The Bride Wore Blue Page 15

  “Not at all. Enjoy the sunlight, ma’am, and you let me know if there’s anything I can do to serve you.”

  “I will, and thank you.” Vivian turned back toward the window. Ida no longer stood on that stretch of the boardwalk. Vivian walked back to the door, ignoring the folks staring at her. Thankfully, she only had to cross Bennett, walk down one block and over one lot to get to work.

  But first, she had to be sure she didn’t have an audience.

  By the time Vivian reached her dressing room at the Homestead House, Colleen had Vivian’s undergarments laid out on the bed and her pink dress hanging on a hook from the open wardrobe door. Vivian closed the door behind her and fumbled with the buttons at the side of her skirt. Two sharp taps followed by two light taps on the door told her Colleen had seen her come up the stairs.

  “Come in, Colleen.”

  Her chambermaid stepped inside, her black and white uniform spotless. “Morning, Miss Violet, I was beginning to worry about you.” Colleen reached for the troublesome buttons. “You have some troubles getting here, did you? ”

  “Only unexpected delays.” And tedious detours.

  “Well, don’t worry. I’ll have you ready in plenty of time.” Colleen loosened the skirt and began on the buttons on the back of Vivian’s shirtwaist. “At least it’s Monday. If it were Wednesday, you would’ve been late for your appointment.”

  “My appointment? ”

  “With the doctor. No one told you?”

  Vivian couldn’t push words past the knot in her throat, so she shook her head.

  Colleen helped her step out of her private-life clothes. “The doctor will be here to examine you before you dress for work on Wednesday.”

  Vivian swallowed hard. “I don’t want a doctor. Why would I need a doctor? There must be some mistake.” She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling naked despite her undergarments. “Miss Pearl didn’t say anything about having to see a doctor.”

  “She may have thought Miss Opal mentioned it to you, but no need to worry. It’s not until Wednesday.”

  “I don’t want a doctor.”

  “You all have to have a doctor sign off on you before you can get the work permits from the city.”

  “Work permit? I don’t understand any of this.”

  “It helps ensure your health while keeping everything legal for Miss Pearl. The doctor won’t take long. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  A doctor. Did Morgan do this kind of work? Would Kat even allow it? Vivian fanned herself. Her life had turned into a stage play, and she the lead actress. But how would she keep her roles straight if her private life refused to remain private?

  Carter stirred the dried beef chunks that sizzled on the stove in a white gravy. He topped two slices of honey-wheat toast with the creamy beef mixture and sprinkled the results with a liberal amount of black pepper. With a mug full of steaming coffee in his other hand, he carried his meal to the wood-plank table near the window.

  He didn’t much care for the stark light of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, so he turned up the wick on the kerosene lamp on the table and pulled the cord on the electric light.

  Finally, he was ready to eat.

  Carter bowed his head, enjoying the silence and the savory scent of his meal. It wouldn’t taste as good as his mother’s version, but it wasn’t bad for a bachelor’s cooking.

  Lord God, I thank You for this food. And I ask for Your strength, Your grace, and Your protection as I and so many others pursue Pickett and his gang. In Jesus’ name, I pray, Amen.

  His first bite took him back to Leadville, to his mother’s kitchen. It’d been too long since he’d seen his mother, but he couldn’t make the trip to Leadville anytime soon. Not with outlaws active in his territory. And even if she did finally agree to come see him, it wasn’t safe. Not yet.

  Boney Hughes had come into town this morning, and they’d frittered away most of the day. Carter had spent so much time studying maps of the fifty square miles north of town that his eyes wanted to cross. Boney pointed out more nooks and crannies in the hillsides than there were combs in a beehive. He knew of played-out mines and deserted shacks that might attract vagrants and desperados. The deputies in Divide were taking care of their fifty square miles, but that still left Carter with a lot of ground to cover.

  So far Pickett and his friends had managed to dodge him and a passel of other lawmen, but the shorter bandit had shot up a piano in Cripple Creek after Mac’s death. Two weeks ago, Edgar heard talk in his saloon of three men seen in the Pass who fit the descriptions of the bank robbers. They were fools to still be in the valley, and getting careless. At least one of them would soon make a mistake.

  That was what Carter was waiting for. That was why he’d go out in the wind and hide in the shadows on a Monday night. His hunch told him Pearl DeVere was the reason the outlaws were still here. And if the man who bought the horse from her was feeling lonely tonight and showed up at the Homestead House, Carter could put an end to the robberies.

  A hunch wasn’t much to go on in most circles, but he had one, and his hunch told him the man who bought the dapple-gray horse would make a mistake that involved a certain house on Myers Avenue.

  Carter chewed his last bite of beef and drained his coffee cup. He set his dishes in the wash bucket and looked out the window. Twilight, and not all the shops had closed yet. Still too early to make his move. He had some time to kill.

  He went to his chest of drawers and pulled out the writing box his mother had given him when he left Leadville. He carried the wooden box to the table and pulled out a piece of stationery and a fountain pen.

  He planted his elbows on the table and tapped his chin with the tip of the pen.

  Dearest Mother,

  It had been at least six months since his last letter. He reread her last missive before putting pen to paper again.

  I am well. I hope you are too, Mother, and that you are enjoying your summer. We haven’t experienced any real heat here yet. In fact, it’s the end of August, and still moderate.

  As far as the temperature was concerned, that was true. Where Vivian Sinclair was concerned, moderate was not an adjective he’d use. She could be hot, then cold, with the mere mention of a name. Or a day of the week. The young woman’s sensibilities were definitely a puzzle he had yet to piece together. An undertaking he wanted to pursue.

  Vivian was younger than he was by eight or nine years, and naive. He needed to be patient—let her become more established in the community. Perhaps by then, he would have figured out what to do about his job.

  Thirty minutes later, Carter had finished the letter to his mother and another to Mac’s family. He put away the writing box and, on his way to the door, pulled his hat off the hook.

  Carter didn’t walk all the way to Myers Avenue. Tonight he’d watch the house of ill repute from a different angle—diagonally from the alley. At least for a while. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anyone trying to sneak in through the kitchen door.

  Crouched in the dark, he watched one man after another—all shapes and sizes—head to the front steps of the brothel. Most didn’t seem the least bit concerned with discretion. Others appeared nervous, scanning their surroundings like a church mouse on Sunday mornings. Electric lights glowed in upstairs windows that did little to hold in the sordid laughter and the phonograph music.

  Carter had been watching the place for nearly an hour when he spied a man walking up the street in the shadows. The light spilling out of the sporting-house windows was just enough for him to see that the man wore a derby and an overcoat. Granted, those were plentiful and popular items of clothing, but on such a temperate summer night, the coat seemed out of place. And the man was thick in the middle, like the shorter of the bandits—the man who bought the horse from Pearl.

  Carter waited to make his move until the man passed the front corner of the house. Quietly, he made his way to the front of the house, catching the man on the first step. “Sir, I’m
Deputy Alwyn, and I’d like to have a word with you.”

  The man stilled but showed no sign of turning around.

  His hand on his gun, Carter stepped around him and looked into his face. His features didn’t share any similarities with those Vivian had described for the sketches, but they were indeed familiar.

  “Deputy.” He seemed to be studying the ground.

  Carter drew in a deep breath, disappointed on many levels. “I believe this means I will no longer have the displeasure of your company in my office on Tuesday mornings. Isn’t that right, Mr. Updike?”

  The banker nodded before continuing up the steps.

  I’m only a daytime hostess in the game room.” Vivian stood in front of the wardrobe in her room at the Homestead House, tying her pantaloons with trembling hands. This humiliation was second only to the day Gregory said he could never marry a girl who had sullied herself.

  Doc Susie looked up at Vivian from where she sat at the dressing table. Her hand rested on the form she’d been filling in since the exam began. “Are you sure you want to do this, Miss … Violet?” She glanced around the room. “Work in this kind of place, I mean.”

  It wasn’t the work so much as it was the lie she was living. Vivian nodded and swallowed her regrets. “I’m sure.”

  Another lie. She’d lost count. But none weighed as heavy on her heart as her omission in Miss Hattie’s kitchen two and a half weeks ago. Carter Alwyn wasn’t supposed to follow her out of the dining room. He wasn’t supposed to ask about her job. His tender concern shouldn’t have surprised her. Nor the way his touch affected her, giving her tingles that seemed to have more to do with his thoughtful, protective nature than with a physical connection.

  No, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work in this kind of place. She knew she didn’t, but she wasn’t like Kat or Ida or Nell—free to follow her heart if it led her to romance. She didn’t have a future with Carter or with any respectable man.

  Doc Susie stood. “Here it is then.” She pointed to the paper she’d left lying on the desk. “Be sure you give it to Miss Pearl.”

  “I will.”

  Doc Susie pulled her black bag off the foot of the bed. “I’ll see you again in a month.”

  Vivian nodded. She had to be realistic. It would most likely take her two or three months to earn the money she needed to go to Denver and start a career in fashion design.

  “At least you’re in a clean and safe place. So many of the girls I see aren’t.” The doctor tucked a stray lock of brown hair into the bun at the back of her head. “If you have any problems, come see me.”

  Vivian took a tentative step toward her. “I will.”

  “Is there something else?” The doctor’s eyes were nearly as blue as Ida’s.

  “I, uh, wondered … do you keep your work private?”

  Doc Susie held the black bag against her stomach. “Are you asking if I keep the names and particulars of my patients confidential?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you.” As a sigh of relief escaped Vivian’s lips, the doctor left the room and then closed the door behind her.

  After Colleen helped her dress for the afternoon, Vivian pulled the medical form off the table. Miss Pearl’s bedchamber was at the opposite end of the carpeted hallway. Before Vivian reached the closed door, the proprietor’s raised voice singed the hair on the back of her neck. The other girls had all gone downstairs to prepare for the day guests. Vivian didn’t want to intrude if Miss Pearl had company or was in a discussion with one of the staff. Nor did she wish to leave Miss Pearl alone up here if there was trouble.

  More shouting straightened Vivian’s spine. She raised her hand to knock, but thought better of it. What if she was wrong? What if Miss Pearl was only playing a role as part of the entertainment? If that was the case, overreacting could cause them all grief.

  “Be reasonable, Pearl.” A man’s voice dripped the words like honey on a biscuit. Not prickly Mr. Updike’s voice. Deeper than the banker’s, a baritone with an accent.

  “You be reasonable. He found the horse I gave you.” Miss Pearl sounded angrier than Vivian had ever heard her.

  “Keep your voice down.” A southerner?

  “He found it dead. The same day Mac died.”

  The miner Miss Hattie told her about. The man in Pearl’s room had her horse? It died the same day as Mac? Had he been involved? Vivian’s head began to throb, and she stepped back from the door.

  “You did all of it, didn’t you?” Miss Pearl asked.

  “For us. You can’t blame me for wanting to give you the best. I did whatever I did for our future.”

  Could the man in the room with Pearl be the bandit? The one who killed Mac?

  Miss Pearl groaned. “He came here asking questions. I don’t need the law breathing down my neck.”

  The police? Or Carter?

  “And what a pretty neck it is.”

  “Oh no you don’t!” Miss Pearl’s heels tapped the floor as if she were stepping away from the man. “For all I know, he could be watching my place right now.”

  Vivian covered her mouth. Could Carter really be out there, watching the Homestead? Had he seen her?

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Was that the voice of the man she’d tripped on the train? “He won’t see me.”

  “Don’t touch me, you fool.”

  Vivian tensed. “Miss Pearl? ”

  Silence.

  A few seconds later, the door whooshed open. The madam stood before Vivian, not a hair out of place, looking calm and collected. Whoever the man was, he didn’t want to be seen. He’d disappeared. Was that licorice Vivian smelled, or was it just her imagination?

  Leaning forward, Miss Pearl glanced out into the hallway. “Violet. What are you doing here?”

  Vivian needed to keep her voice steady. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just—”

  “Were you listening at my door?”

  “The doctor told me to give you this form.” Vivian handed her the medical form.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Miss Pearl’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The phonograph isn’t just for music anymore. I have a couple of cylinders with outstanding dramatic readings. I’ll have to let you listen to them.”

  Vivian nodded. Miss Pearl had an answer for everything, but Vivian didn’t know what to say.

  “Some other time. Right now, we need to get downstairs.” Miss Pearl stepped into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “Yes ma’am.” Vivian started down the staircase, her chest and face hotter than a busy stove. Was Miss Pearl breathing down her neck, or was it just the secrets and lies?

  She should tell Carter what she’d overheard. But then she’d have to tell him how she’d been in the position to hear it.

  Carter climbed the stairs to his apartment. Time for another cup of chamomile tea, his mother’s favorite remedy for just about anything and everything. He’d been nursing a headache all morning.

  He should’ve been thankful Harry Updike hadn’t come around yesterday morning. He’d had suspicions, but now he knew for certain why the banker’s wife was so bent on cleaning up Myers. When Updike wasn’t posturing in a show of disdain for the seedier side of Cripple Creek, he was sneaking off to at least one sporting house. Mrs. Updike wanted her husband back in their home.

  In the meantime, the men who robbed the banks and the train and killed Mac for his sock of gold were still loose and free to add to their list of criminal charges. Friday was the big party at the Homestead House—and his next stakeout outside the white gingerbread palace of ill repute. He hoped and prayed the leader of the gang wouldn’t be able to resist the gathering.

  Carter finished his tea and had just set his cup in the sink when the bell on the door downstairs jingled. “Be right down,” he called.

  The postmaster’s son, Archie, stood just inside the door, holding a slip of paper. The kid was as gangly as a fresh
colt—all legs and arms—and just as busy. When Archie wasn’t working for Jesse over at the livery or sorting mail for his father, he was delivering mail or telegrams.

  Archie spotted Carter in the upstairs doorway. “Good day, Deputy Alwyn.”

  “Hey, Archie.” Carter took the stairs two at a time. “You ever get to go fishing anymore?”

  “Not till Sunday, sir.” Before Christmas, the lad would have a deeper voice. “A telegram came for you.”

  Carter pulled a coin out of his trouser pocket and exchanged it for the telegram.

  “Thank you, deputy.”

  “You’re welcome. Happy fishin’, Archie.”

  The bell jingled on the boy’s way out, and Carter settled into his desk chair. Sheriff Otto Caldwell in Louisville, Kentucky, had sent the message.

  Leon Kelso. Stop. Son, Elton. Stop. Cousin, Timothy Kelso, Pickett. Stop. From here. Stop. Wanted in seven states between us. Stop.

  Carter added the telegram to his case folder.

  Leon Kelso, Elton Kelso, and Timothy Kelso.

  He had names.

  And by the end of the party Friday night, he hoped to have at least one of them in shackles.

  Miss Pearl had asked to see her before she went down to the party. Vivian stood in front of the full mirror on her wardrobe door, willing herself to breathe through her fears. She’d seen to all the details. She’d checked her reticule three times to make sure she had the key to the back door of the boardinghouse. After she spoke to Miss Pearl, she’d telephone Miss Hattie to let her know she’d be late, not to wait up for her.

  “You look real pretty, Miss Violet.” Colleen stood beside her. “You’ll for sure be one of the most handsome girls at the party.”

  Vivian smiled at the girl who had become a friend. “Thanks to your help.”

  “My pleasure, miss.” Colleen swept a strand of red hair off her face.

  The cranberry taffeta gown Miss Pearl had picked out for Vivian to wear was exquisite. A narrowed waist, a black velvet insert in the center of the bodice, and puff sleeves made of ecru lace that matched the trim at the scooped neckline. The only things Vivian would change in the design were the black velvet bow and broach over her bust, and she would have chosen a higher neckline.