Calico Spy

by Margaret Brownley

  During the afternoon lull Katie slipped outside. She found a shady spot next to the building where she couldn’t be seen and opened the file.

  Handwritten notes contained details about the crime scene, the bodies, and timeline. Whitman’s masculine writing was large and bold and easy to read. A list of people interviewed was included, along with notations of significant information. All restaurant workers had been questioned, even some who no longer worked there. Local diners had also been queried. So had the guests who attended the party where Priscilla played the piano.

  Missing from the information was his personal relationship with Ginger. Mary-Lou told her the two were on friendly terms and that Ginger often took supper to his office. Was there more to it than that?

  His records were precise but contained nothing she didn’t already know, and that worried her. Providing pointless, useless, or false information was an old spy tactic and one she’d used herself on occasion in an effort to earn someone’s trust. Was that what Whitman had done?

  She didn’t want to think it, but he’d made it clear from the start that he had no intention of working with a Pinkerton operative. Then all of a sudden he handed her his file. She had every right to be suspicious.

  The smile spotted on his face earlier might have had a more sinister meaning. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in disregarding him as a suspect.

  She tucked the file behind her apron and returned to the restaurant. Sometimes she hated her job….

  Chapter 20

  As Katie got ready for bed that night, she found a note pinned to her pillow. The note read simply I no who did it.

  Katie glanced across the room. Luckily Mary-Lou was so intent on counting brushstrokes, she didn’t notice the note. Not a day went by that her roommate didn’t give her hair the recommended hundred strokes. “Forty-five, forty-six…”

  Katie focused her attention back on the note. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to cut words out of a newspaper. That meant that same someone hadn’t wanted to take a chance on being identified through handwriting.

  That took the Harvey girls off the hook. They weren’t allowed to write down orders, so the likeliness of her recognizing any of their handwriting was remote.

  Chef Gassy jotted down everything in French, but his chicken scrawl would be recognizable even in English. The loudmouthed man hardly seemed like the type to sneak around. Even in her room she could track his every move by the banging of pots and pans or his raised voice from the floor below. Still, she couldn’t discount him.

  Nor could she discount Culpepper, who signed checks in block letters rather than Spencerian script, the standard writing style taught in schools.

  The misspelled word suggested he or she had little education, but then that was true for almost everyone who worked there. Or possibly the note writer hadn’t been able to find the word know. On the other hand, maybe the misspelled word was a deliberate attempt to confuse matters.

  Who could have left such a note? And why? Had someone seen through her disguise? But how? And more important, who?

  Still pondering these questions an hour later, she stared out the window of the dark room. She envied Mary-Lou’s ability to fall asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. Katie couldn’t have asked for a more accommodating roommate.

  She was so deep in thought she almost missed the movement below her window. Someone was sneaking around the building.

  The white ghostlike image wasn’t Charley, that was for sure.

  She pulled off her nightgown and quickly dressed in a skirt and shirtwaist kept handy for just such an emergency.

  The door squeaked as she opened it, but Mary-Lou didn’t move. Closing the door softly, Katie hurried along the hall and down the stairs. The kitchen was quiet, but not wanting to take a chance that someone might see her, she walked through the breakfast room and grabbed a spoon off one of the tables.

  After unlocking the main entrance, she stepped outside. Spook Cat greeted her with a mew and rubbed against her skirt as she stooped to insert the spoon in the threshold.

  Earlier she’d set out a bowl of milk, and the tom had lapped it up hungrily. Now, seeing that she had no such treat, he soon lost interest and strutted away with what seemed to Katie a disgusted grunt.

  “Ha. So that’s how you are?” she muttered. “Ingrate!”

  Straightening, she glanced up and down the platform. The steel tracks gleamed in the moonlight like two knife blades coming to a point in the distance. The thought made her shudder. She pulled the door shut, and just as she’d hoped, the spoon kept it from closing all the way.

  She pulled out her gun before walking the distance to the side of the building. The lingering smell of food grew stronger as she made her way along the alley. The yellow glow of a full moon poured down the side of the Harvey House like melted butter.

  Since working at the restaurant, everything seemed to have taken on a food-like quality.

  The night air felt cool. Tugging the shawl tight around her shoulders with one hand, she held her gun with the other. Just as she reached the corner of the building an ironlike clamp encased her arm.

  Startled, she cried out.

  “Shh. Do you want to wake the dead?”

  She recognized the hushed masculine voice at once. “Sheriff!” She yanked her hand away from his. “You near scared the life out of me.”

  “Yeah, well try being on the business end of a gun.” He pushed the barrel of her derringer sideways.

  She pocketed her weapon but was reluctant to release her hold. Better keep up her guard until she knew the name of his game.

  The brim of his hat shaded all but his mouth, which he held in a straight line. He looked dangerous, all right, in a masculine sort of way. He was, in fact, the most attractive man she’d ever met, which did nothing for her peace of mind and even less for her investigation.

  “What do I have to do to convince you to stay inside at night?” His voice sounded like gravel in her ear. “You’re putting your life on the line.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked first, but if you must know, there was some trouble in town. I was on my way home when I saw someone sneaking around. Thought I’d better check it out. I should have known it was you.”

  “It wasn’t me. I saw someone, too.” She released her gun and pulled her hand out of her pocket. “From the bedroom window.”

  The heat of his body warded off the chill, and she loosened her wrap.

  “It’s kind of late to be window watching, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “I was going over some things. Like the file you gave me.”

  “You mean the file you stole from me.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Does that mean you agree to my terms?”

  She gave him an arched look. “What terms are those?”

  “I don’t want you running around at night by yourself.”

  “Is that a command or request, Sheriff?”

  “It’s an order,” he said, and before she could object he added, “And we can drop the formalities. From now on you can call me Branch.”

  “Branch, huh? Never knew anyone by that name.” Oddly enough it suited him. He was certainly sturdy as a tree, and his presence every bit as commanding.

  “I guess that makes me one of a kind. What do I call you?”

  “Katie,” she said.

  “Is that your real name?”

  Still not 100 percent certain she could trust him, she hesitated. “My real name is Katherine Jones.”

  “Madison suits you better. Jones is too ordinary.” Was that a compliment? She couldn’t begin to guess, and she wasn’t about to ask.

  “So what have you found out so far?” He had dropped his harsh tone, and his low voice was a pleasant rumble in her ear. A whiff of bay rum hair tonic tickled her nose—a vast improvement over the stale cooking odors still lingering in the night air.

  Considering that she’d only been in town a short while, the question was a bit pr
emature. “Not much,” she said softly. She decided to keep the mysterious note found on her pillow to herself, at least for now.

  “I’m not even certain that the killer is an insider.” She paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction, and when none came, continued. “One of the workers told me that some people object to the restaurant. It’s possible that someone is trying to put the Harvey House out of business.” According to a brief sentence in the Gazette, business at the restaurant had declined following both deaths.

  “Anything’s possible,” he said. “But I’ve pretty much reached a dead end in that regard.”

  He sounded discouraged and frustrated, but it could be an act to find out if she was holding anything back.

  “Abigail told me that Ginger behaved in an odd manner on the day of her death.”

  She felt him stiffen. “In what way?”

  “She asked to change stations and seemed worried. Maybe even scared.”

  “Hmm. Haven’t heard that before.”

  “See? There is an advantage to working with a female detective.” She expected him to object, but instead he surprised her with a chuckle.

  “I’m sure you feel the same about working with me,” he said.

  “It has its good points,” she admitted. Especially since she liked to keep her suspects where she could keep an eye on them. “Anything I should know about the murder weapon?”

  “Only that the same knife was used on both women, and it didn’t match the knives in the kitchen.”

  That would have been her next question.

  He started to say something more but instead grabbed her by the arms. “Shh.”

  Startled, she fought to keep her composure. He was so close that if either of them moved she feared an even more intimate touch. Holding herself perfectly still was the only sane solution.

  His fingers pressed into her flesh, and his warm, sweet breath fanned her face. Her nose edged higher as did the proximity of her lips to his. She could feel the power and strength of him, and that seemed to present more of a problem for her than the intruder. A gun would handle any outside danger, but she didn’t know what to do about her wildly beating heart.

  “Can you see who it is?” he whispered.

  Who what is?

  The jingling of keys snapped her back to reality. Someone was heading their way. The moon was practically overhead, leaving only a small dark spot in which to hide.

  He pressed closer, and for a split second she imagined his lips in her hair. Her breath caught, and she didn’t dare exhale for fear of bridging what little space remained between them.

  The footsteps grew louder, and a white, shadowy figure emerged. At first Katie thought she saw a ghost but then recognized the dorm matron. Oddly enough, Miss Thatcher was wearing—of all things—her nightgown.

  The woman paused in front of the kitchen door that opened from the alley. Could she see them? For a moment Katie feared that their presence was known, but then Miss Thatcher pushed against the door and vanished inside. The door shut with a soft clicking sound, but not before Spook Cat slithered inside. Aha! So that’s how the tom gained entrance. At least one mystery had been solved.

  “That was close,” Branch whispered into her hair. He released her arms but made no effort to move away.

  His nearness was doing strange things to her. Never could she remember standing next to a man without wishing she were someone else—someone smarter, prettier, and less clumsy. Crazy as it seemed, tonight she imagined she was all those things and so much more.

  “What do you suppose Miss Thatcher was doing out this late?” she whispered.

  “Maybe she has a lover.”

  The thought of the pinched-face spinster having a beau was hard to imagine, but in the silvery moonlight, anything seemed possible.

  “What do you know about her?” she asked.

  “Only that she started work about a year ago,” he said. He backed up just far enough that his head was now out of the shadows.

  She stared up at him. Had she only imagined his lips brushing against her hair? Just the thought made her knees threaten to buckle. “I’ll see if I can find out anything more,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  He studied her a moment but she couldn’t read his expression. “You better get some shut-eye,” he said. “We both should.”

  Nodding, she said good night. Anxious to make her escape, she ran up the alley and around the corner of the building. The gaslight in front of the railroad station lit the way. Reaching the main entrance, she removed the spoon and slipped inside.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark and even longer for her to catch her breath. She couldn’t decide what disconcerted her more: seeing Miss Thatcher outside in her nightgown or the thought of working with Branch.

  At last she made her way to the dining room exit. Reaching the stairs, she paused at the bottom to listen. The only sound she could hear was the thump-thump-thumping of her still-pounding heart.

  Chapter 21

  The note was very much on Katie’s mind the next morning as she prepared her station for the breakfast rush. That and the unexpected encounter with Branch the night before.

  Irritated by the way he kept intruding upon her thoughts, she forced herself to focus on Miss Thatcher. What was she doing out that late at night? In her nightgown, no less.

  None of the other girls knew much about her or her background. According to Mary-Lou, Miss Thatcher took over the job from a Miss Jenkins who left the house to wed.

  “She takes her responsibilities seriously and seldom leaves the premises,” Mary-Lou said as they stood waiting for the gong to sound that morning. “She only leaves to go to church Sunday mornings.”

  “Does she have family in town?” Katie asked.

  “None that I know of.” Mary-Lou gave her a questioning look. “Why so interested in Miss Thatcher all of a sudden?”

  “No particular reason.”

  She studied her roommate. Did Mary-Lou leave the puzzling message on her pillow? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Not at this stage of the investigation. She couldn’t even trust Branch, which is why she didn’t tell him about the note. Pinkerton policy—trust no one until verification—had proven to be worthy advice in the past, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

  After the breakfast locals left, Katie ran upstairs to put on a fresh apron for the train crowd. The door to the dorm matron’s room was ajar, and she paused in front of it.

  Just as she reached for the knob, the door suddenly flew open and Miss Thatcher stared at her like one might regard an unwelcome salesman.

  “Do you want something?”

  “No, I… uh… saw your door ajar and was just about to close it.”

  “As you can see, I’m quite capable of closing my own door.” She stepped into the hall and shut the door after her to illustrate. “Run along now.” She waved her hand like a harried parent chasing off a demanding child. “I’m sure you have work to do.”

  Katie nodded and scurried down the hall. Before entering her own room she glanced over her shoulder. The dorm matron hadn’t moved and was watching her like a hawk spying a mouse.

  That night Katie sat quietly in the dark breakfast room and waited.

  Her seat gave her ample cover while still allowing a full view of the hall and stairs. She couldn’t see the clock but guessed it was close to midnight. A single gaslight in the kitchen was still lit, but the employees had left for the day.

  Maybe Miss Thatcher wouldn’t leave the house tonight. Katie decided to give her another half hour or so to make an appearance—no more. Waitressing was hard work, and if she didn’t get some sleep she’d be dead on her feet in the morning during the breakfast rush. Pickens was already on her case for yawning during lunch.

  The minutes passed slowly. Shadowing was a big part of her job, and the chore she least liked. On rare occasions it paid off handsomely, like the time a suspect led her to a warehouse of stolen art. But most
ly surveillance resulted in hours of boredom and little else.

  She’d just about given up the wait when a creak of a floorboard alerted her. Someone was coming down the stairs.

  The soft jingle of keys told her it was Miss Thatcher, though she couldn’t see more than a shadowy form pass by the breakfast room entrance. A flash of filmy white indicated the dorm matron had entered the dining room and was probably heading for the kitchen.

  Katie draped her blue knitted shawl over her head. Her blue skirt and shirtwaist provided the perfect combination for shadowing. Black was not a natural color in nature and stood out in the dark of night. Blue was much more suited for her purposes.

  Opening the glass door leading outside, she placed a spoon in the frame. There was no sign of Spook Cat tonight, but a still-full moon bathed the landscape in silvery light and glinted off the railroad tracks.

  Earlier she thought she heard gunshots in town, but now all was quiet.

  The bright light was both a blessing and a curse. She could see everything, but then so could anyone else who might happen to be lurking around. Just don’t let me bump into the sheriff again. Tonight she needed to keep her wits about her—impossible to do whenever he was around.

  Peering around the corner into the alley, she waited until Miss Thatcher had reached the front of the house.

  Walking between the two brick buildings, Katie was careful to stay in the shadow of the baggage room. She paused briefly in the same exact spot that she and Branch stood the previous night. She could almost feel his breath in her hair and the pressure of his hands on her arms. A shiver ran through her. Not good. Not good at all.

  Shaking away the memory, she continued along the length of the alley and spotted Miss Thatcher walking down the middle of the road.