Petticoat Detective

by Margaret Brownley

  “Pleeeease?”

  Amy didn’t know how long she would be in town. Now that Rose was dead, there was no advantage in being a female detective. Mr. Pinkerton might decide to use her elsewhere and replace her with a male operative.

  Coral looked so upset Amy couldn’t bring herself to say no. “All right. I’ll teach you.”

  A look of relief fleeted across Coral’s face. “Thank you.”

  Amy waited a beat before asking, “How long have you … uh … lived here, Coral?”

  Coral tucked her handkerchief back into her sleeve and regarded Amy with soulful brown eyes. “Three years, two months, and twenty-one days.”

  Amy considered her answer. How could people do that? Be so precise? “And Rose?”

  Mr. Studebaker had started singing again, and Coral cupped her ear. “What did you say?”

  Amy lifted her voice to be heard above the racket coming from the parlor and the dishes rattling in the cabinet. “HOW LONG HAD ROSE WORKED HERE?”

  Coral shrugged. “Longer than me.” She sighed. “Too bad she didn’t leave as she planned.”

  “ROSE PLANNED ON LEAVING?”

  “Shh.” Coral glanced at the doorway, and it was then that Amy realized the music had stopped. “I don’t think she wanted anyone to know.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Amy said softly.

  “No, I guess it don’t.”

  “Do you know why she was leaving?” Amy asked.

  “She never said.” Coral shrugged. “I guess she just didn’t want to work here anymore.”

  Amy couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to work here. “Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm her?”

  “No, no one.”

  The exchange had a sobering effect. For a moment, she and Coral were lost in thought. Mercifully, no sounds came from the parlor.

  Amy was the first to break the silence. “Last night … Rose’s room was a terrible mess. But you told the marshal you didn’t hear anything.”

  “My room’s at the end of the hall. But … some of our guests tend to get noisy on occasion. Even if I’d heard something, I wouldn’t have thought much about it.”

  “I see.” She had been in the room directly across from Rose’s and hadn’t heard a thing, not until the screams. But then again, she’d been occupied at the time. Had Mr. Colton not commanded all her attention, might she have been able to save Rose? It was hard to know and depressing to consider.

  Coral’s eyes narrowed. “Why you asking all these questions?”

  Amy tried to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be nosy. I only met Rose the one time, and she struck me as a very nice person.”

  “She was okay, I guess.”

  Not wanting to sound overly interested in Rose, Amy changed the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking … Have you thought about finding another line of work? Something safer?” Something more in keeping with God’s commandments.

  Coral laughed, but her painted face held no mirth. “It looks like you’re in the same boat as me, honey. If a white girl like you can’t find respectable work, how do you expect a darky like me to find it?”

  Chapter 4

  Long after the others had retired to their rooms that night, Amy fought with the dormer window in the attic. Gritting her teeth, she pushed up on the window frame with the heels of her hands, and at last it grumbled open. The sound made her stop to listen.

  The walls groaned and the eaves sighed, but she heard no voices or footsteps. Confident that she and the mice scampering behind the attic walls were the only ones awake, she stuck her head outside.

  Cool night air nipped at her cheeks like a playful puppy. A full moon illuminated the worrisome pitch of the porch roof slanting away from the window. She turned her head to study the distance between the window and the large gnarly oak tree at the side of the house.

  No more than eight feet away, the tree appeared sturdy enough for her purposes. In her youth she could outrun, outclimb, and outride her brothers. It wasn’t for nothing that she earned the name tomboy. Normally she would welcome the challenge of climbing down the tree’s twisted limbs.

  But there was nothing normal about her current situation. Not the fancy, bright-colored gowns she was forced to wear with their flyaway sleeves and Grand Canyon necklines. And certainly not Miss Lillian who, since Rose’s death, kept the outer doors locked night and day so no one could enter the house or leave without her knowledge.

  The window offered the only way to circumvent Miss Lillian’s guard. Upon arriving in town, she’d checked into the Grande Hotel and Bath House, and her clothes were still there. She’d searched for the skirt and shirtwaist worn the day she arrived at the parlor house but was told that any clothes deemed unsuitable by Miss Lillian’s standards were relegated to the ragman.

  Amy had free use of the garments in her room, but some dresses started too late and others hardly started at all. Retrieving something more practical, not to mention more modest to wear, took top priority.

  To allow free movement she was dressed in only a white silk camisole and petticoat, under which she wore silk drawers. She dropped her bundle of clothes outside the window to be donned once she reached the ground.

  She was willing to do a lot of crazy things, but climbing down a tree in a long skirt and saddlebag bustle was not one of them. The bundle also held her report to headquarters. The post office was closed, of course, but she hoped to find an outside box in which to deposit mail.

  She glanced at the ground below. It had been many years since she’d last climbed a tree, and though she’d done her share of chasing outlaws, most had been on flat land. But she could do it. Had to do it. She desperately needed something decent to wear.

  Lord, just don’t let me break my neck. There were many honorable things worth dying for, but modesty wasn’t one of them.

  Careful preparation and planning were essential parts of undercover work, but since arriving in Goodman she’d been working on the fly, and that’s how mistakes happened. But tonight she was ready for anything. More than ready.

  With a bracing breath, she raised a leg over the windowsill, careful not to dislodge the gun holstered to her thigh. Ever so carefully, she stepped onto the shingled porch roof and worked her other leg free. Stars winked overhead as if daring her to proceed.

  Palms flat against the rough brick wall, she shuffled slowly sideways to the edge of the roof, forcing the bundle along the roofline with her foot as she moved. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, but otherwise all was quiet.

  Reaching the edge, she pushed the bundle of clothes over and watched it fall to the ground. Lifting her arms, she grabbed hold of the nearest tree branch. Torso twisting, she wrapped her other hand around the limb as well. It seemed sturdy enough. She didn’t look forward to climbing back up after completing her errands in town, but she’d face that problem later.

  She counted: One, two, three … Here goes nothing.

  She swung her body forward and her feet landed on a lower limb. The bough dipped and creaked beneath her weight but held. So far, so good.

  Straddling the lower bough, she released the limb overhead and scooted toward the trunk where stronger limbs grew. The tree smelled old and dusty, and somewhere in the upper crown came the flutter of wings. She adjusted the holster at her thigh.

  A soft thump sounded from somewhere below. Stilling, she scanned the moon-dappled ground but saw nothing. Thinking it a rabbit or maybe even a fox, she worked her way down the gnarled branches. Leaves rustled and twigs snapped.

  Her petticoat snagged. Grimacing, she tugged gently before giving it a hard yank. The fabric pulled free with a ripping sound, exposing the leg of her bloomer drawers. She hated ruining perfectly good clothes, however useless, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Hugging a limb, she scanned the ground below and smiled. She’d managed the hardest part; the rest she could do blindfolded. Not bad for a twenty-seven-year-old woman.

  Holding on tight, she wor
ked her body free until she dangled from both arms. The rough bark cut into the palms of her hands as she scrambled for a foothold.

  One slipper fell off, followed by a muffled yelp from below. She held her breath. Someone stood beneath the tree—a dark figure—a man! Why was he sneaking around at night? Whoever he was, he could be dangerous. Could even be Rose’s killer …

  Since she was hanging from both arms, it was impossible to reach for her weapon. A fine pickle! Before she could decide on a course of action, a cracking sound like gunfire rent the air. The branch snapped in two, and she dropped like a stone.

  Hitting the ground with a jolt, she found herself entangled in legs and arms—not all of them hers. Ready to fight tooth and nail, she lifted her head. Much to her horror, the intruder was flat on the ground with her on top and he was—

  “Mr. Colton!”

  With his head lifted, his nose practically met hers, and his eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “We meet again.”

  They gazed at each other for a full moment before she regained her senses. Gasping, she pulled free from his arms and scrambled to her feet. A pain shot through her shoulder as she glared down at him.

  “You near scared the life out of me!” she sputtered.

  Sitting up, he reached for his hat and slapped it on his head before standing. “I have to say, ma’am, the feeling is mutual.” His gaze shifted momentarily to the holstered gun showing beneath her torn petticoat. “Sorry to catch you at an inopportune moment.”

  Face blazing, she folded her arms across the front of her thin camisole. Considering that she had just extracted herself from a compromising position, her effort at modesty was futile at best. She worked her fingers against her sore shoulder and tried to calm her racing heart.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

  He tipped his hat back with a finger to the brim and hung his thumbs from his belt. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  Maintaining as much dignity as possible under the circumstances, she glared at him. “I have every right to be here.” Thank God she had resisted the urge to scrub the annoying makeup off her face. It made it easier to play her part.

  “Can’t argue with you there, ma’am. I just hope that the next time you decide to go out on a limb, you issue a warning. Being attacked by a lady’s shoe is one thing. But when it comes with the whole kit and caboodle, that’s something else.” He stooped to retrieve her slipper and handed it to her. His fingers brushing against hers made her quickly pull away.

  “I thought I was being attacked by a wildcat,” he added. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

  Balancing on one foot, she slipped the shoe on the other. “It’s late. I didn’t think anyone was around.”

  His forehead creased. “I was under the impression you ladies kept late hours.” He glanced at the dark windows. “My mistake.”

  “We’re closed in memory of Rose.” As much as she wanted to question him about the Gunnysack Bandit, she wasn’t about to do it in her undergarments. “So if you would kindly leave—”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the tree trunk. He looked like he was enjoying himself at her expense.

  “Not till you tell me what you were doing in that tree.” His gaze flickered down the length of her. “Undressed.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t notice,” she said primly. She glanced around. Fiddlesticks! Where was that bundle of clothes?

  He laughed. “Only if he was dead.” His eyebrows rose to half-mast. “So let me guess. You were on the way to meet a client. I didn’t know you ladies made house calls.”

  “I dare say there’s a lot you don’t know,” she huffed.

  He thought for a moment. “Actually, it’s fortunate that you … uh … dropped by. Perhaps you could answer a few questions.”

  “It’s not a good time, and even if it was, I have nothing to say to you.” Anxious to escape, she tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her way.

  “What should I call you? Miss …?”

  She considered whether to tell him her assumed surname but decided against it. “Amy’s fine.” William Pinkerton assigned her the moniker. It was better than the name he gave her last time—Charley. The rumor was that he liked to name his undercover agents after his pets. She just hoped that Amy wasn’t a reptile.

  “Amy,” he said as if testing it out. “I apologize for the other night.” The amusement had left his eyes and his face was now serious. “I honestly thought you were Rose. I had no right to blame you for what happened. I’m afraid we got off to a bad start.”

  His apology surprised her, and she studied his face. He sounded sincere, but that could be an act. Thinking him a “guest” the first time they met, she’d hardly noticed what a fine-looking man he was, though the golden moonlight didn’t do him justice. His rugged, square face was anchored by an intriguing cleft in his chin. Though his eyes looked dark now, she seemed to remember they were the color of a deep blue sea.

  Nevertheless, one of Miss Lillian’s girls had told her not to judge a man’s character by his looks. “Handsome men often have the worst reputation,” she’d said. Amy wouldn’t know; most of the criminals she’d helped track down had faces that only a mother could love.

  “I need to ask you about Rose,” he said.

  She studied him. Maybe the night wasn’t a complete loss. If she played her cards right, he might reveal something useful. Of course, she’d feel a whole lot better if she wasn’t standing in a torn petticoat and thin camisole, but it would be foolish to let an opportunity like this slip by. Having decided to put prudence before modesty, she nonetheless moved out of the moonlight and into the shadows.

  “Why are you so interested in Rose?” she asked.

  He hesitated as if trying to decide how little or how much to say. “I have my reasons.”

  And she intended to find out exactly what those reasons were. “It has something to do with your brother. You said his name was Dave, right? How did Rose know him?”

  Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Miss Lillian came shooting around the corner. She wore a dressing gown tied at the waist, and her hair fell down her back in a single braid.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Looking and sounding like every one of her fifty-some years, she addressed her question to Mr. Colton, but her sharp eyes bored into Amy. If her strident voice wasn’t bad enough, the moon turned her face a sickly yellow.

  Amy balled her hands by her side. Miss Lillian couldn’t have picked a worse time to make an appearance. The night had gone from bad to worse.

  Mr. Colton didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the woman. If anything, he looked more amused than perturbed. “Miss … Amy was just explaining that your establishment is closed.”

  The madam gave a self-righteous sniff. “As the sign on the door plainly states, we’ll be closed until after the funeral.”

  Mr. Colton swept off his hat and held it to his chest. “A fitting tribute, indeed.”

  His comment failing to win any favors, he replaced his hat. “I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, ladies.”

  Under his breath he added for Amy’s ears alone, “I hope to see more of you soon.”

  Heat raced to her face. “Don’t hold your breath,” she shot back.

  With a flash of his perfect white teeth, he turned to leave.

  “Not so fast, young man.” Miss Lillian held out her hand. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

  He looked startled. “Why so much?”

  “Off-hours,” she said.

  Amy opened her mouth to protest but decided against it. His presence had caused her to be caught and kept her from doing what she’d set out to do. He deserved what he got.

  He paid Miss Lillian without complaint and sauntered down the path, whistling. He let himself out the front gate to his tethered horse.

  Amy found her bundle of clothes in the bushes and hid them behind her back.

  After making certain the unwanted guest was leavi
ng, Miss Lillian spun around to face her. “Apparently you failed to read the rules of the house. Had you done so, you would know that meeting men outside is forbidden.”

  Since the rules were plastered on every wall, every door, and every tabletop, ignoring them was impossible. Amy kept her head bowed in what she hoped passed as remorse. Like it or not, without Miss Lillian’s goodwill she would not be able to complete her investigation.

  “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.” Looking unbearably self-righteous, Miss Lillian continued. “I run a high-quality business that caters to the town’s most discerning citizens. I won’t have my girls flaunting their wares on the street like those horrid crib girls on Maple. Do you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, no flaunting wares,” she said demurely, though she couldn’t imagine what the low-cut gowns were meant to do except flaunt.

  Apparently satisfied that Amy had shown appropriate remorse, Miss Lillian softened her tone. “Since you’re new, I’ll let it pass this time. But nothing like this better happen again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Miss Lillian. Perfectly clear.”

  “Then go.” The madam flapped her arms like a farmer chasing a chicken. “Hurry, hurry. We need our beauty rest.”

  Tom stood next to his horse and watched the madam usher the woman he knew only as Amy into the house. A vision of pretty green eyes came to mind. Eyes that changed from meadow green to shades of jade on a whim.

  He still recalled how she felt in his arms, and his shirt still held a hint of her sweet lilac fragrance—a tangible reminder that played havoc with his senses.

  God forgive me for thinking it, but she sure did look fetching in those fancy under-riggings. With her tiny waist, rounded hips, and soft ivory shoulders, she curved in and out in all the right places. The weapon clearly outlined beneath her petticoat offered a startling, though no less intriguing, contrast to all that feminine softness.

  It sickened him to think that a pretty young woman would choose such a life … that any woman would. What had driven her to Miss Lillian’s? Desperation? Of course, nothing about her struck him as desperate. Fought him like a wildcat, she did, so she obviously could take care of herself.