by Carol Cox
Instead of handing it to her, Amos backed into the building, forcing Ellie to follow him inside. Shaping her features into a placid expression, she went in after him, trying not to roll her eyes at his obvious attempt to get her alone. There would be no opportunity to read the communication in private. It was evident the telegrapher wanted the chance to talk it over with her. Either that or he was anxious for more of Lavinia’s charming company. Ellie sighed and scanned the paper when he finally handed it over.
DISTRESSED TO LEARN JESSIE DELAYED STOP IS ALL WELL STOP REPLY POSTHASTE STOP
COUSIN HENRY
Ellie read the message a second time, then a third. To an outsider, the words would sound neutral enough, but she could practically hear the note of panic rising in Gates’s voice.
Amos Crawford cut into her thoughts. “Sounds like your cousin’s a mite concerned about you bein’ out here on your own.”
Ellie nodded absently, her mind still on the flurry of concern her telegram must have stirred up.
“I guess you’ll be wantin’ to send a reply?”
A noncommittal murmur passed Ellie’s lips while her mind churned, trying to muster up a suitable response.
“You can set his mind at ease right now.” Amos circled behind the counter and pulled out a form and a pencil. “Let him know there are plenty of people here who’ll be happy to watch out for you. We aren’t about to let anything happen to a charming lady like yourself.”
Something in his tone pulled Ellie’s attention away from the telegram. Had she detected a flirtatious note in his voice?
As if reading her thoughts, Amos’s face reddened. “Just write out what you want to say.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I’ll throw in a few words for free if you need them.”
Dear heaven, all she needed was a suitor on top of her other concerns. Seizing the pencil, Ellie began to write:
Jessie visiting friends.
That was close to the truth, and surely it would make sense to Gates and Fleming once Norma informed them of her honeymoon.
Don’t worry about me. Doing well, meeting lots of new people.
Lavinia
There. She hoped that would satisfy both her employers and the inquisitive Amos Crawford. Ellie paid the fee and left without further dialogue, to Amos’s obvious disappointment.
Back outside, she prepared to resume her stroll. The station agent stepped out of his office as she passed. He stopped short to avoid a collision. “Mornin’, ma’am. Is that niece of yours going to be showing up soon?”
Ellie raised her eyebrows. Was there anything people didn’t know about one another in this town? The gossip mill in Pickford rivaled anything she had seen in theater circles. Amos had evidently been spreading the news to his buddy. Yet another reason to keep her identity a secret. Once word of her true mission slipped out, everyone in the area would know about it.
She improvised, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not sure about her arrival date. I believe the friends she’s staying with plan to travel to San Diego soon and will drop her off here on their way to the railroad station in Benson.”
“Oh. Well, if she changes her mind and decides to come in on the stage, you let me know. I’ll be sure she’s treated right.”
Ellie gave him a gracious nod and went on her way, struggling to maintain an unruffled exterior while her emotions roiled inside. How was she going to get out of the hole she’d dug herself into by promising Jessie’s arrival?
She had assured Gates she would have no problem taking on the role of Lavinia and had convinced herself the job would be a great chance to prove her acting ability, but she wasn’t in the theater any longer. She had assumed a role, to be sure, and was performing quite well, but this was no play. The story didn’t end when the lights went down and the audience went home. The deception she was involved in had to be carried out continuously, and she must never let herself break character for a moment.
She stood on the corner, racking her brain for a way to explain Jessie’s continued absence. Maybe her imaginary niece could contract some illness during her visit with her friends. Yes, that might be the perfect solution. Which disease would suit her purpose best?
“Good morning, ma’am.”
Shaken from her woolgathering, Ellie looked up at a square-shouldered man in black broadcloth. His hat tipped down low over penetrating dark eyes that seemed to look right through her.
Ellie flinched in spite of herself. Lowering her gaze to avoid his scrutiny, she noticed the silver star pinned to his vest.
“Why, good morning, Sheriff . . . or is it Marshal?”
Thin lips parted, separating a neatly trimmed mustache and narrow goatee. “Marshal Everett Bascomb, at your service. May I help you across the street?”
Ellie nodded and took his arm, thrilled at the opportunity to make the acquaintance of Pickford’s law officer. Mindful of the Pinkertons’ admonition that they couldn’t vouch for the integrity of the local law, she knew she would have to be cautious about what she said to him. But at least this initial meeting would break the ice and allow them to carry on a conversation. She could decide later how best to fish for information from him.
“I only arrived in Pickford yesterday, but I believe I shall enjoy my stay here very much.” Ellie smiled up at him as she had with Steven Pierce the day before, only to find his attention wasn’t focused on her but on a buxom young woman coming out of the mercantile. Ellie cleared her throat and tried again. “It seems a very pleasant town. You evidently do a fine job of keeping the peace.”
“Hmm? Oh yes. We have a number of solid citizens . . . as well as enough of the rougher element to keep me busy.” He spoke to Ellie, but his gaze was still fastened across the street. As if sensing his interest, the attractive brunette looked his way and smiled.
When they reached the opposite side of Grant Street, the lawman helped Ellie step up onto the boardwalk and tipped his hat. “Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Stewart. Lavinia Stewart. I look forward to—” Ellie’s words floated away like the dust motes that hung in the air. The marshal had already covered half the distance between her and his shapely quarry. She watched as he swept off his hat with a courtly bow. The young woman simpered at him, and Bascomb leaned against a lamppost as if settling in for a prolonged conversation.
A group of rough-looking men emerged from an alleyway on the far side of the street. On seeing the marshal, one of them called, “Hey, Bascomb. Over here.”
The marshal turned, a frown creasing his forehead. The other men gestured, waving him over, but Bascomb shook his head and turned back to his coquettish companion.
Undeterred, the men renewed their insistence that he join them.
With far more courtesy than he’d shown Lavinia, Bascomb took his leave of the girl and walked across the street.
Could this have anything to do with the case? As casually as she could, Ellie retraced her steps back across Grant Street and meandered along the storefronts at a leisurely pace. The group of men moved a little farther away, stopping in front of G. F. Lemon’s Furniture Store. One of them turned slightly, and his gaze met Ellie’s. He nudged Bascomb’s elbow and nodded in her direction.
Ellie took three steps forward, then hesitated. She could hardly waltz over to the group and plant herself within listening distance. She strained to hear, but they were too far away for her to make out their words.
What now? She couldn’t stand there gawking at them, obviously trying to eavesdrop. But where to go?
She glanced around and saw the entrance to the Grand Hotel only a few feet away, on the corner of Grant and Fifth. Without a second thought, she headed straight for it and ducked inside.
“Good morning, ma’am. Can I help you?”
Ellie paused, trying to catch her breath and get her bearings in the dimmer light. A stoop-shouldered man stood behind the counter, eyeing her expectantly. She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and fanned
herself with it. “Actually, I was just feeling a bit weary. I was hoping it might be all right to sit for a few moments and catch my breath. Do you mind?”
With a look of concern on his broad face, the man hurried across the lobby to help her into an overstuffed chair near the window. He hovered solicitously while she settled herself into the cushions. “Would you like a glass of water?”
“Thank you. A drink of water would be lovely.” While the desk clerk bustled off on his errand, Ellie drew her first deep breath since being spotted by the rough men outside and looked around at her surroundings. An oak counter stood at the opposite side of the lobby. Two doors, one of which she assumed led to the hotel office, stood behind it. The center of the room was free of furnishings, save for an Oriental rug that covered most of the floor. To one side, a black-and-chrome woodstove gave off a gentle heat. The seating area she occupied filled the space near the broad plate-glass window that faced out on Grant, while a similar arrangement was grouped near the window looking onto Fifth Street.
Ellie’s pulse quickened. The fine lace curtains made it easy for her to see what was happening on the street without being seen herself. If she angled her position just so—she took advantage of the desk clerk’s absence to scoot her chair a few inches to the right—she had a view of both streets. She leaned back against the comfortable cushion and stared at Bascomb and his companions talking earnestly a few yards away. What a perfect observation post. She couldn’t have designed it better herself.
The clerk returned with her water, and Ellie sipped gratefully. “Thank you ever so much. I hate putting you to all that trouble.”
“No trouble at all, ma’am. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m feeling much better now. Would it be all right if I sat here a little longer?”
“Take all the time you need. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” His smile brightened his drooping features. “My name’s Donald Tidwell, by the way. You just let me know if you need anything.”
Ellie smiled back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Tidwell. I’m Lavinia Stewart. I’m pleased to meet you.”
He went back to his work behind the counter, and Ellie continued watching the marshal and his companions. The little group was breaking up, Bascomb heading west while the others moved east toward Seventh Street and the saloons beyond.
Whatever they’d been talking about, she had missed it. Ellie let out an unladylike huff. Why hadn’t she thought to take up her position in the hotel a few minutes earlier? Even though she couldn’t hear their conversation through the glass, she would at least have been able to observe them closely, maybe even read their lips.
“Are you new in town or just passin’ through?” The desk clerk’s voice broke into her reverie. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m newly arrived. I’ve come to Pickford to look into some mining interests.”
The clerk’s lips rounded, and he seemed suitably impressed. Ellie studied him while pretending to dab at her cheek with her handkerchief. With his stooped shoulders and lanky figure, he looked more suited for an office job back east. At least he was friendly, she thought, remembering the clerk in Kansas City.
She peered out onto Grant Street and then looked toward Fifth, but nothing out of the ordinary caught her eye. Ellie gripped the padded arms of the chair and pushed herself upright, ready to take her leave.
What a shame she had missed her opportunity to do an effective job of spying on Bascomb and his group. The setup of the hotel made it a perfect lookout post. If only she had a reason for returning on a regular basis. “Thank you again for your hospitality. That little rest was just what I needed.”
The clerk bobbed his head. “My pleasure, ma’am. My aunt back in Missouri has a bad knee and can’t walk too far at one time. She has to take a breather every so often, just like you. Say, do you want to see something while you’re sitting there?”
Without waiting for Ellie’s reply, the man pulled a short piece of rope from his pocket and held both ends in one hand. “I’m going to tie a knot in the end of this rope, just by snapping it forward.”
Raising his arm as though he was getting ready to crack a whip, he swung his hand down sharply, turning loose of one end of the rope as he did so. When the free end flew forward, Ellie could see that it sported a neatly tied square knot.
She laughed and clapped her hands. “Delightful! I know there’s some sort of trick involved, but I have no idea how it was done.”
The clerk’s face glowed with pleasure. He pulled off his spectacles and polished the round lenses with a cloth he pulled from his pocket. “It’s just a little hobby of mine, ma’am. Glad you liked it. Feel free to come in here any time you’re walking around town and find you need to sit for a spell. I’d be glad to see you again.”
Ellie smiled, trying to hide her elation. “What a thoughtful offer. I expect I’ll take you up on that.” Before she reached the door, it burst open and a man with a weathered face and wearing a black slouch hat brushed past her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he strode straight up to the counter.
“What room is Earl Porter in?”
The clerk grew pale. “He isn’t here.”
The rough-voiced man loomed over the counter, and the clerk backed up several steps. “When he shows up, you tell him I want to see him. He’d better not keep me waiting.” He pivoted on his heel and gave Ellie a penetrating stare, as if noticing her for the first time.
She scuttled out of the lobby as quickly as she could manage. Once she reached the boardwalk, she held herself back to a sedate walk instead of giving in to a desire to hitch up her skirts and race headlong toward Charles Street and the sanctuary of her little home.
What had she gotten herself into? The scene she’d just witnessed, brief as it was, had made her skin crawl. Every adventure from the penny dreadfuls she’d read flashed through her mind. This was the Wild West. She couldn’t treat her job as some sort of lark. People sometimes ended up dead out in the untamed wilderness.
Two blocks from the hotel and its ill-mannered visitor, she stopped and leaned against the front of Levi Jewelers. She needed a few moments to catch her breath and collect her wits. That horrible man’s actions had nothing to do with her. There was no basis for the fear that filled her being.
No one knew who she was or what she was doing in Pickford. She once again blessed the Pinkertons for their admonition not to let anyone know her true identity. As long as she kept up appearances as harmless, nonthreatening Lavinia Stewart, she should be able to continue her investigation unhampered and unharmed.
When her heart settled back into its usual rhythm, she walked on, making a mental note to add the churlish man to her growing list of potential suspects. She supposed she should list the clerk, as well, harmless as he seemed.
At least she had gained one success to her credit, arranging to spend more time at the hotel. She could observe both the clerk and some of the guests up close that way without seeming to take any personal interest in them.
She would keep an eye out for that boorish fellow, too. But she would do that from a distance.
As she mounted the steps to her front porch, Ellie heard the branches of the lilac bush rustle. She cleared her throat, and the rustling subsided. She pulled her key from her reticule and unlocked the front door without further comment, reminding herself to make sure the curtains were drawn tight.
Back in the safety of her snug little house, she bolted the door and closed the curtains, then pulled out her papers and jotted down her morning’s observations while they were still fresh in her mind. With that chore out of the way, she went to her bedroom, where she pulled off her wig, arranged it on the wig stand, and ran her fingers through her hair. After that she removed her spectacles, unwound her leg wrappings, pulled out the wax plumpers, and plopped down on the bed.
For the thousandth time, she wished Norma hadn’t abandoned her. She needed someone to talk to, someone she could confide in and spe
ak her mind clearly to without having to resort to coded messages. She punched the pillow into a mass of fluffy comfort and propped it against the headboard, then settled back against it, trying to imagine what would be happening now if Norma had come out with her as planned. They might be sipping tea over at the table, comparing notes, assessing what they had learned so far, and deciding what to do next.
What would Norma say if she were here? Ellie had no way of knowing, but she felt sure her senior partner would have made significantly better progress than she had so far. People were nice enough to Lavinia, but they hadn’t proven to be founts of information about any nefarious schemes in their midst.
Early afternoon sunlight filtered in through the curtains, throwing the wig and its stand into shadows and creating the illusion that an actual person sat in the room with her. Giving in to the fanciful notion, Ellie tilted her head and addressed the gray wig.
“Lavinia, you’re a dear woman, but you aren’t likely to get into the places and talk to the kinds of people who are going to know more about the seamy side of this town. If Norma was here, I’ll bet she could figure out a way to let Jessie strike up a conversation with people who’d never take a second glance at a respectable woman like you.”
She pushed herself up higher on the pillow. “I hate to say it, but the Pinkertons were right. You’re wonderful as a chaperone, but you’re entirely too respectable to handle Jessie’s part of the job.”
When she squinted, she could almost imagine the wig nodding.
How could she ever have thought she’d be able to carry out the job on her own? People were civil to Lavinia, but the men who might possess the information she needed wouldn’t do more than tip their hat to the gray-haired woman and pass on by. She needed a partner.
