A Joyful Noise (Kansas Crossroads Book 14)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “You sent a note to my office this morning, Mr. Larsen, and I’ve come to speak with you about it,” Colonel Gordon said.

  Chet glanced around the dining room. Most everyone had left by now, and he didn’t consider those who remained to be any sort of threat. “You must be the sheriff,” he replied.

  “Well, the marshal, but there’s no need to get hung up on titles and whatnot. May I join you?”

  “Absolutely.” Chet motioned to a chair at his table, and the colonel took a seat. Georgia appeared out of nowhere with a clean coffee cup and made sure they were both content before she disappeared again.

  “I reviewed your letter several times, and I must say, it’s caused me a great deal of concern,” Colonel Gordon said after taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll put every man I have on that train when it leaves the depot—in plainclothes, of course, but completely armed. I haven’t seen anyone acting strangely around here in the last day or so, but I’ve told my men to keep an eye out. We’ll do whatever we can, Mr. Larsen.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I hope I’m wrong and that the robbers aren’t preparing for a lot of gunplay, but I’d certainly rather be prepared than not.”

  “I was chatting with Mr. Hoover, the station master, a moment ago, and he tells me that the train at that time of day tends to have rather a lot of passengers on it,” Colonel Gordon went on. “Why did the gold company choose to put their fortune on such a crowded passenger train?”

  “It’s difficult to predict things of that nature,” Chet replied. “You never know who is coming on board at any given time, or how long they’ll stay before they disembark. We could be talking about ten passengers or a hundred—and we won’t know which it is until the train actually arrives tomorrow.”

  “Too much guesswork,” Colonel Gordon mumbled.

  “Yes, and there’s also the question that begs to be asked—what if this anonymous tip was nothing but a ruse? What if the robbery is actually being planned for another location, and we’re being set up here so we’ll be distracted?”

  “Hmph.” The colonel took another sip of coffee. “I’m not sure I’d like your line of work, Mr. Larsen. I tend to deal with things that have already happened, not things that might happen or could happen.”

  “I understand your sentiment, sir. I must say, though, that I find satisfaction in being able to prevent things from happening.”

  “And I suppose I understand that.” The colonel finished his coffee and waved Georgia away when she showed up to refill it. “You have our support, sir. I’ll give your description to my men so they know who you are, and they’ll grasp their lapels and give them a tug—like so—to signal you so you know who they are. No point in having the whole lot of you running around investigating each other, is there?” He gave a dry chuckle. “Stay in touch, Mr. Larsen, and we’ll do the same.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Chet came to his feet as the colonel did, then sat back down after the man left the dining room. He was barely aware of the bustle of the tables being cleared as he sat. The town would be crawling with law enforcement officers keeping their eyes open for anything strange, and yet, they could still miss it. There might not be a way to prevent those men from getting on the train—he might have to come face-to-face with them the following day and hope that he had what it took to bring them to justice.

  A week before, the thought would have thrilled him. Now, all he could think about was leaving Georgia behind, and how very impossible that would be.

  Chapter Six

  Chet rumpled his clothes up a little bit and then walked the few blocks to the saloon, taking a different way than he had before. It was about half past noon. He wanted to catch the card player he’d spoken with before, but he didn’t want to seem too anxious.

  “So, you came back,” the man said when Chet entered the saloon. “I wondered if you would.”

  “Found myself a way to spend a couple of pleasant hours, but the call of the cards brought me back,” Chet replied. He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and sat down. “I never heard your name.”

  “That’s because I never spoke it.” The man sat across from Chet and idly picked up a deck of cards that rested on the table. “Most people call me Valdez. If you work for me, it’s Mr. Valdez. If you’re married to me, it’s Lazy Good-for-Nothing.” He laughed at his own joke as he shuffled. As if emerging from the woodwork, three more men sat at the table, wordlessly accepting their cards as he dealt.

  Chet glanced at the men as he picked up his own cards. None of them were the men he sought, but he hadn’t expected them to be. He was using this game to get information. He figured his suspects would be tucked away until that night, judging how late they’d been up the night before.

  “Are there rooms for rent upstairs?” he asked as he rearranged the cards in his hand.

  “Only under special circumstances,” Valdez replied. “You can stay at the Brody or you can stay at the little boarding house up the street there, if you want to stay on this side of town. There are other places if you go down a few blocks.”

  “What are those special circumstances?” Chet asked. “I like staying close to my cards—is that special enough?”

  One of Valdez’s friends laughed. “Not hardly. You gotta be in good with one of the girls.”

  “Oh, so that’s how it is.” Chet discarded one and took a new one. “Does that mean, lots of cash, or does that mean knowing them for a long time? Like a long-lost buddy or something like that?”

  “Money talks. It always talks,” Valdez said. He discarded two, but didn’t seem any more pleased with his new selection.

  “Well, once we’ve played a few hands, maybe I’ll see if my winnings will buy me a room upstairs.” Chet pretended to study his cards, even though he knew full well what he held. “That Brody place looked a little too sedate for my tastes when I walked past.”

  “Then the boarding house is definitely out of the question. It’s run by an older widow woman who sleeps with a pistol under her pillow, from what I hear,” said the man to Chet’s left.

  “See? I know where I’m not wanted.” Chet laid his cards out on the table. “I expect one of you has something better?”

  The other players shook their heads, and Chet smirked as he pulled the pot toward himself. “Thank you for helping me get my foot in the door—literally. Now, how about a chance to win some real money?”

  ***

  By the time Chet pretended to stumble out of the saloon to take a walk, he’d won several hands, but lost enough to stay in the good graces of the other players. He’d also put some cash on a room upstairs.

  As he left the saloon, he nearly ran right into the two men he’d been looking for. He took a few staggering steps backward, muttered his apologies, then continued on his way, his mind reeling. He now knew where they were, but he couldn’t outright ask their intentions. He needed some ideas—he needed to find out what they were up to.

  He needed Georgia.

  He crept through the town and into the hotel, pleased to find her waiting for him in the parlor.

  “I’m ready for our walk,” she said cheerfully. “But wait—is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, exactly, but not right either.” He sank down onto a chair. “I’ve had an idea, but I have no call to ask you to get involved.”

  She took a seat near him. “What is it?”

  “The men we saw last night are back at the saloon. They arrived just a few minutes ago as I was leaving. I’ve made a big show of booking one of the upstairs rooms for the night, and I’ve been playing cards there all day and creating somewhat of a scurrilous reputation for myself. I think I can go back in there and nose around some more, but . . .”

  “But you don’t think you can get close enough to ask them what you need to know,” Georgia finished for him.

  “Exactly. What I need is someone who can find out what they’re saying without them knowing that they’re being spied on.”

  “You mean someone who can
read their lips.”

  He slowly nodded. “It would be invaluable, Georgia, but I have no right to bring you into something so dangerous.”

  She sat back and appeared to contemplate the situation. “At this point, you just need to figure out if they’re the train robbers, right? And if they say something that explains why they’d need so much ammunition, you’d be leaving them alone?”

  “Yes.” Why couldn’t he think of another way? Surely there was something else he could do, but his brain seemed frozen on this one thought, incapable of reasoning out a different solution. “You could hide outside the window and watch them through the pane.”

  “And that wouldn’t seem odd to anyone?” She shook her head. “No, the only way this would work is if I go in there with you.”

  His head snapped up so quickly, it was almost painful. “Come into the saloon with me? No. Absolutely not. We’ll think of something else.”

  “What other ideas do you have? If I go in there, I can see what they’re all saying. If those men aren’t the right ones, maybe I could help find the right ones. Please, Chet. Let me help.”

  “But how can I take you in there . . . Georgia, nice ladies don’t go into places like that.”

  “Then for this one evening, I won’t be a nice lady.” She stood up, a smile on her face. “Give me a few minutes to change. We’ll make this work—I promise.”

  He paced at the foot of the stairs as he waited for her to come back down. This was madness. This was insanity. How could he take this woman—this girl, really—into such a place and subject her to that type of environment? He could barely stand to hear a man say vile things to her, and now he was escorting her into a place where that sort of language was normal. He’d lost his mind, and there was no other way of explaining it.

  When Georgia came down the stairs, he felt a rush of appreciation go through him. She’d understood the situation perfectly and had changed into something less structured and starched. She’d loosened her bun and allowed several soft tendrils to drift around her face, and she looked much less professional. “Will this do?”

  “Yes, I believe it will,” he replied. “I just have one question.” A rather awkward one. “Are you prepared to act like my . . . um, my special lady friend for the next few hours?”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Knowing the stakes, I’m ready to do whatever is needed.”

  He pulled in a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, Georgia Baker. I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

  “Let’s see what we can do. Maybe between the two of us, we can figure this out and make a real difference.”

  Chapter Seven

  Georgia had managed to sound confident at the hotel, but the closer they got to the saloon, the more she felt her knees wobble and her resolve crumble. How could she pretend to be the kind of woman who would feel comfortable in a place like that? She’d never even been inside a saloon—her father would have skinned her alive. Now here she was, hanging on Chet’s arm, giggling like she was already drunk, preparing to make the worst fool of herself imaginable.

  Why was she doing this?

  Lives were at stake, but she also wanted to help Chet.

  Well, if she was going to be completely honest, she wanted to impress him. She’d seen how much respect he’d felt for her when she told him what the men were talking about the night before. She certainly wouldn’t mind a chance to see that admiration again. She just hoped that something happened that would prove crucial to solving the case. It would be terrible to go through all this and still have to face the horrid possibilities of the next day with no solution.

  Chet burst through the swinging doors of the saloon. Georgia hung on his arm and laughed, letting her feet drag a little bit and doing her best to look tipsy.

  “I brought a friend,” Chet called out, leading her over to a table in the center of the room. The other men seated there looked up. “I met her this morning down by the river.”

  “You brought a friend?” The man holding the deck of cards cast his eyes up and down Georgia. She pretended not to notice or care. “I thought you bought a room upstairs.”

  “I did, but then I ran into her again outside.” Chet rubbed his chin. “I guess I’ll have to choose, huh?”

  “How about you let me bring you some luck in this card game and then you can send me off to wherever?” Georgia asked. “I could use a drink while we’re at it.”

  She could tell she’d surprised Chet, but he stood and made his way over to the bar.

  When he returned to her side with a small glass of whiskey, she took it, slurred a thanks, and then hiccupped, sloshing some on the front of her dress. “Uh-oh,” she said, giggling. “I should be more careful.”

  “Your lady friend looks like she needs a break from the alcohol,” Valdez said, walking up to the table and taking a seat. “You wouldn’t want her condition on your conscience, Larsen.”

  “True, but try telling this one what to do.” Chet pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Why don’t you find somewhere to sit, love? We’ll be at this this a while.”

  “I’ll just stay right here by you. Quiet as a mouse.” She opened her eyes wide and nodded, then put a finger on her lips.

  Chet turned to the men at the table, putting his back to her. “Once you pick them up, how do you get rid of them?” he muttered.

  Valdez laughed. “That’s the question men have been asking themselves since the very beginning.” He picked up the cards that had been dealt him by the man on his right and sorted through them, his face instantly becoming a study of concentration. Georgia was tempted to walk around the room and peek at everyone’s cards, but she knew she’d be spotted instantly, so she stayed where she was and dribbled more of her drink.

  The saloon girls were watching her, some with pity and some with outright contempt. After a little while, a couple of them wandered over and leaned on the bar near her, probably coming to make sure she knew this was their territory.

  Georgia had never been in a saloon, but that didn’t mean she was naïve as to what went on inside one.

  “I’m not here for any of your fellows,” she said to the girl nearest her. “He’s the only one I want.” She motioned toward Chet with her glass, sloshing a little on her wrist. “Thing is, he’s ignoring me now. Once a man gets those cards in his hands, it’s like nothing else even matters.”

  “Don’t I know it,” the girl replied with a laugh. “Here we’ve all got a living to make, and it’s not like we’ve got all the time in the world. Bills come around pretty regular.”

  The other girls all nodded and started talking at once, sharing their woes, and Georgia smiled to herself. She’d just made some allies. Not bad for her first time in a saloon.

  ***

  Chet picked up his next set of cards, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to see that Georgia had taken a seat at the bar and was giggling with several saloon girls.

  Interesting. He hadn’t expected that at all.

  The next hand was a bust, as was the one following. But then the two men from the night before wandered in, and Chet felt his senses go on high alert.

  They took seats at a table over in the corner and sipped their drinks slowly, one or the other keeping an eye on the door at all times. Chet guessed that they were either waiting for someone or hiding from someone.

  “I think that’s me, gentlemen,” he said, laying a full house on the table.

  “It’s about time your luck changed,” Valdez said as Chet slid the pot closer. “With all your talk about being a professional, I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Well now, even a professional needs to warm up,” Chet replied. It was his deal, so he took the cards and shuffled, then passed them out.

  As he rearranged his cards in his hand, he felt Georgia touch his shoulder. “I’m all out,” she said, holding up her whiskey glass.

  Chet blinked. She wanted more? How much could she hold? He couldn’t leave the table, not when the cards
had just been dealt, so he fished in his pocket for a coin. “Here, and don’t bother me again while I’m playing.”

  “Well, you’re no fun,” she said, taking the coin. “Maybe the girls are right. Maybe I shouldn’t be wasting my time on you.” Then she giggled. “I’m just teasing. I’m all yours, and you know it.” She stumbled back over to the bar, leaving a vapor of alcohol in her wake.

  Valdez watched her go with some amusement on his face. “What are you going to do with her?” he asked.

  “I’ll have to figure something out. She’s not coming with me, that’s for sure.” Chet discarded one and drew another. “Nothin’ but a millstone, that one.” He didn’t mean that, but he certainly did want to have a talk with her. She was having just a little too much fun with this assignment.

  Chapter Eight

  When Georgia returned to the bar, she chose a different stool and ordered her drink, then turned around to face the rest of the room. Perfect—her new angle was just right. She could make out everything that was being said at that far table. She held her new glass of whiskey and giggled, agreeing with something one of the saloon girls said while focusing on the two suspicious men.

  “What if Jones doesn’t come?” the first man said.

  “He’ll be here, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss something like this.” The second man took another tiny sip of his drink.

  “My nerves are getting bad. Look at my hand—it’s shaking.”

  “Your hands can’t be shaking. We need you.” The second man brought his fist down on the table. “Should we replace you? We don’t have time for that, but we will if we have to.”

  “No, no. I just want Jones to show up—that’s all.”

  Georgia flicked her gaze over to the girls to make sure she wasn’t ignoring them in any sort of obvious way. They were chattering amongst themselves, each with a glass of their own, and she figured she was safe to watch the table again. The second man had turned his head a little, but she could still make out most of what was going on.