Million-Dollar Makeover

by Cheryl St. John

  He glanced at her, and she had to squint against the beam of light. He reached up and switched it off, then did the same to hers. “I’ve offered to manage your business. You’re coming into a lot of money. If I work for you, I’ll make money, too. Plain and simple.”

  Sounded too plain and simple. Maybe Bernadine was right.

  Lisa blinked as they reached the mouth of the mine and the bright sunlight. While Riley returned their hats to the trailer, she found her sunglasses in her purse and slipped them on.

  Riley drove her back to his place, where she thanked him, then headed home in her Blazer. There was more that she needed to know. She knew very little about her ancestor. Legend had it that Lily had run a bordello in Thunder Canyon, and apparently the museum held historical artifacts from that time. In all these years Lisa had never visited. She’d never wanted anyone to see her there.

  There was one less news vehicle across from her house when she reached it, and she took that as a good sign that things were settling down.

  That night the clips of her at the Super Saver Mart were brief, and the anchorwoman moved right along to a story about a grant for the library and a literacy program.

  Lisa peered out her front window as her pork chop cooked on her indoor ceramic grill. She was boring, anyone could see that. Eventually they had to lose interest and move on. She wasn’t going to suddenly do something exciting.

  She had more meetings scheduled the next day, and Bernadine would be picking her up. Maybe afterward she could slip away unnoticed to go to the museum.

  That evening she planned her escape and packed a canvas tote bag with a change of clothing and a scarf.

  The following afternoon Lisa wished Bernadine goodbye and slipped into the restroom of the courthouse, where they’d been filing papers. She changed clothes, tied the scarf around her hair bandanna-style and put on her sunglasses like a spy in a James Bond movie.

  She exited the building through a back door and walked several blocks to the museum, which used to be an old schoolhouse. The building was centered on an acre of land that had once been the school yard. Lisa glanced in both directions, but no one had followed her.

  She entered the reception area.

  A woman greeted her. “Do you have a membership?”

  “No.”

  “Admission is six dollars.”

  Lisa paid the amount and accepted a brochure.

  “As you enter, the room to your left holds displays of mining equipment and information about the history of Thunder Canyon and local industry. There’s a Native American display and a pioneer-life section.

  “As you see, in the center area are groupings of furniture arranged to look as they may have at one time.”

  Lisa glanced at the roped-off sections, her gaze wandering toward what she really wanted to locate.

  “The room to the right holds personal items used by our town founders and the more infamous inhabitants of Thunder Canyon. Enjoy your visit. If I can be of any assistance, just ask. Please sign the guest book and visit our gift shop before you leave. All proceeds go to the historical society to support the museum.”

  “I will, thanks.” Lisa wanted to head directly for the room on the right, but instead she nonchalantly moseyed among the pieces of furniture, entered the large room on the left and studied the displays.

  The picks and scales and claim deeds were of timely interest since she’d just seen the inside of her first mine. Black-and-white photographs, enlarged and displayed on foam board, brought the miners to life with real faces. Someone, once upon a long-ago time—probably her ancestor, Bart Divine—had toiled in the depths of the Queen of Hearts with sweat and hope and then had apparently given up. She was curious about those times and increasingly curious about Lily.

  The museum lady was nowhere to be seen and no other visitors were in the building when Lisa peeked across the center room. She made her way past settings of chairs and sideboards and a cast-iron stove holding a kettle to enter the opposite room.

  A quick survey showed her the window she’d come to see, and she hurried closer. A mannequin dressed in a dance-hall costume stood to one side in the exhibit. The red satin dress was trimmed with black lace and had been scandalously revealing for its time. Long ropes of pearls hung around the mannequin’s bare neck, and a black ostrich feather had been affixed to the dark wig.

  Lisa drew her gaze to the objects displayed in the case and their descriptions: a tortoiseshell hair comb studded with rhinestones, several perfume bottles, a fan edged with Chantilly lace and trimmed with black purling braid and a fancy pair of black silk garters, each with a gilt buckle and a rosette of satin taffeta ribbon.

  Her attention was drawn to a pair of photographs. One was of the inside of the infamous Shady Lady saloon. A bartender in a white shirt with black armbands stood behind the polished mahogany bar. On the wall behind the bar were rows of liquor bottles and glasses, and center stage was a painting.

  The caption under the photo claimed that the portrait was of none other than Lily Divine herself. The likeness was too small for Lisa to make out any features, but the most obvious thing to note was that the woman who had posed for the portrait was bare except for something sheer draped across her hip and hiding only minimal secrets.

  Lisa read that the painting was property of the Hitching Post and still hung over the bar. She’d heard talk of the portrait before, of course. In high school, coarse comments had been made, along with inquiries as to whether she was as stacked as Lily Divine, but she’d been too embarrassed to go see for herself.

  The last photograph was a picture of her great-great-grandmother. Dark-haired and fair of features, she stood on the white-painted stairs of a house, dressed in a very average-looking skirt and a blouse with a high lace collar. She shaded her eyes with one hand and wore a gentle smile.

  Her expression struck Lisa as one of a woman sure of herself. Confident. Poised. A woman who knew her place in her world.

  Somehow those qualities had been lost in the gene pool, she thought. Lisa stared at the picture for a long time. In all these years she’d never come here because she’d been embarrassed. Ashamed of Lily Divine’s reputation and legacy. Her aunt and grandmother had rarely spoken of the woman, and when they had it had been in lowered tones of disapproval.

  Lisa tried to make sense of Lily being friends with Amos Douglas’s wife. If Lily had run a house of ill repute and Amos Douglas had been an upstanding forefather, how had the two women been acquainted?

  There was more here than she was able to see on the surface. A big piece of the puzzle was missing, and something drove her to discover what that was. Maybe her own visit to Tildy Matheson was in order.

  Chapter Four

  “Riley, I didn’t know you were coming by again today.” Caleb Douglas spotted his son at the computer in the adjoining office. They had remodeled this downtown building where all the business for the ski-resort project was handled, but Riley worked from his home office most of the time.

  “I needed to crunch a few numbers.”

  Ground-breaking for Thunder Canyon Resort had been set back by the gold-fever commotion and subsequent land disputes but was back on schedule.

  The older man entered the room and closed the door behind him. Riley’s mother had obviously chosen the shirt and tie Caleb wore, which coordinated with his tailor-made western-cut sport jacket. Caleb stepped in front of Riley’s desk. “How are things going with the Martin girl?”

  “She’s about to hire me.”

  “You’re going to have to push this a little faster. One more 9/11 scare will send gold sky-high. We need to be in place when that happens.”

  “It’s coming together.”

  “The mining is moving forward. There’s gonna be gold coming out of that hole by the ton.”

  “I said I’m working on it.”

  Caleb held up both hands. “Okay. It had better be good.” He started to walk away, then stopped as if he’d had a thought.

 
; “I’m meeting Justin for lunch. Care to join us?”

  Justin Caldwell was the brother Riley hadn’t known about until a month ago. Justin, however, had learned about Caleb two years previously and had schemed against the Douglases to get control of the ski resort through the investors. His scheme had worked, too. The manipulation and resulting takeover had nearly broken Caleb. But in the end Justin had experienced a change of heart and given control of the project back to Caleb. Now the two of them seemed to be downright bonding.

  Riley grabbed a pen and jotted down a few numbers. “I have other plans.”

  “Well, that’s a shame. I’d like to get my two boys together for a change.”

  “Yeah, that would be real nice.”

  “Riley, he married our girl, Katie. You’re going to have to accept him.”

  Riley’s parents had taken in Katie Fenton when she’d been fourteen and her mother had died. Katie’s mother and Adele had been college friends. Katie was the daughter Caleb never had, his darling. Riley had been in college at the time, but he’d grown to love her, too. More often than not, however—even though he was the only offspring from his parents’ union—he felt like the outsider in the family.

  “Your mother’s talking about a get-together soon,” Caleb said. “A family thing. Bring someone.”

  Riley watched his father leave the room. Finding out about Justin had been a shock. His father’d had an affair when Riley had been just a baby. Justin had been the result of that, and Riley and his mother were still coming to terms with the betrayal.

  Adele was a strong, proud woman, and her position in the community stiffened her backbone when it came to handling tough conditions. Riley, too, was loyal to family and the Douglas name. He and Justin had formed a tentative relationship, but Riley still had issues.

  Not liking it didn’t change the situation. He’d worked hard for his position in the Douglas Corporation and he wasn’t going to let any of that go to waste. His plan was already in motion.

  Lisa found Matilda Matheson in the Thunder Canyon phone directory and called her to set up a visit. The woman had been warm and friendly on the phone and sounded eager to meet her.

  The following morning after her a.m. dogs were walked and fed, Lisa drove to the library, changed her clothing in the restroom and left by the rear door, wearing the only pair of trousers she owned and a hooded sweatshirt. These devious evasion tactics were getting old fast.

  Her destination was a fair distance, but she was used to walking and no one spotted her. The house she sought was a two-story blue-and-white Victorian in excellent condition. Roses climbed trellises on either side of the porch and a calico cat napped on the padded porch swing.

  Tildy was a kindly old woman with a toothy smile and soft-looking gray hair. She welcomed Lisa into her parlor and offered her a seat on the floral-cushioned sofa. Crocheted antimacassars were pinned to the arms and backs of the pieces of furniture.

  “I’m tickled pink to meet you, dear. I’ve got tea ready. It won’t be a moment.”

  Lisa glanced around, noting vintage furnishings and lamps similar in age and condition to those in her home.

  Tildy came back with tea and sugar cookies. The china was delicate rose-patterned chintz with worn gold trim.

  “I’m ever so pleased to meet Lily Divine’s great-great-granddaughter,” she said, clasping her hands together at her breast. “But I’m curious to know what brings you here.”

  “I understand your grandmother was a friend of Catherine Douglas’s.”

  “Oh, yes, dear. The two were confidantes.”

  “Emily Stanton shared some of the story with me. The part about how she and Brad came to discover the deed to the mine.”

  “That was a surprise to all of us. I’m delighted for you, dear. Those Douglases don’t need any more money and they certainly don’t deserve the mine.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, the way my grandmother told the story, Amos Douglas was a mean old coot, who beat Catherine on more than one occasion. Lily was always the one who took her in and nursed her to health.”

  Lisa tried to picture a woman in a red saloon dress sitting at Catherine Douglas’s bedside but couldn’t make the scene gel.

  “It wasn’t unusual for her to take in women who needed a safe place.”

  “And a brothel was a safe place?” Lisa asked with serious doubt.

  Tildy waved away that idea with a frown. “My grandmother said the Shady Lady was a dance hall, not a house of ill repute. Still, as a saloon it was not a place where respectable women of that day would have worked.”

  “But all the stories and the Heritage Day celebrations portray Lily as a prostitute.”

  “Makes for a far more colorful legend and a more interesting historical character that way, don’t you think?”

  Lisa recalled the face of the woman in the old photograph at the museum and the ordinary high-necked blouse and skirt she’d been wearing. She could picture that woman taking in an abused wife. “How can I know the truth from fiction?”

  “I don’t know, dear. You’re welcome to go through Catherine’s things. Emily and Brad left the trunk in my extra bedroom. It was in my attic for years before they brought it down here.”

  “Thank you, Miss Matheson. I’d like that.”

  Tildy sat in a rocker before a lace-curtained window in the quaintly decorated bedroom while Lisa looked through the contents of the enormous trunk. The fabric of the old dresses was so fragile, she feared tearing it, so she moved it aside carefully. She found a tarnished silver hand mirror, a parasol and a faded green silk purse.

  “I intend to donate these things to the historical society, but somehow I just don’t get around to calling them,” Tildy told her. “My grandmother inherited all of Catherine’s belongings, and I’ve had them since I was a young girl.” Her hand went to a brooch she wore on her flowered dress. “I’ve worn the pieces of jewelry all my life.”

  “I’m the same way with my grandmother’s things,” Lisa told her. “I’ve kept most everything.”

  “The trunk and its contents are in my will,” the old woman told her. “The foundation will get them when I’m gone.”

  Lisa didn’t know how to respond, so she smiled and nodded. Catherine had kept several journals, and she read the first few entries in one.

  “You may borrow those if you like. I’m sure there’s mention of Lily.”

  Lisa ran her hand across the aged and cracked leather cover of the book she held. “I’ll be very careful with them.”

  “I know you will, dear.” Tildy wrapped the journals in tissue paper and placed them in a small bag for Lisa to carry.

  After another cup of tea and more of the best cookies she’d ever eaten, Lisa thanked Tildy and left her house. On the walk back to the library she experienced a wash of anger that those stories of Lily’s supposed profession had been propagated over the years. Because of another woman’s hypothetical lack of moral character, Lisa had been looked down on her whole life—when all along that could have been one big lie!

  If there was a way to absolve Lily’s name, she was going to try to find it.

  The back door of the library was locked when she arrived, so she had to walk around front to get to her Blazer. Only one news van remained, and the driver appeared to be napping. Lisa started the engine and drove away without a tail.

  She felt blissfully unencumbered when she stopped and took care of her afternoon pets, then drove home.

  She let herself in and the dogs licked her senseless, then danced around yipping until she put leashes on them and took them out for a walk. The driver of a news van spotted her on her return and drove slowly alongside. “I’m reporting you to the police,” she called. “I have a restraining order!”

  The van dropped back and she hurried on to the house.

  That evening she curled up on the sofa with one of the journals and read it from the beginning. It had been written during an early time in Catherine’s life, and
there was no mention of Lily. The second book, however, mentioned Lily a few times, referring to her home as a refuge. The dates of the entries were sporadic, and Lisa had the impression that Catherine had left out much of the true happenings of her life.

  Emily had given Lisa her phone number, and Lisa called it now, only to get a recording. Emily and Brad had done extensive research in looking for the mine owner, and perhaps she had discovered more than Lisa had thought to ask about.

  She left a message, then tried to distract herself by baking brownies. Her grandmother’s recipes were some of her dearest treasures, and these brownies especially reminded her of the warmth and comfort she’d received in this home during her formative years. Lisa poured herself a glass of milk and ate the brownies warm.

  Emily might not return her call for hours or perhaps not even until the next day. She dusted the china hutch and sideboard in the dining room, admiring the dishes and thinking how similar her grandmother’s things were to Tildy’s. She still missed her grandmother, even though she’d been gone several years. Having her things was a comfort, just as the house was her link to family. Maybe part of the reason she was so curious about Lily was because she craved a family connection.

  Later, as she was washing up the baking dishes, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Lisa, it’s Emily. I got your message.”

  “Thanks for calling. I have a couple of questions and I thought you could help me find answers.”

  “If I can, sure.”

  “I went to see Tildy today.”

  “She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”

  “And the cookies are to die for.”

  Emily chuckled.

  “She doesn’t believe Lily Divine ran a whorehouse. Her grandmother told her differently.”

  “I got that impression, too. Of course, there’s no official documentation to prove it one way or the other.”

  Lisa propped the phone under her chin and dried a spatula. “I guess prostitutes didn’t exactly apply for a license to practice, did they?”

  “It was a lucrative business back then. The saloons supported the city. In fact, the law often accepted payment to simply look aside.”