by Carol Cox
Ellie studied the bloodstains again, giving particular attention to their location. The one on her sleeve must have come from his hand, and the one at her collar from his face.
A vision of Marvin Long staggering into the street flashed into her mind. She remembered the way he’d held his left hand against his bleeding head. Her attacker had used his left hand to hold her against him.
But Marvin Long had gone to the doctor, hadn’t he?
Not necessarily.
Ellie swallowed hard as a succession of thoughts raced through her mind with startling clarity. She’d seen Long go off in the direction of the doctor’s office, but that was no guarantee he had actually gone in to see the physician.
She closed her eyes, straining to remember every detail of the way she’d been grabbed and manhandled. She hadn’t been able to see a thing, but she’d heard him clearly enough. Could that grating voice belong to Marvin Long?
But that would make him one of the robbers, or at least in league with them. It didn’t make sense that they would attack one of their own.
She recalled the strength of the arms that had held her in the alley. Her assailant hadn’t shown the signs of weakness Long displayed out on the street. He certainly hadn’t acted like a man dazed from losing a significant amount of blood.
Acting. The word teased at her mind. Once again, she saw herself backstage at the theater, watching one of the actors apply theatrical blood to a simulated wound before he staggered onstage.
Just the way Marvin Long had staggered into the middle of Grant Street.
Ellie held the dress up closer to the lamp’s etched-glass globe. A slight sheen on the stain reflected in the lamplight.
Real blood didn’t shine after it dried on fabric. Ellie had pricked her fingers with a sewing needle often enough to be sure of that.
What could it be, then? Harold Stiller, the Orpheum’s stage manager, had a favorite recipe for concocting stage blood, a mixture of sugar syrup and berry juice. Sugar would glisten like that when it dried.
Ellie raised the fabric to her lips, then lowered it back into her lap. The very thought of tasting blood—particularly Marvin Long’s—sent a wave of nausea through her.
But it wasn’t blood. She was positive of that.
Almost.
She stretched the fabric between her fingers. Whatever made that offensive stain, it was up to her to determine what it was. She was a detective, and detectives sometimes had to perform unsavory tasks in order to discover the truth.
Besides, hadn’t she promised God she would give Him all of herself? That meant every bit of her belonged to Him.
Including her queasy stomach.
Once again, she lifted the dress. This time she dabbed the tip of her tongue against the spot and smacked her lips together, trying to identify the taste.
She’d been wrong. The stain on her dress wasn’t Harold Stiller’s blend of sugar syrup and berry juice after all.
It was raspberry jam.
She lowered the dress again, her mind in a whirl. If those splotches had been made by Marvin Long, then he had indeed been acting, and she’d been duped, just like any gullible theater audience.
But why? The question wouldn’t leave her alone.
Now that she had thought things through, she had no problem once again believing Long to be one of the robbers, but why the act? What purpose could it serve?
Ellie didn’t have the answer, but she knew she would have to keep an eye on him from that moment on.
And she was equally certain of one other thing—never again would she leave the house without the pistol Cousin Ted had given her.
25
Ellie slipped out of the dark gray dress and sat on the edge of her bed to unwrap the cloth strips from around her legs. A paisley-print frock in creamy yellow lay draped across the bed, ready for her to assume her second role of the day. When she got up to hang Lavinia’s dress in the wardrobe, she tottered a little, as if old age truly was creeping up on her. Grasping the bedpost to steady herself, she removed the gray wig and prepared to transform herself into Jessie.
Maybe the weariness shouldn’t come as a surprise, she thought as she pulled out the cheek plumpers. After Marvin Long’s warning, she hadn’t asked questions of anyone—she would save the inquiries for Jessie, whose questions for some reason did not concern the thieves—but she had spent the morning in a state of constant awareness, noting every detail of her surroundings and each person she saw around town. That was enough to wear down the sturdiest constitution.
She settled the red wig on her head, dabbed a bit of color on her cheeks, and slipped into the paisley dress. A memory stirred of helping Magdalena into the dress months before, bringing with it a wistful longing for days gone by. How she would welcome the chance to be back in Chicago again, dealing with what she used to consider the hardships of theater life.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips. The girl she used to be had no idea what hardship meant.
But if she had remained in Chicago, she never would have met Steven.
But that was of no consequence at the moment. She didn’t have time to act like a love-struck schoolgirl. Not while menace loomed on the horizon. And the best way to overcome that peril was to identify the gang members and notify the Pinkertons so they could call in the authorities and break up the ring.
She went to the kitchen, where she foraged in the cupboard for food and decided on a quick snack of tea, cheese, and crackers. No time for a proper meal. She could get something more at the Mother Lode if her hunger became too great.
During the morning’s foray through town as Lavinia, she thought through the previous night’s performance yet again and reached a conclusion. Marvin Long was very probably a member of the gang, but he wasn’t the leader. Nothing about his actions spoke of him as being the author of the current drama, only a character playing out his lines as written.
Ellie carried a cup of tea to the table and sipped at it while she nibbled on her cheese and crackers. In that case, in addition to keeping a watchful eye on Long, she also had to watch for someone higher up in the organization. The thieves’ hold on the mine owners of Pickford had gone on far too long. She needed to bring it to an end, and it had to be done soon. The sense of imminent peril, along with harboring suspicions about everyone she met, was eating her alive.
The only person she trusted was Steven, and now, more than ever, she couldn’t tell him what had happened. If these criminals would go to such lengths to keep a sweet-tempered old lady from asking questions, what would they do to stop a robust man bent on saving his business?
The possibilities made her shiver.
No, if she planned to help Steven—and herself—she would have to keep her own counsel and play out the role she’d been given.
She swallowed the last drops of tea and swept the cracker crumbs off the table. Lavinia hadn’t been able to discover anything of note. She would see what Jessie could turn up.
By dinnertime, Ellie’s steps were flagging, along with her spirits. Despite an afternoon of carefully guided conversations, she hadn’t been able to turn up one scrap of useful information. Nor had she seen any sign of Marvin Long, though she kept a constant watch for him.
Time was getting short, and she knew it was getting more and more foolish to keep asking questions—she had no way of knowing when she might ask the wrong question of the wrong person. She felt as though she were watching the final grains of sand slip through to the bottom of an hourglass.
Walking west on Grant, she crossed to the south side of the street at the corner of Third. She couldn’t bear to retrace her steps over the same spot where she’d been assaulted the night before. Mildly embarrassed by her squeamishness, she continued on, squinting into the rays of the setting sun.
She hated to go home with nothing accomplished. It felt too much like giving up. Her intuition told her to linger awhile, that she would have a better chance of noting things of significance after darkness settled over th
e town.
But she couldn’t afford to stay out after dark. Not again. Whether as Jessie or Lavinia, the risks were too great. Even the weight of the pistol in her reticule didn’t offer enough sense of security to offset her fears.
Ellie reached Second Street and turned right. How she wished Norma hadn’t found the love of her life until after their job had been completed. She needed another person for companionship, for counsel, and to guard her back.
She needed help, it was as simple as that, but she had no one to turn to. If she asked Steven to watch Marvin Long, he would be sure to ask why. And what could she tell him?
“Bang! Bang! I got you!”
Ellie shrieked and spun around to see Billy Taylor behind her, his finger pointed at her midsection in imitation of a pistol. Without thinking, her hand shot out, catching his ear between her thumb and forefinger.
“Owww!” His yowl of protest sounded like a cat who’d gotten its tail under a rocker. “What are you doing? Lemme go!”
“What am I doing? What do you think you’re doing, sneaking up on people and scaring the daylights out of them? I ought to drag you home and give your mother a piece of my mind. What can she be thinking of, letting you stay outside so late?”
The boy tried to pull away, but her grip on his ear held him fast. He jutted out his chin and glared up at her. “It isn’t all that late. Ma always lets me play outside after supper. She says it gives her peace of mind.”
Ellie could well believe it.
And the news didn’t really come as any surprise to her. On many an evening, she had seen Billy and his buddies playing outside long after she would have expected their mothers to have called them inside. Shouldn’t they be concerned about what their children were doing? There was no telling what they could be getting into, running all over town like that.
In the dark.
Unnoticed.
With no one paying them any mind.
Ellie tilted her head and regarded the lad thoughtfully. “If I turn loose of your ear, will you stay here and not run off?”
Billy drew his brows together in a fierce scowl. “Why should I?”
Ellie released the pressure of her fingers a smidgen, but not so much that she couldn’t nab him again if he made a move to run off. “How would you like another detecting job?”
The offer held him in place even more effectively than her fingers had. He stared up at her with a look of awe. “What do I get to do? Shoot someone for real?”
“Heavens, no!” Her voice came out in a squeal, far louder than she intended. She looked around and lowered her voice. “Nothing like that. I just want you to keep an eye on someone for me. Do you think you can do that?”
Billy shrugged. “Sure. I’m good at watching people, especially when they don’t think I’m around. Who do you want me to spy on?”
Ellie eyed him, wondering if she’d just taken leave of her senses. “Do you know Marvin Long? He’s—”
“The one who got beat up at the Busted Shovel yesterday? Sure, I know him.” Billy’s face darkened. “He doesn’t like kids much. He caught me pokin’ around the mine office one day and threatened to box my ears if he ever saw me there again.”
A look of doubt spread over his features. “You just want me to watch him? That’s all?”
“That’s all,” Ellie said firmly.
“Why? Are you sweet on him or something?”
Ellie bit back another yelp. “Not at all. I just want you to let me know if you see him doing anything suspicious.”
Billy wrinkled his nose. “Like what?”
Ellie cast about for some explanation vague enough to cover all the possibilities but not so specific it would give her true purpose away. “Like if you see him somewhere he isn’t supposed to be. Trying to get into a locked building—anything like that.”
The boy’s face lit up. “You are sweet on him. You want me to make sure he isn’t visiting some other girl, right?”
Ellie resisted the urge to pick him up by his collar and give him a good shake. “Don’t worry about why I want to know. The only thing you need to remember is to let me know if you see him sneaking around or doing something he shouldn’t. And make sure no one sees you, especially him.”
She held out her hand. “What do you say?”
Billy crossed his arms. “What’s in it for me?”
Ellie bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips, saying instead, “A detective who does an extra-good job deserves a bonus. What would you say to a nickel for any information you can bring me about Mr. Long?”
Billy stared at her for a long moment, then spit in his palm and clasped it against hers. “A whole nickel? Lady, you got yourself a deal.”
26
Thanks for getting to these drills so quickly, Jake. I’ll be back in a couple of days for the next set.” Steven hefted the canvas satchel of sharpened steels in one hand and set off toward the Redemption. Normally he would have spent a few minutes chatting with the blacksmith, but the other man’s interest in Jessie made it difficult for him to make pleasant conversation.
Sunlight glinted in a brilliant blue sky, brightening his mood. In spite of all his troubles of late, days like this made him glad to be alive. Just before he turned down Sixth, he spotted a familiar figure two blocks down the street. He pulled up short and grinned.
True to form, Lavinia Stewart was out making her morning rounds. Steven’s admiration for the woman soared. Narrowly escaping the collapse in his mine, nearly being trampled by a team of horses, then learning those events might have been aimed specifically at her—all that was enough to send most easterners into hiding . . . or running for the nearest train station. But not his Mrs. Stewart.
He was going to do everything he could to keep her out of the line of fire, including spreading the word she was no longer considering investing in his mine, but she had come west in search of adventure, and she was proving herself up to the challenge.
Steven tugged at the brim of his hat and turned his steps toward her. He crossed the street with an easy stride, angling his course to meet her where she was admiring a gown with an abundance of pleats and lace in the dressmaker’s window.
“Good morning.”
Mrs. Stewart jumped and whirled around. For a fleeting moment Steven saw a flash of panic in her eyes and immediately regretted startling her. Considering all that had transpired in recent days, it probably hadn’t been the wisest thing to do.
The look of alarm fled as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual placid smile. “Good morning to you, Mr. Pierce. I’m just out enjoying the morning air.”
“I had a couple of errands to run.” Steven lifted the satchel in his hand, then set it at his feet. He pushed his hat back on his head and moistened his lips. “I haven’t seen Jessie around town since the fire. Is she doing all right?”
Mrs. Stewart shifted a quick glance to her right, then met his gaze again. “She’s been out and about every day. You must have missed her.”
Steven’s lips tightened. “I must have.” He spoke the words in a noncommittal tone that belied the tension he felt.
Had Jessie been avoiding him? Their last contact had been the brush of his lips against hers just before he raced back to fight the fire. At that time it had seemed like the right thing to do, but he’d wondered ever since if he’d crossed an invisible line and pushed too far, too quickly.
He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Do you have any idea where I might find her now? I stopped by the house a little while ago, but no one answered when I knocked.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Stewart fanned herself with her hand. “I suppose she may have been resting, or . . . otherwise occupied.”
Heat flamed in Steven’s cheeks. He needed to drop that line of questioning before he embarrassed either one of them any further. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should talk to you, then. Would you mind relaying a question to her?”
“No, not at all.”
“I just learne
d there’s a theatrical company touring the territory. They’ll be performing at Pickford Hall on Friday night, and I wondered if Jessie might like to accompany me.”
Mrs. Stewart’s mouth rounded in a way that reminded him of Jessie’s expression when surprised. He hastened to add, “I didn’t mean to exclude you. If you’d like to join us, I’d be pleased to escort you both.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Lavinia Stewart seemed at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound, and her blue-green eyes darted back and forth as though seeking an answer from an unseen source.
Finally she looked straight at him and drew a deep breath. “I don’t believe I will be able to attend, but I’m sure my niece would welcome the opportunity to spend the evening with you.”
The day seemed to brighten even more. Steven tried to rein in his spiraling spirits before they got out of hand. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you think I should consult Jessie herself, though, just to make sure?”
Mrs. Stewart’s smile softened. “I know my niece very well, Mr. Pierce. I’m certain she’ll be happy to go to the theater with you, and I hope the two of you will have a lovely time together.”
Steven wanted to drive his fist into the air and let out a loud whoop. Instead, he contented himself with saying, “I’ll be looking forward to it. It isn’t often we get a troupe from Chicago in our neck of the woods. Would you please tell her I’ll come by to pick her up at seven?”
With a tip of his hat, he picked up his satchel and made his way back to the Redemption. Even the weight of the heavy drill steels couldn’t keep him from feeling as if he were walking on air.
Ellie turned back to the dressmaker’s window and watched the reflection of Steven’s retreating back in the glass. Chicago? What had she done? Maybe she should call him back and tell him she’d made a mistake. It would be foolish to take the chance of running into someone she knew.
She tossed her anxiety aside with a petulant shrug. No one in Chicago had ever seen her as Jessie, so she was in no danger of being exposed. There was no reason at all to avoid going.
