by Alice Duncan
“Very well, Missus Wilson,” Sam began. “How long have you worked for Missus Mainwaring, and what is your position in her employ?”
“I’ve been working for Miss Angie for pretty much twenty-five years now,” Clara answered promptly. “I manage the Orange Acres house. Miss Angie, she brings ladies who need help here from time to time.”
“I see. Did you come from Tombstone, too?”
Clara blinked, as if surprised Sam knew about Angie’s connection with Tombstone, then said, “Yes, sir. I… Do you know why Angie brings ladies here?”
“According to her, she’s attempting to save them from a life of degradation,” said Sam. He didn’t sound sarcastic, and I was proud of him.
“Yes, sir. That’s exactly what she does. She’s saved a lot of women, including me and Li and Sally. We have two other ladies with us right now, too. Brenda and Nancy.”
“I see. How long has she been performing this rescue service?”
“Oh, my, let me see.” Clara shut her eyes for a second or two. “Ten years, at least. Her and us come out here twenty-five years ago, I reckon. For a long time she’d been investing in the Indiana Company. That’s an orange company.”
“Yes. I’ve heard of it,” said Sam, taking notes as Clara talked.
Gee, I’d never heard of the Indiana Company, and I’d lived in Pasadena my whole life. I’d ask Sam about it later.
“Well,” Clara continued, “she’d been savin’ money and investin’ money, and finally she took Hattie, Cyrus, Li, me and my husband Gabriel and ran. She snuck us out of that house and into a train she ordered special. We was workin’ in a…bad house in Tombstone.”
“A parlor house?” Sam asked mildly.
After peering at Sam with her eyes kind of squinched up, Clara evidently decided he wasn’t being judgmental, but only asking for information. “Yes, sir. That there parlor house was a bad place. Hattie and me, we was cooks there. Hattie’s man Cyrus, and my husband Gabriel, they did the hard-labor work.”
“I understand from Missus Mainwaring that a fellow named…” Sam flipped a couple of pages in his notebook. “Ah. Here it is. A man named Adolph Grant owned and ran the parlor house. She also said he pretty much used women as his slaves.”
“That he did. If anyone tried to escape, Mister Grant, he’d kill her. Or him. Didn’t matter. He was a bad, bad man. And he hired more bad men to do his bad work for him.”
“But he’s dead now?”
“Yes. When Li brought Sally here, Sally said somebody’d gunned him down. Served him right. Didn’t happen any too soon, if you ask me. I can’t think of another single person who’s ruined as many lives as Mister Grant did.”
“I see. So you and Mister and Missus Potts, along with Miss Li, came to Pasadena with Missus Mainwaring?”
“Yes. Me and my husband Gabriel. We all lived here in the orange grove for nigh on to twenty years. Then Miss Angie decided to move closer to the middle of town. She wanted to save more lost souls, bless her heart, so she moved out of here and into there, and that made room for another girl or two.”
I heard Lou Prophet grunt, but he didn’t say anything; therefore, I didn’t kick him.
“Did you know the fellow who was shot in the orchard on Tuesday?” Sam asked.
Shaking her head, Clara said, “Not to say I knew him. I knew of him from Miss Angie and Li. He was almost as bad as Mister Grant. I heard he used Sally something awful.”
“When did the women get here? Miss Sally and the other two?”
“Sally, she come about a month ago. Nancy and Brenda have both been here for about a year. Li, she went and fetched them from Tombstone, too, when Miss Angie heard they wanted her help.”
“How did she know they wanted help?”
Clara tilted her head. “Honest? I don’t rightly know. Li can tell you.” She looked at Li. So did the rest of us.
“Have you ever heard of the Underground Railroad, Detective Rotondo?” Li asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, Adolph Grant’s parlor house in Tombstone has something akin to the Underground Railroad. Girls take their lives into their hands when they try to send messages, but every now and then a message will get through, and Angie will act on it.”
Sam asked Li, “Is that how you knew Sally wanted to leave Tombstone?”
“It’s how we found out about all the girls Angie’s helped.”
“Through messages…what would you call it? Smuggled out of the parlor house?”
“Smuggled is as good a word as any,” said Li with a shrug. “If Grant had intercepted one of those messages, whoever wrote it would have met a quick end.” With a masterful sneer, she added, “That was the only good thing about Adolph Grant. He didn’t torture people when he killed them. He just shot them dead. The torture was living when you worked for him.”
How horrible. I didn’t say so because I didn’t want Sam to kick me out of the room.
“I see.” His notebook on his knee and his pencil resting on his notebook, Sam looked into Clara’s face. “Thank you, Missus Wilson. Several of Missus Mainwaring’s enemies have shown up recently and caused trouble in her life. Do you have any idea who might have told those people where she lived? Can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge against her? According to Missus Mainwaring, she cut ties with everything in her past, chose a new name, moved to Pasadena, started over, and believed she’d severed all connections to her past. But her past seems to have found her in spite of her best efforts.”
“That’s right. She did all of those things. Nobody was supposed to know where she lived or what she called herself.”
“And you don’t know anyone who could have discovered her whereabouts? Or how and why?”
“Well, I reckon I know the why, but I don’t know the who or the how. I ‘spect any one of them men who used those poor girls might hate her for takin’ them away, but she’s doing good by doing that, so I just don’t know.”
“You’ve heard about the trouble she’s been having in her new home, right?”
“Oh, yes. Li and Miss Angie have both called here to check on the girls. Miss Angie was agitated she didn’t get to come out here yesterday, because she’s worried about Sally.” Clara shook her head again. “And I don’t blame her. Sally’s kind of a flimsy gal. Don’t rightly know how she’s going to turn out.”
“I see. And no strangers have appeared here recently? You can’t think of anyone new? Anyone you don’t know who’s been hanging around?
“No, sir. Just us. Mister Wilson—he’s my husband—and me. The three girls and Li. And the younger Mister Wu. Mister Gonzales—he manages the orange grove—lives in a little place out near the back of the orchard with his wife and two little boys. Ain’t seen nobody else. Didn’t see that Tucker fellow, neither, but he snuck in somehow. Miss Angie, she’s got guards posted, so I don’t know how he got in.”
Sam’s dark eyebrows soared. “She has guards posted?”
“Mercy sakes, yes! She knows she’s made lots of enemies in her life, but nobody’d want those enemies as friends because they’re all black-hearted scoundrels. But Miss Angie, she pays her people good, and they stay and are loyal to her.”
“You can’t think of anyone who might have been bribed to turn against Missus Mainwaring?”
“Pshaw. No. Nobody’d turn against Miss Angie. She’s too good and helps too many people.”
Another soft grunt issued from Lou Prophet. That time I kicked him, but not hard.
He said softly, “Hey!”
I frowned to let him know he should keep his opinion of Angie to himself. Naturally, he rolled his eyes at me. Don’t know why I even bothered with the man.
“Thank you, Missus Wilson. What is Sally’s last name?”
“Sally? Peterson, I think, but you never know about them women. They might have a thousand names.”
“Oh? How so?”
With a shrug, Clara said, “They call themselves whatever other people call them’s, all I know
.”
Such a thing seemed strange to me. Then again, so many things did.
Sam turned to Li. “Would you please ask Miss Sally Peterson to come here, Miss Li?”
Li rose from her end of the sofa as if she’d been goosed. Guess she was a little nervous or something. “Yes. I’ll get her now.”
“And please,” said Sam, “don’t tell her anything I don’t want her to know.”
Moving so quickly, she’d nearly made it to the door by the time Sam spoke, Li stopped short and whirled around. “What the hell does that mean? What don’t you want her to know?”
“Anything. Just tell her I need to talk to her for a few minutes. Don’t tell her anything else or mention any names.”
With a shrug and a hefty sigh, Li said, “All right. I’ll get her.” And she left the room.
After sitting there for a few moments in silence, Mr. Prophet said, “How come you don’t tell her not to swear? You’re always bitchin’ at me about swearing.”
“I’m always what?” I knew a bitch to be a female dog. Except for a couple of times when Harold had called his sister a bitch—which I believed to be an insult to all dogs everywhere—I’d never heard the word used in any other context.
“He means you complain to him about his use of bad language,” said Sam, thoughtfully translating for me. Grinning, he added, “And he wants to know why you don’t carp at Miss Li about her use of bad language.”
He had a point. After mulling it over for a second or three, I decided I’d never tell him so. “Because Li doesn’t come over to our house all the time. Besides, she’s a lady.”
With a guffaw that made me want to snatch him bald—can’t remember where I first heard that quaint saying—Lou Prophet said, “She’s about as much of a lady as I am.”
“Well, you don’t seem to mind spending time with her,” I said huffily.
“Don’t mind at all.” This time Mr. Prophet gave me a smile that made me want to shoot him dead.
“Associating with you is bad for my moral fiber,” I told him.
He and Sam both laughed. Clara only gazed at us, puzzled.
She said, “You need me anymore, Detective? I can get more tea and so forth. Might make Sally feel more comfortable if she had a nice cup of tea.”
“That would fine. Thank you for thinking of it.”
“Chloral’d do a better job of making that harpy comfortable,” muttered Prophet.
So I kicked him again.
“Hey!” he cried, pulling his one shin out of kicking range.
“Hey yourself, you awful old man.”
“Now that just ain’t nice, Miss Daisy.”
“Neither are you.”
Sam said, “Cut it out, you two.” He grinned as he said it, which I didn’t appreciate.
However, Mr. Prophet and I quit bickering when Li ushered Sally into the room.
Twenty-Four
Sally didn’t look any better on Thursday than she had on Tuesday. Her wispy blond hair had been cut into a Castle bob, and it didn’t suit her. Her face was sort of pretty but far too pale, her torso so skinny you could practically see through her, and she seemed wobbly on her pins. Li had one hand on her arm and another on her shoulder, and I got the feeling she was guiding Sally for fear she might get lost otherwise. Or blow away, maybe. I felt sorry for her. Sally, I mean, not Li.
Sam and Lou rose to greet the newcomers. Sam’s gentlemanliness didn’t surprise me. Mr. Prophet’s did, but that’s probably only because he’d recently annoyed me.
Walking to her, Sam held out his hand. Sally looked at it as if she didn’t know what to do with it. Or maybe she was practicing good manners. After all, the woman’s supposed to initiate the hand-shaking ritual. Giving up on the hand-shake, Sam placed his hand on her arm, his other on her back, and I realized he was taking over guiding duties from Li. Sally glanced in panic at Li, but Li smiled reassuringly at her. I realized suddenly that Li’s smile could be darned near as benevolent as Clara Wilson’s. The woman (Li, not Clara) continued to baffle me.
“There’s no need to worry, Miss…Peterson, is it?” Sam asked gently.
Li answered for Sally. “Peters. Her last name is Peters.”
“Thank you.” Sam nodded at Li. “There’s no need to worry, Miss Peters. I only want to ask you one or two questions.”
In a whisper, Sally said, “Very well.”
After leading Sally to the chair Li had recently occupied, Sam lightly pressed her shoulder, and she dropped into the chair kind of like an autumn leaf. Not with a solid whump, in other words. She sort of drifted onto the chair. She wore a modern tube-style dress, and I’d wager she didn’t need to use a bust-flattener, as some of us did, in order to eradicate any unsightly womanly curves. Sally must have weighed six pounds! Her dark brown eyes seemed huge, although they might have appeared so large because her face was so narrow and pallid.
“Don’t worry, Sally,” said Li in a sweet voice. “I’ll be right here.” Glancing at Sam, she said, “It’s all right if I stay here, isn’t it, Detective Rotondo?”
“Here” in Li’s case was right behind Sally’s chair, I presume so Li could catch her if she floated away or wilted or did anything of a like nature. I doubted Li would have to catch her if she jumped and ran, because Sally didn’t look capable of either of those feats.
“Yes. But let me ask Miss Peters the questions, please.”
“Of course,” said Li, acquiescing, although I got the feeling she didn’t want to.
“Thank you,” said Sam. Smiling at Sally, he said, “I understand you’ve lived at Orange Acres for about a month. Is that correct, Miss Peters?”
A second passed before Sally’s almost inaudible “Yes” lifted into the air.
“And you came here from Tombstone, Arizona?”
Sally nodded.
“While you were in Tombstone, I understand you worked for a fellow named Adolph Grant.”
Casting a swift look up at Li, Sally didn’t answer until the other woman nodded. Then she nodded, too.
“But Mr. Grant is now deceased?”
Sally seemed puzzled by the last word Sam used, so he rephrased the question.
“You told Mrs. Mainwaring and Miss Li that Mr. Grant is now dead. Is that correct?”
After licking her lips, Sally whispered, “Yes.”
“He’s been dead for about a year?” said Sam.
Sally tilted her head back to look up at Li, who nodded again. So Sally said, “Um… Yes.”
“Very good.” I’d never before heard Sam Rotondo sound so gentle. I was proud of him. “And you requested Missus Mainwaring’s help in getting you away from the life you were forced to lead at the late Mister Grant’s establishment?”
“I…” Another glance up at Li produced another nod from Sally.
Probably because he was irked that Sally didn’t seem able to produce answers without Li’s approval, Sam said, still using a kindly tone of voice, “You needn’t be afraid of me, Miss Peters. I’m only here to ask you a few simple questions. I’m not going to hurt you or allow anyone else to hurt you.”
“It’s all right, Sally,” said Li. “Just answer the detective’s questions.”
With a big gulp of air, Sally nodded. “All right,” she said.
Evidently Sam didn’t consider Sally’s earlier nod any clearer than did I, because he said, “You mean you did ask for Missus Mainwaring’s help to get you away from Mister Grant’s parlor house?”
“Yes,” Sally said without waiting for Li’s signal.
“I see. And how did you get in touch with Missus Mainwaring? I understand Mister Grant’s employees kept a close watch on the women who worked at his parlor house.”
“Yes. They did.” Sally licked her lips, which were not tainted by lip rouge or natural coloring. The woman was a veritable wisp.
“But you managed to get a message out of his house to a person who could relay it to Missus Mainwaring?”
Another nod from Sally.
I wondered if Sally knew what a refuge was but didn’t ask.
“Um…I…Another girl told me to write a note, and she’d make sure it got to Miss Angie.”
“I see. What was this young woman’s name?”
“Um…I don’t…Frieda, I think.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
Sally shook her head.
“Do you recall Frieda’s last name?”
“No.”
“I see. Were you informed when Missus Mainwaring received your note?”
“No.”
“But she did get it, or you wouldn’t be here. Right?”
“Yes. Miss Li came to get me. She had to sneak me through my bedroom window.”
“Ah. That must have been a frightening experience.”
Showing more animation than I’d yet seen from her, Sally shuddered and whispered, “Yes.”
“After Miss Li got you away from Mister Grant’s parlor house, what happened?”
“She hid me in a wagon.”
Lifting his dark eyebrows again, Sam said, “Did you ride all the way from Tombstone, Arizona, to Pasadena, California, hidden in a wagon?”
Sally shook her head.
Li said, “I—”
Sam held up his hand, and Li ceased speaking. Guess she’d aimed to tell Sam how she’d managed to get Sally out of Arizona. I also guess Sam wanted to hear Sally’s story from Sally.
“Please let Miss Peters relate her own story, Miss Li.”
Told you so.
“Very well.” Li’s words were sweet. Her expression would have killed Sam if it had been a sharp implement.
“Miss Peters?” Sam prompted.
“Um, what?”
“What happened after Miss Li got you away from the parlor house and into the wagon?” Sam was showing incredible patience. Shoot. Didn’t know he had it in him, but the quality boded well for our future life together, mainly because I didn’t have any. Patience, I mean.
