Love in Disguise (15 page)

Bascomb held her fingers several seconds longer than necessary, and Ellie felt gooseflesh prickle up her arm. She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could, resisting the urge to wipe her fingers on her skirt.

He reminded her of a second-rate character actor who toured with Magdalena early in her career—as free with his hands as he was with his compliments. Even the stagehands had seen through him quickly enough. One of them pulled Ellie aside during one of the first stops on the tour. “You watch out for yourself around that one. He’s the kind who’d smile at you while he’s stealing the gold out of your teeth.”

Marshal Everett Bascomb struck her in exactly the same way.

He settled the hat back on his head and swept his arm in a wide arc that encompassed the length of Grant Street. “Why don’t I show you around my town? I’d be happy to do all I can to make such a lovely newcomer feel welcome.”

“What a wonderful idea. I was just on my way to”—Ellie looked around, seeking inspiration, and spotted the large storefront across the street—“the mercantile. I promised to make a couple of purchases for my aunt.”

“Then at least let me escort you that far.” Without waiting for her to agree, Bascomb captured her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.

Ellie did her best not to flinch at the renewed contact. She gave his arm a squeeze and followed his lead as he stepped down into the dusty street.

“Where do you hail from, Miss Monroe?”

“Chicago.” Ellie fought the urge to pull away and kept her lips fixed in an inviting smile. There was absolutely no need for him to lean that close to ask the question.

Bascomb wrapped his fingers more closely around hers. “You must find our Arizona climate a welcome change. The winters get pretty cold back there, don’t they?”

“You have no idea.” Just the memory of the frigid temperatures she’d left behind made Ellie shiver. Or was it Bascomb’s nearness that brought that reaction?

Just before they reached the mercantile, he halted as though struck by a sudden idea. “Would you join me for a slice of pie?” He indicated the restaurant on the opposite end of the block. “Their cook makes a mighty fine peach pie, even if he has to use dried peaches this time of year.” He bent his head lower and murmured, “I really am enjoying this conversation. I’d like to extend it a bit so I can get to know you better.”

“I’d love to. My errands can wait a little longer.” Ellie forced a show of enthusiasm. Here was the opportunity she’d been looking for. She couldn’t shirk her duty now.

Despite her best efforts, her attempts at drawing the lawman out on the subject of the silver thefts seemed destined to fail from the start. No matter what line of conversation she pursued, he managed to turn it back to himself and his successful reign as marshal. Before she had finished half her slice of pie, Ellie was ready to scream in frustration. She knotted her left hand into a fist under her napkin and forked another bite of the dried-peach pie into her mouth.

“That’s a fascinating story,” she said when he paused long enough to take a breath during his glowing account of breaking up a fight at the Palace. She shot a quick glance up at the ceiling as the words left her lips, glad to see the rafters remained in place and no lightning bolts rained down out of the blue after she told such a whopper.

Bascomb’s dark gaze bored into hers in far too intimate a way. “I’m glad you think so. It’s nice to know someone appreciates my efforts to keep the peace in Pickford.”

Ellie choked on her pie and took a quick swallow of water to help wash it down. Leaning forward, she stared at him with what she hoped he would take as rapt admiration. “You’ve been so generous in showing me the town. I wonder if you might be able to answer a question or two.”

His eyes gleamed. “Of course.”

“Is it safe for a woman to walk the streets in Pickford alone? My aunt tells me there have been a number of robberies recently—something about silver, I believe. I’m eager to experience every bit of the West that I can, but I must confess, stories like that make me rather nervous.”

Bascomb’s face tightened. Then a smile stretched his lips, and he reached over to pat her right hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. It has nothing to do with decent folks like you and your aunt. I’m sure you will never cross paths with those lawbreakers, so you have no reason to fret.”

Ellie slid her fingers free and drew her hand back to the edge of the table. “Perhaps you’re right. But who would do such a terrible thing? I’ll feel much better once you’ve apprehended the criminals. Do you have any idea who they are?”

For a brief moment, his lips twisted as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “I’ve been tracking down every lead I come across, but I haven’t closed in on them yet. But it’s nothing for you to be concerned about. It’s only a matter of time until I have them behind bars.”

Ellie studied his face closely. Did that flicker of emotion signal anger at not being able to catch the thieves, or was it meant to mask his complicity with them? Whatever the reason, the shuttered look in his eyes told her his guard was up. She wasn’t likely to gain any more information from him at present, and the realization that she could bring their conversation to an end brought an inexpressible sense of relief.

She pushed her chair away from the table and folded her napkin beside her plate. “Thank you for the pie and the conversation, Marshal. I feel I know Pickford much better after talking to you.”

His self-satisfied expression was back in place. “It was my pleasure, dear lady. I’ll make certain this won’t be the last conversation we have.”

Ellie fluttered her eyelashes and parted her lips in a smile, grateful he didn’t seem to realize how she cringed at the thought of having to spend any more time with him.

They parted company at the door, and Ellie strolled into the mercantile alone. She browsed the shelves for a few minutes before purchasing two cans of pork and beans, and some crackers—items she didn’t really need. Back outside, she tapped her toe on the boardwalk and eyed the buildings at the east end of town.

She longed to explore the blocks that stretched between her and the saloon district, but she’d told the marshal she needed to take her purchases back home to her aunt. She’d better follow through on that and return to the house, in case he might be watching.

Ellie blew out a puff of frustration strong enough to stir the curls at her brow. Up to that moment, she’d never considered the difficulty of working without a script . . . especially when she didn’t know where her audience was located.

She opened her lace-trimmed parasol to keep the noonday sun out of her eyes and started west. Before she had taken a dozen steps, she heard a voice calling her name and turned to see Amos Crawford trotting across the street, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Glad . . . I spotted you,” he puffed. “This just came in.” He handed the paper to Ellie.

GLAD ALL IS WELL STOP EAGER TO HEAR YOUR IMPRESSIONS OF PICKFORD AND ANY OPPORTUNITIES YOU AND LAVINIA TURN UP STOP

COUSIN HENRY

Relief flooded through Ellie. Her message seemed to have done the trick of giving the impression she and Norma were working together as planned. A prick of guilt stabbed her, but she pushed it away. Nowhere had she directly said Norma was on the job with her, and it wouldn’t hurt for Fleming and Gates to assume so for the time being. The truth would come out soon enough—surely Norma would be contacting the office eventually. In the meantime, it gave her a little more time to continue the investigation and prove her worth.

She spied a dark-coated figure a block farther along Fourth Street. Everett Bascomb touched the brim of his hat and began walking her way. Ellie spun on her heel and set off toward her house as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. The peach pie had whetted her appetite. She might as well make the most of the disruption of her plans and have some lunch.

A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that Bascomb had given up and turned his steps in another direction. Remembering the feel of his fingers on her hand and the possessive way he’d bent over her, she quickened her steps even more. Suddenly the thought of a hot bath that would let her scrub away every vestige of his touch appealed to her even more than the midday meal.

12

A
fter a brisk scrubbing followed by a hot lunch, Ellie took to the streets again, this time decked out as Lavinia. Despite the mounting pressure to acquire some useful information before the Pinkertons started asking more questions, she didn’t want to take a chance on Jessie encountering Marshal Bascomb twice in one day. Once was more than enough.

Brent Howard nodded a greeting when she passed the stage depot, but he didn’t stare at her with the interest he’d shown Jessie. Mindful of the admiration Lavinia inspired in Amos Crawford, she hurried past the telegraph office and finally reached the spot where her earlier exploration had been cut short by meeting the marshal.

What next? Her gaze traveled longingly to the east end of town. As Lavinia, she didn’t dare cross Seventh Street and enter the saloon district, but getting acquainted with some of the denizens of the seamier part of town might be exactly what was needed to get the information she sought.

Ellie tapped her finger against her cheek. How close could she get without actually crossing the line of demarcation? She surveyed the buildings that sat closest to the invisible boundary where respectability ended and smiled when she spotted the bank on the corner of Sixth Street.

Situated on the reputable side of town, the bank was still near enough to Seventh Street for the gambling halls and saloons to do business there. It would make perfect sense for Lavinia to lay out her investment plans before the banker and ask the advice of someone who knew the area and its people well. Having connections with people on both sides of town, the banker might make an excellent source of information, if she couched her questions discreetly enough.

She took a firmer grip on her reticule. Yes, the bank would do nicely. She quickened her steps and hurried along, intent on her task. As she neared Fifth Street, she heard a voice hail her. Ellie winced, wondering if Amos Crawford had spotted her after all. Relief spread through her when she looked up to find the desk clerk smiling at her from the doorway of the Grand Hotel.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Stewart. It’s nice to see you out and about this fine day.”

Ellie bobbed her head, barely slowing her pace.

“My wife is just getting ready to have some tea. I wonder if you’d like to sit for a while and join her.”

His wife? She hadn’t seen any sign of a woman’s presence during her earlier visit. Curiosity warred with frustration at having her plans derailed yet again. After a brief struggle, curiosity won out. “Why, I suppose I could.” The man’s grateful smile made her decision easy. “Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”

She followed him inside. Her mood brightened when she saw a small table set up in the same spot she’d occupied the other day. If she couldn’t question the banker, she could at least spend a little more time at her observation post.

“This is my wife, Myra,” he said. “Dear, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Stewart.”

“Lavinia.” Ellie smiled at the frail-looking woman on the serpentine-back settee. She studied her new acquaintance, startled by the transparency of the other woman’s skin. She appeared a little younger than Lavinia’s supposed age. No wonder her husband thought the two of them would enjoy chatting.

“It’s good of you to take the time to stop in.” Myra’s voice was as delicate as her appearance. “Donald knows how I crave female companionship after being cooped up in my bedroom for days on end.”

“I’m happy to have the opportunity to rest a bit.” Ellie smiled and nodded to Donald as he returned with a tea tray and placed it on the table before them. The afternoon might not be lost, after all. Myra seemed eager for a nice long talk. And getting a woman’s insight might prove to be of more value than a conversation with the banker. She settled into an overstuffed chair that offered a good view of the street.

When she turned her attention back to her hostess, she tried not to stare at the thin hair, sunken eyes, and bony fingers. Her smile dimmed. She had her own problems, but they seemed trivial compared to the challenges this poor woman faced.

“Would you mind pouring? That teapot is a little heavy for me, I’m afraid.”

“I’d be glad to.” Ellie poured the golden brew into two cups of delicate bone china. Noticing an array of cookies on the tray, she tucked two on the saucer before she set it on the table next to Myra.

The cup rattled against the saucer when Myra lifted it, and she grimaced. “My strength isn’t what it used to be, but I want to make the most of the days I can get out of bed.”

“How long have you . . . I mean . . .” Ellie felt her cheeks flame.

Myra smiled, ignoring Ellie’s awkwardness. “I’ve been laid up for several months now. The doctor can’t find anything wrong—nothing specific anyway—but my strength seems to be ebbing away a little at a time.”

Ellie looked down at her teacup, not knowing what to say.

“I take it one day at a time,” Myra went on, as though she hadn’t noticed Ellie’s discomfort. “I have a good husband to care for me, and the Lord doesn’t give us more than we can bear, does He?”

Ellie bit into her cookie so she didn’t have to answer. She felt relieved when the door opened and a woman entered, as stout and fresh-faced as Myra was thin and ashen.

“I saw Donald sweeping the boardwalk. He told me you were feeling well enough to be up and around today, so I thought I’d come over and sit with you a mite.”

Myra’s face lit up. “What fun! It’ll be like a regular tea party.” She turned to Ellie. “Lavinia, this is my dear friend Gertie Johnson. She and her husband own the mercantile. Gertie, meet my new friend, Lavinia Stewart.”

Gertie smiled. “I’ve heard my husband mention you, Mrs. Stewart.”

Myra gestured at the table. “Gertie, would you mind getting another cup for yourself?”

“Not at all. Especially if it means I get to enjoy some of those cookies along with my tea.” Gertie winked and disappeared through the door to the dining room. She returned a moment later and plopped down on a dainty balloon-back chair on the other side of the settee. Ellie held her breath when the sturdy woman lowered her substantial bulk onto the delicate seat, but the chair held firm.