Petticoat Detective (21 page)

Nothing of a sexual nature had found its way among the pages and almost nothing personal. She wrote about the terrible dust storms that had plagued the area and “
took the starch out of everything
.” She described the wind being so strong that visitors arrived “
hatless and with coattails over their heads
.”

Dave Colton was mentioned only once. “
D.C. asked me to marry him
,” she wrote, but oddly enough that was all.

Several pages were missing, and only the ragged edges remained. Amy ran her fingers along the seam holding the diary together. Pieces of Rose’s life torn away? If only a person could pick and choose which memories to keep and which to discard as easily as ripping pages from a diary.

Months passed between entries until about midway when accounts appeared weekly and sometimes even daily, but were even less personal. It wasn’t a diary, after all; it was a record of birds, and one sentence stood out from all the rest: “
Birds fly because they have perfect faith
.”

A harlot writing about faith? Rose, it seemed, was full of surprises.

Hummingbirds, sparrows, wrens, and owls filled the pages, along with rudimentary sketches.

Stuck between the pages was a piece of blank paper. Amy held it up to the light. It was straw paper, the kind favored by butchers. It was also similar to the paper used to disguise money at the First National Bank in St. Louis. Packets of currency had been replaced with straw paper that had been cut and packaged like the real thing. No one was the wiser until several days later, and by then the thief had probably fled the state.

She reached for her cloth purse and pulled out a dollar bill. The bill matched the size and shape of the straw paper exactly, and that couldn’t be by chance. Was the Gunnysack Bandit behind the St. Louis Bank theft? As far as she knew, even Robert Pinkerton, who was very astute at such things, had not suspected the Gunnysack Bandit of that particular crime.

She put the paper aside to be included in her next report to headquarters and continued reading. The entry dated December read simply, “
Spotted Hummingbird and Waxwing in garden
.”

At the end of January Rose had written:
“D.C. promised we would leave as soon as he returned. Don’t want him to go. Saw Waxwing.”

How odd. Birds got equal billing with a planned trip.

The last entry in the journal was written on February 6. The rest of the pages were blank.

Why would Rose go to all the trouble to hide a journal mostly of birds beneath the floorboards? Even more puzzling, why did she stop journaling on that particular day, nearly two months before her death?

Unless … She raced across the room and lifted her mattress. Flipping through the pages of the notebook hidden there, she found what she was looking for. There it was: February 6, the day Tom’s brother’s body was found. The empty pages of Rose’s journal marked the day her world came to an end.

Amy mailed a detailed report to Pinkerton the following morning, addressing the envelope to Aunt Carolyn at the prescribed post office box assigned to her. She also included the straw paper and described where and how she found it.

A letter from “Aunt Carolyn” waited in her box. According to Mr. Pinkerton, Marshal Flood’s record was clean, and she was to make contact. One problem solved.

None of the other names on her suspect list had criminal records, but the one name that commanded full attention was Tom Colton’s. According to the Pinkerton report, he had, indeed, been a Texas Ranger until three years ago. The day his brother walked out of prison was the day Tom Colton resigned.

So far everything Colton had told her was true. Somehow she knew that, of course, but it was still a relief to have it confirmed by headquarters.

She folded the letter and stuffed it into her fabric drawstring purse to be destroyed later. Everything was written in cipher, but a Pinkerton operative could never be too careful.

Leaving the post office, she turned toward the marshal’s office. Without warning, Tom Colton suddenly appeared out of nowhere and fell in step by her side.

“Looking for me?” he asked.

“Absolutely not.” She slowed her pace, but only because his presence made her pulse skitter. It was annoying—more than that, distracting—the way his nearness affected her. “I’m on my way to the marshal’s.”

“Why?” The question popped out of him with the force of a bullet.

She had a ready answer. “Miss Lillian is anxious to know if there’s been any progress made into Rose’s death.”

“I can save you the trouble. There hasn’t been.”

“Thank you, but I think she’d prefer I hear it out of the horse’s mouth.”

“Have it your way, but I get first dibs on any new information you might have.”

She stopped midstep, forcing him to swing around to face her. “Why is that?”

“I’m paying you. The marshal is not.”

She lifted her chin in open defiance. “I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” She hated having to throw her role as a loose woman in his face, but she needed to put a barrier between them. Maybe then she could free herself of the hold he had over her.

He stared at her long and hard. “Why, Amy? Why are you working for that … that woman? You’re bright and smart and pretty and…. Blast it all!” He leaned over her. “Why are you throwing yourself away on a bunch of worthless men?”

She gazed up at him, her body rigid. She’d asked each of Miss Lillian’s girls that very same question; now it was asked of her. “Why do you care what I do?”

He reared back and a puzzled frown fleeted across his face. “I don’t know why,” he said quietly. The words hung between them for a moment before he turned and walked away.

You don’t care for me
, she wanted to shout.
You don’t even know me!
Instead, she called, “We found Rose’s journal.” It wasn’t much, the journal. It was nothing, really. But she needed to remind him that it was business between them—nothing more. It could never be anything more.

It worked. At least he stopped walking. Holding his back to her for a moment as if bracing himself to face her, he then turned. “Did you say journal?” The remoteness in his eyes remained, but his voice held a note of hope.

She nodded. “It was in her room beneath a floorboard.”

“Does it … mention my brother?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t say much. I’m not sure you’ll find it useful, but if you’d like to read it—”

“I would.” He rubbed his chin as if trying to make a decision. “I’ll meet you at Miss Lillian’s.”

“No!” The last place she wanted to meet him was in her room. Not after what happened the other night. Not after what passed between them today. “I mean …”

They locked gazes.

He was the first to break the silence. “Just so you know, what happened the other night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

It
was
a mistake, as much for her as it was for him. Still, his words hurt. She didn’t want them to. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.

“You’re right, it won’t,” she snapped. Her breath caught. “Meet me at the house at three.” She hurried away, but it felt as if she’d left a piece of her heart behind.

Tom watched Amy walk away. He was tempted to trail the “follow-me-lad” streamers that floated enticingly from her feathered hat.

Even from the back, her occupation defined her. The bright green dress practically screamed for attention, and men and women alike gave her a wide berth. She stood for everything he loathed, but it was sadness he felt. Sadness for her, sadness for women like her who sold their souls along with their bodies.

And yet …

“Why do you care what I do?”

“I don’t know why.”

All he did know was that when her eyes filled with tears she’d practically broken his heart. He also knew that when she kissed him it was like being kissed by an angel. She stirred something inside him that was new and exciting and, more than anything, worrisome. She was the kind of woman Dave would fall for, not him.
God, please don’t let me do anything so foolish
.

M
arshal Flood looked up from his desk and greeted Amy with a bland expression.

“If you came here to inquire about Rose, I’ll tell you what I told Colton. There’s nothing yet, and when there is, I’ll let you know.”

Not a good start to what she had hoped would be a productive meeting. She gave her fan a coquettish flick. A little flattery generally went a long way.

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Marshal. Mr. Colton said you didn’t care about solving a little old harlot’s murder, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The way you handled the investigation on the night we found her body was …” Adequate at most. “Brilliant.”

“Well now.” He rose from his seat, his face all red. Grabbing a spare chair from the corner, he set it in front of his desk. “Why don’t you sit for a spell?”

She smiled. “Why, thank you, Marshal.” She seated herself with great aplomb and waited for him to return to his own chair.

“Could you at least tell me if you have any leads as to who killed Rose? I’d sleep a lot better knowing you were … hot on someone’s trail.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t have any good news to report yet.” He hastened to add, “But that don’t mean I won’t.”

“Do you think it was the Gunnysack Bandit who killed her?”

His hesitation was a sign he knew more than he was saying. “Absolutely not, but …” He pointed to a telegram on his desk. “Pinkerton is sending an operative to town. Soon as he arrives I’ll find out more.”

He
. She smiled. This was the fun part. She leaned over his desk so the prisoner behind the bars couldn’t hear. “That would be me,” she said in a hushed voice. “I’m that operative.”

Flood blinked and his eyes grew round as wagon wheels. “You?” He frowned. “But you’re …” He cleared his voice. “You’re a woman.”

She sat back. “Yes, that has been brought to my attention.” She went on to explain how she happened to be staying at Miss Lillian’s Parlor House.

He shook his head. “I never would have guessed. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“I had to wait for approval from headquarters.” She smiled so he wouldn’t take offense.

“In other words, you had to make sure I was one of the good guys.”

She straightened the fabric of her skirt. “One can never be too careful.”

“I know what you mean.” He lifted a wooden box, pulled out a cigar, and hesitated. “Normally, I would offer a detective a cigar.”

“Normally, a detective would take one,” she said. “But I’ll pass.”

He shut the lid and grunted. “So what have you uncovered so far?”

“Not much,” she admitted. She wasn’t ready to reveal her suspicions about Monahan. “If the Gunnysack Bandit didn’t kill Rose, who do you think did? Do you have any other suspects?”

He bit off the end of his cigar and spat it into a brass spittoon. “Like I told you, I don’t have much. Lots of people in town don’t approve of … uh … gentlemen’s clubs. I guess you might say they were once a necessary evil. That was back when women were in short supply. But thanks in part to the railroad, those days are long gone.”

He lit his cigar and took a puff before continuing. “So, suspects? Yeah, I’ve got suspects. I’d say that half the women in this town would like to see harm come to Miss Lillian and her ilk. Why, just last year, I arrested an irate wife trying to burn the place down. You’re living proof that it never pays to underestimate a woman.”

She smiled. “I heartily agree.” It was her turn to hesitate. “What about Mr. Colton? Do you trust him?”

“I have no reason not to. His brother, now …” He shook his head. “That’s a different story.”

“You knew his brother?”

“David Colton? Yeah, I knew him.” He tossed a nod toward the row of jail cells. “He spent many a night here, mostly for disturbing the peace.”

Given Dave Colton’s history, she supposed that wasn’t all too surprising. Still, she knew how much Tom wanted to think his brother had changed his ways.

“But no real criminal activity?” she asked

Flood narrowed his eyes. “I have my suspicions.”

Elbows on the arms of her chair, she folded her hands in front. “What does that mean, exactly?”