Love in Disguise

by Carol Cox

  Parker scrubbed his hand across his eyes as if to wipe away the memory. “Doc said he’s going to be okay, but he was in quite a state until he learned you’d gotten Myra out safe.”

  “And they’re sure that’s how it started?” Ellie forced the words out past the tears that clogged her throat.

  Parker grunted an affirmation. “That poor woman’s been through so much. God sure was watching out for you, gettin’ you both out safe like that. You ought to stop over at Doc’s and talk to them. I know they’d both like to thank you.”

  Ellie nodded absently, relief at knowing the fire couldn’t be laid at her door mingling with grief for Donald and Myra. A new thought popped into her mind. “They’ve lost their home. Where will they go once they’re back on their feet?”

  He shrugged. “That’s anybody’s guess.” When Ellie frowned, he added, “Donald didn’t own the hotel, he just managed it. The owner lives in Tucson. He’s coming over later in the week to check things out and see if he wants to rebuild. Even if he does, Donald isn’t sure he’ll have a job, once his boss finds out Donald’s negligence was responsible for losing the—”

  His voice trailed off, and his eyes bulged, staring out the window at a point beyond Ellie’s right shoulder.

  She whirled around in her chair in time to see a bareheaded man stagger down the middle of Grant Street. One hand clutched his head, the other gripped a dust-covered slouch hat.

  “That’s the foreman from the Busted Shovel,” Parker said at the same instant Ellie recognized Marvin Long, the man she’d encountered twice in the hotel lobby and once in the alley behind Pickford Hall.

  Without another word, Parker bolted out the door. Ellie fished in her reticule, tossed the payment for her meal on the table, and hurried out to join the small crowd that had already gathered and was shouting questions.

  “What happened?”

  “How bad are you hurt?”

  Long placed a hand to the bloody wound on his head. He swayed but shook off the hands that reached out to steady him. He cast a wild glance around the group of onlookers. “Where’s Mr. Clay? I’ve got to find him.”

  A wide-eyed man pointed down the street. “I saw him go into the smithy a little while ago. I’ll go get him.” He returned moments later with Alfred Clay on his heels.

  “What’s going on?”

  “They got your silver, boss.”

  Ellie sucked in her breath and darted a glance at Alfred Clay, whose face drained of color at the news.

  “What?” The mine owner looked as though his knees might buckle any second.

  “I was comin’ out of the mine when three of ’em jumped me. Someone must have told them you were keeping your bullion in that old side shaft.”

  Ellie felt a hand clutch her elbow and turned to see Gertie standing next to her. “What’s going on?” the older woman panted.

  “Someone just robbed one of the mines.” Ellie kept her answer brief and turned her attention back to the scene playing out before them.

  Beside her, Gertie tsked her disapproval. “Those varmints are getting more brazen all the time.”

  Ellie nodded agreement but didn’t take her eyes off the action in front of her. She studied the faces of the onlookers, looking for a flicker of knowledge, any sign of guilt.

  Alfred Clay pulled out a bandanna and mopped his brow. “They took all of it?”

  Long slowly shook his head. “I don’t think they were expecting me to be there. It must have thrown their plans off kilter when I put up a fight. It looks to me like they only got away with a box or two. The rest is safe for now, but I wanted you to know right away.”

  “Three of them, you say.” Clay had regained command of himself, his face set like granite. “Did you recognize any of them?”

  “Sorry, boss. They were wearing masks.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “I didn’t see them leave.” Marvin Long stared down at his feet, as if embarrassed by the admission. “One of them clouted me over the head before they left, and it took a few minutes before I could see straight again.”

  Alfred Clay looked around the group. “I need some men to help me track them down. Who’s with me?”

  Four men stepped forward, and the grim-faced mine owner nodded his thanks. “This thieving has gone on long enough. It’s time we put an end to it.” He jerked his head toward Marvin Long. “You get on over to Doc’s and have him check you over.”

  Long started to turn away, then looked back over his shoulder. “Boss, I’m thinkin’ we need to move the rest of the silver someplace safer, if you get my drift.”

  Clay stared at him, then gave a quick nod. “Good idea. You can help me in the morning. You did a good job, Long. You’ll have a bonus coming on payday.”

  Marvin Long ducked his head in acknowledgment and made his way toward Sixth Street, where the doctor had his office.

  Alfred Clay and his group of volunteers hurried off, men on a mission. The rest of the group dispersed, leaving Ellie and Gertie standing on the edge of the street.

  Gertie’s outraged expression reminded Ellie of a hen ruffling her feathers. “What’s this world coming to? If that no-account Bascomb was worth his salt, he’d find whoever’s responsible and drag them in. They ought to be locked up until they’re old and gray. And that’s exactly what would happen if I had anything to say . . .”

  Gertie’s voice took on a note of concern. “Honey, are you all right? Your eyes look a little glassy.”

  Ellie blinked and pulled her focus back to Gertie. “No, I’m fine.” She forced her lips to curve. “Really.”

  Gertie eyed her skeptically. “Here I’ve gone rattling along, never giving a moment’s thought to how you must be feeling after all you and your aunt went through yesterday.” She looked around as if expecting to see Lavinia. “Where is she, anyway? I would have expected her to be right in the thick of doin’s like this.”

  Ellie seized the opportunity to make a graceful exit. “I left her resting at home. I really ought to get back and see how she’s doing.”

  A flicker of disappointment flashed in Gertie’s eyes, but she smiled and nodded. “You’re probably right. Give her my best and let her know I’m praying for you both.”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell her.” Ellie took her leave, grateful for the promise of prayer. She needed all the help she could get. And with Gertie praying for both Lavinia and Jessie, that ought to count as a double dose.

  She turned her steps toward home, realizing for the first time it was far later than she’d planned to be out. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and shadows deepened all around. Inky blackness formed between the pools of light cast by the few gas lamps along the storefronts.

  Ellie watched Gertie go back into the mercantile. After the flurry of activity a few moments before, it seemed strange to be the only person on the street, apart from the lamplighter moving from one gas lamp to another at the far end of Grant.

  Feeling suddenly isolated, she almost called out after Gertie but caught herself. She wasn’t a child with a fear of the dark. Her house lay only a few blocks away. It was time to be moving along.

  She made her way slowly from one pool of light to the next, taking advantage of her unexpected solitude to let her mind go back to the aftermath of Marvin Long’s announcement of the theft.

  Letting the scene play through her mind once more, she felt again the shock Long’s words had caused. Gertie had been right. It seemed the thieves became bolder by the day, striking right at Alfred Clay’s mine instead of lying in wait for a shipment to pass along the road.

  She passed the dressmaker’s shop and stepped off the boardwalk to cross Fourth Street. What did it mean? Was this a sign they were growing more desperate? That hardly made sense, though. Why would desperation enter into their actions? They could hardly have gone through all the silver they had stolen already.

  She frowned when she recalled something Marvin Long said.

  How had the thieves
known Alfred Clay was storing his silver in a side shaft at the Busted Shovel? He had mentioned something along that line at the meeting she attended as Lavinia, but the fact couldn’t have been common knowledge.

  Considering he was attacked, it seemed her suspicions about Marvin Long were unfounded, but could someone else in Clay’s employ be helping the thieves . . . or be one of them himself?

  How could she find out? Ellie went back over the scene again, searching for anything—a word, a reaction, a gesture—that might give her a clue.

  As she crossed Third Street, something niggled at the back of her mind. She thought through the scene once more, line by line, but instead of focusing on the words, she concentrated on picturing Marvin Long’s stance, his demeanor, his dramatic gestures.

  Dramatic. That was the word for it. The exaggerated stagger, the hand clasped to his head like a tragic hero.

  Her steps faltered, and she came to a halt in front of Wilson’s Gun Shop. For a moment she no longer stood on the dusty boardwalk in Arizona, but backstage at the Orpheum during a production of Much Ado About Nothing, watching Roland Lockwood as Claudio being told he’d caused Hero’s death.

  Lockwood had played up the role to the hilt, so much so that titters spread throughout the audience. It hadn’t take long for word to get around about his overacting, about his chewing the scenery. Magdalena had been furious about her play receiving attention for all the wrong reasons and prodded the director to convince the actor to tone down his portrayal. Eventually the titters—and Magdalena’s ire—died down, and life got back on its usual track.

  The next moment she found herself back in Pickford, staring into the gloom. She glanced around and shivered. Best to be getting home, where she could mull over her odd feeling of displacement to her heart’s content.

  She stepped out briskly, hurrying from one pool of light to the next. What had sparked that memory of Lockwood’s ham-fisted overacting? Was there any connection between that and the action she had just witnessed?

  Ellie mentally compared the two scenes side by side. A giggle escaped her lips when she recognized the similarity: Marvin Long’s mannerisms and tone of voice had been near duplicates of Roland Lockwood’s. From one point of view, his actions were well suited to the situation. From another, they seemed more fitting of a stage performance. Her mind must have made the connection between them without conscious thought on her part.

  Her footsteps echoed on the wooden walk while her eyes strained ahead through the murky darkness. Just past Levi Jewelers, where the shadows lay deepest, she felt a strong arm encircle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and yanking her off her feet.

  Ellie caught her breath, but before she could let out a scream, a rough hand clapped over her mouth, stifling her outcry. The next moment, she was pulled into the narrow gap between the buildings.

  Her feet flailed wildly as she thrashed around, trying to get purchase on the ground. One heel managed to connect with her captor’s shin, bringing forth a muffled grunt and a low curse. The arm around her tightened, pulling her up so close against his muscular chest she could scarcely breathe.

  She winced when the hand over her mouth pulled her head back and a whiskered cheek scraped the tender skin of her neck. Hot breath slid down the side of her neck, and a hoarse voice hissed in her ear. “Stop your fightin’. Any more of that, and the next move you make could be your last. Understand?”

  Caught up in her struggle for breath, Ellie managed a quick nod. Her vision began to go gray at the edges, and she feared she might faint. With all her might, she strove to stay awake. If she lost consciousness, there was no telling what this fiend might do to her.

  He eased his grip enough to let her feet rest on the ground once more, but kept his hand over her mouth, with the back of her head pressed tightly against his chest. With the constriction on her lungs lessened somewhat, Ellie drew in as much breath as she could. It helped a little—her vision began to clear—but she couldn’t suck in the deep gulps of oxygen her body craved.

  She had no idea what the man had in mind and no intention of staying around to find out. There was no one to help her. If she was going to get away, it would have to be through her own efforts.

  Ellie tensed her muscles, not sure what she could do but wanting to be ready to take advantage of any opportunity her captor might give her.

  The taut arm jerked back, squeezing the air out of her and threatening to plunge her into blackness. Then the pressure eased again, allowing life-giving air back into her starving lungs.

  “Settle down. I only want to give you a message, but it’d be just as easy for me to snap your neck, if you give me a reason to.”

  Ellie forced her muscles to relax. There was no help for it. The only thing she could do was take him at his word and hope he meant what he said.

  “That’s better.” The smell of stale alcohol drifted past her nose when he spoke.

  She wanted to jerk her head away but forced herself to stand still. The calloused hand clamped across her mouth was reminder enough of what he promised to do if she didn’t cooperate.

  “Ready to listen?”

  The tiny nod she gave seemed to satisfy him.

  “That nosy aunt of yours has been snooping around in things that don’t concern her. You tell her she’d better mind her own business and quit asking questions. She’s already had two warnings, but she doesn’t seem to be catching on. Maybe she needs something more direct, so this time we’re telling her straight out: If she doesn’t steer clear and mind her own business, she’s going to have more to worry about than her own safety.”

  The prickly whiskers grazed her neck again as his chin nuzzled her ear. “Ask her how she’s going to feel if something bad happens to her favorite niece.”

  A scream rose in Ellie’s throat. She tried to swallow it back, but a faint whimper escaped her lips.

  The man chuckled. “That’s more like it. Now you’re going to go home and give your aunt the message like a good girl. Right?”

  Ellie bobbed her head again and tried to keep her knees from buckling.

  The restraining hands moved quickly from her mouth and waist to grip her upper arms. Before she could react, they shoved her hard.

  She flew forward in the darkness, landing on all fours. Her knees skidded along the rough ground, and she felt a sting where pebbles scored her palms.

  Ellie rolled over and pushed herself to her feet, ready to fend off another attack, but no one was there. The alleyway lay shrouded in silence, except for her labored breathing and the sound of boots pounding away between the buildings in the direction of Douglas Street.

  Ellie grimaced as she dabbed iodine on her palm where the skin had been scraped raw by the unforgiving pebbles. The cuts, while sore, were fairly clean. They would heal quickly in the dry desert air. More quickly than she expected her ragged emotions to heal.

  After a long, hot soak in her bathtub, she still didn’t feel clean. Getting rid of the memory of her assault would take longer than doing away with the smoke from the fire. She touched the raw spot on her neck, wishing she could wash away the feeling of the bristly whiskers against her chafed skin.

  When Gates and Fleming had warned her of danger during her briefing in Chicago, she’d brushed it off as the type of admonition a concerned uncle would give to a niece heading off into a new situation. But now their concern for her well-being seemed altogether warranted.

  Ever since her arrival in Pickford, she had lamented her slow progress on the investigation. Evidently, some of Lavinia’s questions had struck closer to home than she’d thought.

  The reality of her recent brushes with danger shocked her through and through. Finding herself in imminent danger in real life was far different than living it vicariously through a character in a novel or play.

  A play . . . Her mind jumped back to the comparison she’d made earlier of the scene from Much Ado and the one she’d seen on the streets of Pickford that evening.

  Ellie shoo
k her head. What was it about Marvin Long’s account of the robbery that bothered her so?

  She bent to scoop up the dress she had been wearing. If she could have her way, she would never touch it again, let alone wear it and bring back the memory of what she had just been through. But after throwing away the smoke-damaged dress the day before, that wasn’t an option. Her limited wardrobe didn’t give her the luxury of disposing of a second one.

  Holding the dress at arm’s length, she examined it for any tears it might have gotten when she fell. Her gaze fastened on what appeared to be a splotch of blood on the right sleeve.

  Why hadn’t she noticed a cut on her arm before? Ellie pulled up the sleeve of her wrapper. A discoloration on her arm where her assailant had held her in his grip told her another bruise would likely be forthcoming, but she couldn’t find a spot where the skin had been broken.

  Mystified, she looked more closely at the dress. Turning it over, she saw another streak of blood on the back of the collar.

  She let the dress fall to the floor and hurried to her dressing table. Letting the wrapper slip down over her shoulders, she picked up her hand mirror and held it up so she could check her neck and back.

  Nothing. Not even the beginnings of a bruise.

  Ellie pulled the wrapper back up over her shoulders. Picking up the dress again, she carried it over to the armchair and held it up under the light of the cranberry-glass oil lamp. The stains looked like blood, all right. They must have come from her attacker.

  Holding this evidence of his contact in her hands made her feel as if he’d invaded her home with his presence. She felt the bile rise in her throat. Swallowing it back, she forced herself to examine the spot more closely.

  She hadn’t injured him. Much as she’d wanted to, he hadn’t given her the chance. But he’d been hurt somehow. The thought gave her immense satisfaction.