How Miss West Was Won

by Diane Darcy

  “You all need tae calm down.” Gabe’s rough voice was rich with a Scottish burr. “Luke is in the next town over delivering handbills. He’s letting the good folk know we’re having a pre-gambling tournament. It’s going to be inexpensive enough for any of you to afford. He got sick of listening to all your complaints, and so he’s doing something about it. He had nothing to do with that safe being cracked.”

  Gabe glared out at the crowd. “And after he’s done with that, he’s headed over to Santa Ana. It won’t take him long; in fact, he’ll be back later tonight. He did not abscond with any money. Most of you don’t have a stake in this gambling tournament anyway, so what are you all doing here complaining?”

  “Yes,” someone shouted out. “Because you made it too expensive for most of us to be in the tournament!”

  “And I just said that the mayor is doing something about that, didn’t I? A little gratitude wouldn’t come amiss.”

  “So if he didn’t take the money, who did?”

  Gabe’s jaw tightened. “How do you know the money was in the safe in the first place?”

  Men in the crowd glanced around at each other. Finally someone said, “We were just thinking that it looks mighty suspicious.”

  “Well that’s where you’ve gone wrong then, isn’t it, Amos? You shouldn’t be doing any thinking. Especially about matters you know nothing about.”

  Several in the crowd laughed, and Grace could see the tension starting to diminish.

  She inhaled, and let out a breath slowly. She was relieved, but wished Luke was there. Did someone actually steal the tournament money? And if they did, what could Luke do? She was worried for him. Studying the crowd, she couldn’t help thinking of beatings and lynchings. Wild West stories from newspapers and books came to mind. She knew she probably shouldn’t be standing there in the middle of it all, she should probably be following Mrs. Braxton home, but she needed to know Luke was safe.

  Finally, the crowd started to break up and she closed her eyes in gratitude. When Luke returned, this would all be straightened out. He’d be proven innocent, and that would be the end of it.

  As people wandered away, a man ran up to the crowd, waving his hat. “Sheriff! A girl over at the saloon, a prostitute, she’s been … she’s dead!”

  “Suicide?” Gabe snapped to attention, all business.

  “Not unless she cut her own throat.”

  “Which girl?” he asked, already heading in that direction.

  “The blonde. And she had this flower laying on her.” The man held up a wilted orchid.

  Grace felt the blood drain from her face.

  It was the same type of flower Penny received in batches in New York City. The man who’d harassed her, who’d tried to kidnap her, who’d insisted she belonged to him—he used to send those very flowers.

  Grace’s throat clenched and she tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as a bone.

  Someone shouted, “Did Luke kill her? Maybe she saw him stealing the money?”

  Gabe charged down the stairs and shoved the man hard. “Ye just shut your mouth. I told you where Luke is. Those of us in charge will decide how to deal with this. Now move on.”

  Grace watched the group of men follow the sheriff.

  She stood frozen, unable to move.

  Could the villain have followed her to town? Surely not. She’d felt safe. Hidden. Protected.

  Was she being ridiculous?

  Had he killed the blonde?

  She started to follow the crowd, stopped, and then glanced around as if to spot the villain herself, but no one in the disbursing crowd stood out or paid her the slightest bit of attention.

  She wanted—no—she needed to talk to Luke.

  Chapter 13

  Grace moved away from the crowd, feeling the need to hurry back to the safety of Mrs. Braxton’s house. Her palms were sweating, and she felt light-headed.

  She glanced around, searching for anyone who might be taking an interest in her, but saw no one. Most of the men followed the sheriff.

  She looked over her shoulder, feeling hunted. She hurried faster, belatedly thinking she shouldn’t have gone off on her own. Admittedly, the orchid spooked her. What were the chances? As far as she knew, orchids were hard to come by in these parts. If there was a hothouse hereabouts, she knew nothing about it.

  The killer in New York sent Penny orchids of all types. Mr. Carmichael had tried to trace the man terrorizing his daughter by trying to trace the orchids, but hadn’t had any luck. He’d been convinced the man had murdered other girls about the city. Girls with orchids tossed on their bodies.

  Orchids? Here? Surely it was a coincidence.

  A girl had lost her life today.

  Tears filled Grace’s eyes and her heart thudded in her chest as she walked, still glancing over her shoulder. She didn’t know how she felt about the whole thing. She was scared, yes. But angry too. What kind of monster took the life of another?

  She could certainly believe it of the man from New York. She might not be able to remember his face clearly, but she did remember the madness of his obsession. He’d been delusional, unhinged, determined.

  Determined enough to follow Penny Carmichael here?

  Yes.

  But even with Luke drawing attention to this out-of-the-way place, how could that villain possibly find her? She needed to remember that she didn’t have all the facts. The murder could have simply been a jealous client, or some other situation gone wrong. She was making herself crazy before she even knew for sure that there was a reason to worry.

  But the girl who died was blonde, like Penny. Like the others.

  Still hurrying, she finally reached Mrs. Braxton’s house and let herself inside, shut the door, and debated whether to lock it or not. Not, she decided. She didn’t want to come back downstairs to unlock the door for Mrs. Braxton. As the door was rarely secured during the day, the widow would want to know why.

  She hurried upstairs to her bedroom and locked that door instead. She stood in front of the window, half expecting to see a knife-wielding madman standing in the garden below, but, of course, the space was unoccupied.

  Surely, there was nothing wrong. Surely, all this conjecture was simple paranoia, left over from those last days in New York when they’d all fled in different directions.

  She paced back and forth across the room, glancing out the window at every pass. Bad things happened everywhere, in every town and city across the nation.

  Odds were it wasn’t the same man. She laughed a bit hysterically. She should ask Luke what the odds were. With his penchant for gambling, surely he could give her a definitive answer.

  Anyway, if that man was in town, surely she would’ve recognized something about him. But what if she hadn’t seen him yet? What if he been hiding from her? What if the death of this girl was a message specifically to her?

  She thought back to the encounter in New York. When Penny had been attacked in the alley. She had to admit that it was all sort of hazy. She knew the man had brown hair. Dark brown hair. She was sure of that. He was tall, muscular. Dark skin? Light skin? She couldn’t remember. She knew he had a knife. The blade had been silver—she could remember the way the light glinted off of it.

  She threw up her hands and made a noise of disgust. She’d thought about it a thousand times. She’d told Mr. Carmichael and his men about the incident a thousand more times.

  Was she actually remembering anymore? Or was she just remembering what she’d said when they’d pressured her for answers? She honestly couldn’t say.

  So the chance remained that she would not recognize him.

  She threw herself down on the plush armchair beside the window and sighed. She couldn’t hide out in her bedroom forever. One thing was for sure: she needed to tell Luke and the sheriff. Hopefully she was wrong, but if she wasn’t, if there was even a chance that her suspicions could be correct, she had to speak up.

  Grace heard Mrs. Braxton calling out her name and she swiftl
y sat up and hurried to the door. She unlocked it and went to glance over the banister. “I’m here.”

  Mrs. Braxton was taking off her gloves. “There you are. Well, this is quite the muddle, isn’t it? I told the mayor that crime would come to town if he proceeded with his gambling tournament, didn’t I?”

  Grace made a noise of affirmation.

  “I told the sheriff as well, didn’t I? But no one ever listens to me. You would think that my years of experience would count for something, wouldn’t you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I predicted the entire thing! Well, maybe with the money gone, the tournament will be canceled. But no one can fix the fact that a young girl has been murdered.” She huffed out a breath. “It’s indecent is what it is.”

  “That poor girl may have gone astray, but she didn’t deserve to die.” Mrs. Braxton suddenly looked older than she had before. “Call for some tea, will you, dear?”

  “Of course.” Grace hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen only to see that Mrs. Phillips was already getting a tea trolley ready, along with scones and jam.

  “Mrs. Phillips. Have you heard?”

  The housekeeper’s face was grim. “Oh, I’ve heard about the nasty business, all right. A girl murdered in broad daylight. Safes being robbed. That’s what this business has come to.”

  “Mrs. Braxton doesn’t look like she’s feeling very well.”

  “Don’t you worry, dear. I know just how to fix her up.”

  Grace followed behind. After the three of them were situated, Mrs. Phillips poured tea all around and sank into an armchair. “Well, this is a fine to do isn’t it?”

  Mrs. Braxton sighed. “It certainly is.” She blew on her tea.

  “Should we call a meeting?”

  “Not today,” the widow replied tiredly.

  Grace was concerned by the listlessness in Mrs. Braxton’s voice and tried to think of something that would revive her. “When we were sitting in church earlier, I was just thinking that perhaps if we held the church social dance on the same night as the upcoming pre-tournament we might convince some of the players to throw in their cards, so to speak, so they can attend the dance. What do you think?”

  Mrs. Braxton’s eyes widened and she slowly straightened, the light coming back into her eyes. “I think it’s brilliant!”

  Grace was glad to see the sudden cheer on the older lady’s face and felt her own heart start to lighten. It had been an arduous day, and they were all exhausted. Her assumption that the prostitute was killed by the same man who’d hunted Penny in New York was doubtless incorrect. The murder probably had nothing to do with the other. Mrs. Braxton herself had predicted crime would come to town, and it had.

  It wouldn’t hurt to be more alert and watchful. She did have people to protect, after all. But did she really need to worry everyone, turn their attention in an unlikely direction?

  Probably not.

  But Grace would keep her eyes open. She’d listen and watch. If she noted anything worth passing on, then at that point she’d do so.

  Luke rode up to see a crowd gathered in the street. When they spotted him, the men surged forward, calling his name, and he was forced to pull the reins taut as his horse’s head bobbed in nervous anticipation. He quickly dismounted and tied his horse to the closest rail. “What’s going on?”

  “A girl—”

  “The safe—”

  “Tournament money—”

  Everyone tried to talk over everyone else, some shouting to be heard, and Luke held up a hand. “Quiet! Gabe, do you want to tell me what is going on here?”

  Everyone settled and turned toward Gabe, whose countenance was as grim as Luke had ever seen it.

  “While you were gone, someone broke in your office, broke into your safe, and took everything in it.”

  Luke raised his brows, took in the angry crowd, and understood the concern immediately. “Good thing there was nothing in it.”

  Gabe nodded once. “As I told all these yahoos.”

  “You’re saying there was no money in there?”

  “He’s lying!”

  “Do you expect us to believe—”

  Gabe raised a hand. “Enough!” When everyone quieted again he continued. “While we were all standing around looking like fools, Clem Levy ran up to tell us a girl over at the saloon had been murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Throat slit.”

  Luke’s gut twisted as disbelief and anger roared through him. “Who did it?”

  “No witnesses and just a flower left on the dead girl’s chest. The barkeep saw the man she went upstairs with, but doesn’t know him and hasn’t seen him since. The other girls are spooked, and I’ve got a dead girl on my hands with no one to pin it on.”

  “How could no one see or hear anything?” Luke asked incredulously.

  Gabe lifted a shoulder. “He was alone with the girl.”

  “But with all those people in the saloon, no one else saw the man?”

  Gabe was shaking his head. “Must have gone out the window.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In the back room at the saloon. I’ve sent someone for Doc Harley and he should be here in the next hour or so. But I doubt there’s anything he can tell us. We’ll have to bury the girl tomorrow.” He looked out over the crowd. “In the meantime, we have a murderer to catch.”

  Luke nodded and rubbed a hand over his face.

  One of the men in the crowd cleared his throat. “Mayor, about that safe.”

  Luke tried to squelch his irritation. He’d just barely heard the news of the murder, but he did understand some of these men had turned money over to him and that would be their first concern. “There was nothing in the safe.” His voice was harsher than he’d intended and he tried to modulate his tone. “You have my word on that. The tournament money is perfectly safe.”

  “So where is it?”

  “Somewhere else,” he said harshly, pointedly.

  “Some proof wouldn’t come amiss.”

  Luke straightened. “Really? There’s someone in town opening safes and murdering young ladies and you want me to lead you all to the pile of cash I’ve collected? Not going to happen. I’ll say it again. That money is secure. You have my word on that.” He turned to Gabe. “Any ideas about the would-be thief?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No, but the lock was picked on the door and on the safe.”

  “And no one saw anything? Did everyone in town go collectively blind all of a sudden?”

  Men still grumbled, and Luke turned. “To those of you who’ve forked over hard-earned cash, I understand your concern. You’re welcome to ask for a refund here and now. I’ll get you the money by this time tomorrow and you can be out of the tournament and on your way. If you haven’t handed over any money, then what are you still doing standing here?”

  Men in the crowd glanced uneasily at each other and some of them started to leave. Luke hesitated, thinking. He didn’t want the tournament to turn sour on him, so he called out, “There will be a tour of the hotel tomorrow night, and one free beer for everyone present. Pass the word and I’ll see you all then.”

  Men whooped and nodded. A few clapped each other on the back and the mood instantly lightened as the men wandered off alone and in groups.

  Gabe shot him a grim look. “You sorry son of a donkey’s backside. Everyone complains to me for hours, and you show up, tell everyone not to worry about it, and send them on their way with an offer of free beer.”

  “That’s why I’m the mayor and you’re only the sheriff,” Luke smirked.

  Gabe punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “You know this will cost us an entire keg of beer, right?”

  “At least. But sometimes you have to lose money to make money.” Luke blew out a breath. “Come on. Let’s go wait for the doctor.”

  Luke looked around the crowded hotel lobby. They’d had men working inside the entire day to get it ready for this last-minute event even t
hough it wasn’t quite finished. There were still a few things left to do—the mirror behind the bar hadn’t arrived yet, nor had the button-back chairs or ottomans for the foyer. But overall, it looked impressive with its pale yellow paint, rosewood front desk, and gas globe chandeliers. The blue velvet curtains and polished brass rails and fixtures turned out nice too.

  Leaning against the wall, Luke enjoyed the beer, the noise level, and the fact that everyone seemed to be having a good time. Actually, he was surprised by the number of ladies that had shown up. Well, not all of them were exactly ladies. But still.

  He felt a sharp pain in his chest thinking about the young woman who’d died the day before. The murder weapon, a knife, was lying beside the girl. They were no closer to discovering a suspect.

  The girl had been buried earlier in the day; her funeral attended by Gabe and himself and some of the girl’s friends—her fellow prostitutes.

  The girls were scared, and he didn’t blame them.

  Gabe had been nosing around, asking questions, but so far no one had come forward and no one had seen anything.

  Luke was just taking a sip of beer, when he choked. To say he was surprised when he saw Mrs. Braxton and Mrs. Simpson walk inside the hotel would have been an understatement. Grace trailed after them and satisfaction ripped through him. He was proud of what they’d accomplished here, excited about the upcoming tournament, and he wanted to share it with her.

  Her eyes widened and he looked around again, trying to see the hotel as if for the first time. It was ornate, a bit on the gaudy side, and perfect in his opinion.

  He wanted to talk to her but, with the widow standing so close, decided to bide his time. Anyway, Widow Braxton looked as if she’d bitten into something sour, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. If she didn’t like the decor, he’d have to point out that she was the pot calling the kettle black if she disapproved of the place. Not with her crazy house.

  Mrs. Simpson, however, clapped her hands twice and looked thrilled. Now there was a lady who would always love a good party. How she and the widow ever remained friends was a mystery to Luke.