Emily nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. That was my primary interest. My father and his female companion were killed there. I want to investigate the murders and learn everything I can about them. And of course, there is no such thing as ghosts.” She retrieved her notebook from her bag, pushing Dr. Watson’s curious head back down again. “Now, you can probably help me. I was going to wait until I got to town to start interrogations, but as they say, there’s no time like the present.”
The preacher choked down a laugh, while the other passengers appeared shocked. As the stagecoach rumbled into Denver, everyone was silent, and Emily quickly recorded her observations. She was satisfied with the women, the businessman afforded little data, and the cowboy was simply a cowboy. It soon became apparent that her most interesting suspect was Thomas Hall. He had gunpowder stains on his hands, smelled nothing like Father Murphy from Boston (who always seemed to carry the odors of incense and wine), and was physically more compelling than any man she’d ever met. She was almost tempted to hold up the glass again. He was very handsome and likable, but she couldn’t let that interfere with her investigation of him or admit that her interest was in anything other than the case at hand. For as every great detective knew, emotion was deadly to logic. Thomas Hall was simply an element that warranted further scrutiny.
The stagecoach finally stopped in the center of town. Thomas waited as the passengers moved reverently aside to allow him to pass first. Outside, a cowboy, obviously more than a little worse for drink, tipped his hat politely, his eye marking the white collar of Thomas’s black shirt and the Bible he held. An elderly businessman dressed in a good wool suit nodded cordially, while a young woman passing by blushed and hid her face behind a lace kerchief.
Thomas accepted their deference with a forced smile. He helped the others disembark from the coach, wishing to God that he could go into the saloon and have a shot of whiskey to warm his bones. But now he was supposed to be the preacher,
Thomas Hall, and he couldn’t afford any missteps. Especially in front of Emily Potter.
She appeared at the stagecoach door almost as soon as he formed the thought, one hand clutching the bag with the cat in it, in her other hand a book. He smiled to himself as he recalled her antics with the magnifying glass. The women on the coach had been close to starting a mutiny, but Emily had seemed oblivious to everything but her own objectives. He had to admire the way she’d handled those women, and her obvious intelligence, but there was an undeniable naïveté about her. God only knew what she would have said to the businessman if given the chance. He reminded himself to be careful around her, for Emily was no fool. In spite of his own good sense, Thomas found himself admiring her.
The object of his thoughts was looking around as if to get her bearings. This time he surreptitiously subjected Emily to as thorough an appraisal as she’d given him. Prim and proper, dressed in a simple dove gray dress with purple plush at the sleeves, a pretty veiled bonnet trimmed with feathers, and suede gloves, she was the epitome of a spinster, a women determined to be alone. In spite of himself, he tried to do what she had done by examining her sleeves and boots, but they revealed nothing to him. Instead, as she bent over to pick up her case, his eyes wandered over her figure, which hinted at being magnificent. She straightened, and he noticed that her face held a promise of beauty, her chestnut hair was splendid, and her mouth was downright kissable. There was a vulnerability about her, a sensitivity to life that he’d already sensed from their brief exchange.
Thomas’s thoughts drifted back to the innocent brush of their fingers when he handed her the cat, and her firm hand-clasp when her formally introduced himself. A hot rush of sensation had swept through him at the simple contact, a sensuality so compelling that it momentarily caught him off guard. He couldn’t remember ever touching a woman who evoked that kind of emotion so quickly. Her reaction told him he wasn’t imagining it, that she had felt the same thing and was just as confused.
He continued to smile, but the warmth had gone out of him. Emily Potter might enjoy mysteries, but she had no idea about the one she was about to walk into. Nor that he, the Reverend Thomas Hall, would play a major role in the plot.
Moonlight on Monterey Bay Page 21
