by Carol Cox
She nodded demurely and kept her face turned steadfastly ahead while she sauntered past, watching the man from the corner of her eye. He didn’t utter another sound, but he studied every swaying movement as she passed. She touched her fingertips to her lips to hide the smile she couldn’t quite contain. Success! It was only the first reaction from an adult male to Jessie’s initial appearance in town, but it was every bit as gratifying as she’d hoped. So far, so good.
In case he might still be watching, she slowed and studied the signs that hung out over the boardwalk, as if looking for a particular establishment. Two doors down, she turned in at the telegraph office and walked up to the counter.
“Be with you in a minute.” Amos Crawford didn’t look up as he finished writing a message and handed it to a waiting boy. “Get that to the marshal on the double. And I don’t want to hear about you takin’ time to stop in the mercantile to buy candy on your way—you hear?”
When the youth scurried out the door, the telegrapher turned back to Ellie. At the sight of her, his eyes bulged like a frog’s, and his jaw sagged in a most satisfactory manner. Ellie counted a full fifteen seconds before he recovered enough to speak. “Good . . . morning, miss. Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I . . . do for you?”
“I’d like to send a telegram, please.” She gave the bedazzled man a pert wink and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
Without a word, he pushed a form and a pencil across the counter, never taking his eyes off her.
Ellie suppressed a desire to burst into giggles at his awestruck expression. “Thank you. I need to let my family know I’ve arrived safely.”
Amos Crawford tilted his head to one side. “But the stage doesn’t get in until this afternoon. Where’d you come from?”
A sudden attack of stage fright set Ellie’s heart to fluttering, but she commanded herself to exude confidence. Half the battle in being a successful actress was won by making the audience believe the actress was the character she portrayed. In order to do that, she had to believe it herself.
She gave her ringlets a toss. “I didn’t come on the stage. I arrived yesterday with some people I’ve been staying with. They were kind enough to make a slight detour to drop me off on their way to catch the train.” She held her breath, hoping that version matched the one she’d given him earlier. When he showed no surprise, just nodded his head, she allowed herself to relax again.
Taking the stubby pencil, she wrote down the message she had memorized the night before, a dual-purpose wording that would let the town know of Jessie’s arrival and hopefully relieve some of the concerns Fleming and Gates were surely feeling:
Arrived safely. Aunt Lavinia doing well. Looking forward to exploring and meeting new people.
Jessie
There—that should do the trick.
Amos twisted his head to one side in a way that made Ellie feel certain he had plenty of practice reading upside down. His eyes grew round, and a broad grin split his face. “You’re Miz Lavinia’s niece!”
“That’s right.” Ellie held back a triumphant grin. Her ploy had worked.
“Did you have a good visit with those friends of yours?”
This time, Ellie couldn’t repress her smile. Yet another evidence of the telegrapher staying on top of all the local gossip.
“I should have known it was you,” he went on. “You’re the spittin’ image of your aunt.”
“I suppose there is a certain family resemblance.” Ellie spoke the words casually enough, but inside she wasn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned. Was her disguise so transparent?
“Your eyes are the exact same color as hers,” Amos went on. “I’ll bet she looked just like you when she was your age.”
Ellie took in his dreamy tone and his calf-eyed stare. Who would have thought it? After expecting Jessie to get all the male attention, it seemed Lavinia was the first one with a potential suitor. How funny it would be if the widow Stewart wound up with a line of admirers at her door. Then again . . .
The thought of such a thing actually happening wiped away any trace of amusement. She fervently hoped that wouldn’t be the case. It would only add further complications to an already tangled situation.
She slanted a playful look at him. “Why, thank you for saying so. I’ve always admired Aunt Lavinia’s eyes.”
As she turned to leave, the telegrapher cleared his throat. “Be sure to tell your aunt hello for me.”
Ellie turned right and strolled east down Grant Street, trying to look the part of a newcomer exploring the town. She slowed to admire a high-crowned hat in the dressmaker’s window. Sumptuously trimmed with flowers and imitation cherries, it would look striking on Jessie, the deep green ribbon offering a perfect contrast to her red-gold hair. If she’d had resources of her own, she would have marched into the store and bought it on the spot, but the money allotted her by the Pinkertons was meant for necessities, not fripperies. She could just imagine Gates’s expression if he knew she was even thinking about such an indulgence.
With a longing look at the lovely confection, she set off again, nodding to other shoppers as they passed.
A tall figure in a black frock coat and red brocade vest made his way along the boardwalk, coming from the direction of the saloon district. Ellie caught her breath when she recognized Marshal Everett Bascomb. He had looked through Lavinia as though she were invisible, but today Ellie was dressed as Jessie. Would she be able to catch his attention now?
His gold watch chain glittered against the deep red brocade as he drew nearer. Several of the people along the boardwalk scooted to one side, giving him a wide berth as he walked past.
Think! There had to be some way she could draw him into a conversation.
Her heart beat faster as he got closer. If she didn’t make a move soon, she would lose this opportunity, and who knew when another might come along? It was now or never.
The marshal tipped his broad-brimmed black felt hat as he approached. Ellie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Her heart sank, knowing she had bungled her chance. In a few more strides, he would be beyond her.
Just as he passed, he swept a cursory glance over her face. His steady gait faltered, and he stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and stared like a poleaxed steer.
Ellie composed her features so as not to let any look of recognition betray her. Jessie hadn’t encountered the lawman before. Instead, she fluttered her lashes as she’d seen Magdalena do and let her gaze fall to the street. From the edge of her vision, she could see him sweep off the hat and make a gallant bow.
“Forgive me for staring, ma’am. I thought I knew all the pretty girls in Pickford, but I don’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”
Hoping he didn’t sense her nervousness, Ellie raised her eyes and stared directly into his. She curved her lips into a cheeky grin. “No, I’ve only just arrived. I’m staying with my aunt, Mrs. Stewart.”
He showed no sign of recognizing the name, but his dark eyes glinted when their gazes met. He stroked one side of his neatly trimmed mustache with his forefinger. “I’m Everett Bascomb, the town marshal.” He paused for a moment as if giving her time to be suitably impressed.
Ellie tilted her head and gave him an appraising glance before offering her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Marshal. My name is Jessie Monroe.”
Bascomb held her fingers several seconds longer than necessary, and Ellie felt gooseflesh prickle up her arm. She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could, resisting the urge to wipe her fingers on her skirt.
He reminded her of a second-rate character actor who toured with Magdalena early in her career—as free with his hands as he was with his compliments. Even the stagehands had seen through him quickly enough. One of them pulled Ellie aside during one of the first stops on the tour. “You watch out for yourself around that one. He’s the kind who’d smile at you while he’s stealing the gold out of your teeth.”
Mars
hal Everett Bascomb struck her in exactly the same way.
He settled the hat back on his head and swept his arm in a wide arc that encompassed the length of Grant Street. “Why don’t I show you around my town? I’d be happy to do all I can to make such a lovely newcomer feel welcome.”
“What a wonderful idea. I was just on my way to”—Ellie looked around, seeking inspiration, and spotted the large storefront across the street—“the mercantile. I promised to make a couple of purchases for my aunt.”
“Then at least let me escort you that far.” Without waiting for her to agree, Bascomb captured her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
Ellie did her best not to flinch at the renewed contact. She gave his arm a squeeze and followed his lead as he stepped down into the dusty street.
“Where do you hail from, Miss Monroe?”
“Chicago.” Ellie fought the urge to pull away and kept her lips fixed in an inviting smile. There was absolutely no need for him to lean that close to ask the question.
Bascomb wrapped his fingers more closely around hers. “You must find our Arizona climate a welcome change. The winters get pretty cold back there, don’t they?”
“You have no idea.” Just the memory of the frigid temperatures she’d left behind made Ellie shiver. Or was it Bascomb’s nearness that brought that reaction?
Just before they reached the mercantile, he halted as though struck by a sudden idea. “Would you join me for a slice of pie?” He indicated the restaurant on the opposite end of the block. “Their cook makes a mighty fine peach pie, even if he has to use dried peaches this time of year.” He bent his head lower and murmured, “I really am enjoying this conversation. I’d like to extend it a bit so I can get to know you better.”
“I’d love to. My errands can wait a little longer.” Ellie forced a show of enthusiasm. Here was the opportunity she’d been looking for. She couldn’t shirk her duty now.
Despite her best efforts, her attempts at drawing the lawman out on the subject of the silver thefts seemed destined to fail from the start. No matter what line of conversation she pursued, he managed to turn it back to himself and his successful reign as marshal. Before she had finished half her slice of pie, Ellie was ready to scream in frustration. She knotted her left hand into a fist under her napkin and forked another bite of the dried-peach pie into her mouth.
“That’s a fascinating story,” she said when he paused long enough to take a breath during his glowing account of breaking up a fight at the Palace. She shot a quick glance up at the ceiling as the words left her lips, glad to see the rafters remained in place and no lightning bolts rained down out of the blue after she told such a whopper.
Bascomb’s dark gaze bored into hers in far too intimate a way. “I’m glad you think so. It’s nice to know someone appreciates my efforts to keep the peace in Pickford.”
Ellie choked on her pie and took a quick swallow of water to help wash it down. Leaning forward, she stared at him with what she hoped he would take as rapt admiration. “You’ve been so generous in showing me the town. I wonder if you might be able to answer a question or two.”
His eyes gleamed. “Of course.”
“Is it safe for a woman to walk the streets in Pickford alone? My aunt tells me there have been a number of robberies recently—something about silver, I believe. I’m eager to experience every bit of the West that I can, but I must confess, stories like that make me rather nervous.”
Bascomb’s face tightened. Then a smile stretched his lips, and he reached over to pat her right hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. It has nothing to do with decent folks like you and your aunt. I’m sure you will never cross paths with those lawbreakers, so you have no reason to fret.”
Ellie slid her fingers free and drew her hand back to the edge of the table. “Perhaps you’re right. But who would do such a terrible thing? I’ll feel much better once you’ve apprehended the criminals. Do you have any idea who they are?”
For a brief moment, his lips twisted as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “I’ve been tracking down every lead I come across, but I haven’t closed in on them yet. But it’s nothing for you to be concerned about. It’s only a matter of time until I have them behind bars.”
Ellie studied his face closely. Did that flicker of emotion signal anger at not being able to catch the thieves, or was it meant to mask his complicity with them? Whatever the reason, the shuttered look in his eyes told her his guard was up. She wasn’t likely to gain any more information from him at present, and the realization that she could bring their conversation to an end brought an inexpressible sense of relief.
She pushed her chair away from the table and folded her napkin beside her plate. “Thank you for the pie and the conversation, Marshal. I feel I know Pickford much better after talking to you.”
His self-satisfied expression was back in place. “It was my pleasure, dear lady. I’ll make certain this won’t be the last conversation we have.”
Ellie fluttered her eyelashes and parted her lips in a smile, grateful he didn’t seem to realize how she cringed at the thought of having to spend any more time with him.
They parted company at the door, and Ellie strolled into the mercantile alone. She browsed the shelves for a few minutes before purchasing two cans of pork and beans, and some crackers—items she didn’t really need. Back outside, she tapped her toe on the boardwalk and eyed the buildings at the east end of town.
She longed to explore the blocks that stretched between her and the saloon district, but she’d told the marshal she needed to take her purchases back home to her aunt. She’d better follow through on that and return to the house, in case he might be watching.
Ellie blew out a puff of frustration strong enough to stir the curls at her brow. Up to that moment, she’d never considered the difficulty of working without a script . . . especially when she didn’t know where her audience was located.
She opened her lace-trimmed parasol to keep the noonday sun out of her eyes and started west. Before she had taken a dozen steps, she heard a voice calling her name and turned to see Amos Crawford trotting across the street, a piece of paper in his hand.
“Glad . . . I spotted you,” he puffed. “This just came in.” He handed the paper to Ellie.
GLAD ALL IS WELL STOP EAGER TO HEAR YOUR IMPRESSIONS OF PICKFORD AND ANY OPPORTUNITIES YOU AND LAVINIA TURN UP STOP
COUSIN HENRY
Relief flooded through Ellie. Her message seemed to have done the trick of giving the impression she and Norma were working together as planned. A prick of guilt stabbed her, but she pushed it away. Nowhere had she directly said Norma was on the job with her, and it wouldn’t hurt for Fleming and Gates to assume so for the time being. The truth would come out soon enough—surely Norma would be contacting the office eventually. In the meantime, it gave her a little more time to continue the investigation and prove her worth.
She spied a dark-coated figure a block farther along Fourth Street. Everett Bascomb touched the brim of his hat and began walking her way. Ellie spun on her heel and set off toward her house as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. The peach pie had whetted her appetite. She might as well make the most of the disruption of her plans and have some lunch.
A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that Bascomb had given up and turned his steps in another direction. Remembering the feel of his fingers on her hand and the possessive way he’d bent over her, she quickened her steps even more. Suddenly the thought of a hot bath that would let her scrub away every vestige of his touch appealed to her even more than the midday meal.
12
After a brisk scrubbing followed by a hot lunch, Ellie took to the streets again, this time decked out as Lavinia. Despite the mounting pressure to acquire some useful information before the Pinkertons started asking more questions, she didn’t want to take a chance on Jessie encountering Marshal Bascomb twice in one day. Once was more than enough.
&nbs
p; Brent Howard nodded a greeting when she passed the stage depot, but he didn’t stare at her with the interest he’d shown Jessie. Mindful of the admiration Lavinia inspired in Amos Crawford, she hurried past the telegraph office and finally reached the spot where her earlier exploration had been cut short by meeting the marshal.
What next? Her gaze traveled longingly to the east end of town. As Lavinia, she didn’t dare cross Seventh Street and enter the saloon district, but getting acquainted with some of the denizens of the seamier part of town might be exactly what was needed to get the information she sought.
Ellie tapped her finger against her cheek. How close could she get without actually crossing the line of demarcation? She surveyed the buildings that sat closest to the invisible boundary where respectability ended and smiled when she spotted the bank on the corner of Sixth Street.
Situated on the reputable side of town, the bank was still near enough to Seventh Street for the gambling halls and saloons to do business there. It would make perfect sense for Lavinia to lay out her investment plans before the banker and ask the advice of someone who knew the area and its people well. Having connections with people on both sides of town, the banker might make an excellent source of information, if she couched her questions discreetly enough.
She took a firmer grip on her reticule. Yes, the bank would do nicely. She quickened her steps and hurried along, intent on her task. As she neared Fifth Street, she heard a voice hail her. Ellie winced, wondering if Amos Crawford had spotted her after all. Relief spread through her when she looked up to find the desk clerk smiling at her from the doorway of the Grand Hotel.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Stewart. It’s nice to see you out and about this fine day.”
Ellie bobbed her head, barely slowing her pace.
“My wife is just getting ready to have some tea. I wonder if you’d like to sit for a while and join her.”
His wife? She hadn’t seen any sign of a woman’s presence during her earlier visit. Curiosity warred with frustration at having her plans derailed yet again. After a brief struggle, curiosity won out. “Why, I suppose I could.” The man’s grateful smile made her decision easy. “Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”
