She curled up on the bed and waited long into the night for a man who would never return. Sometime in the early hours before dawn, she awakened. The room was pitch black and the lamp had burned out. The noisy bustle on the street below had also ceased. The faint sounds of laughter, both male and female, echoed down the corridor.
Suddenly, the bed seemed larger and emptier than ever before. Antonio was not coming back tonight. Perhaps never. Elena pulled a pillow to her face to muffle her sobs.
CHAPTER FIVE
New Mexico Territory
September 1863
Where in the hell was the little bitch’s body?
Frank Cole had poked about the dry creek bed with a stick for two hours looking for his niece’s remains, finding none. But there had to be a body. Bones. Some sign to indicate she’d been left here three months before.
Jack Dudley swore he had dumped her in this exact spot. Swore up and down like a lyin’ dog that Hope was already dead when he left her for the buzzards. What had he said? Oh, yeah—he’d snapped her neck. Lyin’ bastard. Probably sold her to comancheros instead of killing of her like he was supposed to.
Regret filled Cole that he hadn’t screwed the little gal one last time before he handed her over to Dudley. His dick grew hard thinking about her pretty red hair—as soft as her mama’s—and her little girlie tits. He liked to look at ‘em when she took her bath at night and didn’t know he was watchin’. He’d sneak into her room in the middle of the night and get her before she could work up a good fight.
That would have been fun, catching her unaware again and listening to her cry as she begged him to stop. He’d done everything he could think of to make her tell him where her mama hid them gold bars. Still she wouldn’t budge.
He reached down and fondled himself through the thick fabric of his canvas pants, remembering it had been a long time since he had a romp with a female. He needed to get some relief soon or he was gonna bust.
He glanced over at Jack Dudley’s body. Deep red blossomed on the shirt where he’d thrust a knife into the scrawny man’s chest. He wondered if Dudley screwed his niece before he sold her. Of course he had. The thought made him want to kill the bastard all over again.
He leaned over, pulled the blade from Dudley’s chest and wiped the blood on the man’s trouser leg before sliding it back into its leather sheath. “That’ll teach you to lie to me you weasel.”
He surveyed his surroundings, feeling as if a noose was suddenly tightening around his neck. He had to find the girl’s remains. If she were dead, he needed to burn or bury what was left. And if she were still alive, he had to silence her once and for all. Given a chance, she’d tell the authorities what all he’d done to her Ma—what he’d done to her all them times. For all he knew, she might already have. But first he needed a stiff drink so he could think straight.
He pulled the amber flask from inside his coat pocket, uncorked it and took a long swig. Within moments fire shot straight to his pecker. Hot damn, that was some good shit.
He tucked the flask back into his coat pocket and unbuttoned his pants to take a piss, decidin’ he’d best tack up a few posters in and around the territory. Yep, that’s exactly what he’d do. Offer a reward for his sweet little niece’s return. He laughed. Hell, if he made the reward tempting enough every Tom, Dick, and Harry would be falling out of the woodwork, dragging pretty young, red haired girls to his door.
The thought made his cock twitch.
He leaned against a tree and pissed a long, deep yellow stream that was hard to get started but seemed to go on forever once it began. He even aimed and watered old Jack Dudley. “Piss on you asshole.” But after relieving himself, his erection didn’t disappear.
He needed a woman. Even a young’un would do about now. Albuquerque was only a day’s ride ahead. And Elena Costanza sure had some purty girls workin’ in her gentleman’s parlor. The madam wasn’t too hard on the eyes either. Funny, but she hadn’t recognized him the last time he dropped in for a whiskey. She had growed up right purty, much different than he remembered when she’d run off with him to El Paso fifteen years ago.
Now, she had big woman tits and a sassy little behind that filled out her dresses right nice. He rather liked the way she sashayed them in those flowin’ gowns of hers. He’d bet she was expensive now, the way she carried herself and all—acting as if her pussy was the grandest in all the territory.
Yep, he guessed she really thought she was a smooth one, a runnin’ out on the business like that and running up debts in his absence. The thievin’ bitch. She’d get hers all right, if it was the last thing he did.
He closed his eyes and stroked himself, thought about her all spread before him again. He knew she’d still be damned good. Maybe even better. But his dick softened in his hand. He cussed it, and then put himself away and buttoned his pants. God damned unreliable thing. He glanced over at the dead man. Flies swarmed the open, oozing wound. Dudley’s eyelids twitched.
Cole nearly shit his breeches.
He drew his pistol and went in for a closer look. Leaning over the man, he peered down into glazed lifeless eyes. Must’ve been his imagination with this heat and all. His mind was playin’ tricks on him again.
He slid the gun into his holster and swung up into the saddle. “Well, it was nice knowin’ you, Jack, ol’ boy.” He chuckled as he tipped his hat to the dead man. “See you in hell, you son-of-a-bitch.”
He dug his spurs into the mount’s flanks and headed northwest toward Albuquerque.
CHAPTER SIX
Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory
September 1863
Halle bit a chunk from one of Mama Rosa’s thick, steaming gordita’s fresh from the cast iron griddle and gobbled down the thick, hand-patted corn tortilla. Rosa’s fare was the absolute best! Molly, an entertainer at Elena’s and Halle’s partner in crime, snitched one for herself as well. Rosa made a face and smacked at Molly’s hand.
Holding a mouthful of partially chewed, hot tortilla, Halle asked, “Okay. Who is this guy you were talking about earlier? Why is he coming here? She paused to catch a chunk of dough that tumbled from her mouth into her lap. Popping it back in, she chewed a little more, making a manageable lump before swallowing.
Rosa glanced looked up from dicing crisp onions and juicy green and red peppers. Beads of sweat sprinkled her brow, dampening silvery wisps of hair that escaped from her once neat, coiled bun. “Whitehorse is Elena’s man. He owns this house. He bought it for her many years ago.” Halle watched as Rosa carefully lifted the chopping board to the boiling pot of broth.
“Interesting name, Whitehorse? Native American?”
Rosa looked perplexed.
“Indian,” she corrected.
Rosa nodded. Using the knife’s blade, she raked the vegetables into a bubbling liquid. “That is why Elena is in one of her moods. She wants everything to be perfect for his visit.”
So that’s what the buzz was about. From the chaos around Elena’s that morning, Halle figured the Queen of England was en route. Instead, it was the man they called Whitehorse. Elena’s lover and pimp.
Molly flashed a wicked smile. “Too bad Elena is in town. I wouldn’t mind entertaining him for a couple of hours.”
Rosa shushed her and lowered her voice. “Elena would cut your throat for that remark. He is her man. No woman here dares look at him.”
“A girl can dream big.” Molly laughed, then wiggled a brow at Rosa. “I showed him a good time once when Elena was indisposed and I ain’t ever forgot. Damn, but that man is hung like a mule!”
Rosa made a face of disgust. “That is all you think about!”
“Well ‘scuse me but I’m a whore, Rosa, not a goddamned nun. Men are my business. And so what if I like a little roll in the hay? Let’s just say that Whitehorse left me with a smile that a bucket of water and three cakes of lye soap couldn’t wash off my face for a month.”
Halle squirmed uncomfortably on the stool. She shouldn’t give a
flip about this Whitehorse dude. No, she really didn’t. After all, she’d since learned he was her employer’s long time lover. Besides, they hadn’t done anything actually. He’d kissed her once…had touched her breast. It wasn’t as if they had a relationship or anything. But a twinge of jealousy struck at Molly’s confession. Halle considered Molly her friend now, but she had known Whitehorse intimately, at least on one occasion. Did that mean he’d slept slept with some of the other women as well? The idea made her nauseous.
“Halle, you all right?” Molly asked, clipping her beneath the chin. “Come on, girl. Why the long face?”
Halle shrugged. “I um…was just lost in thought.”
Molly smiled big. “You were thinkin’ about him weren’t you?”
Halle flinched. “What? Who?”
“Whitehorse.”
Hell no. Yes. “No, of course not!”
Molly leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Word was before Whitehorse brought you in, the two of you had already done the deed.”
“Sorry to spoil the story for you but we didn’t.”
“You sure ‘bout that? Elena was pretty certain for a while you was knocked up with his kid. ”
Halle rolled her eyes. “You have to do more than kiss to get pregnant.”
“And….”
“And….nothing.”
Molly smacked her on the upper arm. “You’re lyin’. There was more, wasn’t there?”
Rosa had since put her spoon down and was staring intently. Halle swallowed hard. “He just…touched my…”
They were both silent, staring.
“My boob.”
Molly’s shoulder’s slumped and Rosa went back to stirring the soup as if this revelation was no big deal. Apparently Molly was satisfied, if not bored by her answer. Molly flicked a piece of dirt from beneath her fingernail, adding, “Well, hopefully Whitehorse’s visit will make Her Highness happy. Anything to appease that bitch for a while is worthwhile.”
Rosa agreed. Molly tapped Halle on the arm. “Hey, did you tell Rosa we’ve been blackmailing the man who murdered his niece?”
Halle flinched. She’d sworn Molly to secrecy! With her eyes, she implored her not to divulge any more details
Molly gave Halle a light smack on the arm. “Hell,girl. Rosa already knows. I told her after she said Frank Cole came in one night last week. Didn’t he, Rosa?”
Rosa nodded. “There is something evil about that man. I do not like it when he comes here.” She shuddered. “He has eyes like a wolf. Makes my skin crawl.”
A shiver skittered up Halle’s spine. “Does Cole come here a lot?”
“Only for the past two months. Keeps to himself. Drinks, but never too much. Never asks for a woman. Probably can’t get it up, if you ask me.”
Halle’s heart lurched. He’d been coming to Elena’s since she began blackmailing him. Did Cole suspect she and Molly were the authors of the letters? How? With money she saved styling the madam’s hair and sewing dresses, she rented a postal box in Union City a hundred miles away and bribed the postmaster into silence.
Rosa lifted a brow. “You stay away from that Cole man Halle. No more letters. He is no good.”
“But he doesn’t know it’s us sending the letters,” Halle offered
Rosa snorted. “He will find out, and when he does, he will come back and hurt you. He is so evil he might even cut your heart out and eat it while it is still beating. The Devil lives inside him. I have seen it in his eyes.” She sketched the sign of the cross over herself.
Halle looked at Molly, who gave a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Don’t worry. He was probably just sniffin’ around and lookin’ for a good time, but like I said, his good time couldn’t get up.” Molly winked. “Probably heard about all the new pretty girls Elena hired. Besides, he didn’t find what he came for, so I don’t think he’ll be back.”
Halle prayed Molly was right, but something in her gut said otherwise. Frank Cole knew she was here or at least suspected. She figured it wouldn’t be the last time he’d come snooping around. Had the postmaster in Union City betrayed her?
Perspiration poured from her brow. Ordinarily she’d blame it on the stifling heat in the tiny, windowless kitchen, but that wasn’t the reason she’d broken out in a sweat. She knew in her heart Frank Cole had found her. It was a matter of time before she was dead meat.
Halle mopped her brow with a convenient dish towel. Holy shit, she needed some black hair dye and sunshades fast! On second thought, darkening her hair might only call attention to her African-American features. She already treaded on dangerous ground. Even the suggestion that she might be black, could have disastrous consequences in this time period.
Could she bleach her hair so Cole wouldn’t recognize her? Perhaps Rosa kept ingredients in the kitchen that might be used to cook up a few cosmetics. Of course, she could always snip off the red tips that had grown out these past few months and wear her hair short like a boy’s. She could even dress in pants and a man’s shirt. Cole would never recognize her then. But would Elena’s ladies guard her secret?
Rosa snatched the towel from Halle’s grip and swatted a lively cockroach off the chopping board. Halle lifted her skirts as the critter skittered across the floor in a crazed dance and disappeared beneath a sack of corn meal. Molly hefted the meal aside and snapped the little bugger beneath the toe of her slipper. Halle groaned in disgust.
Rosa laughed. “Toss the cucaracha in the soup. It is for the puta and her lover anyway.”
Molly hooted. She reached down to pick up the dying, wiggling insect by one twitching hind leg. Molly had almost reached the stew pot with the wriggling bug when Elena appeared in the doorway. Molly flung the roach aside and assumed her best angelic look, alongside Rosa who was now the epitome of an innocent old granny.
“What are the hens cackling about this morning?”
Molly muttered a good morning to Elena, then rushed past and slipped out the side door. Halle slid from the stool and eased over to the sink and pretended to be drying dishes. She dared a glance over her shoulder. Elena’s hands flew to her hips. Her lips pursed into a thin line as her dark eyes narrowed on Rosa. “Have you not work to be done? I do not pay my help to stand around and gossip.”
“Halle was helping in the kitchen this morning,” Rosa offered.
The madam was dressed in a low-cut, peach-colored gown with creamy, ostrich feathers at the neck—one Halle had sewn from a hand-drawn pattern. Damn. She’d done a fab job with the dress. It was positively stunning on Elena.
Elena’s dark, shiny hair was still perfectly coiffed in the 1960’s beehive she’d styled yesterday. This morning, however, Elena had added her own special touches—flashy rhinestone pins. The madam was as graceful and poised as a Victoria’s Secret model, only not as tall.
Realizing she was staring, Halle turned to scrub a greasy frying pan with a stiff bristled brush.
Elena thundered out, “Why does she wash dishes! The girl is not a servant. She is smart. She can sew better than any seamstress in the Territory. She can read and write—unlike you, Rosa. Pendeja!”
Halle’s heart dipped. She turned in time to watch Rosa’s shoulder slump.
“Do you see this gown I am wearing? Halle designed a pattern for this dress. It is like one from the finest Parisian catalogues. She is sewing another one for me exactly like it out of red organza.” The thwack of Elena’s magazine hitting the table caused Halle to jump.
Elena hooked a finger at her. “You. Come upstairs with me at once. You do not belong in the kitchen among the help.”
Elena turned on her heels and sashayed from the room.
Halle made a face at Rosa who rolled her eyes and muttered between gritted teeth, “La puta esta loca—always like this when her big dick comes to town. Molly was right. We must all pray that Whitehorse leaves her with a smile that lasts a year.”
Halle gave Rosa’s hand a gentle pat. “Don’t take Elena’s words to heart,” she whispered. �
�You know how mean she can be sometimes. We’ll talk later.” She ran to catch up with Elena.
Elena had grown noticeably bitchier these past few weeks. Word in the house was she’d been holding out for Whitehorse for over a year. That wasn’t counting the secretive sleepovers of one of the newer gals, Lola, a bisexual.
Halle followed Elena up the red carpeted stairs and down a narrow hallway. Elena paused at her suite and turned the ornate golden knob, then pushed open the door. Halle followed her inside and clicked the door shut behind.
Elena’s room, unlike the rest of the plainer ones in the two story stone and stucco house, was decorated like a palace with gilt framed oil paintings of nudes adorning silver foil-papered walls and garish, ornate carved furnishings.
Elena paused at her writing desk to lift a gold cigarette case with mother-of-pearl inlay. She turned around, struck a match, then lit a thin hand-rolled cigarette in its holder and took a long, deep pull.
Halle squinted and braced herself for the onslaught of second-hand smoke. The madam blew softly and white, misty rings swirled about her face as she eyed Halle up and down. Elena seated herself on the edge of her credenza. “I have a proposition for you, mi hija.”
A red warning flag shot up in Halle’s mind. A proposition? Not a comfortable word choice, considering she was employed as a hairstylist-slash-seamstress-slash-secretary in a brothel.
Elena took another slow drag off the cigarette and blew a smoke ring. Halle watched, mesmerized as the little “o” grew bigger, warping into a shape resembling a gauzy figure eight before dissipating. The madam’s gaze settled on her again and Halle felt a shiver race up her spine. Why was Elena looking at her that way? Uncomfortable, she plucked at the starched, high necked collar on her dress. Elena reached for a tin of candy, opened it and held it out. “Take a chocolate. They are from Europe.”
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