"That where it happened?" Fox asked as they passed the double swinging doors blocked by two of Sheriff Tate's burly deputies.
"Poor girl," Kate muttered. "I always told Sal he wasn't careful enough about who he let pass through his place. He don't keep a close enough eye on his girls. It's not right, just not right," she muttered.
Celeste wrapped her arm around Kate and patted her, comforting her as though she were a child. There had certainly been many a night Kate had done the same for her. Celeste couldn't help poor Margaret, but she could help Kate by consoling her. She could help Kate's girls by calming their fears. "I know, I know, but Sal can't be blamed. It's nobody's fault," she told her friend.
Halfway between Sal's and Kate's they passed Joash Tuttle, his black felt hat pulled low over his ears, his old Bible cradled in his arms.
Celeste nodded to Joash as they passed. He tipped his hat, mumbling as he passed her, reciting a prayer, probably.
No doubt he was headed for Sal's to give some Protestant form of last rites. Celeste didn't envy Joash having to see Margaret's body. Despite his constant warnings of what fate sinners met, she knew it must upset Joash to see one human being butchered by another. She mused how hard it must be for him to keep his faith through such incidents.
They reached Kate's and passed the front door used by customers that led to the dance hall's central room, turning instead at the end of the red, white, and blue painted false front and down the alley that ran alongside the frame building. Mud splashed up on her gown. She didn't care. What mattered was getting Kate inside, getting her warm.
Fox looked uneasy as the alley narrowed. "This isn't a good idea, Celeste. Not with a killer on the loose."
"Here's the door," she said. "See, we're here." She didn't want to admit to Fox that she didn't want him to see the dance hall with its nude women painted on the whitewashed walls, or the stage where she'd danced half-naked. She didn't even want to admit it to herself.
It looked like he was going to protest again, but then realized Celeste was bound and determined to get Kate home.
"See," she said. "This is the private entrance, where Kate lives."
Celeste turned the doorknob on the back door, but it was locked. She banged with her fist. The ruffled red curtain on the window parted and she saw Ace's face peering out. She didn't say anything because Ace couldn't hear and couldn't speak, but he could read lips. "Let us in," she mouthed.
Ace immediately opened the door. Ace was an orphan, of sorts, adopted by Kate because no one wanted a half-breed Indian who couldn't speak. He cleaned for Kate, kept bar in the days when the dance hall had been busy. Now mostly he hauled wood, scrubbed floors, and played cards. In many ways he was much like the girls Kate hired. They all worked for her and in return she fed them, clothed them, hugged them when they needed it, lacing it all with a cold splash of reality.
Ace slammed the door behind them, making an event of turning the lock as Celeste, Kate, and Fox stepped into the kitchen. His face and hands were freshly scrubbed, his black hair slicked back, still wet. He must have just risen. At Kate's they stayed up late into the night and slept late into the morning. Celeste noticed Ace's rifle leaning against the wall.
"Let me take off your cape," Celeste said to Kate, then touched Ace's sleeve to get his attention. "Stoke the fire," she said so that he could read her lips. "Kate's wet and cold."
Ace nodded and hurried to do her bidding. He was a great lumbering man with big feet, broad hands, a mane of long black hair, and coal black, hooded eyes. Ace wasn't smart, but he was caring and fiercely loyal to Kate, who had taken him in when he was only nine or ten. He'd been with Kate when Celeste met her in Denver eight years ago. Apparently Kate had found him in some kind of perverted house of ill-repute back East, and brought him west with her. Rumor had it she'd bought him. Celeste had never asked Kate for details, and Kate never offered them.
Celeste ushered Kate to a chair at the long wooden table in the center of the room. Here in the kitchen was where the cook prepared meals, where Kate hired and fired, where the girls met to eat and talk, and where Sunday poker games were played. It was the center of Kate's girls' lives and, until six months ago when Celeste had moved in with John, it had been the center of her life, too.
"Fox, will you fill the teakettle and put it on the stove to heat?"
Seeming relieved to have something to do, he moved away from the door. He glanced suspiciously about the room as he followed through on the task. He was probably wondering why Celeste was so familiar with the back room of a dance hall, as well as with everyone here. Thankfully, he knew this wasn't the time or the place for questions.
She prayed that when he did ask, she would have the chance to somehow explain, and that he would listen.
"You're here!" Her arms flung out, Silky Sally burst through the curtained doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. "I knew you would come."
Sally's pale face was streaked red from tears, her eyes bloodshot. Her satin sleeping gown and robe billowed around them both as she embraced Celeste.
Celeste hugged her tightly. Sally was her best friend. Her confidant. She and Kate were the only people in her life who knew about Denver, past and present. She'd never even told John.
"I just can't believe it," Sally breathed, patting her eyes with a handkerchief as she stepped back. "Little Margaret killed like that." She gave a delicate sniff. "She didn't deserve it."
"No one deserves it," Celeste said. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Fox making a pot of tea, digging through cupboards to find what he needed. That uncharacteristic male self-sufficiency again. "I'm going upstairs to see the other girls," she told Fox. "I'll be back in a few minutes." She patted Kate as she passed her. "I'll send down a robe for you. You sit here and warm yourself."
For once Kate didn't try to take over or tend to someone else. She sat there in numb silence and nodded.
Celeste, accompanied by Sally, went down the hallway and up the back stairway. The private rooms all faced an open balcony with the dance hall directly below. They found the girls huddled together in Sally's room in various states of undress, their eyes puffy and red from weeping and wide with the fear that any one of them could be the next victim.
Celeste spent half an hour with the girls, calming their fears, then returned to the kitchen.
Kate seemed more like herself again. She had removed her rag rollers and fluffed her hair. She'd even added a bit of rouge to her lips and cheeks and covered her sleeping gown with a ruffled red satin wrapper. She was flirting with Fox.
Celeste battled a sudden surge of irritation, even as she wondered why she should feel it in the first place. "I think you should consider remaining closed for a day or two," she told Kate. "Give Sheriff Tate a chance to catch the murderer. Give the girls a chance to calm down. They're pretty upset."
"That won't happen in my establishment," Kate said. "I'm careful who I let up those steps. I protect my girls."
Celeste leaned on the back of Kate's chair, eyeing her. "So, you're going to open tonight?"
"Of course. It's Saturday. Best night of the week. The boys from Odenburg'll be in cashin' their pay and wantin' a little fun." Kate winked at Fox. "Besides, the girls need something else to think about besides poor butchered Margaret."
Celeste winced. She liked Kate. No, she loved her. But Kate's bottom line was business.
"I'm going home," Celeste said, swinging her cape over her shoulders. "I'll check back this afternoon. Maybe the sheriff will know something by then." As she passed Fox she noticed that he was watching her, a strange look on his face.
"Coming?" Celeste asked Fox.
He stared at her with an accusatory gaze.
Celeste knew what he was thinking. She knew what he would say once they stepped out of Kate's door. The tension made her palms sweat. What was wrong with her? How could she have expected anything else out of Fox? "Coming?" she repeated.
"Coming." His voice was cool.
The minute they stepped into the alley, Fox brushed his hand against her arm. "How do you know those people?"
"Kate didn't say?"
"No."
She walked faster, wishing she could halt the conversation that was about to take place, wishing she could go back to the swing last night. "I told you, they're my friends."
"Friends. Did John know them?"
"Yes. They were his friends, too."
"That doesn't surprise me." Their shoes clacked on the wet, wooden sidewalk. They passed Sal's and the crowd of curious citizens still standing around. "My father made a lifetime career of passing time with whores, miners, and no doubt a few outlaws."
Celeste drew her cloak closer. The sky was gray. It was raining again, the drops falling lightly on the hood she'd drawn over her head.
"I know my father frequented every whorehouse, in every flea-bitten town this side of the Mississippi, but what about you, Miss Kennedy? How did you come to be associated so closely with that lot? I understand that in a town of this sort, the same rules of propriety don't apply, but surely you know the danger of associating with women like Kate."
Celeste ground her teeth as she rounded the corner onto Plum Street. She had become Miss Kennedy again. "Could we take this conversation inside?" she asked, walking faster. "I don't want to talk about this in public."
Silver bounded toward her as Celeste opened the front door of her house. She yanked off her cloak, dropped it over the wooden coatrack, and headed for the kitchen. Dog and man followed at her heels.
"Celeste!" Fox clamped his hand on her shoulder and spun her around in the kitchen doorway.
Silver pricked back his ears.
Fox eyed the dog, then fixed his gaze on Celeste. "Tell me how you know those women so well. Tell me how you knew my father. I have to know."
She felt her lower lip tremble. She'd make no excuses. She did what she did for a reason. For a damned good reason and not Joash Tuttle, Fox MacPhearson, nor the Holy Father himself would make her feel guilty for what she had done. "You know how I know everyone at Kate's," she said quietly. Firmly. She was surprised by how strong her voice sounded, how easily she met and held his gaze.
"No, I don't," Fox said softly. He released her shoulder slowly, as if beginning to fear some type of contamination. "Tell me."
She looked directly into his eyes, choosing to speak simply. The words came so hard. "I'm one of them."
"You . . . you couldn't be that kind of woman!" He sounded so sure of himself.
Feeling suddenly bone-deep cold, Celeste marched into the kitchen and threw open the door of the blackened potbellied stove. She grabbed the coal shovel in the bin behind the stove and tossed a full load inside. Her anger flared. She knew it irrational to suddenly be upset with him. There was no need for her to take this personally. How could she have expected any other response but this one? "And just what kind of woman is that, Mr. MacPhearson?" She slammed the door shut.
Now he was beginning to anger. "An intelligent, attractive, capable woman."
She folded her arms over her chest. She was trying so hard not to feel the pain of disappointment. He wasn't going to ask why she did what she did, because the truth was, like everyone else, he didn't care. It was crazy of her to have ever placed a single grain of hope in this man. Dreams didn't come true and handsome, rich men didn't save women from prostitution.
"I am intelligent, attractive, and capable, Mr. MacPhearson. I'm also a whore. I was your father's whore, later his lover, then his friend when he could no longer perform."
Fox tore off his wet bowler hat and threw it on the table.
Celeste didn't know why she shouted at him like that. Said it so crudely. Maybe she just wanted to shock him, make him hate her enough to leave now before he broke her heart any further.
"You slept with my father for money?" he spat.
"At first. Later because I cared for him."
"Because you cared for his money."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "You son of a bitch," she said softly, too angry to shout now. "You have no idea what I shared with your father. You have no idea because you weren't here. You weren't here when he became ill. You weren't here when he died. You couldn't even make it for the blessed funeral because you were too busy with your fancy house and your business in California!"
Fox blanched.
For an instant Celeste felt a pang of guilt. No matter what he said to her, she shouldn't have said that. She didn't know what his circumstances were, why he hadn't come, any more than he knew why she sold her body for money. His cruelty was no excuse for her own.
"Fox . . ." she said softly. She took a step toward him. She knew what she had said hurt him because she knew he cared about her, just as what he had said cut her to the quick because she cared about him.
He stood stock straight and stared at her with dark, accusatory eyes. "Miss Kennedy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Her brow furrowed and she almost laughed. Her emotions were such a jumble that they were all beginning to run together. "Leave?"
"Leave my father's house. My house. John may have had a weak spot for whores, but I don't. Not anymore." His tone was so angry and condemning that it spurred her own fury again.
"You can't make me leave."
"I can. Private property. I can have the sheriff remove you from my house."
Who the hell did this man think he was talking to? Who was he to judge her? She didn't owe him an explanation for why she was a prostitute. He didn't deserve an explanation. "Well, you're right about the private property." She strode toward him with Silver following the hem of her dress. "You're even right about calling Sheriff Tate." She stopped directly in front of Fox, her gaze fixed on his face. "What you're wrong about, Mr. MacPhearson is who has the right to have whom removed."
He stared at her blankly. "Pardon?"
She gave a small, triumphant smile. "John MacPhearson's will and last testament was read and authenticated three days after he passed away. It's been filed legally in Denver. Here's how it goes according to John's wishes." She paused and then began to count on her fingers, pinky first. "I, sir, Celeste Ann Kennedy am the sole owner of this property at 22 Plum Street in Carrington, Colorado." She bent the next finger. "I am also owner of Mr. John MacPhearson's bank account." She touched her middle finger. "And lastly, sir, I am half owner of the old land claims now known as MacPhearson's Fortune, some one and three quarters of a mile northwest of this fine town."
Fox stared at her, apparently trying to decide if she was telling the truth. A flicker of emotion crossed his face. Was he so shocked that his father had left this little house, a few dollars, and half a worthless gold mine to a whore who had been kind to him when his own son wasn't here to comfort him? Fox was already rich beyond her dreams or those of his father. He didn't need the money or the property.
Was Fox really such a petty person?
No, it wasn't shock that she saw. It was hurt.
Now Celeste was confused. Was this about her or John? She couldn't tell.
"Who did he leave the other half of the land to?" Fox asked quietly.
"You." Then she gave him a smile that mixed sarcasm and a plea for a truce. "Whether you like it or not, it seems we're partners, Mr. MacPhearson."
Chapter Five
"Son of a bitch," Fox murmured. He sat on the edge of the bed covered with the white candle-wicked bedspread. "You son of a bitch. How could you have left a whore my inheritance?" To a cultured whore with a voice as smooth as honey and lips that are sweeter, he thought. He propped one elbow on his knee and brushed back the long locks of dark hair that fell over his forehead.
Rain pattered on the window glass. A gaslight hissed on the wall beside the bed. The room smelled faintly of wildflowers, of Celeste. Downstairs he could hear her banging pots, talking to herself or that mutt of hers.
"Even in death you couldn't do me a good turn, could you, John?" Fox said aloud. "She welcomed me into your home, her home, drew
me like no woman has ever drawn me before." And what is she, he thought bitterly. A whore. A woman who sold her body, not just to men, but to his father. His father's whore. A whore like Amber, like . . .
"Damn it! What have you got to say for yourself now?"
Of course his father didn't answer.
He dropped his head to his hands. "I don't know why I'm expecting anything out of you now," he muttered. "Learned my lesson long ago, didn't I?"
He sighed. There was no use going over and over in his head the ways his father had wronged him. That was all in the past and nothing could change that past. So, what now?
The business man in him tried to analyze his situation. In half a day's time he'd fallen in love with a whore. Just what he needed in his life, another whore. And he was penniless. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, his toiletries, and two spare shirts. He had less than twenty dollars in greenbacks and nowhere to go.
His plan had been to sell the house, take what money his father had left him, and start a new life. He had wanted to go back to California, but not to San Francisco. There was a pretty little valley in northern California he'd visited with Amber. He wanted to buy some land there and start a winery. She had laughed at his dream and Fox had let the subject drop, but he'd never forgotten that valley. At night he dreamed of it. But he hadn't had the courage to leave his business, the house, Amber, and buy the land when he still had the money. In those days all he could think of was the amount of cash in his bank account. He'd wanted to be rich. He'd wanted John to be proud of him.
Now he had nothing. Nothing but some worthless land claims. Hell, he didn't even have that.
Fox stared up at the striped green wallpaper. All he had was half a land claim. First he'd had a liar and a cheat for a business partner, now he had a whore.
He rose and walked to the window, thinking of the woman downstairs. How could he have been so foolish? With all his experience, how could he have fallen so fast? He should have known that his father couldn't have actually been friends with a decent woman.
Heaven in My Arms Page 5