue almost perfectly matched her eyes. It startled me to realize that, had my mother lived, she would be close to this same stage of life.

  “Charlie, I’m pleased to meet you,” Katherine said. “Chief Branson tells me you are a private detective. That’s exciting. I’m glad you will be working on our case.”

  I felt pretty certain that I hadn’t mentioned my quasi-detective status to the chief. Mina must have told him. Either that or he’d run a background check on me. In either case, I didn’t bother to correct the misconception with Ms. Ratcliff.

  Branson glanced over my shoulder. “And here is Mina Gengler, the reporter whose story brought you here.”

  Katherine and I turned to see Mina edging her way between desks in the squad room, approaching the chief’s office with a mixture of excitement and fluster on her face.

  “Sorry I’m running late,” she said. She handed Chief Branson a stack of message slips. “People have been calling the newspaper, too. Wilbur thought you should have these.”

  Once her hand was free she extended it to Katherine and introduced herself. I got the feeling that she, too, was a little disconcerted to realize that our cave guy would now be an old man if he were alive today.

  “Maybe we can find a quiet place to talk,” I suggested. The perpetually ringing telephones and conversation between two officers at their desks didn’t provide a very conducive setting.

  “You may use my office,” B
ranson said, “or there’s a room with table and chairs that we alternate using as a conference room and interrogation space.”

  “We might take our guest to lunch,” Mina suggested, and since that seemed like a far better way to put Katherine at ease, I seconded the idea.

  Then came the decision about where and how to get there, which led me to wonder how able-bodied our witness was, but she surprised me by taking the lead toward the station’s front door. We walked two blocks to a teahouse Mina knew, a place far enough off the main drag to be largely undiscovered by tourists. The three of us settled at a table near the window and ordered salads before getting down to business.

  “I brought a photo of my brother,” Katherine said, opening the clasp of her boxy purse and plucking out a single picture. “It was taken a year or two before he left. At the time, we filed missing person reports and posted flyers wherever we could think to do it.”

  She handed me the photo and I placed it on the table between Mina and myself, so we could both study it. It was an informal shot of a blond man with long sideburns and hair that touched the collar of his tan leisure suit. He had a wide smile as he leaned against a concrete barrier of some sort, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

  “I took this—I distinctly remember that, although I can’t recall many other details of the day. I was married at the time and I’m not sure why my husband wasn’t there. Or maybe he was. I’ve forgotten the exact circumstances. The marriage went badly and I changed back to my maiden name when I divorced. That’s a whole other story, the marriage, and not a good one. Anyway, I pursued my degree and ended up teaching high school English for close to forty years. I’m sure those kids thought I was such a fossil by then.”

  She chuckled, and conversation waned as the waitress brought our lunches.

  “Do you have any idea why your brother came to Alaska?” I asked, once we’d finished such details as passing the pepper and taking first bites of our salads.

  Katherine shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about that ever since I responded to your news story. It doesn’t make much sense.”