Love in Disguise (28 page)

Checking to make sure no one stood outside to witness her little subterfuge, she reeled off a few yards of yarn, then gave the ball a good toss. This time it bounced all the way across the lobby, coming to rest mere inches from the desk. Much better.

“Oh, bother.” Ellie pushed herself out of her chair and walked slowly across the room, keeping up the role of frustrated knitter, even if she had no one in the audience.

She stooped stiffly to pick up the yarn, shaking even more coils loose as she did so, then stood and began to rewind the loose yarn, all the while straining to hear what was going on behind the office door.

“. . . need you one more time.” That was the other man’s harsh rasp.

Ellie’s hands froze, and she forced them into motion again.

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” She could hear the tremor in Donald’s voice when he answered. “I have my wife to think of. I can’t afford to be part of this any longer.”

“You can’t afford not to. How would your wife get along without you?”

A long pause followed, during which Ellie hardly dared to breathe.

“When?” Donald asked.

“At the next full moon.” The other man gave a contemptuous snort. “That’ll give you a little time to work up some courage.”

It sounded like the brief conversation was coming to an end, which meant she’d better be sitting down again. Ellie scurried back to her chair, reaching it just as the men reentered the lobby. Both stopped short when they saw her on her feet.

Ellie held up the ball of yarn, indicating the trailing strands. “Clumsy me. I’m getting more butterfingered all the time.”

The dark-eyed man cocked his head slightly and gave her a thoughtful look before turning back to Donald. “Don’t forget.”

He eyed Ellie on his way out, and the hostility in his gaze made her blood run cold.

She resumed her seat and finished winding her yarn with trembling fingers. Did what she just heard have anything to do with the thefts, or did it pertain to something else entirely? She had no difficulty believing Donald’s visitor capable of any kind of evil, but surely not Donald. His easygoing personality aside, he simply didn’t seem to have the kind of gumption needed to take part in a robbery. Why would he be involved in such a thing? And what was supposed to occur at the full moon?

She picked up the scarf and tried to continue knitting but gave it up for a loss when she made more mistakes than progress. It wasn’t likely she would learn anything more at the hotel. Might as well move on. Maybe she could ask Gertie some carefully worded questions that might tell her more about the kind of man Donald really was.

Putting her yarn and needles away, she gathered up her knitting bag and turned to Donald with a bright attitude she was far from feeling. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome. I’ll be on my way for now. Please tell Myra I said hello, and I hope to see her again soon.”

Donald looked at her with eyes that reminded her of a mournful hound dog. “Come back whenever you can, Mrs. Stewart. You’re always welcome here.”

Ellie started toward the door but then turned back, unable to contain her curiosity. “Who was that odious man? He’s a thoroughly unpleasant sort.”

“His name’s Marvin Long. He’s a shift foreman out at the Busted Shovel. Don’t you worry about him, though, Mrs. Stewart. He just likes to throw his weight around. It makes him feel important.”

Ellie nodded and left, her mind in a whirl. That was the second time she’d seen Marvin Long at the hotel. What business did he have there? More importantly, what kind of hold did he have over Donald?

Hoping to glean a hint from Gertie, she glanced quickly to her right and left along Grant Street. The only movement was a team of horses plodding toward her pulling a buckboard at a sleepy pace. They were still a block away, leaving her plenty of time to cross.

She stepped into the street and headed toward the mercantile, her mind on what she’d overheard. Gertie liked to talk. How could she get her to talk about Donald, or Long, or both without giving away the reason for her interest?

A shrill whinny caught her attention. Ellie looked up, horrified to see the horses bolting into a dead run, heading straight toward her.

The driver’s face was a mask of fear. “Get out of the way!” he shouted.

Ellie knew she ought to run, but she couldn’t seem to convince her legs to agree.
God, help me!

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind and jerked her off her feet, then tossed her to one side, where she landed like a rag doll in a heap.

She lay still, fighting to catch her breath. Time seemed to slow down as the crushing hooves pounded past. Through the cloud of dust they raised, Ellie saw her rescuer fall to the ground and then, thankfully, roll to his feet again. He turned, and she recognized Jake Freeman, the blacksmith.

“Let me help you up.” The smith extended a work-worn hand. “Take your time. You want to check first to make sure nothing is broken.”

Ellie moved her limbs gently and found that her fingers and toes, arms and legs all appeared to be functioning. Then she clapped her hands to her head. Had her wig slipped? To her relief, it seemed to have remained in place despite her tumble. She patted her sides, making sure her padding was still where it belonged. A quick swipe of her tongue assured her that the plumpers remained firmly tucked in her cheeks.

Thus reassured, she took Freeman’s proffered hand and eased herself upright.

The mercantile door flew open. “Lavinia, is that you?” Gertie rushed from the store, wringing her hands. “Land sakes, what happened?”

“I’m not sure.” At a loss for an explanation, Ellie turned to Jake Freeman.

The blacksmith’s eyes blazed. “I can’t tell you a reason, but I’m going to have some words with Clifford Watson. He nearly ran her down, the crazy halfwit.” He spat into the dusty street, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That’s the stupidest stunt I’ve seen in a long time. He was bringin’ his buckboard in to have me do some repairs on it, but any fool knows better than to be running horses right through the middle of town like that.”

He pulled off his hat and swatted the dust from his pant legs. “If you’ll excuse me, I aim to go give Clifford a piece of my mind.” As he stalked across the street to his shop, his determined gait told Ellie that Clifford Watson was about to receive the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

Gertie wrapped her sturdy arm around Ellie’s shoulders and started clucking like a mother hen. “Come on inside, where we can brush you off proper. You’re absolutely covered with dust. I’ll have Walter put some water on for tea to soothe your nerves. Why, you could have been killed!”

Ellie allowed herself to be led away without resistance. She had been heading to the mercantile anyway. Spending time with Gertie fussing over her would give her ample opportunity to ask the questions she’d been formulating—as soon as she could remember what they were.

Just as soon as her body quit shaking.

22

G
ood day, Miss Monroe.” Marshal Everett Bascomb tipped his hat and looked at Ellie with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

“Good day to you, Marshal. Where are you going this fine afternoon?” Ellie smiled up at the lawman and fell into step beside him, trying not to limp. Being tossed to the ground like a sack of potatoes that morning had left her limbs stiff and sore.

“I’m waiting to see who comes in on the afternoon stage. After that, I’m heading down to the Palace to sit in on a faro game.”

Ellie formed her lips into a pout. “What a shame. I was hoping we’d have time for a nice chat.” She stepped off the boardwalk when they crossed the street and tried not to wince.

Two cups of Gertie’s bracing black tea had helped her regain a measure of composure, enough so that she had managed to totter back home, where she divested herself of Lavinia’s trappings and tried to calm her jangled nerves. After a belated lunch, she redressed as Jessie and went back into town.

Tempting though it was to remain in the house the rest of the day, the success of her eavesdropping at the hotel spurred her on. She couldn’t shirk following up on it to see if she could find any connection between Marvin Long’s comment about the full moon and the silver thefts. It might turn out to be nothing more than an odd coincidence, but she needed to know one way or another. Ellie hoped it would turn out to be a false lead. As much as she wanted to catch the thieves, the thought of Myra’s husband involved in felonious activity left her heartsick.

As it turned out, she encountered the marshal as soon as she reached the downtown area. Much as the thought of spending time in his presence sickened her, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Bascomb’s lips curved up at the corner. “Why don’t you come along to the Palace with me? You could sit beside me and be my lucky charm.” He lowered one eyelid in a slow, suggestive wink. “You could even sit on my lap, if you’d like.”

As nauseating as his proposal was, Ellie found it even more repugnant to have to act as though his improper behavior didn’t bother her. She batted her eyes and gave his arm a playful swat. “What a scoundrel to even suggest such a thing.”

His easy laugh showed he hadn’t taken offense at her rebuff. “It doesn’t hurt to ask. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Ellie forced herself to laugh along with him, fighting the urge to slap that vulgar leer right off his face. If not for her need to gain information pertinent to the case, she would have stomped off and left him behind in a cloud of dust.

As they strolled past the marshal’s office, she waved at the assortment of Wanted flyers posted on the outside wall. “Maybe you ought to skip the faro game, Marshal, and spend more time on catching some of these criminals. Why, look! This one offers a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of a band of stage robbers. Surely that would be a more certain thing than playing cards.”

A look of disgust replaced the jovial expression on Bascomb’s face. With a sweep of his arm, he snatched the flyer off the wall and crumpled it between his hands. “Lousy good-for-nothings!”

What had sparked that explosion? “Those outlaws? Did they do something to you personally?”

Bascomb shook the wrinkled paper at her and jabbed his finger at a wavy line of large print at the top of the page. Ellie glanced first at the picture of three men wanted for stage robbery, then sucked in her breath when she read the words he indicated: Pinkerton National Detective Agency.

She looked up, suddenly wary. “You have something against the Pinkertons?”

“Bah! They call themselves detectives. Thieving rats is more like it. They come sticking their noses in where they have no business and getting all the glory for themselves. But once all the excitement dies down, they’ve run back to their hole and don’t have to worry about what’s involved in keeping order day in and day out.”

She tried to think of some response that would pacify him. “Goodness. If that’s the way they operate, I can see why you aren’t one of their admirers.”

Instead of calming him, her remark seemed to inflame him even more. His face turned dark red, and thick veins stood out in his neck. “Not by a long shot. And now that bunch of mine owners have come up with the bright idea of bringing them in to investigate those robberies we’ve had.” He twisted the flyer between his hands as if he wanted to wring someone’s neck. The paper ripped in two, and the pieces fluttered down to the ground.

Ellie stared at him, her heart pounding like a stamp mill. She had seen—and thoroughly disliked—the way the marshal fancied himself as a ladies’ man, but she would take that over this darker side of his personality any day. Once again, she blessed Gates and Fleming for warning her not to let anyone in Pickford know her identity or for whom she was working. More than ever, she was willing to believe what the men had told her about not assuming that the law in these parts was above suspicion.

While Bascomb ranted, Ellie glanced around, noting that his tirade was drawing curious glances from others on the street. She started to speak, then thought better of it. She had plenty of experience with actors flying into a rage when someone else was given a role they thought belonged to them. Best to let him wind down of his own accord and not say anything else to fuel the flames of his anger.

He went on raging, leaning over until he stood nose to nose with Ellie. “Do I look like some kind of incompetent?” he roared. “Do I?”

“Not at all.” Ellie’s voice came out in a squeak, and she took a step backward.

Bascomb stopped as though he’d been doused with a bucket of water. He shook his head and looked at her, as if recognizing her distress for the first time. The mask of anger vanished like mist in sunlight, and his contorted features resumed their usual genial expression. “My apologies, Miss Monroe. I’m afraid I let my feelings get the better of me.”

Unsure of what to say, Ellie settled for nodding. She looked over the marshal’s shoulder and found sudden inspiration for changing the subject. “Look, here comes the stage.”

In an instant, Bascomb’s attention turned to the depot across the street. He watched intently as the stagecoach drew to a stop in front and four men got off. His focus centered on a short man in a loud checkered suit. “I don’t know that fellow,” Bascomb muttered.

Ellie watched the driver hand a large case down to the passenger. “That looks like a sample case. He must be a drummer of some kind.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s the one the Pinkertons sent out. They like to try to disguise themselves. Think they’re so smart that no one will notice.” Bascomb’s face darkened again. “But this time they’ve got a surprise coming. I’m on to this one.” Without another word he set off across the street, ready to accost the hapless salesman.

Ellie recognized her cue to exit the scene. She spun on her heel to put her thought into action, and a smile curved her lips when she saw Steven bearing down on her from the direction of the blacksmith’s shop. It wasn’t until he drew closer that she noticed the set look on his face.

“I need to talk to you.”

His abrupt tone caught Ellie off guard. Had she just gone from one angry man to another? She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to where Bascomb seemed to be interrogating the new arrival. “Can we talk while we walk?”