Petticoat Detective

by Margaret Brownley

  “It’s too early,” she whispered. “Maybe he decided not to wait.”

  She dropped down on hands and knees and peered around a corner. A figure darted along the opposite boardwalk, but even the dark shadows couldn’t hide the checkered suit.

  “Oh no,” she groaned. “It’s that private detective.” That’s all they needed.

  “What’s he doing here?” Tom whispered.

  “That’s what I want to know.” She left her hiding place and ever so quietly ran across the street and up the steps to the boardwalk. She found him paused in front of Harry’s Gun and Bakery Shoppe, his back turned.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Ahhhh!” Had Checkers been touched by a cattle prod, he couldn’t have jumped much higher. He swung around, hand on his chest. “Blimey! You’ve got to stop sneaking up like that. You’ll give me heart failure.”

  “Shh. Keep your voice down. Why are you here?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest idea. I simply followed you.”

  Amy palmed her forehead. She’d been so anxious to get to town she’d not taken the usual precautions to prevent being followed. Now, all she could do was make the best of it.

  “Quick.” She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him across the street to the alley.

  He greeted Tom and Flood with a questioning glance and straightened his bow tie. “I demand to know what’s going on.”

  “What makes you think you’re in a position to make demands?” Flood asked.

  “I’m a private investigator, that’s what.” He turned to Tom. “I don’t know why she’s here, but you’re working on a case, right?”

  Tom glanced at Amy. “Well—”

  “I knew it!” Checkers practically jumped for joy. “And it’s got something to do with Monahan, right?”

  “Yes, well, we won’t know till he shows up,” Flood muttered.

  “Shh,” Tom cautioned. “Someone’s coming.”

  Mr. Checkers sniffled. “I smell perfume.” He held his finger under his nose but sneezed anyway. “Ah-choo!”

  “Shh!”

  “I can’t help it. Perfume bothers me.”

  Amy peered out of the alley, and her mouth dropped open. Please, God, let me be seeing things. Only she wasn’t. It was Miss Lillian—no question. Following close behind were Coral, Buttercup, and Polly.

  “Psst. Miss Lillian. Over here!” Amy motioned with her hand.

  Miss Lillian turned her head in Amy’s direction and waved. “Oh, there you are.”

  The four women tottered daintily toward her, lifting their fancy skirts above the ankles. Miss Lillian reached the alley slightly out of breath.

  “We didn’t miss anything, did we?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Checkers said, his voice muffled by the handkerchief held to his nose.

  Amy pulled Miss Lillian into the alley where she couldn’t be seen from the street. The madam looked momentarily startled but quickly recovered. The others pushed their way into the alley, forcing the marshal and Checkers to move back. The smell of perfume was almost overwhelming.

  “What are you all doing here?” Amy demanded.

  Coral pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “Miss Lillian told us everything.”

  Amy swung around to face the madam, hands at her waist. “You had no right.” Her hushed voice hardly did her anger justice. “You promised.”

  “I had to tell them something,” Miss Lillian sniffed and didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

  Amy groaned and curled her hands by her sides. She squeezed past the others to reach Tom’s side. “Watch Coral,” she whispered.

  “Will do.”

  “I want so much for this to go right.” For his sake, for young Davey’s.

  He squeezed her hand, but his reassuring smile failed to allay her worries. So far little had gone as planned, but Coral’s presence was particularly worrisome. She could be working with Monahan, and if so, she might try warning him.

  Buttercup pushed her way from the rear of the alley to Amy’s side. “I can’t believe you’re a detective.”

  Checkers sneezed. “What do you mean a detective?” His gaze shot from Amy to Tom. “Don’t tell me you’re both Pinks.”

  “No, only the lady,” Marshal Flood said.

  Amy gritted her teeth. “Why don’t we just shout it from the rooftops?”

  Polly patted her on the arm. “W–we just w–want to h–help.”

  “It’s not like we have anything else to do,” Coral said, “since you chased all our guests away.”

  Miss Lillian pushed Amy aside to peer out to the street. “Oh dear. Where are they?”

  “Who’s they?” Tom asked.

  “Why, Mrs. Givings and her friends. They were right behind us.” Miss Lillian stuck her head out of the alley and waved. “Yoo-hoo. Over here.”

  “Shh.” Amy pulled her back. “Do you want to wake the dead?”

  “Sorry.”

  Mrs. Givings, Mrs. Compton, and Mrs. Albright came running. “There you are,” Mrs. Givings said. “We thought we’d lost you.”

  “It’s getting rather crowded,” Checkers complained from behind his handkerchief.

  “Will you look at this?” Mrs. Givings straightened her feathered hat. “There are enough people here for a revival.”

  Flood pushed a feather from her hat away from his face. “Yeah, well don’t get any ideas.”

  Mrs. Givings ignored him. “Miss Lillian said you needed our prayers, and that’s what we’re here for.” She craned her neck to address those at the back. “So are we all ready to repent?”

  “Now, don’t go getting on your high horse,” Miss Lillian admonished. “We’re not here to repent. We’re working on a case.”

  “What do you mean, a case?” Mrs. Givings asked, sounding confused.

  “We’re here to nab an outlaw,” Buttercup said and giggled.

  Mr. Checkers groaned. “There goes my reward. It’s not bad enough that I lost out on the Jesse James reward, now this!”

  Mrs. Albright gave him a soothing pat on the back. “There’s only one reward that counts.”

  Amy turned to Mrs. Givings. “I know why they’re here, but what are you ladies doing out at this time of night?”

  “One of our church members has a sick little girl,” Mrs. Givings explained, “and we were praying for her.”

  Amy’s breath caught. Georgia?

  As if to read her mind Mrs. Givings leaned closer and whispered, “Her daughter’s fever broke and the doctor said she’ll do just fine.”

  “That’s good news,” Amy whispered back with relief.

  Checkers let out a loud sneeze. Startled, Buttercup flew forward and her chest practically landed in Mrs. Givings’s face.

  The churchwoman cried out. “Oh dear. If this gets back to the church, only God knows what it will do to my reputation.”

  “Don’t worry,” Miss Lillian said. “You can only lose your reputation once, and after tonight, you won’t have one to worry about.”

  “Do you have a gun?” Buttercup asked, pulling out her own.

  Mrs. Givings’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened behind her spectacles.

  “No guns,” the marshal said. “I mean it. No guns!” He confiscated Miss Lillian’s gun first and demanded that Coral, Polly, and Buttercup give up their weapons, as well.

  He turned to Amy. “Pinkerton is no longer involved in the case. That means I’m in charge. Hand over the gun or I’ll put you all in jail.”

  Amy gritted her teeth, but she pulled out her gun and slapped it soundly into his open palm. The night just kept getting worse.

  “It’s okay,” Tom whispered, his breath warm on her ear. “I’ve got you covered.”

  Chapter 38

  They waited.

  Midnight came and went and still they waited. The temperature dropped and tempers flared. The full moon was now directly overhead and the alley was almost as light as day.

  Coral snapped at Buttercup, “
You’re standing on my foot.”

  “That’s because your elbow is in my back,” Buttercup complained.

  Checkers had stopped sneezing, but by that point he’d broken out in hives and his eyes watered.

  “Maybe you ought to leave,” Miss Lillian suggested.

  “And let you get the reward?” He rubbed his eyes with his handkerchief. “Not on your tintype!”

  Amy had lost patience long ago. “Quiet, all of you,” she rasped. So help her, if her carefully laid plans were ruined she would personally wring each and every one of their necks.

  Stakeouts were a necessary part of an operative’s job. She had done more than her share through the years but never under such difficult conditions.

  “This is so exciting,” Mrs. Givings whispered, after only thirty seconds of blessed silence. “I still think we should use this opportunity to pray.”

  “Only if you promise to pray for a cup of hot tea,” Buttercup said.

  Mrs. Givings sniffed. “I can think of a lot of things you need, and tea isn’t one of them.”

  “Shh.”

  They waited.

  “I wish something would happen,” Miss Lillian complained after a while. “We need our beauty rest.”

  “I’m hungry,” Buttercup moaned.

  They waited.

  “W–what is that noise?” Polly asked.

  “Sounds like crinkling paper,” Checkers said, and all heads turned toward Buttercup.

  “What? It’s just a peppermint candy.” She popped the sweet into her mouth and tossed the paper wrapper to the ground.

  Tom laid a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “I see something.”

  “Quiet, everyone.” Amy dropped to the ground and peered around the corner. She saw it, too. A shadow; someone moved stealthily along the boardwalk toward the express office. She expected Monahan to arrive on horseback, not on foot. Apparently he was taking extra precautions.

  “When do we catch him?” Miss Lillian whispered.

  “Shh.”

  For several moments, no one said a word.

  Tom reached for his firearm. “I think he’s inside.”

  Flood pulled out his Peacemaker. “No guns,” he hissed.

  “What do you call that?” Coral asked.

  “It’s called ‘I’m in charge.’ ”

  “This is so exciting,” Buttercup said and tittered.

  “Get off my foot,” Coral said in a harsh voice.

  Minutes passed.

  “What’s taking so long?” Miss Lillian asked.

  “Robberies take time,” Checkers said. “Especially if you have to break into a safe.”

  “Doesn’t he know his own combination?” Coral asked.

  Checkers looked confused. “Good point.”

  “I think he’s coming out,” Tom said.

  Flood moved to the head of the crowd. “Okay, men … and ah … ladies. Stay put. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.” Ducking low, he ran out of the alley. “Put your hands up.”

  A shot rang out, and the marshal doubled over like an empty purse.

  Polly screamed. Mrs. Givings gasped, and Miss Lillian swayed. Shouts filled the air as men began pouring out of the Golden Hind Saloon like frenzied ants.

  Monahan moved away, and Amy rushed to the marshal’s side. “Get him,” she called to Tom, dropping to her knees. “Get Monahan!” A dark stain marked Flood’s right shoulder. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it against his wound to stem the bleeding.

  Flood grimaced and said something, but his voice was lost in the scuffle that suddenly exploded around them as a fight broke out. Fists flew and the pounding of flesh was followed by grunts and groans.

  She searched the mass of moving bodies, hoping to find a familiar face. “We need a doctor!” she called.

  Checkers barreled into one of the men headfirst, his arms windmilling. One clumsy punch from his opponent and he jackknifed to the ground. Miss Lillian jumped off the boardwalk onto someone’s back and pounded him with her fists.

  Straining her neck, Amy searched for Tom, spotting him heading for the express office, gun drawn. A man took a flying leap and landed on Tom’s back. Heart sinking, she watched the two fall to the ground.

  She grabbed Flood’s firearm. “Sorry, Marshal, but the one in charge is the one who didn’t take a bullet.” She stood and glanced at the express office but couldn’t find Tom amid the chaos. Nor was Monahan anywhere in sight. Stepping around two fighting men, she scrambled up the wooden steps to the boardwalk. Where was he?

  Chapter 39

  Crouching low, Amy darted past Harry’s Gun and Bakery Shoppe and paused at the corner. A sign overhead swayed back and forth in the soft breeze. Judging by the shouts and curses behind her, the brawl was still in full swing.

  Compared to her derringer, the colt Peacemaker weighed a ton, but she kept it aimed in front of her.

  A movement ahead made her stop short. Was that Monahan, or was the moonlight playing tricks on her? She jumped off the boardwalk and ran toward the church. The gate to the cemetery stood ajar.

  Senses alert, she moved cautiously along the side of the church, staying close to the bushes. The iron gate creaked to her touch. The slight wind rustled the trees. Shadows flitted across the gravestones and her spirits sank. Monahan could be anywhere.

  Something hard suddenly rammed against the back of her head. “Drop the gun.”

  Mouth dry, she laid the Peacemaker down on the ground and turned. For a moment she thought the moonlight was playing tricks on her. “Mr. Studebaker?”

  He looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but the barrel of his gun never wavered. “Amy?”

  She let out a sigh of relief. He had complained earlier of a sore throat, which is why she hadn’t recognized his voice at first.

  “You near scared the life out of me. I thought you were—” She caught a whiff of tobacco and a horrid realization washed over her. “You’re the waxwing!”

  He reared back, startled. “What?”

  “The waxwing. It’s a bird with a mask.” Suddenly, all the missing pieces fell into place. It was Studebaker seen that night at the cellar door, not Monahan—an easy mistake since both men were similar in height and weight and even sounded alike. Buttercup had made a similar mistake. The man she heard Rose arguing with was Studebaker, not Monahan.

  “You’re the Gunnysack Bandit!” That’s what had bothered her earlier in the parlor: Monahan’s cigar had a distinct odor far different from what she’d recalled from that night.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice grew harsher, as if his throat were lined with sand. “Do I look like I’m wearing a gunnysack? What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m a Pinkerton detective.”

  An incredulous look crossed his face. “A Pink—” he croaked and stopped to clear his throat. “But you’re a—”

  “A woman. I know.” Outlaws could be so predictable at times. “If you’re not who I think you are, put down that gun.”

  The gun stayed firmly in place. “You should have stuck with fortune-telling.” He held up a jute sack. “You said I had a lot of notes in my future, and here they are.” He grinned. “Banknotes.”

  She frowned. “How did you know about the money?”

  “I heard you tell Monahan his ships were coming in. I’ve been in his office enough times to know about the painting on the wall.”

  Not only did Studebaker have a loud singing voice when his throat wasn’t acting up, he apparently had big ears, as well.

  “You can’t get away, you know. Not this time. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

  An evil smile inched across his face. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Gunnysack Bandit is dead. Long may he rest in peace.”

  “That’s what you wanted us to believe, and you almost got away with it.” Had he not been so greedy and decided to rob again, he would have gotten away with it. “You stole enough money through
the years to make you a rich man.”

  “Very,” he croaked.

  “But you were almost caught during the last robbery, and you killed a bank guard. That’s when you decided that maybe your luck was about to run out. So you decided to call it quits.”

  “Nothing like quitting when you’re ahead.” His voice grew rougher but he continued. “All my life I’ve worked my fingers to the bone in jobs I hated. Now I get to do what I want to do.”

  “Like take singing lessons,” she said. Something suddenly occurred to her. “Only it wasn’t voice lessons you were after. You were looking for something. Rose’s journal, no doubt.” Now she knew who had searched her room. “You were also keeping your eye on the one person who knew you were the bandit.”

  He neither confirmed nor denied her allegations. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “You’re the one with the gun.”

  “Yes, but you know a lot about me, and I know so little about you. Did you talk to—?”

  “Rose?” she asked. “Dave Colton? Or someone else?”

  He waved his gun. “No matter. They’re both gone to the great by-and-by, and you’re about to meet them there.”

  “You won’t get away with it. Too many people know Monahan was robbed tonight.”

  “Yes, but they’ll think that he did it. I made certain of that.”

  “Just like you made certain that Dave Colton was blamed for your crimes,” she said. “Is that why you killed him?”

  “I killed him because he knew too much and was about to turn me in. You can blame Rose for that. One night I had too much to drink, and I said things that made her suspicious. While I was passed out, she went through my belongings and found incriminating evidence—a map of a bank and list of robberies. She showed them to her beau. That’s when he started nosing around.”

  “So you had to kill him. But that still left Rose.”

  “She wasn’t a problem. I told her that if she said a word to anyone, Dave Colton’s kid would never see the light of day.”

  Amy stared at him. Supposedly only Coffey knew about the baby prior to Rose’s death. So how did Studebaker find out?

  “You’d be amazed what a woman will do to protect a young one,” he added.

  She knew firsthand the sacrifices a woman would make to protect a child. Isn’t that what she’d done in St. Louis when she’d walked away from Cissy? Protect her? Same as Georgia had done when she’d knocked on Miss Lillian’s door.