Murder Will Speak

by Penny Richards

  The tantalizing aroma of baking bread and frying bacon came from the small kitchen area where they’d guessed Dusty’s cook had prepared meals for him and his “girls.” Lilly was surprised to see Cade buttering a slice of the brown bread the Irish were so fond of, while Erin used an egg turner to bathe some eggs with bacon grease. All seemed well, so the siblings must have called a truce, at least for the moment.

  Sensing her in the doorway, Cade turned. “Ever the sleepyhead.”

  Lilly smothered a yawn and said, “I hardly slept a wink last night. Didn’t all the commotion keep the two of you awake?”

  “Not really.”

  “I heard it, but it didn’t bother me,” Erin added.

  “Where did the food come from?”

  “I sent Cade out a bit ago to see what the grocer had to offer. Do you cook?”

  The very notion of trying to make a meal took Lilly aback. Traveling from place to place, the troupe had stayed mostly in rooming houses and eaten their meals there or at some restaurant or another. She didn’t recall ever having a kitchen.

  “No.” Both of her companions looked at her as if she had two heads. “I’ve never had a proper home, so I’ve never learned to cook.”

  “Then it looks like you’ll do the washing up,” Erin told her.

  “That sounds like a reasonable exchange,” Cade agreed. “Don’t you agree, Lilly?”

  “It is.” Her voice held a confidence she was far from feeling. She had no idea how one went about doing that either, but how hard could it be?

  An hour later she was finding out. After the three of them had shared the breakfast and planned their day, Erin got dressed and set out with Cade to explore the area that would be their temporary home. Lilly was left to wash the breakfast dishes, which was proving more difficult than she’d imagined. The greasy remains of the meal refused to come off the plates no matter how much of the harsh lye soap she used.

  Irritated, she stood with her wet hands on her hips, looking at the dishes sitting in the revolting dishwater with its skin of congealed bacon fat floating on top. Helping in the kitchen had been her job in New Orleans, and Lamartine had never seemed to have this problem. How did Lilly always get stuck with mundane chores when everyone else was out looking for clues? And how was she going to explain the unwashed dishes to her two partners? She was debating her next course of action when she heard a knock at the kitchen door.

  She stood transfixed, staring at the dark wood and wondering if she should answer it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she could think of no one except perhaps the marshal who would have reason to stop by. She’d about decided to ignore the summons when the rapping started up again.

  It didn’t sound like a man’s knock, and, because her curiosity had gotten the best of her, she snatched up a towel and dried her hands on the way to the door. Flipping the lock, she pulled open the door.

  The woman standing in the aperture looked near her own age, but there was something, almost a haunted expression in the depths of her dark eyes, that hinted of seeing and experiencing things Lilly could only imagine. She was clean and dressed in a plain white shirtwaist and brown skirt.

  “May I help you?” Lilly asked, wondering why the woman had come. She didn’t miss the nervous twisting of the hands clutched together at the stranger’s waist.

  “Are you Miss O’Toole?”

  “No. I’m Miss Long. Lilly. Miss O’Toole’s friend.”

  “I’m Bonnie Brady, and I’d like to speak with her for a moment. Is she here?” The question was accompanied by a quick glance over her shoulder, as if she were afraid someone had followed her into the alley and might see her.

  “I’m afraid she’s out, Miss Brady. She and her . . .”—just in time, Lilly remembered that Cade was playing Erin’s bodyguard, not her brother—“associate have gone to look around town.”

  She was about to suggest that Miss Brady come back later when she blurted, “Do you mind if I come in?” Once again, Lilly’s visitor checked behind her. Was she hiding from someone?

  Recalling the uncomfortable feeling she’d experienced when someone had been watching her, Lilly stepped aside. “Certainly. Come in.” She waved a hand toward the doorway leading to the parlor. “We’ll sit in there.”

  Bonnie Brady settled into the corner of one of the faded settees, and Lilly sat in a chair across from her.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  Lilly attempted a smile. “I was doing dishes. Or trying to.”

  Bonnie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “No matter how much soap I use, I can’t get the grease off.”

  “Then your water must have gotten cold.”

  Gotten cold? Lilly had no idea the dishwater was supposed to be hot. She looked at Bonnie, who broke into laughter.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that the wash and rinse water is supposed to be hot.”

  “I didn’t,” Lilly confessed. “My . . . family traveled around a lot, and I’ve never had a proper home.”

  Bonnie jumped to her feet. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Without waiting for Lilly, she headed toward the kitchen.

  “You seem familiar with the place,” Lilly said, following her new self-designated helper.

  “I used to work for Dusty.”

  Moving around as if she knew exactly what to do, Bonnie set about adding more kindling to the stove. Once the small blaze was burning, she picked up the dishpan and, balancing it against her hip, opened the alley door and poured out the murky water. She used the kitchen pump to refill the kettle and added water to both the dishpans before setting them on the stove.

  “Were you the cook?” Lilly asked.

  The comment elicited another laugh. “No. There’s no money cooking for a living. I was one of Dusty’s doves. That’s what he called us. Dusty’s Doves.”

  Lilly wasn’t surprised by the announcement that the stranger sold herself for a living, but like Erin, Bonnie Brady wasn’t what Lilly had expected from a lady of the evening.

  A possibility leaped into Lilly’s mind. Maybe being left to clean up while Cade and Erin looked around had been a blessing. If anyone knew who the main players were and the intricacies of how the politics worked in the infamous Third Ward, it would be Bonnie Brady or someone like her. Becoming Bonnie’s new best friend might be just what was needed. She was bound to know something about Nora’s situation.

  Even though Lilly couldn’t ask direct questions about Nora, perhaps something connected to her disappearance would come up during the conversation and give Lilly the chance to ask questions. She refused to act as Cade’s lover and cling to his arm while pretending the lack of a brain or any common sense while he and Erin worked the case.

  Their assignment in New Orleans had involved more people, and she’d been glad for his help, but in their positions as house servants they could do little but observe the family until their day off. She’d felt as if she were a servant and not an agent of the most prestigious detective bureau in the country. Thank goodness, the roles they were playing now were far different. This time, they were not confined by so many rules and had more freedom to explore various avenues.

  She and Cade might be partners, but Nora was her friend. This was personal, and Lilly vowed to leave no stone unturned to find out where Nora was and take her home, to safety.

  Her decision made, Lilly said, “Why did Dusty leave town?”

  “He got behind on his payments to Longhair Jim, and he didn’t have much choice but to skedaddle in the middle of the night.”

  One of the things Lilly had learned since becoming a Pinkerton operative was that, when you were involved in anything shady, “skedaddling” in the middle of the night was common practice. Bonnie’s comment confirmed what Marshal Davies had told them the evening before.

  “Who’s Longhair Jim?”

  “Jim Courtright. He was the marshal here until a couple of years ago. They wanted him to clean up the Acre, and he did make a lot
of arrests, but just like Marshal Davies, he usually let the girls out the next day. The madams wanted him out because he never bothered the gambling parlors or saloons.

  “When the outlaws started coming in, the law started cracking down again, but then the businessmen griped, saying that cleaning up the place was bad for business.”

  “So, the local companies are willing to accept illegal activities as long as they profit from it.” Again, just as the marshal had told them the night before.

  “That about sums it up. Before Courtright came up for reelection, the Democrat pulled its support, and Davies beat him,” Bonnie said, testing the temperature of the heating water with her fingertips. “Personally, I think Velvet and Rosie had something to do with it. They’re both mighty fond of Sam.” She tossed Lilly a towel. “Here. I’ll wash. You dry.”

  Lilly was mortified. “Oh, no! That isn’t necessary. I don’t even know you.”

  “Hopefully you will, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying very hard to make a good impression.” She swished the rag over the plate in the now steaming water, and then placed the plate in the clean rinse water.

  “Why?”

  “I came to talk to Miss O’Toole, hoping she’ll consider hiring me once she gets things set up and ready to open.”

  Word had certainly traveled fast! Lilly should have known that’s why the woman had come. How could she tell Bonnie that they weren’t really going to reopen the dance hall? She couldn’t. Their job was to find Nora and get her to safety and do their best to expose the mail-order bride organization. In the meanwhile, it wouldn’t hurt to find out what she could from her unexpected visitor.

  “Where are you working now?” Lilly asked.

  “I work for Velvet.”

  “And you aren’t happy there?” Lilly set the plate she’d just finished drying aside.

  “I can’t imagine anyone who’s happy working for Velvet.” Bonnie gave a little shudder. “She has a real mean streak. If she knew I was here, no telling what she’d do.”

  That explained why Bonnie had been so uncomfortable standing outside. She didn’t want anyone seeing her at another establishment and reporting back to her boss.

  “What brought you to Texas?” Lilly asked, wondering why someone would come to a place so rough and violent.

  “It’s a long story, but basically, I couldn’t find work in New Orleans. They told me my speech and manners weren’t good enough for those fancy bordellos down there. Then, someone told me a girl could always find work here if she was disease free and halfway decent looking, so here I am.” She turned to look at Lilly. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Is Miss O’Toole a hard taskmaster?”

  Lilly brought out the story they’d made up for just such an occasion. “Oh, she’s not my boss. We met a couple of years ago, working at a place in Chicago. We’re just friends.”

  “So you ain’t a workin’ girl anymore?”

  “Not for a while now,” she heard herself saying without a second’s hesitation. “Cade—he’s the man who keeps the peace for Erin’s place back in Chicago—and I are together now. I haven’t worked for a living since.”

  The ease with which the lie tripped from her lips amazed her. Untruths became easier every day. Lilly supposed she could console her smarting conscience by telling herself she lied to help others.

  “That’s nice,” Bonnie said, scrubbing on the last plate. “Finding someone to take us away from here is what we all want, but so far no Prince Charming has come along for me.”

  Sadness washed over Lilly. A man to take them away. The thing all young women wanted. A home. Husband. Family. It was what she’d wanted when she married Timothy, and what Nora had wanted when she’d signed up to marry a stranger and traveled to this godforsaken place.

  “I have a friend who signed up to be a mail-order bride in hopes of finding that dream,” Lilly said, thinking that it was a logical way to bring up the subject of Nora.

  “More and more women seem to be doing that, and I hear it works well for some,” Bonnie told her. “Others . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she gave a shrug that said nothing, but Lilly saw an emptiness in her eyes. Bonnie shook off the moment’s darkness and smiled. “How did it work out for your friend?”

  “I think it’s too early to say.”

  Bonnie wrung out the dishwashing rag and hung it on the edge of the table. “That’s done.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Lilly said, as Bonnie slung the water out the back door. “I’ll know what to do next time.”

  “I’m glad to help,” Bonnie assured her. Then she sighed. “I guess I’d better get back. I don’t want Velvet waking up and missing me.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be spending time at various places around town, so maybe I’ll see you again.”

  Bonnie smiled. “I hope so. I like you.”

  Somewhat taken aback, Lilly replied, “I like you, too.” She realized as she spoke the words that she meant them. Bonnie, like so many of the women who worked as prostitutes, did so out of necessity. What they did to make a living did not make them bad people any more than being an actress did.

  “Don’t forget to tell Miss O’Toole I stopped by,” Bonnie said as Lilly followed her to the door.

  To her surprise, Bonnie pulled Lilly into a loose hug. Then, releasing Lilly, Bonnie said, “There’s something about you that’s different, Lilly Long. I don’t know what it is, but it’s very nice.”

  Without a word, Bonnie opened the door and slipped outside.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Cade and Erin returned to Dusty’s, they all dressed for their first night of observing the nocturnal mating rituals in the Acre.

  Erin looked stunning in a simple gown of soft blue-green satin with a matching metallic gauze insert smocked at the throat and waist. The simple, flowing lines of the gown were in direct contrast to the popular corset and bustle style made so fashionable by Parisian designers.

  In contrast to the usual madams’ attire, her gown was tasteful, elegant, and promised the locals a hint of what she would bring to the Acre if she chose to reopen Dusty’s. She exuded class and refinement, just what they wanted everyone to see in her. Only truly confident women could defy convention with such elegance.

  As her friend, Lilly wore a simple dress she’d used in her first leading role as Priscilla Dunlap, a spoiled young woman from a wealthy family. The soft gown was of finely woven cotton muslin with narrow green and white stripes. The fitted bodice boasted an unadorned, proper scoop neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves. The solid green ruffles at the elbow and hem were the only adornment.

  Cade wore one of his simple black sack suits that showed off his intimidating physique to its best advantage. Carrying a sweet-smelling cheroot, and wearing a scowl along with his bowler, he looked the part of a no-nonsense bouncer . . . especially when you added the jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face.

  Rosalie Padgett’s Silver Slipper was the first place they visited. The moment they stepped through the door, Lilly realized the sporting house was aptly named. The large common area, where men could mix and mingle with the doves, was decorated with sofas and chairs upholstered in royal blue velvet and satin. Dainty tables, too small in scale for the overstuffed seating, were done in silver leaf. A large replica of a ladies’ dancing shoe—also done in silver—and at least five feet in length and three feet high at the heel, was situated on a pedestal against one wall. A large portrait of a blond woman with her hair done in a style suited to a young girl hung above the oversized footwear. The famous Rosalie Padgett herself.

  Cade led them to a table, and they all three ordered sarsaparilla, much to the barman’s surprise. Though she didn’t know a lot about her partner, Lilly did know that for a time after the death of his wife, Cade had partaken of a wee too much alcohol and been fired from the Pinkerton Agency. Since he’d come back to work, he’d been as sober as the proverbial judge. Though she sometimes indu
lged in a glass of wine, Lilly was not a drinker, and she assumed Erin had made the choice to abstain so that she could keep her head about her while they watched and learned.

  The women who worked for Rosalie made no attempt to approach them, but the tingling at the nape of her neck, that same feeling she’d experienced when she’d gone looking for Timothy in MacGregor’s Tavern, alerted Lilly that every move the trio made was being observed, which wasn’t surprising. Unless they were employed there, women were seldom spotted in sporting houses. Those females who craved the male counterpart of the establishment’s entertainment were more discreet and found it on the sly. In secret rooms and backdoor assignations.

  It looked as if there were four women working the room. All of them were reasonably attractive, though once again, they had been too heavy-handed with their powder, rouge, and kohl. They were not so scantily clad as Tim’s harlot had been, and if their bodices were too tight and low cut, they were not so cheap looking. Lilly supposed this was what was meant by having a higher class of woman.

  Nora wasn’t among them. Common sense told Lilly that it was silly to feel disappointment. Had she really expected to find her at the first place they entered? Still, it was discouraging to think of how many of these dens of iniquity she might have to patronize before finding her friend.

  She scanned the room’s occupants again. The customers were no doubt wondering what two women were doing there, even if they were accompanied by a man who looked as if he could take care of them, as well as himself.

  “Do you see your friend?” Cade asked.

  “No.” Even she heard the heaviness in her voice.

  “Never mind.” He lifted his glass in a toast to the two women, and murmured, “To our success.” The mugs clanked together, and they all took a sip.

  “We’re causing quite a stir,” Erin said, sotto voce, as she allowed her gaze to travel around the room and its occupants.

  “That we are, little sister.”