Petticoat Detective

by Margaret Brownley

  “Why, he’s the waxwing, of course.”

  “What?”

  “Cedar waxwings are called bandit birds because of their black masks. If you recall, she wrote that the waxwing accosted her in the yard.”

  “And the waxwing is?”

  “Who else but Monahan?”

  He thought a moment. “I don’t know. If what you say is true, how do you explain the lack of robberies since Dave’s death?”

  “That puzzles me, too. Maybe it’s because Monahan almost got caught during the last holdup and is running scared. Think about it. If the marshal and Pinkerton agency believe the Gunnysack Bandit dead, then he has nothing to worry about. The dogs are off his trail.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a pretty big if.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But the pieces fit.” Or at least some of them did. “Don’t forget, the reason I was sent to Goodman was because of stolen banknotes deposited in Rose’s account.” It was actually Allan Pinkerton who talked banks throughout Kansas into marking notes. He figured that eventually one of the marked notes would lead to the Gunnysack Bandit, but Dave beat him to the punch.

  “Maybe the money found on your brother came from Rose.” She paused for a moment. “If Monahan knew that Dave suspected him that would be motivation enough to kill him. Rose, too.”

  Tom sat on the bed and covered her hand with his own. “I’m much obliged for what you’re doing. But something about this whole affair doesn’t sit right. How did Monahan know my brother was onto him?”

  “He may have spotted him in Hampton during the holdup. Maybe your brother confronted him.”

  He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “It’s possible. I don’t know….”

  She gazed up at him. “Tom, I’m right about your brother. I know I am. He was not the Gunnysack Bandit.”

  He studied her for a moment. “What about Flood? What does he think?”

  “I haven’t notified ole Tin … the marshal. I haven’t even told my bosses.”

  He frowned. “If you’re right about Monahan, he’s dangerous. He’s already killed three people and could kill again.”

  She lifted her chin. “You don’t think I know that?”

  He drew his hand away. “Now, don’t go getting all riled up. I’d say the same if you were a man.”

  She doubted it, but she didn’t want to argue. “I thought you might like to be there when we clear your brother’s name.”

  He gazed at her long and hard. “How sure are you about this?”

  “Sure enough to bet your boots.”

  He arched a brow. “That’s sure and certain, eh?”

  She smiled. In truth, all she had was a theory, and that wasn’t worth a plugged nickel in a court of law. It wasn’t worth much as far as the agency was concerned, either. Allan Pinkerton demanded proof, not conjecture.

  “So what do you say?” she asked. “Are you game?”

  Game? Colton didn’t want to answer that question. Didn’t want to think about it. He’d been wrong too many times about his brother.

  More than anything he was worried about Jennifer’s safety. Yes, it bothered him that she had such a dangerous job. So shoot him. Just her size alone put her at a disadvantage. She hardly came up to his shoulders, and a good wind would probably blow her away.

  He had nothing against women in the workforce, not like some men he knew who thought a women’s place was in front of a cookstove. But chasing down outlaws was not a job for a woman. There had been times in the past when he’d wondered if it was even a job for a man.

  She laid a hand on his arm, and if that wasn’t enough, she locked him in her green-eyed gaze. “We can do this,” she said, and something stirred inside him. “Will you work with me?”

  What he wanted to say was no. What he wanted was to keep her in Texas where she would be safe. Knowing how she felt about her job, he’d have a better chance of talking the hide off a mule.

  Was she right about Monahan? Tom didn’t know. What he did know was that he had no intention of letting her find out alone. He just wished it didn’t feel like he was about to jump into a snake pit.

  Pushing his worries aside, he asked, “What’s the plan?”

  Chapter 35

  Jennifer had just finished cooking breakfast when Tom’s eleven-year-old nephew wandered into the kitchen. Tall for his age, he had sandy hair and big blue eyes. He looked and carried himself like his uncle.

  She greeted him with a smile. “You must be Davey.”

  “And you’re Miss Layne. Uncle Tom said you were like a lady Ranger.”

  “Actually, I’m a detective.”

  He gazed at her with eyes too old for such a young face. “I’m going to be a Texas Ranger, just like Uncle Tom was.” He gave a determined nod and added, “And I’m gonna find the man who killed my pa.”

  Something tugged at her insides, and she felt a maternal need to protect him. She knew all too well the frustrations and heartbreak that such a quest could bring. For his sake, she hoped she was right about Monahan. She didn’t want Tom’s nephew devoting his young life to looking for answers as she had done with her sister.

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  He studied her as if measuring her sincerity. “Grandpappy said he was a bad man, but he wasn’t. I know he wasn’t.” His intensity reminded her of the Cunningham boy whose frustration with his own father had led him to throw bricks.

  “I believe you.” She wanted to say more—much more—but all she had was a theory, and she didn’t want to give the boy false hope. “Well, Ranger Dave, you better sit for a spell and have yourself some grub.”

  He didn’t need a second invite. The minute she set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table in front of him, he dived in with his fork.

  Tom stomped into the house, and she caught a whiff of sunbaked earth before he shut the back door against the shimmering heat. “Something sure does smell good,” he said.

  She greeted him with a smile. “Good morning.” The mere sight of him made her heart flutter. The way he affected her was a worry. As a detective she knew the importance of letting the clues speak for themselves and not to bend them to support a theory. She thought she could remain professional, but after seeing Tom again and meeting Dave’s son, she feared she could no longer be objective.

  She handed him a cup of coffee.

  He blew on the steaming brew and took a sip. “Hmm. Just how I like it.” He set his cup on the table and ruffled Davey’s hair before sitting, but his gaze remained on her.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  The memory of spending the night in his bed—even alone—made her blush, and she turned to the stove to hide her reddening face. “Like a log.”

  Fighting for composure, she arranged his breakfast on a plate and placed it in front of him.

  He stared down at his food before lifting his gaze to hers. “How did you know I like my eggs scrambled and my bacon burned to perfection?”

  “She’s a detective,” Davey said, and Tom laughed.

  Grinning, she placed her own plate on the table and sat on the chair opposite him. “I also asked your friend Clint.”

  “I should have known.” He glanced at Davey. “You better get to your chores, son, before it gets any hotter out there.”

  Davey stuck a piece of bacon in his mouth before jumping up. “It was nice meeting you,” he called as he dashed to the door.

  “Nice meeting you, too,” she called back.

  He grabbed a hat off a peg on the wall and ran out of the house, banging the door shut behind him.

  “That’s quite a boy you have there,” she said.

  Tom nodded. “He kind of grows on you, doesn’t he?”

  “Said he wants to be a Texas Ranger like you.”

  “He’ll make a good one, that’s for sure and certain.”

  She hesitated. “How much … does he know about his pa?”

  Tom grimaced. “More than he should. His grandpappy
isn’t one to keep his thoughts to himself.” He mopped his plate with a biscuit. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook.”

  “It looks like you could use some fattening up,” she said. Tom had lost weight since she last saw him. Because of his brother? That was the obvious answer, but she couldn’t help but hope that there might be yet another reason.

  “You cook like that and I’ll be as big as the side of the barn before you know it.” He pushed his empty plate away. “Much obliged.”

  She lowered her coffee cup. “For what?”

  “For wanting to clear my brother’s name—clear Davey’s pa’s name.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. Clearing Dave’s name might not be all that easy. The truth was, it might even be impossible, and she felt inadequate for the task. But she’d done a lot of praying, and miracles really did happen. Finding her sister was proof of that, even though it hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Why the sudden grim look? You’re not having second thoughts, are you? About Monahan?”

  She was having second thoughts—third and fourth thoughts, too—but that had nothing to do with her sudden gloom. “I found my sister.”

  He set the coffee cup down. “The one who disappeared? Where?”

  She filled him in on all that had happened during the past few weeks. It felt good to talk about it. To talk to him.

  “What did your sister say when you told her who you were?” he asked.

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”

  She flattened her hands on her skirt. “What good would it have done?” The child she’d carried around in her heart all these years was now someone she didn’t recognize. “She’s a woman now. She’s also engaged to be married. Why ruin her happiness?”

  For an instant, his glance sharpened. “But that means the woman who stole her gets off scot-free.”

  She thought about the expression on Mrs. Jeremy’s face. The fear, the horror, the haggard face that looked far older than its years. “God doesn’t let anyone off scot-free.”

  Her lack of malice surprised her. Finding out what had happened to her sister had given her incredible pain but also hope. God had closed the door on her past and opened a door to the future. Her sister was alive and well. Her prayers had been answered. It was time to move on.

  Still the tears came. She wasn’t even aware of Tom leaving his chair until she was soundly locked in the comforting warmth of his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, holding her close. “Let it out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She brushed her hand across his chest. “I got your shirt all wet.”

  “Well, now, will you look a there?” He pulled out a clean handkerchief and ever so tenderly dabbed her wet cheeks. His gaze fell on her lips, but before his mouth could follow the same path, she pulled away.

  Distractions, even the romantic kind, could be disastrous. She needed to keep a clear head for the task ahead. She needed to do it not just for her own sake but his, as well. Otherwise she might never prove his brother’s innocence.

  “How soon can we leave for Kansas?” she asked, purposely keeping her voice free of emotion.

  Her sudden change of mood seemed to confound him, and his brows drew together in a frown. “Soon as you’re ready,” he said, and hesitated. “Your work as a detective … It means a lot to you.” It was a statement more than a question.

  “Yes, it does.” She knew no other life, had no real home. Her stay at Miss Lillian’s was the closest she’d come to any sort of routine or stability since leaving the farm at eighteen. It was almost impossible to spend time with her brothers and their families. It was a lonely life but ultimately satisfying—or at least it was. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 36

  After Tom and Jennifer stepped off the train in Goodman, they went straight to the marshal’s office. Following their meeting with Flood, Tom headed for the hotel and Jennifer returned to Miss Lillian’s to resume her role as Amy.

  Forcing an outer calm that belied the knot of nerves inside, she dressed in the new green taffeta dress with the “Niagara Falls” bustle.

  The tightly laced corset pinched her torso. If things went as planned, this would be the last time she’d have to put herself through such torture.

  Before leaving her room, she struggled for a bracing breath. It was a Friday night in late June, and Miss Lillian expected a full house. So much depended on what happened during the next few hours, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. One misstep could ruin her carefully laid plans.

  Planting a bag of banknotes at the express company was a brilliant idea, if she did say so herself. Monahan wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to steal from his own safe before the shipment was made, knowing he would never be caught.

  A package traveling across the country passed through dozens if not hundreds of hands. No one would be the wiser until the package reached its destination, and anyone along the way could have stolen the money inside and replaced it with the fake notes. It’s what made express companies such a popular target for corrupt employees and a nightmare for lawmen. Her only hope was that Monahan fell for the trick.

  Coral, Polly, Buttercup, and Miss Lillian were already seated downstairs in the parlor when Amy entered. Candles flickered from silver holders. Summer had yet to arrive weatherwise, and a fire blazed merrily in the fireplace.

  Buttercup was the first to spot her. “I didn’t know you were back.”

  All eyes turned in Amy’s direction.

  Coral’s expression darkened and she jumped to her feet. “What is she doing here?”

  “I invited her to return,” Miss Lillian said smoothly. She motioned to Amy. “Come and have a seat.”

  “I always knew she was your favorite!” Coral sputtered. Hands at her waist, she glared at Miss Lillian, her face twisted with jealousy. “You let her get away with anything.”

  A look of annoyance crossed Miss Lillian’s face. “I don’t have time for this. Now hush up. Our guests are due to arrive at any moment.”

  “Guests. Guests?” Coral spat out the words with contempt. “We don’t have guests. We have johns.” She pointed a threatening finger at Miss Lillian. “And you’re not a hostess or even a businesswoman. You’re nothing but a madam, and the only thing separating us from those horrid cribs is this house.”

  Angry words shot out of Coral’s mouth like poison darts. “We’re trash. All of us are nothing but trash!” She turned away from Miss Lillian. “Trash!”

  Buttercup stood in her way. “Don’t say that. It’s not true—”

  “Is that what your mirror told you?” Coral asked. “You vain little—”

  “I’m not vain!” Buttercup shouted and in a softer voice added, “I look in the mirror to see if I’m still me.”

  Coral opened her mouth to speak but instead flounced across the room, forcing Amy to fall back. A strained silence followed her departure. Buttercup held her hand over her mouth, and Polly looked close to tears. It was as if the ground had opened and spit their shameful secrets onto the parlor floor for all to see.

  Miss Lillian’s face seemed to crumble and her ruby lips puckered. Not even the shiny red gown or thick coat of face powder could hide the pallor of her skin.

  Amy pressed her hands against her chest. God, this can’t be happening! She needed Miss Lillian’s help; so much depended on everything moving like clockwork. Now thanks to Coral, her carefully laid plans appeared to be ruined.

  The door chimes rang and tension in the room grew tauter. All eyes turned to Miss Lillian.

  Standing, Miss Lillian threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Our guests have arrived,” she announced. She may have been stripped of all pretenses, but for now the show must go on.

  For the next couple of hours, all five women played their parts as if nothing had happened. Only the most discerning eye could have noticed the f
orced smiles and tense expressions. Coral had returned and moved about the room with her usual grace but never missed an opportunity to shoot a visual dagger at Amy.

  Polly noticed the dark, hateful glances. “B–b–better watch your b–b–back,” she whispered in Amy’s ear.

  Amy nodded, but watching her back was the least of her worries. Tonight it was all about the plan. It was a deceptively simple one: catch Monahan in the act of robbing his own express company.

  The plan wasn’t foolproof; its success teetered on one of the seven deadly sins, namely, greed. She chanced a glance at Monahan, who looked perfectly relaxed. As usual he was dressed in a fine tailored suit, tan trousers, brown vest, and coat. She was no expert in fabric, but Miss Lillian told her his clothes were cut from only the finest Italian silks.

  Gold rings glittered on several fingers as he mouthed his Partagás cigar imported directly from Cuba. Even the smoke circling his head looked richer, fuller than the smoke from the hand-rolled cigarettes and cheaper cigars of the other guests.

  He had the best that money could buy and owned half the town, maybe more. He didn’t need for a thing, not a thing. Her only hope was that greed would get the best of him, and he would fall into her trap.

  Still, something bothered her, though she couldn’t for the life of her think what it was. For some reason she kept recalling the night he stood outside the cellar door, the night someone had knocked her unconscious.

  She studied each woman in turn, hoping to see a telling look, a conspiratorial wink, a whispered exchange. One of these women had been in the cellar that night. One of them had hit her over the head, and she was willing to guess that woman had been Coral.

  Miss Lillian played a lively ditty on the piano and Mr. Cunningham got up and danced a jig. This brought gales of laughter and applause from the others. Since Coral was watching her, Amy had no choice but to clap, though it sickened her. All she could think about was the man’s son, Scott, and the desperation that drove the boy to throw bricks at the parlor house.

  Mr. Studebaker announced he had some sort of throat trouble that prevented him from singing that night. Coral cooed with mock sympathy, which the silly man took for the real thing.