The Bride Wore Blue Page 18

  He shook his head. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since I first laid eyes on you.” Reaching back, he set his filthy hand on her knee and squeezed it. “You’ve come a long way from the prim and proper girl on the train.”

  Her hands still restrained behind her back, Vivian dug her teeth into his shoulder. Growling, he jabbed her in the side with his elbow, knocking her off balance. She slid off the saddle and tumbled onto the muddy ground. Her hip struck a rock, and she moaned.

  Her captor stood over her, his stare blistering. “You think I’m stupid enough to leave you behind to play the hero?” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. He huffed in her face. “You’re our insurance, missy. And our entertainment.” He lifted her onto the saddle and swung up behind her. “You try anything like that again, and I won’t wait to kill you.”

  He spurred the horse toward her prison, where two men stared at them from the stoop. The tallest wore a straw hat like the one she’d seen on the second train bandit, only it wasn’t as ragged then. Without a bandanna covering his face, she could see the scar on his cheek that scaled up his ear. The younger man, who didn’t look any older than she was, had yet to look away. Vivian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to exhale her fears.

  “What do we have here, Pops?” the young man asked. Her captor was a father?

  “Since when are we allowed to bring them home, Leon?” the taller man said.

  “You’re not,” Leon growled behind her.

  The outlaw Carter had referred to as Pickett joined the son in gawking at her. “When did you start foolin’ around with anyone but Miss Pearl?”

  “She’s dead.” Her captor spit, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “She’s dead, and I’m in no mood for storytelling.” He glared at Vivian. “This here’s Violet. Leastwise that’s her entertaining name.” He finally loosened his grip on her hands. “Get her out of my sight.”

  “My pleasure.” The son grabbed her waist and dragged her off the saddle.

  Once her feet hit the ground, Vivian jerked away from him. “Keep your hands off me.”

  “Good job, Pops. You know I like ’em feisty.” The young man snatched her hand and pulled her toward the shanty. “Come on, Violet, I’ll show you around the place.” His lecherous laugh soured her stomach.

  Lord, are You here?

  What kind of establishment would ask a young woman to work late into the night and not see her safely home? Tucker at her side, Ida walked into the vast reception area of the hotel that employed Vivian.

  The clerk behind the mahogany counter smiled and removed his hat. “Reverend. Mrs. Raines.”

  “Good day, Mr. Beverly.” Ida took a deep breath to settle her nerves so as not to embarrass her husband. Vivian’s boss may have given her a room for the night.

  Tucker shook the clerk’s hand.

  “I’m sorry I missed the Sunday service,” Mr. Beverly said. “Our twins had sour stomachs and my missus asked me to stay home with her.”

  “We hope they’re back in good health,” Tucker said.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Ida cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t normally disturb a family member during work hours, but I need to speak to my sister.”

  “Which of your sisters would that be?” The clerk glanced toward the buffet room. “Mrs. Archer or Mrs. Cutshaw?”

  “I do have a lot of sisters.” Too many to keep track of, apparently. “I’m looking for Miss Vivian Sinclair, the one who recently joined us here in Cripple Creek.”

  Mr. Beverly arched a bushy eyebrow. “Oh, yes. I remember meeting her one Sunday.”

  Ida nodded. “Like I said, I wouldn’t normally disturb her during work hours, even though this was to be her day off, but I need a quick word with her.”

  “Work hours, you say?”

  “Yes, Vivian is employed here at the National Hotel.”

  “I see. In which department does she work?”

  Ida looked at Tucker, who shrugged. “I’m not certain. She said she was a hostess.”

  Mr. Beverly’s eyebrows arched even higher. “Let me buzz the manager for you. He’ll know where we can find her.” He pressed one of several buttons on the wall behind his desk.

  “Thank you.” The words had no sooner left Ida’s mouth than a dapper-looking fellow stepped out from a hallway.

  “Did you require assistance, Mr. Beverly?” The manager smoothed his thin mustache and smiled at Ida and Tucker.

  “Mr. Wilson, this is Reverend and Mrs. Raines.”

  Waiting through the formalities of greetings, Ida thought she might burst. She just wanted to scold her sister for not telephoning Hattie when she learned she wouldn’t be home at all last night.

  “They’re here looking for a Miss Vivian Sinclair, who is in our employment,” Mr. Beverly said.

  Ida jumped in. “My sister is a hostess here. I apologize for disturbing her at work, but I only require a quick word with her.”

  “I see.” Mr. Wilson shifted his attention to Tucker. “Mr. Raines, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. I have no Miss Vivian Sinclair in my employ.”

  Ida raised her hand, leveling it just above her chin. “Vivian is shorter and thinner than I am. With blond hair.”

  Mr. Wilson shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She doesn’t work here.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Tucker cupped Ida’s elbow. He led her to the door and down the front steps in a foreboding silence.

  Ida stopped in the middle of the boardwalk. “How can that be? On Monday, Vivian stood right there on that corner and told me she was on her way to work.” She pointed toward the front door of the hotel. “I watched her walk up the steps and into the National Hotel.”

  Tucker looked her in the eye, compassion and concern stamped on his face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand this any more than you do.”

  “For several minutes, I stood here talking to Mollie. I would’ve seen Vivian leave the building.”

  “Not if she didn’t want you to.”

  Tears stung Ida’s eyes. Why would her sister lie about where she worked?

  Tucker enfolded her hand in his. “We’ll go to the police department and let them know she’s missing.”

  Ida nodded and matched his hurried pace, struggling to carry the brick he’d tossed her—Vivian was missing.

  An hour and a half later, the Sinclair sisters and their husbands had all returned to Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse. Ida trailed a finger down her niece’s smooth cheek. The baby’s coos and sweet breaths were comforting, and the family had passed her around.

  Not all that long ago Ida had held Vivian like this—changed her little sister’s diapers and dressed her up like a doll. Mother was sickly, and Ida had found herself filling the role when she herself was still a child.

  She looked across the parlor at Tucker, who stood at the front window, gulping coffee from a mug. “Where could she be?” Blinking back a fresh onslaught of tears, Ida drank in baby Hope’s smile. “I should have looked out for her. I thought she had a good job.”

  “She told you she did.” Tucker set his mug on the teacart.

  How long had Vivian been a liar? Ida sniffled. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing. There has to be something we can do.”

  “Like what?” The lines under her husband’s eyes reflected the frustration and helplessness the whole family felt. He looked at Kat and Morgan, Nell and Judson. “We’ve scoured the town—every diner and hotel that might serve dinner, the telephone company, the newspaper office, the millinery. We telephoned Etta’s Fashions. We’ve talked to everyone we could think of who may have seen Vivian, or at least heard from her.”

  Nell leaned into her husband’s shoulder. “Judson and I checked the depot and the passenger wagons.” Tears glistened in her blue eyes. “Tucker is right, we’ve done all we can.”

  Ida sighed, her lips pressed together. She hated waiting, feeling helpless. She stood and shifted Hope into Kat’s arms, then jo
ined Tucker at the window. “This is my fault.”

  Judson blew out a long breath. “How do you figure that?”

  Instead of looking at her brother-in-law, Ida stared out the window. “Vivian came to me for a job last month.”

  “She did?” Kat’s raised voice did nothing to ease Ida’s remorse.

  Nodding, Ida faced her family. “I told her after all the expanding we’d done, we didn’t have the funds to hire her.”

  “You told her the truth.” Tucker brushed a curl from Ida’s forehead, soothing her with his touch. “You’re not to blame for Vivian’s choices.”

  “I know, but if I’d given her a job, I could’ve made sure she was all right. Had everything she needed.”

  Nell tapped her boot on the braided carpet under her feet. “This isn’t your fault. Vivian is a big girl now. Besides, I’m sure we could all find reasons to blame ourselves.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I’ve been so busy with Eleanor … thinking about myself and the baby … I should’ve asked Vivian how she was doing.”

  Miss Hattie shifted in the Queen Anne chair and set her teacup on the side table. “Vivian left the house every weekday, midmorning, and returned home by half-past five.” She worried the skirt on her apron. “If she wasn’t working at the hotel, where was she going every day?”

  Morgan sat on the settee beside Kat, holding baby Hope’s hand in his. “She obviously didn’t want us to know.”

  “We’re sisters.” Nell dabbed her wet face with a limp handkerchief. “We don’t keep secrets from one another.”

  Ida knew better. When she worked for Mollie O’Bryan, she’d quickly figured out that the businesswoman’s methods for obtaining stock information weren’t ethical, and yet Ida had adopted them as her own and denied the truth when Kat and Nell challenged her practices.

  Ida pulled the curtain back from the window and watched an ice wagon roll to a stop at the hitching rail. She looked over her shoulder at Miss Hattie. “Are you expecting Otis?”

  Miss Hattie stood, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t expect to even be home.”

  Ida watched the bear-sized man trudge up the walk, her stomach knotting with his every step. “I saw Otis in town this morning and told him about Vivian. Asked him to keep an eye out for her.” Her pulse quickening, she followed her husband and Miss Hattie to the front door.

  Otis’s shoulders slumped. “Ma’am, I have something to tell you.” He looked down at his hat.

  “About Vivian?”

  She detected a slight nod as he looked past her. Her sisters and brothers-in-law huddled around them.

  Ida stepped forward, her heart pounding. “We’re all family here, Otis. You can tell us what you know.”

  “Let’s go into the parlor and sit down.” Tucker motioned for Otis to lead the way. Ida sat on the sofa across from him.

  “I deliver ice to the Homestead House,” Otis said.

  “Yes.” Ida knew the delivery routes by heart.

  “I was there … at the House yesterday afternoon.”

  Ida nodded. “Delivering extra ice for the party.”

  “Well, ma’am, a young woman opened the kitchen door for me—all painted up. Had dark hair.” Otis’s gaze darted to Hattie, then from one family member to the next, settling on Ida. “She was short … with big brown eyes.” He paused. “She disappeared last night.”

  Tucker squeezed Ida’s hand. “You’re talking about the girl they suspect of being involved in Pearl DeVere’s death?”

  Otis nodded like a man drained of energy.

  Nell gasped. “It couldn’t be Vivian.”

  “She turned away as soon as she saw me, but not before I got a good look at her.” Otis drew in a deep breath. “A girl about eighteen started working at the Homestead at the end of July. Miss Pearl called her Violet. Same eyes and size as your Vivian. Wore a dark wig. Only worked during the day … until last night.”

  Miss Hattie gasped. “The end of July? That’s when Vivian told me she’d gotten a job at the hotel.”

  Tucker tightened his grip on Ida’s hand, his gaze on Otis. “You believe this girl is Vivian.”

  “Yes, sir, and I’m surely sorry.” Otis wadded his hat in his hands.

  Ida opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “How did you learn all this?” Tucker’s voice sounded much too calm.

  “My sister, Mary, does the cookin’ at the House. Said Violet was the girl who found Miss Pearl. Mary watched her run in a panic out the kitchen door, and nobody’s seen her since.”

  Vivian sat in a wooden chair across the room from a small potbelly stove, her hands tied behind her. Wind whistled through a knothole in the rough-hewn plank wall, chilling her back. After being forced to camp out in the wild last night, she should have been thankful for the roof over her head, but the two men watching her appeared feral. She’d rather take her chances with a mountain lion.

  Pickett looked at her from a crude table against the far wall, where he was chopping up a rabbit he’d shot earlier. He stilled the knife. “My cousin ever pay for your services?”

  Acid rose in Vivian’s throat, and she wanted to spit it at him. Instead, she weighed her response. Leon was gone for the day. She needed to position herself to catch these two off guard. “I only worked as a hostess in the game room.”

  Both men laughed, but the younger one slithered toward her, his face close enough for her to see his pores. “So that’s what they call it nowadays?” He had an Ozark accent like Pickett. He ran a rough finger down her cheek. “Well, Miss Violet, I’m in desperate need of a hostess, and you’re probably more than ready to get out of those dirty clothes.” His filthy fingers reached for the scooped neckline of her gown.

  “Elton!” Pickett pointed the butcher knife at the young man. “You heard your father. We have to let her alone till he gets back. Wouldn’t go against him, if I were you.”

  Elton slowly stepped away from her. “S’pose I could wait another day for your hostessing.” He lowered his gaze to her bodice before returning his interest to a mug of coffee he’d left on a stool.

  Thank You, God.

  Vivian needed a plan. Leon had obviously remained in the area because of Miss Pearl. Now that she was dead, nothing would hold him here. For all Vivian knew, he intended to leave the area as soon as he returned from town. He’d cleaned up and changed his clothes before going, and she had no idea when he’d be back. If she expected to get away from this place before Leon returned, she needed to overpower her fear and play the role she’d learned at the Homestead.

  Straightening in the chair, Vivian met Pickett’s gaze. “You probably don’t get to go into town like Leon does. And I bet you get real tired of having to cook for yourself.”

  “Women’s work,” Pickett mumbled.

  “I feel the same way.” Vivian smiled. “Why don’t you let me do the cooking?” She glanced at Elton, who slouched in a wooden chair near the table, his thumb hooked in a belt loop. “If I take care of fixing the meal, you can relax for a while too.”

  Elton patted his knee, a lecherous grin on his face. “I’d rather you do the relaxing and let him do the cooking.”

  She focused on Pickett. “I think you’d like my cooking, and rabbit stew happens to be my specialty.” As of this moment.

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t mind sittin’ around doing nothing.” Pickett glared at Elton.

  Elton cackled. “Suit yourself, but I wouldn’t want her anywhere near me with that knife. She could probably gut you before you had a chance to hand her the salt and pepper.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Pickett spit. “I’m just tired of having to do everything around here. Figure as long as we’ve got a gal here, I should let her do the work.” He didn’t bother cleaning the knife before dropping it into a barrel in the corner.

  Vivian pressed her lips together. The knife would be too hard to get to now, but there had to be something else she could use to get away from them. Besides, a knife was
no match for a rifle.

  Pickett knelt behind her and untied the ropes on her hands. “No funny business, you hear? ”

  Vivian nodded.

  Pickett narrowed his eyes. “Leon said we couldn’t mess with you, but he didn’t say nothin’ about we couldn’t shoot you if you tried to get away.”

  Vivian massaged the ache in her wrists, then took unsteady steps toward the remains of the dead animal. She studied the pile of potatoes and onions in the sink and looked at Pickett, who’d seated himself in the chair she’d occupied. “I’ll need some whiskey.”

  Elton snorted. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t mind having some myself, but Pops said to stay out of it.”

  Think, Vivian. “He’s probably in town, eating a steak and thinking little about those of us stuck here. Hardly seems fair to me.” Dipping her chin, she looked at Pickett. “I wouldn’t need much, but the whiskey brings out the flavor of my stew.” She paused. “And that’s what makes it my specialty.”

  Pickett lumbered over to a crate and removed a soiled towel from its top.

  “I hope you know what you’re doin’,” Elton said. “You know how he gets when he’s mad, and he’s already pretty sore about Miss Pearl being dead.”

  Pickett pulled an amber bottle out of the crate. “She just needs enough to bring out the flavor.” He popped the cork out of the flask and handed it to Vivian, then looked over his shoulder at Elton. “You have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a steak?” He rubbed the scars on his face. “Too easy to recognize now. I deserve some good rabbit stew.”

  Nodding, Vivian set the whiskey bottle on her cooking table and held up an onion. “Do you want to cut up the vegetables, or you want me to do it while you relax? ”

  Pickett studied her, then retrieved the knife from the barrel. “Remember, we’ve got guns and we’re both watching you.”

  She was counting on it. While the rabbit stewed in a kettle on the potbelly stove, she chopped up five potatoes and the onion. She added the vegetables to the pot, along with a few pinches of salt and ground pepper. Now it just needed a few drops of whiskey and time to simmer.