“You are almost ready for your night out to the play,” said Miss Brooks, taking one of Billie’s hands in hers. “I’m rubbing beeswax into your nails. Not only are they going to shine after I buff them, but they’ll smell so good you’ll want to eat them—but don’t.”
They shared a laugh, and Billie began to relax again. The young woman was just talkative and making conversation. No need to be paranoid.
“Who are you going to the play with? Your uncle?” She dusted some complexion powder on Billie’s forehead. “We want you to radiate, not shine.”
“My uncle’s not much into dramas.”
“Then who? You can’t go alone.”
Billie couldn’t tell if Miss Brooks was hinting at an invite or not. “There’s this boy I’ve seen around. Talks to me sometimes. I thought maybe he might like to go.”
“Oh yeah? Who? Maybe I know him. Could tell you if he’s worth your time.”
Billie hesitated. What would it hurt? “Winn Harris.”
“Winn! About this tall, blond, and handsome-as-the-day-is-long Winn?”
Billie’s face warmed. “Maybe.”
Miss Brooks glanced at the other beautician before shaking her head emphatically. “Girl, you know how to pick ’em. But I’ve never seen him around town at night. Several of the girls have tried to go out with him, but none have succeeded. He’s one of the Finns and I hear the Finnish people are a bit standoffish. Good luck.”
Billie’s confidence faded. She’d thought with her freshly-styled look he’d be won over. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she shouldn’t even ask him.
“Oh, honey, look at your sad face. Don’t mind me. Maybe he’s waiting for the right girl to come along. Could be you.”
Miss Brooks led her to the front of the shop where Billie reached for her reticule. But Miss Brooks held up her hand.
“On the house. Matron was clear about that. And here are your tickets.” She handed over a small envelope.
“Thank you. It was lovely.” Billie left the salon feeling refreshed in body but rumpled in spirit. She was out of her element, was all. In Boston she knew what to wear, how to act. There were rules to follow. Out West, it was different. And with her dad gone, she’d lost her mooring. Her emotions were getting the best of her. She needed a place to get out of the sun and collect her thoughts before deciding what to do about her extra ticket.
A small sign on the corner building across the street caught her eye. Copper Queen Library. Perfect. She’d see what the advice columns in the magazines had to say. If what Miss Brooks spoke about Winn Harris was true—and it did seem true to character that he’d snubbed all the girls in town—likely he would do the same to her.
What did Winn matter anyway? He was simply a distraction in an entirely boring town. It wasn’t like they could have a future together. As soon as she and her uncle found the mirror, or Uncle Dale decided there was no further point looking for it, they’d be on the train to Boston without a glance back.
Chapter 14
Billie climbed the stairs of the corner library and skirted around the splotches of tobacco juice on the porch outside the entrance. The library was a bright, open room filled with glass-fronted bookshelves tucked into alcoves. The place was so new it didn’t yet have that smell of old books.
Last night she’d heard two ladies in the parlor mention that James Douglas, representative from Phelps, Dodge & Company, had personally stocked the library to help raise the level of the town. There had been a bout of frontier justice carried out when a bar fight led to a lynching. Douglas thought literature was the answer and had sent a collection of hand-selected books. Those all burned in a fire, but, like most mining towns, the citizens were quick to rebuild. Billie was quite glad the town had matured before she arrived.
Her gaze swept the room, landing on a certain handsome-as-the-day-is-long boy choosing a book from the shelf, his hat tucked under his arm, his blond hair a bit mussed. As if feeling her gaze, his eyes met hers, and her face warmed.
She reacted despite the fact he couldn’t have known she was talking about him at Lacey’s, and he couldn’t know her thoughts right now. Apparently, Winn did matter to her, which was why it bothered her so much that he wasn’t behaving the way boys usually did around her. That is to say, most paid particular attention to her.
Out of politeness, nothing more, she went over to him, standing almost toe to toe so she could whisper. “Good morning, Mr. Harris. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Surprised that I read, Miss Bergmann?” He placed a finger in the book to mark his spot and closed it.
“Of course not. It’s an expression.”
What surprised her was that this was the first time she’d seen him without his hat on. His golden hair and blue eyes reminded her of the prairie grasses and clear blue sky she watched for miles on the train out west. Again, she mused how attractive he would look in a proper suit and tie, and with her on his arm, but she couldn’t tell him what she was really thinking.
“I thought we’d already covered this. You assumed we were a backward town filled with uneducated, classless people, and,” he indicated the library, “we’re not.”
His tone was teasing, but Billie couldn’t help but correct him. “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”
“Did you know we’re the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco? Quite metropolitan if you ask me. And this here library is Arizona’s first community library. Not bad for a town in the middle of nowhere, is it?”
“Okay, stop.” She put her gloved hand on the top of his book. “I told you that wasn’t what I was thinking.”
He lifted her hand off the book, holding it for a heartbeat before releasing it. Her stomach fluttered at the touch and wondered if he felt anything.
“Then what is it you are thinking right now?”
With her adrenaline racing, she definitely couldn’t tell him that. She clasped her hands together. “What are you reading?”
He held up the volume. “The latest.” The Hound of the Baskervilles: Another Adventure of Sherlock Holmes. “Just when we thought Holmes was dead, Conan Doyle writes another story for us.”
Billie lifted her nose, and then, feeling self-conscious of her actions, proceeded to rub it. She wasn’t hoity-toity, she wasn’t. “Haven’t read any them.”
“You’re joking. Everyone reads these.”
“Not in Boston.”
Billie didn’t want him to know she preferred women’s magazines over novels. Even if the Holmes adventures started out as serials, they weren’t published in the ladies’ magazines she read: Godey’s, Ladies Home Journal, and Harper’s Bazaar. Those were filled with housekeeping hints along with tales of great love and adventure. Not murder and mayhem. Tips she could use later in life, like how many tablecloths a well-stocked home should have.
“Well, watch out if someone steals your shoe.”
Billie let out a burst of air. “What?”
“You might get haunted,” he said in a mysterious voice and wiggling his free hand at her.
She stared, not knowing how to respond.
His countenance fell. “Never mind. You’d have to read the story.”
“About haunted shoes? No, thanks.”
“Look. It’s not about haunted shoes, it’s—” His voice trailed off as he appeared to notice her mock wide-eyed innocence. “You’re teasing me.”
She laughed and finally got an honest grin out of him. For her being the proper one, he was sure uptight most of the time.
“Before I met you I used think my powers of perception were pretty good,” Winn said. “I once considered becoming a lawyer and used Holmes here to practice making observations.”
“Really?” she splayed her hands out, inviting his comments about her.
He hesitated before crossing his arms. “All right. Mr. Holmes would say that by the way you are eyeing me sideways, there is something about me that you don’t approve of, my worn clothes, perhaps. All that flu
ffy black lace on your dress indicates you are used to the finest things in life, and maybe you’ve never actually conversed with someone below your station, but for some reason you find me irresistible to talk to.” He winked cheekily. “How’d I do?”
“Fluffy lace? My station?” He might have hit a little too close to home. “I have high standards, mind you, but I don’t look down on people. I never have.”
He shrugged as if she had just proved his point, and then went to the counter with his book and a lunch pail.
While he checked out she waited, thinking about what he’d said.
It would be disingenuous to pretend she didn’t come from money when she did, or to pretend that it wasn’t just as obvious that Winn didn’t come from money. But that didn’t mean in this out of the way place that they couldn’t be friends. He was the only one in town who had made an effort with her—even if he was trying to get her to leave.
When he made for the exit, she followed him.
“In case you didn’t notice,” she said, “I’m wearing black crepe as a sign I’m in mourning. There is nothing frivolous about my clothing.”
Although, she didn’t mention that she had picked out the shirtwaist with the largest puffed sleeves and had asked the dressmaker to add one more layer of lace since she had found the original to be lacking. One could mourn and look good at the same time.
He didn’t say anything but went through the door, and she followed—again—despite her pact with Holly, Suzanne, and Jane to never chase after a boy. She was alone in town and wanted to see a play. She couldn’t go by herself.
“I have two tickets to the Opera House tonight, and it would be a shame to go alone.”
She paused appropriately, giving him time to ask her out.
“I appreciate you trying to fit in, but this town isn’t your kind of town. You really should go back to Boston.”
“Oh really? Well, you know what? You didn’t give me the opportunity to give you my own Sherlock Holmes’ observations.”
He kept walking down the street but raised his arms in a show of resignation. His lunch pail banged against his forearm.
She took his action as an invitation. “I’ve seen you skulk around town, so therefore, you are probably up to no good. You, you—” Billie hesitated when he looked at her. The eyes. His beautiful blue eyes were so sad, like a lost puppy. She’d never seen such a forlorn look, and she wondered if he even knew what signals he was sending out.
“What? Don’t hold back on me now.” He’d come to a bench and sat down, pulling out a bag of almonds from his pail.
“You’re sad. In trouble.” Billie squared her shoulders. “Maybe I can help you.”
He let inhaled sharply. “I’m not a charity case.”
She examined his so-called lunch. Almonds and a chunk of rye bread. “Never said you were, I just offered to help. Here’s another observation. You’re too prideful to accept help. You might think I’m privileged, but you’re too prideful for your own good.”
He scowled. “I’d accept help if it would do any good.” He cracked an almond open with a small nutcracker.
“I’m very good at helping my friends. There was this one time when Suzanne was supposed to—”
“We’re not friends.”
“Only because you’re so rude. If you don’t want to be friends, why do you follow me around town?”
The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on her.
“You don’t know what you don’t know.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Forget it.”
“Try me.”
“No one can help me.” He stared straight at her, and her heart skipped a beat. She heard the words, but the meaning she understood was indeed a cry for help. How could he feel so helpless when he was still young, with his whole life in front of him?
She tipped her head. “Now there’s a challenge I’d like to take.” What help could she possibly offer him? She didn’t know enough about him to know what his problems were. “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands until we go back to Boston. What could I do? Babysit a sibling so you have more time to get work? Set you up on a date with a girl you have a crush on?” She hoped it wasn’t that last one, but she wanted to know if he had his sights set on a local girl already.
“Really? Do you really want to help?” His voice was stiff, filled with bitterness. “Could you sneak into the Poisoned Apple Saloon one night, and spy on the Matron? Tell me how she spends her nights?”
He threw the challenge down like he didn’t think she would do it.
And he was right. She wasn’t the kind of girl to go into a saloon in a mining town and spy on its owner. Especially alone and at night.
“W-why would you want to spy on her?” she stuttered. She pictured the elegant woman she had met and wondered what connection she had to Winn. He didn’t know that she’d already met the Matron or was holding tickets from her in her reticule. She might be able to help him without going into the Poisoned Apple.
He laughed, a cold sound. “Never mind. Stupid idea.” He offered her the bag of almonds. “Want one?”
She plunked beside him on the bench and accepted the nutcracker, wondering where she would put the shells. She’d never eaten outside like this before except for company and church picnics where things were set up properly. It made her feel like a young girl again. Unburdened. It made her want to help this boy.
“The Matron also owns Lacey’s Beauty Salon. Maybe I can get information there. What do you need?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s too dangerous. Stay away from her.”
“Too late.” Billie patted her hair. “I’m already a client.”
“Let me guess. She found you first?”
What did it matter who found who first? Billie refused to confirm his suspicions, and instead pulled out another almond. When she cracked it open, she found it had a double meat. Grinning, she passed one to Winn. “Will you eat a philopena with me?”
He accepted. “Where I come from we call this an almond.” He popped it in his mouth.
She laughed. “Sharing a philopena is a game of wits. A game that started in Germany, called viel liebchen. Since you’ve agreed, you are now bound. The next time we meet, whoever says “philopena” first, wins and gets to suggest a prize.”
“Not much of a game of wits.”
“You have to name your prize by way of a hint, not coming right out to ask what you want. You can be specific, by saying something like ‘I prefer chocolate to candy.’ Or more challenging by saying something such as ‘I like things that are undervalued, overlooked, yet precious.’”
“Still not much of a game.” He tossed his shells onto the dirt road.
“We could play as they do in Germany. They extend the play by trying to catch one another off guard…and it ends when one is tricked into accepting the gift. For example, if you invite me to get an ice cream with you, I’ll refuse. If I ask you to the Opera House, you should refuse.”
“I don’t know. You wouldn’t rather go back inside the library and play checkers?”
She looked up through her eyelashes. “I’m rather good at this game. Are you afraid you’ll lose?”
“I’m rather good at games of chance myself.”
“There is no chance involved in this game. It’s skill and cunning. A test of our character and communication. We have to pay attention to each another and not be mindless in our interactions.” Billie never could get Branson to play properly. He always let her win, but Billie had a feeling Winn would be a worthy opponent.
“Fine. Walk with me across the street, city girl?” He raised his eyebrows in challenge.
“Not on your life,” she answered. She spun to go in the opposite direction, shooting a smile over her shoulder. “The game is afoot.”
He grinned. “I thought you didn’t read Sherlock Holmes.”
Chapter 15
Uncle Dale caught up to Billie as she was about to re-enter the
library. After talking with the enigmatic Winn, she really needed to search the advice columns. At home, she and Jane and Holly and Suzanne would have taken apart the conversation piece by piece, look by look. But out West she was on her own.
“There’s my favorite niece.”
Billie stopped with her hand on the door. “What is it you need?”
“A quick word.” He led her to a quiet place on the street in full sun. “I want you to find out what Lou does with the watch. Does she keep it on her person? In a drawer? On the counter?”
Billie adjusted her hat to keep the sun off her face “I thought you wanted me to look for a mirror.”
“Yes, but also the watch.”
“Why not just ask to see her mine? Then you can see for yourself that it’s just a mine like every other mine out there.”
“You really think she’d lead me right to the mirror? If she doesn’t know about its special qualities, maybe. But if she’s hiding the mirror, she won’t let me—us—near it. No, I need to go in by myself. If she suspects what we’re looking for, she’ll be gone faster than Jesse James can hop a train.”
Would she? It was hard to know. As it stood right now, Lou claimed to know nothing about the mirror.
“Seems simpler just to ask her.”
Uncle Dale took out a kerchief and wiped his brow. “We could. And she could leave with it. Can we risk that? Can your mother? This mirror is her last hope.”
Billie groaned. Her uncle was so good at making her doubt motives. They didn’t know Lou well enough yet to know how she would act.
Uncle raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“What? What is this look you’re giving me?” Billie asked.
“We could save a whole lot of time and effort if you help me sneak into Lou’s mine while she’s gone. That way we can get an idea of what we’re up against. She might not even know what she’s sitting on. We could relieve her of such a weighty responsibility.”
“Steal it from her?” Billie couldn’t believe what her uncle was suggesting. “We can’t do that. It’s not honest.” She thought back to walking in on her uncle that first day at Lou’s when he had her tools spread out on the floor. He probably would have broken in right then if Billie hadn’t been outside. She had to put a stop to this before it got out of hand.
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