Calico Spy

by Margaret Brownley

  On the way back to the dining room she bumped into the dark-haired waitress named Tully. “Why you…” Tully snapped her mouth shut and threw her shoulders back in an attempt to regain a positive, upbeat appearance. She might have succeeded had it not been for the Long Island (Rhode Island?) hen on her tray drowning in coffee.

  “You’ll pay for this,” she muttered under her breath. With a smile that was more lethal than friendly, she did a dainty pirouette and returned the drowning hen to the kitchen.

  Katie stiffened at the sound of her name. She turned and found Mr. Pickens practically breathing down her throat.

  “Miss Madison! A word with you. Now!”

  After Pickens finished chastising her for working too slow, Katie straightened out the beverage mess and returned an empty teapot to the counter in back of the room.

  The ten-minute warning for boarding the train had sounded, but time had never passed more slowly. Katie wasn’t certain she could hold out for another minute, let alone ten.

  Tully whispered something to her roommate. Tully was tall and willowy with skin as smooth as honey. Katie envied the woman’s ability to look graceful in the rigid uniform, while she felt awkward and out of place. But then, that was how she’d always felt, even back home.

  The shadow of growing up in a family of beautiful women seemed to follow her wherever she went. Her four sisters all took after their mother in looks and had landed successful and well-respected husbands. Katie had the unenviable distinction of being both the black sheep of the family and the ugly duckling.

  Tully’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “Why not let the new girl do it?”

  “Do what?” Katie asked, keeping her tone neutral. Alienating the others would only make her investigation more difficult.

  Tully pointed to the tall, lean man who had just walked into the dining room. Katie guessed from the badge on his vest that it was Sheriff Whitman. That was a surprise. Everything she heard about the man indicated he was an old crank, set in his ways and unwilling to listen to reason or work with Pinkerton detectives.

  In contrast, this man was somewhere in his early to midthirties and didn’t look like any crank she’d ever met. He wasn’t bad to look at, either. Not bad at all.

  “No one is allowed to eat in the dining room without wearing a coat,” Tully explained. “You need to escort him over to the coatrack to borrow one.”

  “Even the sheriff is required to wear one?” Katie asked. She knew that such rules applied to the hoity-toity restaurants in some of the large cities, but here in Kansas?

  “Harvey rules,” Tully said with a smile that seemed a tad too sweet for Katie’s peace of mind.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You better,” Tully said, “if you want to keep your job.” It sounded like a warning.

  Katie set her mouth in a determined smile and threaded her way through the dining room toward the sheriff. She was an expert in putting men in jail. How hard could it be to put a man in a coat?

  Chapter 4

  Branch scanned the crowded dining room. No sign of Harvey. Good. The last thing he wanted was another encounter with the Englishman.

  He was here for one purpose and one purpose alone: to pick out the Pinkerton detective in time to escort him onto the train before it took off again.

  Three possible suspects immediately caught his attention. One was a young man in a checkered coat with the eager look of a detective on his first case. Another was an older man whose interest in the attractive waitresses was probably personal but could just as easily be professional. A third man was doing a bad job of pretending to read a newspaper. Instead, his gaze kept darting around the room as if he was either looking for someone or suspected that someone might be looking for him.

  Branch was just about to mosey over to the newspaper guy when he spotted a young woman barreling toward him like a missionary targeting a possible convert. Since he didn’t recognize her, she had to be new. So they sent a greenhorn to do the job, did they? This should be interesting.

  She greeted him with a smile—and no Harvey girl smile was prettier. Hers was as wide as the Kansas prairie. But something about her didn’t add up. Even as she tried to conform he sensed her resistance, sensed her sizing him up like a general planning an attack.

  “Sheriff.” She was a wee bit of a thing, barely reaching his shoulders. Never had so much feminine charm been packed into such a small package. Her big blue eyes almost seemed too large for her delicate features. A thin veil of freckles bridged her nicely shaped nose. The dazzling red hair didn’t seem to belong in the rigid knot at the back of her head. Instead, it looked like it should fall down her back as free as the wind.

  The smooth, graceful movements of her slender hips seemed to challenge the rigid confines of the black-and-white uniform. Yep, she was a looker all right. Not the conventional type by any means, but that’s what made her stand out from the others. Where did Harvey find these girls?

  He held his hat in his hand and nodded politely. “Howdy, ma’am,” he drawled. “Guess you’re new ‘round here.” Must have been hired to take Ginger’s place, but he didn’t want to say as much.

  She nodded. “My name’s Miss Madison.” She lifted her voice to be heard over the buzz of chatter and clank of dishes. “Miss Katie Madison.”

  “Mighty pleased to meet you, Miss Madison. Sheriff Whitman here, but my friends just call me plain ol’ Sheriff.”

  “And your enemies, Sheriff? What do they call you?”

  “There’re some things I’d rather not say in the company of a lady such as yourself.”

  Something like annoyance crossed her face, though he couldn’t imagine what he’d said to offend her.

  “If you’ll step over to that rack, I’ll help you pick out a dinner coat.” Her calm, casual voice seemed at odds with her sharp-eyed regard.

  “Don’t have much use for dinner coats,” he said. “Same for neck chokers.” Why any man would submit to wearing a tie was beyond his comprehension.

  Her smile faded, and she glanced over her shoulder where the other three Harvey girls watched, along with their boss, Pickens.

  She turned back to him, and he could see the wheels spinning in that pretty head of hers. “What a pity,” she said. “A handsome man like you.”

  “The other girls tried flattery, too. It didn’t work for them, either.”

  She lowered her head and glanced up at him through a fringe of lush lashes. Eleven. She had eleven tiny sun dots on her nose. Startled to find himself counting freckles, of all things, he drew his gaze to her pretty eyes, which looked blue as the wildflowers that grew alongside the railroad tracks. Chiding himself for being so easily distracted, he glanced at the newspaper guy.

  “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am—”

  “I really need this job,” she said. “And if I don’t get you into one of those coats I could be fired.”

  Something in her voice made him hesitate. “That seems a bit drastic. Far as I know, none of the other girls lost their jobs because of me.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in my boss’s good graces at the moment.” Her cheeks grew a pretty rose color. “I messed up the drink orders something awful and drowned a Rhode Island hen.”

  “You did that?” he said, feigning shock.

  Her brow furrowed. “It might have been a Long Island hen.”

  “That’s even worse,” he said lightly, hoping to tease another one of her brilliant smiles from her.

  She hesitated a moment as if trying to decide if he was joking. “So, please. Will you help me?”

  He was so caught up with the hen business—or maybe it was the intriguing way her eyes flashed as she talked—that he momentarily forgot what she wanted him to do.

  “So will you?” she pleaded when he failed to respond. “Wear a coat?”

  “Oh, that.” Opposed to wearing a dinner coat on general principle, he grimaced at the thought.

  Unfortunately, he was also opposed to
turning his back on damsels in distress. The look of dismay on her face meant the job was important to her. No surprise there. Until Harvey and his restaurants came along, few legitimate jobs existed for women, especially in this town. The work was hard and expectations high, but the job allowed a woman to earn a fair living and still stay in God’s good graces.

  He followed her worried glance to the back of the room. Pickens was no friend of his, which meant cultivating one in Miss Madison might not be such a bad idea. Especially since his investigation into the Harvey girl murders was going to the dogs faster than a flock of fleas.

  “What do I get if I put on one of them there straitjackets?”

  She laughed, a musical sound that was as infectious as it was pleasant to hear. “A straitjacket will earn you a second helping of pie.”

  He grinned. “Well, ma’am, I don’t suppose I can turn down an offer like that.”

  Relief flickered across her face. “I don’t suppose you can,” she said. “Follow me and I’ll set you up.”

  With a rueful glance at the three suspected Pink detectives, he followed her.

  She led him over to a rack where a dozen or so coats hung. Quickly riffling through them, she settled on a black frock coat that would have been right at home at a funeral, preferably on the guest of honor.

  She met his gaze with a look of apology. “I’m afraid this is the closest we have to your size.”

  She held the coat up for him with a beseeching smile. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t have it in him to deny her request. Swallowing his protests, he turned and slipped his arms through the sleeves. The coat barely fit his wide shoulders and stuck out over his holstered guns.

  She covered her mouth and her eyes rounded in dismay as she watched him try to button it. The sleeves hit him at least six inches above the wrists.

  “I can see why you’re opposed to wearing a coat.”

  “Straitjacket,” he said. “Let’s hope I don’t need to make a quick draw.” He could hardly move his arms, let alone reach for his guns.

  Her eyes softened as she studied him, allowing a glimpse into their very depths. “Thank you for helping me.” He had a feeling she wanted to say more. But after a quick glance around, she fell silent.

  He lowered his head next to hers, and a sweet lilac fragrance filled his head. “Perhaps you can do me a favor,” he said, his voice low. “I’m looking for a man. Don’t know his name. Don’t know what he looks like. All I know is that he’s a stranger in town.”

  “As you can see, Sheriff, we have a whole room full of strangers,” she said.

  “Yes, but this one plans to hang around.”

  “I see.” She tilted her head to the side. “I’m new myself, but I’ll ask the other girls if they know of any recent arrivals.”

  “Appreciate that, ma’am.”

  A blast of the train whistle created a flurry of activity. Passengers grabbed their few belongings and rose from their seats, chair legs scraping the wooden floor. The throng of diners streamed outside, some holding small children by the hand. Soon the buzz of excited voices faded behind the closed door, and only Branch and the restaurant workers remained.

  He peered out the window and watched as all three men pegged as possible Pinkerton detectives boarded the train.

  Blast it. That could mean only one thing. The detective had arrived earlier and was already checked in at the hotel.

  He whirled about and practically bumped into Miss Madison. “Sorry, I have to go,” he said, wiggling out of the coat like a moth from a cocoon.

  “But your pie—”

  “Another time.” He really wanted to stick around if for no other reason than to get to know the pretty waitress better, which struck him as odd. Since his wife’s death he hadn’t really noticed other women. Work, church, and parenting his seven-year-old son took up all his time, and that was how he wanted it. Opening up his heart meant having to accept the possibility of loss again, and that he could never do. Once was enough.

  More than enough.

  He shoved the coat into her hands and, with a doff of his hat, quickly left the restaurant.

  Chapter 5

  That night after the Harvey House was closed for business, Katie ate a late supper with the other three Harvey girls. They sat at a long wooden table set aside for employees just off the kitchen. Tully and Mary-Lou were all atwitter over the restaurant owner’s unexpected visit earlier that day.

  Dubbed Transcontinental Fred, Mr. Harvey had single-handedly made rail travel more bearable by providing fine food and good service for weary Kansas travelers. Rumor had it that he planned to build his train station restaurants all the way to California.

  “He’s so handsome,” the girl named Abigail exclaimed with a sigh. “And so tall.”

  “He’s also terribly married,” Tully said.

  “Yes, but don’t you just love the way he speaks?” Mary-Lou imitated his English accent which, given her Southern lilt, was no easy task: “How dare you call them waitresses. I won’t have it. They’re Harvey girls.”

  That brought a round of laughter from the others.

  Katie’s interest in the man was strictly out of curiosity. Most of the renowned people she’d had occasion to meet were bank robbers, counterfeiters, or con artists, not legitimate businessmen like Mr. Harvey. So that alone made him a novelty.

  After the evening meal had been cleared away, the stations left spotless, and the tables set for breakfast, the Harvey girls clambered upstairs to their rooms.

  Never had Katie known such luxurious surroundings. Her job as a detective required her to spend much of her time in cheesy, flea-ridden hotels. The last one she’d stayed in caught fire in the middle of the night, obliging her to stand outside in her nightclothes while the two-story building burned to the ground, taking her few belongings with it.

  But the room she shared with Mary-Lou was fit for a queen. It was decorated with floral wallpaper, lush wine-red carpet, brocaded draperies, and fine oak furniture. Each of them had their own beds with thick mattresses, soft pillows, and satiny quilts.

  She threw herself facedown on the bed, letting her feet dangle over the end, and it felt like she had landed on a cloud. “Whoopee!”

  Mary-Lou laughed. “You’ll never be able to sleep in a regular bed again.”

  Katie turned on her side. Leaning on her elbow, she rested her head on her hand. Recalling the demise of the young woman who had formerly occupied this very bed, she quickly apologized.

  “I’m sorry. How thoughtless of me.” No visual reminders of Mary-Lou’s previous roommate remained, but somehow her presence could be felt. Probably because Katie had committed to memory the Pinkerton file on the latest victim. The woman was only nineteen, which made her death seem all the more tragic.

  Facing the mirror, Mary-Lou drew the hairbrush through her hair. She wore a white linen nightgown that reached all the way to her bare toes, and her long brunette tresses hung to her waist in lush waves.

  What Katie wouldn’t give to have hair the color of Mary-Lou’s. She would even settle for her roommate’s smooth, creamy complexion that knew no freckles. Or even her delicately shaped mouth and perfect teeth. Katie felt an unwelcomed surge of envy.

  The Bible warned against such feelings as it indicated a lack of gratitude and appreciation for how God had made her, but she couldn’t help herself. Would it have ruined some divine plan if God had given her, say, blond hair or brown?

  Irritated by such distracting thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on the reason she had been sent to the Harvey House, which wasn’t to feel sorry for herself.

  “You must miss your former roommate,” she said.

  “I miss her something awful.” Mary-Lou worked the brush through the length of her hair. “She was like a sister to me.”

  It was the opening Katie had hoped for. “Do you know who would have done such an awful thing?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Mary-Lou set her hairbrush down on the dressing ta
ble and turned. “Everyone liked her.”

  “What about the other woman, Priscilla? Did everyone like her, too?”

  “Oh yes. She was one of the nicest people you’d ever hope to meet.”

  It wasn’t what Katie wanted to hear. Nothing she hated more than a well-liked murder victim with no enemies. And here she had two. It made her job that much more difficult.

  She let the silence stretch between them before asking the next question. Show too much curiosity and she could blow her cover. “Did Ginger have a beau?”

  Husbands and beaus were always suspects in such murder cases—often for good reason.

  Mary-Lou finished braiding her hair into a single plait before answering. “She took a fancy to a local railroad worker. His name is Charley. She wanted to marry him but, of course, we Harvey girls aren’t allowed to wed.”

  After a moment she continued. “They were saving up enough money so she could quit her job.” She sighed. “He waited for her outside every Friday night after lights were out. Ginger would sneak out to be with him.”

  Katie stiffened. “Sneak out? You can do that?”

  “Sneaking out isn’t the problem. Sneaking back in is. She bribed one of the cooks into letting her borrow his key.”

  Katie made a mental note of this information. That explained why the bodies were found outside the house. That had puzzled her at first, mainly because the house was supposedly locked up tight as a fiddle at night and the girls not allowed out past curfew.

  Her investigation now became more complicated because it meant that the killer could be an outsider and not a Harvey House employee as originally thought.

  “Her beau must have taken her death hard.”

  “Hard doesn’t begin to describe it.” Mary-Lou reached for a blue ribbon and wrapped it around the end of her braid. “Poor man. He wept like a baby at her funeral. He still waits for her at night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mary-Lou tied the ribbon in a bow and tossed the braid over her shoulder. “Every once in a while I see him standing under the lamppost after curfew watching the house. It’s as if he still expects her to join him.”