Petticoat Detective

by Margaret Brownley

  “I don’t know—”

  “Think about it, Georgia. You’ll be with your children. Any charity you receive will only be temporary, until you get on your feet and find employment.” A glimmer of hope flared in Georgia’s eyes, but for only a second. “Who would hire me? I don’t have any skills.”

  “You can sing.” Georgia’s soprano voice had the same pitch and range as Allan Pinkerton’s daughter, Joan—a beautiful singer. “If Miss Lillian can give singing lessons, I dare say so can you.”

  Georgia’s eyes widened. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. I mean … I used to sing in the church choir but—”

  Amy pushed a strand of hair away from Georgia’s forehead. “Go and see your little boy. Make this a happy birthday for him.”

  Georgia shook her head. “I can’t. Those are the only clothes I own.” With a quick movement of her head, she indicated the open wardrobe stuffed with gowns that no respectable woman would be caught dead wearing.

  “I don’t want my children knowing that their mother—” She stopped amid a fresh flood of tears.

  “Stay here.” Amy jumped to her feet. “I’ll be back.”

  Moments later, she ran into her room and reached into her private trunk where she kept her own clothes hidden. She pulled out a yellow gingham dress. She shook it out and held it out in front to examine. It was a little wrinkled, but the color would complement Georgia’s raven hair and olive skin.

  Returning to Georgia’s room, Amy pulled off Georgia’s covers. “Come on, get up.”

  “What are you doing—?”

  “Put this on.” She tossed the dress at Georgia. “Hurry, before someone comes.”

  Georgia pulled the dress away from her face and gazed up at Amy with questioning eyes.

  “It’s time to get ready for your little boy’s birthday.”

  “You mean now?”

  Amy smiled. “Yes, now.”

  Georgia let out a soft gasp as she slid out of bed, clutching the dress. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she tried to speak but the words remained on her trembling lips.

  Amy helped her out of her silk nightgown. Without all the bother of a corset, stockings, bustle, and paint, it took only seconds to get Georgia dressed, instead of the usual two hours or more.

  Georgia was thinner than Amy and stood an inch or two taller. The waist was a bit loose and the hem fell to just below her ankles, but otherwise the dress fit fine.

  “Hold still,” Amy said. After fastening the last of the hooks and eyes, she spun Georgia around to face the beveled glass mirror.

  Georgia stared at her own reflection as if staring at a stranger. Without her customary paint, she looked younger, prettier. Her lips appeared softer, her eyes less haunted.

  Amy tied the ribbon at Georgia’s waist and studied her from every angle. “A dress fit for a little boy’s birthday.” She tapped her chin. “Let’s see, what’s a proper hairstyle for a proper lady?”

  Georgia smiled through her tears. “Nothing too fancy.”

  Amy reached for the silver-handled hairbrush on the dressing table and set to work. She brushed Georgia’s long, thick mane till it shone and then twisted the glossy lengths into a ladylike bun.

  She finished pinning the hair in place and met Georgia’s gaze in the mirror. “You look beautiful,” she said, and she meant it. “Your little boy will be so proud.”

  Georgia’s cheeks reddened as she turned one way and then the other. “I almost forgot what I looked like. Who I was …” She met Amy’s gaze in the mirror. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Amy smiled and squeezed Georgia’s hand. “No need. Just give your son a big hug for me.” She tossed a nod toward the door. Mr. Studebaker had started his singing lesson, and the thick walls offered little protection against the onslaught of high-pitched screeches.

  “I’ll see if the coast is clear.”

  She cracked the door open. A man she didn’t recognize ran down the hall shirtless and coatless with trousers to match. She shut the door and turned.

  “What is it?” Georgia asked.

  “Just one of the guests.”

  Georgia wrung her hands. “Are … are you sure this will work? What if I run into someone? What if a guest sees me like this? Miss Lillian will have a fit.”

  “Trust me, no one will recognize you. Anyone looking at you will see only the woman you really are. The woman God meant you to be.”

  Chapter 27

  God, help me.

  Tom’s anguished prayer seemed to bounce from wall to wall of the empty church like a mustang trying to escape a corral. Was God even listening?

  Tom’s grandpappy often said that things never looked quite so hopeless when one was down on his prayer bones. Well, Tom had been on his prayer bones so long they were about to give out, and still he felt miserable. It didn’t help that the stained glass window overhead depicted a picture of Cain and Abel. He understood too well the rage one brother could feel for another.

  He could still hear Amy’s voice as she broke the news about Dave. Could still see the sadness on her face as she repeated what the marshal had said. Faked—all of it. Nothing about her was real, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. She and his brother were two of a kind. Both knew how to play upon other people’s emotions. The only difference was she did it for money.

  Dave the Gunnysack Bandit? No, it can’t be. God, tell me it’s not true.

  A footfall echoed from behind and he rose.

  The reverend stopped in his tracks. “My apologies. I didn’t know anyone was here.” He started to leave.

  “Wait. I came to see you,” Tom said.

  The minister turned. “Well then …” He hurried down the middle aisle toward the altar. Tom couldn’t help but notice the shiny black boots with the garish rose. He’d seen a pair just like them at Miss Lillian’s. But surely a preacher wouldn’t—

  “You like them?” the reverend asked, extending a foot.

  “They’re something, all right,” Tom said.

  “Bought and worn in the line of duty,” the minister said good-naturedly and offered his hand. “Name’s Reverend Matthews.”

  “Tom Colton.”

  “Colton? You’re not by any chance related to Dave Colton, are you?”

  Surprised that the reverend knew Dave, Tom replied, “He was my brother.”

  “Ah, I do see a bit of a family resemblance. Sorry to hear what happened. Such a waste. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you know my brother well?”

  The preacher nodded. “Well enough. Used to sit in the very back pew as if he wasn’t certain he belonged here. Know what I mean?”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Dave came to church?”

  “Most every Sunday that he wasn’t in the hoosegow or out of town. Then one week just before he died, I took the pulpit and looked out over the congregation and what did I see? The Colton fellow had moved down several rows toward the altar. It was the middle, right there.” He pointed. “I took that as a good sign.”

  Something tugged at Tom’s insides. If Dave came to church, that had to mean he was a changed man. He couldn’t have been guilty of the things the marshal said.

  The minister continued. “I talked to him after the service. He told me he’d done some things in the past he regretted. Said he asked for God’s forgiveness and now wished to marry one of the parlor girls. Rose was her name, and he asked me to officiate.”

  “That must have put you on the spot.”

  “Not at all. It was my duty, of course, to ask if his future bride was a woman of faith. He said she was. So, my answer to him was then her faith will save her.”

  “So you agreed to marry them?”

  “I did. Dave was greatly relieved, but he was also in a hurry. He insisted that I marry them right away. I told him I needed to meet his young lady first. We agreed to meet at the church the following Friday, and he swore me to secrecy. The couple never arrived, and that’s when I learned of Dave�
�s death.”

  “Did my brother say why he was in such a hurry to wed? Or why it was necessary to keep it secret?”

  “No, but I assumed he was anxious to get Rose away from the parlor house. Couldn’t blame him there.” The minister shook his head. “I was shocked when I heard the news of his death. I made several attempts to contact Rose, but she never responded. I understood from Dave that she didn’t want anyone at the parlor house to know her plans, so I didn’t attempt to contact her in person. I wish now that I had.”

  “I don’t think it would have changed anything,” Tom said.

  “You never know.”

  “Did Dave say what things he’d done?”

  “No, and I couldn’t tell you if he had. But I can tell you this much—he deeply regretted hurting his family.”

  Was that true? Or was the kind reverend only trying to make him feel better?

  Matthews laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Would you like to join me in prayer?”

  Not sure that God would be any more likely to answer two prayers than one, Tom nonetheless nodded and turned toward the altar.

  Moments later, he walked up the aisle of the church and paused by the middle pew. The vision of Dave sitting, head bowed, was so vivid he had to blink to make sure it wasn’t real.

  He left the church with a heavy heart. Had Dave fooled the reverend as he’d fooled others in the past? It was a question very much on his mind for the remainder of the day.

  The following morning, Amy woke to loud voices. She turned over, punched her pillow, and tried to go back to sleep, but the voices persisted. Having grown up with brothers, she wasn’t used to the feminine squabbles and petty jealousies that were now part of her daily life.

  She lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even seven. The high-pitched chatter grew louder and sounded more serious than a simple spat over someone hogging the bath.

  No longer able to hold back her curiosity, she slid out of bed and padded to the door barefoot.

  Miss Lillian and the others were gathered in the hallway in front of Georgia’s room.

  Amy covered her mouth. Oh no, not Georgia! Please, God, no! She flew down the hall expecting to see Georgia’s body on the floor, but instead the room—the bed—was empty.

  And just that quickly a voice echoed from the past: “Thared, Tenfer. Monster tay me.”

  The vision of Cissy’s empty bed on that long-ago day seemed so real, Amy slumped against the door frame. It was all she could do to catch her breath.

  Polly touched her shoulder. “Are you all r–right?”

  Shaking away the fog of the past, Amy nodded. “Yes … I …” Everyone stared at her, and she gave herself a mental shake. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “What’s all the fuss?”

  Polly looked close to tears. “Georgia’s g–g–g—”

  Buttercup clutched the neckline of her blue satin dressing gown. “What Polly’s trying to say is that Georgia’s gone and didn’t come home last night.”

  Coral made a face. “And she didn’t tell anyone where she was going.”

  A dozen questions raced through Amy’s thoughts. Had Georgia decided not to return? Had she decided to stay with her children instead? Oh, please, God, let that be true!

  “What do you think happened to her?” Buttercup asked in the kind of hushed voice people saved for sickrooms and funerals.

  “You don’t s–s–suppose—” Polly fell silent, but she glanced down the hall to Rose’s old room.

  “I’m sure she’s all right,” Amy assured her. She didn’t want to break Georgia’s confidence, but neither did she want the others to worry.

  Miss Lillian looked especially distraught. Was she concerned about Georgia’s well-being? Or simply annoyed that she’d lost yet another girl in such a short time?

  “Now there’s just the four of us,” Buttercup said. “That means we’ll be … busy.”

  Coral glared at Amy. “Some of us.”

  Amy pretended not to notice, but it worried her. Coral suspected something, and she wasn’t the kind of person to keep it to herself.

  Miss Lillian wrung her hands. “Perhaps we should notify ole Tin Star.”

  “What’s the marshal gonna do?” Coral snapped. “He hasn’t done anything to find Rose’s killer. We could all be murdered in our beds and no one would care.”

  “God cares.” Amy hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but they just bubbled out of her. The silence that followed couldn’t have been more brittle had she announced she had a contagious disease.

  “The stories we tell ourselves,” Coral muttered as she walked away.

  Miss Lillian and the others left, too, scurrying away like frightened little mice.

  Amy watched them flee. It was hard to know what worried them more: Georgia’s absence or God’s presence.

  Chapter 28

  At midnight, the street directly in front of the Monahan Express Company was relatively quiet. From a nearby saloon came the high tinny tune of a tightly wound banjo. Clapping hands and stomping feet were punctuated with bouts of raucous laughter.

  Amy took careful note of her surroundings. The marshal was convinced the Gunnysack Bandit was Tom’s brother, and tonight she hoped to prove him wrong. Earlier that day, she had gone to Dave’s boardinghouse and pretended to be his long-lost cousin. But the proprietor, a widow in her sixties, had little to offer. She had no idea what hours Dave had kept while living there. Though the man had been dead for a little less than three months, she hardly remembered him. Amy hoped her efforts tonight would prove more successful.

  Her plan was simple: break into the express office, check the keys on the typewriter or typewriters, and leave. She was by no means an expert in machines, but it shouldn’t be hard to check the type bars. The most used letter in the English language, e, would no doubt show wear. She would be far more interested in comparing the letter m to the list found on Dave Colton’s person. M for Monahan.

  Directly across from the express office stood the Grande Hotel and Bath House. In front of the hotel’s two-story building, a tethered horse nickered and pawed the ground. From the distance came the bark of a dog.

  She pulled her gaze away from the hotel but not soon enough to stop unbidden memories from coming to the fore.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She gave herself a mental shake. What Tom thought or didn’t think was no concern of hers. None!

  Focusing her attention on the locked door, she pulled a hairpin from her hair. After straightening the metal wire, she jabbed one end into the keyhole. She wiggled it back and forth. Nothing. She pulled the hairpin out of the lock and reinserted it.

  She had no business breaking into anyone’s office. The marshal considered the case closed, and it was only a matter of time before she received orders to leave Kansas. Still, something didn’t sit right. Too many unanswered questions remained for her peace of mind.

  She didn’t know where Monahan fit in, if indeed he did, but the more she heard about his wild spending sprees and high-stakes gambling, the more her suspicions grew. He was rich, and he was powerful, and he matched the height and agility of the Gunnysack Bandit. If that wasn’t enough of a red flag, the watch chain found in Rose’s room had to belong to him. It was too similar in design to the one he now wore.

  True, he could have lost it at any time, perhaps even days or week before Rose’s death. But then why didn’t the so-called thief find it upon searching her room? What self-respecting robber would leave a valuable gold chain behind?

  Blowing a strand of hair away from her face, Amy jammed the hairpin back into the keyhole for the third time.

  A gas lamppost cast a yellow glow across the door, so light wasn’t a problem; her aching back was. Mr. Pinkerton would have a fit if he knew one of his operatives couldn’t pick a simple door lock to save her soul.

  Not willing to admit defeat, she stuck her tongue between her teeth and wiggled the h
airpin back and forth. There had to be a tumbler in the hole somewhere. Her instructor, Mr. Welby, at the Pinkerton detective school had made picking locks seem like child’s play.

  A drunk staggered down the middle of the dirt road singing a ditty at the top of his lungs but paid her no heed.

  Having no luck, Amy pulled the hairpin from the keyhole. Straightening, she rubbed her lower spine. Who knew that picking locks could be so physically demanding?

  The pin was hopelessly bent out of shape. Dropping it into her drawstring purse, she tried to think. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a piece of wire with her? Irritated at her own ineptness, she gave the door a good kick.

  “Can I be of help, ma’am?”

  Startled by the male voice, Amy spun around and gasped. She couldn’t see his face, but there was no mistaking Tom Colton’s tall, dark form.

  He drew back in surprise. “Amy? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Since she was bathed in gaslight, she could hardly deny it. She couldn’t see his eyes but she felt his gaze.

  “And the other day … that was you, too, wasn’t it?”

  She clenched her hands by her side. “It was me. These are my nonworking clothes. What are you doing here?” Doesn’t anyone in this town sleep?

  “Well I’ll be a possum’s uncle.” Hooking his thumbs over his belt, he shook his head. “You should dress like that more often. It suits you.”

  His compliment made her blush. Confound it! No matter how much she fought her attraction to him, he always managed to blast through her defenses. “How did you—?”

  “I saw you from my hotel window. So what’s the story?”

  “There is no story. You’re paying me to spy, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  He reared back. “You’re doing this for me?”

  “I’m certainly not doing it for my health.”

  “But I thought … You said that the marshal suspected my brother was the Gunnysack Bandit. I just assumed you did, too.” He angled his head. “I never asked you to break into anyone’s office.”

  She gave herself a mental kick. Think. Think! “I just have a feeling that we’re on the wrong track. Call it woman’s intuition.”