by Denise Dietz
“Where’s the gold hid?”
“Pillow.”
“Yes, ma’am, anything you say.” Suzy pressed hard and watched Minta’s fingers fall limply to the pink-and-white counterpane. “Where’d you hide your gold? I’ll count to three—” Suzy felt all the color drain from her face as she lifted the pillow. “Miss Minta?”
No answer. Minta’s eyes stared at the ceiling. Her breasts didn’t rise and fall, and her lips were creased in a secret smile. Was she smiling at someone named Albert?
Maybe she’s smiling because she never told me where she hid her gold. Damn my temper. I should have used a lit candle. She’d have talked before letting herself get burned. Why didn’t I loosen her corset stays? Why did I use the pillow? Oh, God, pillow!
Grabbing a handful of hair, Suzy lifted the dead woman’s slack head and tugged at the second pillow, the one that hadn’t smothered Minta.
Wait. Got to think. Patience and planning. They’ll send the law lapping at my heels if I don’t plan carefully.
Samuel Peiffer’s jacket lay crumpled in a heap. Suzy groped for his knife. She thumbed a tiny button to release its blade, returned to the bed, and settled the second pillow—like a shield—across Minta’s chest.
Suzy slashed. Feathers flew and a heavy leather pouch fell free.
Not taking time to count her find, she continued slashing Minta’s bosom through the pillow. She left Minta’s face alone. Let the dumb whore smile at her Albert; it was only fair.
Suzy put the bloodied knife back in Peiffer’s jacket pocket. On her way out, she grabbed Minta’s pretty kimono.
After adding the kimono, jewelry and pouch to her carpetbag, Suzy tiptoed down the staircase. Vaguely, she wondered how Samuel fared with the child.
*****
Samuel sat next to the kitchen table and stared down at Flo.
He had expected the girl to be awake, waiting, not asleep on a pallet. Moonlight spilled through the window and etched the inky lashes that swept her flushed cheeks. She lay on her side, breathing softly through parted lips, her childish body covered by a blanket.
Perhaps this was a mistake. Samuel didn’t want to force himself on the girl. Rape meant banishment, and his Cripple Creek business was flourishing. He bought up the miners’ assayed claims for one quarter their value then resold the land to businessmen who had the machines to blast or dig.
He shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew the men who visited Little Heaven thought Flo a sweet child. She entertained with songs, and he’d never heard one whispered word about buying her time or sharing her pallet.
Suzy had charged him a fortune for the young girl’s company. Why? Because Flo would soon be joining the other Angels, that’s why. Peiffer was an important guest — hadn’t Suzy said those very words? Samuel, an important guest, had been invited to “tutor” the girl. Invited, hell! He’d paid dearly for the privilege.
So why was he shilly-shallying?
*****
Cat McDonald untangled his body from Dee’s legs and sat up. His father’s money had been wasted. The naked Angel slept, breathing heavily through her mouth.
Dee was drunk. What’s more, she smelled of whiskey and sweat. Cat preferred the smell of Fools Gold. Flowery soap and a dab of scent couldn’t disguise her natural perfume — dogs, horses, mashed oats and polished leather.
Why was he thinking about that child? Her hair was too wild, her eyes too big, and she looked like a boy on top. Still, she blushed prettily when he teased her.
He favored Dee, if only she hadn’t been besotted with whiskey. He had supported her to the bedroom, but rather than falling asleep like a good drunk cowhand, she had smothered his body with hers, thrust her breasts into his hands, and kissed whiskey fumes down his throat. When he didn’t respond, she had mumbled something about his first time. Then she’d slept.
First time? Not hardly. He and Rosita’s oldest girl had been shedding their clothes for months. Maria was seventeen, older than Cat, but she’d been more than willing to meet up with him in the barn. After the first time, she said how she fancied a wide-awake hombre who could take a deep breath and start all over again.
Lately she’d been pulling him onto the hay every chance she got. Cat didn’t mind, but he had a feeling his brother watched them through a peephole in the loft’s floorboard. Lucas spied.
Dee’s whiskey-kisses had left Cat with a powerful thirst. There was a well near the privies, but the kitchen was closer. And warmer!
Fools Gold slept in the kitchen. If Cat woke her, she’d be madder than a smoked hornet. What did others do when thirst hit them? Brave the April night’s chill?
Soon it would be dawn. Hadn’t his father said something about Fools Gold brewing coffee at cock’s crow?
With a sigh, Cat lowered his head to the musty pillow.
*****
Samuel Peiffer heard the clock strike four.
He rose from the chair. Pins and needles pricked his legs and he nearly fell. Staggering forward, he stubbed his big toe on the table leg and swore a blue streak.
Flo lifted her head. “Who’s there? Is that you, Mr. Peiffer?”
“Call me Samuel.” Gingerly, he tested the sore toe that poked through his sock.
“What time is it? Are you wanting something to drink, sir? I can fix coffee but it will take ten minutes. If you leave and let me get dressed, I’ll start the coff—”
“Didn’t Suzy talk to you, child?”
“Talk to me about what, Mr. Peiffer?”
“Your special birthday present.”
“Dumas? Has she slipped her tether?”
“Your mare’s fine, girl. I’m talking about the other gift.”
“Do you mean your perfume, Mr. Peiffer? Didn’t I thank you properly?”
“No. When a man gifts a pretty girl, he expects a kiss in return.”
“I’m not pretty, but thank you just the same.”
“I want a kiss, missy. I paid a fortune—”
“You did not, Mr. Peiffer.” Standing upright, Flo gathered the blanket around her body. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, sir, but I know the price of scent. You were either cheated or you’re fibbing.”
“Damn right I was cheated. Get over here right now.”
“You can have your perfume back.”
“I don’t want the perfume. I want you.”
“But I don’t want you.” Flo took a deep breath. “You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Peiffer. I sleep alone.”
Samuel felt sweat bead his forehead. As if he were dying, portions of his life flashed before his eyes. His sisters, all tall, laughing at his smallness. His mother locking him inside a closet when company came to call. The doctor’s “stretching machine.” Father, disgusted, sending his only son away to boarding school. The schoolmates and schoolmasters who taunted. Holding back his pee, his bladder nearly bursting until the water closets were deserted. His first woman, bovine, who’d just about smothered him to death. His first child partner, a prostitute. The sense of completeness, of power—
“If you don’t leave, I’ll scream.”
Samuel circled the table and seized the girl’s blanket, but she wriggled free and took off toward the back door. Dropping the blanket, he lumbered after her.
Frantic with terror, Flo tried to scream. But nothing came out except mouse squeaks. Her heart’s pounding sounded louder than her cry for help. Mr. Peiffer pawed at her nightie until it tore apart. She lost her balance and fell to the floor.
Mr. Peiffer crouched on top, caught both her wrists with one hand and spread her thighs apart with his knee. She went limp.
“That’s better,” he said, releasing her wrists to unbutton his trousers. “You treat me nice and I’ll add more to what’s already been paid.”
Flo clawed at Mr. Peiffer’s eyes then elbowed her way backwards. Once again she tried to scream, but this time nothing came out, not even mouse squeaks. Panic had dried her spit.
Mr. Peiffer crawled on all fours. Stopping, he
screeched, “Snake! Christ! A snake!”
Spinach! Thank God. The snake’s unexpected appearance gave Flo a few precious moments to rise and grasp the door’s handle.
She heard soft thuds and glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Peiffer was thumping Spinach against the stove. Then he flung the dead snake toward the wall.
Tears stung Flo’s eyes. Kicking at the doorjamb, she felt Mr. Peiffer catch her hair, jerk her back toward the room’s corner, and push her to the floor. Searching for a weapon, her fingers closed around Cat’s sharp bone necklace.
Mr. Peiffer was on top again. Flo swung the bones and heard Mr. Peiffer’s roar of pain. Moonlight revealed streaks of crimson streaming down his face, but he wouldn’t get off her. He grabbed her wrist and shook until she dropped the bones.
Suddenly, he was gone.
Spinach lay crumpled next to the wall, looking like a green lasso. Mr. Peiffer sagged against the same wall while Cat McDonald’s fists pummeled.
Mr. Peiffer’s face, already bloodied from the bones, looked like a lumpy red potato.
Cat paused for breath and Mr. Peiffer slid to the floor, unconscious.
“Fools Gold, are you all right?” Cat knelt and cradled her shoulders with his arm.
At his touch, she opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.
“I came downstairs for a glass of water.” Cat covered her with a blanket. “Do you want to cry? If you do, I’ll hold you. Please say something, Fools Gold.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“I’ll find my papa, Fools Gold. Can you hear me? I’ll fetch Papa. Then I’ll fetch Minta.”
Sixteen
Ethel Barrymore stared mournfully at Little Heaven’s drape-drawn windows. Crouched behind a chokecherry shrub, Gingerbread washed her whiskers. Alice and Teddy twitched their funny bunny noses as if they smelled blood. Flo’s scrappy tomcat, Zane Gray, stalked a squirrel.
Madam Robin had told Flo to wear her blue birthday dress so she’d “bedazzle Min’s sister.” Robin had also told Flo not to visit Minta’s room, which now reeked of lye soap. But Robin wasn’t home, and Minta’s window faced the front yard. Flo’s pets had assembled in the yard and watching them made her feel better. After all, they lived and breathed while the stillness of death hovered over Little Heaven.
Flo couldn’t see Lampman’s Funeral Parlor, not even from her high vantage point, but she knew Madam Robin was there, along with Mama Min’s sister.
*****
Inside Lampman’s Funeral Parlor, the glass case on top of a table contained mementos from Cripple Creek citizens who had met violent deaths. The case included the lunch pail from a miner struck by lightning, the pistol of a gambler who had shot himself through the mouth, and a lock of Minta’s russet hair.
Green Brussels carpet covered the floor. A fern in an iron stand gravitated toward a window. On a desk near the entrance, obituary notices had been scattered. One read in part: “Minta LaRue died early today at the Little Heaven. She was stabbed in the upper body by Samuel Peiffer. He was arrested and led away handcuffed, bleeding from face wounds. Minta’s body was discovered lying on the bed fully clothed, by a patron. The name of the patron could not be learned.”
Toward the back of the mortuary was the morgue.
“She’s dead,” Robin cried, her tear-streaked face offset by an elaborate wig. “Minta’s sins won’t rub off on you now.”
“The stain on our family will never rub off,” said a steely-eyed matron, her padded backside propped against a coffin. “It’s as red as the dye on her hair.”
“Minta never tinted her hair!”
“Just as she never sewed for her livelihood? You should have told me what she was before I traveled to this loathsome cow town.”
“Mining town, ma’am.”
“I’ll take no further responsibility.”
“But she’s penniless,” said a man in a dirty oilcloth apron. “Her money was stole the same night she died. Do you want to see your sister buried in potter’s field?”
“That harlot is no sister of mine.” With a snort, the gray-haired battle-ax turned to leave.
“She’s not penniless,” Robin said.
“What did you say?”
“Her coins and jewels were pinched by a girl named Suzy. We figure Suzy was in cahoots with Samuel Peiffer.”
“I don’t care to hear about—”
“Minta saved your letters in her lockbox, ma’am, but her gold was hid inside my safe,” Robin fibbed.
“How much?”
“It was to be used for her daughter’s education.”
“Minta’s barren.”
“Yes, ma’am. Fools Gold was adopted.”
“Fools Gold? Not even a decent Christian name.”
“Minta oft said she wanted to be buried in the family graveyard, behind the dairy barn. There’s enough money in my safe to pay for her funeral and send her coffin by rail.”
The battle-ax waved her gloved hands in the air. “Look, I just told you—”
“There will be lots left for them who tend her grave.”
“How much?”
Robin mentioned a sum. “An amount will be sent each month. My lawyer will handle the details.” She retrieved a scrap of paper from her reticule. “I want these here words on Min’s headstone. ‘I do set my rainbow in the clouds and it shall be a token of a covenant between me and Minta.’ ”
“The Old Testament says a covenant between me and the earth, you dim-witted fool.”
“Ain’t no use spitting nasty names, ma’am. It’s these here words or no fee at all.”
“I’ll bury my sister on the farm, but I won’t be a part of her blasphemous funeral.”
“Do you want to see Minta’s child? She’s waiting at home, all spruced up special.”
“The child be damned! Good afternoon, miss.”
“Madam,” said Robin, wishing Samuel Peiffer had slashed the sister instead of Minta.
Or had somebody else killed Minta? Peiffer kept insisting he didn’t do it. Even if he spoke true, he still deserved to hang. Rumors had surfaced about a rape scandal in Boston — an eleven-year-old child!
Robin’s eyes filled with tears again. Peiffer had tried to rape Flo, but the McDonald boy had stopped him in time. Then, after finding Minta dead, John McDonald had carried Peiffer’s unconscious body to her bedroom, protecting Flo’s reputation.
Minta’s jewels and money were missing. Peiffer swore Suzy had arranged his visit to the kitchen. They were in cahoots for sure.
The police surmised that Peiffer’s wounds had been caused by Minta’s nugget ring, found on the bedroom floor. The police also deduced that Minta had tried to defend herself by wielding the ring, and Suzy had pummeled Peiffer’s face in an effort to keep all the stolen goods for herself. If John and Cat McDonald knew anything different, they maintained their silence.
Peiffer’s bloody knife had been found in his jacket pocket, so the trial would be a mere formality. Suzy had disappeared. Flo didn’t seem to remember Peiffer’s attack, and she hadn’t uttered one word since the night of her birthday party.
Dabbing at her swollen eyes with a soggy handkerchief, Robin turned toward the mortician and outlined her plans for Minta’s funeral.
*****
The Elks Band led the funeral procession, their red fezzes bobbing up and down in time to the music.
Flo marched, her feet avoiding ruts in the street, even though her eyes stared straight ahead at the mountains.
Robin marched on one side of Flo, Hummingbird Lou on the other, alongside the hearse, which held a lavender casket covered by red and white roses.
Dumas followed the funeral wagon. Atop her dappled back lay a cross of pink carnations, the same color as Minta’s burial gown. Minta had sewed the gown herself.
Better than anything from Paris, France, thought Robin, noting with satisfaction that a crowd of miners and curious children lined the streets. Buggies and phaetons were filled with heavily veiled women from
every parlor house. The sky was clear but thunder rumbled.
“I wrote to that awful sister of Min’s and told her to plant red rosebushes at the grave,” Robin said. “Minta sure cottoned to the color red. Them bushes will drop their petals every year like teardrops.”
Flo nodded.
“Don’t fret, pun’kin. Minta’s money is gone, but I’ve got plenty to spare. It’s in St. Louis, and I’ll send for some right away. You’ll be schooled in Denver.”
Flo shook her head. The thunder sounded again, louder than the music, and she pressed her hands against her ears.
“That’s what Min wanted, Flo, so I don’t want to hear any argument from you.”
Robin wished the girl would argue. Shout. Scream. Cry. Make any sound at all.
*****
Three weeks after Minta’s funeral, Flo entered Little Heaven’s kitchen. She carried a rabbit under each arm, planning to give Alice and Teddy the carrot greens from a salad she had prepared earlier.
Madam Robin sat at the kitchen table, her head buried in her arms. Flo heard great gulping sobs. Lowering her bunnies to the floor, she raced toward the table.
Robin raised her head. Her wig was askew, her eyes rimmed pink. A crooked trail of tears coursed down her face, streaking the rice powder and rouge.
“Dear God,” she cried. “What am I to do? Look what arrived in today’s mail.” She held up a piece of cream-colored stationary. “This came from St. Louis. Listen. ‘I found your name and address in my husband’s desk drawer. Apparently he formed a business transaction with you. My husband died a month ago. He was in debt from gambling and the bank panic. He left five children. If you owe him money, send it quick. His last words were about me and the children.’ ”
Flo’s eyes misted. Dropping to the floor, she rained kisses across Madam Robin’s knees.
“She didn’t have to add that last part, Flo. It was cruel. I didn’t know he was married. We planned to cross the ocean on the Lusitania when I retired. I sent him my profits, every cent, except last month’s, which paid for Minta’s grave and funeral.”
Flo fumbled inside the pocket of her white pinafore then pressed a handkerchief against Robin’s palm.