Bordello Walk
Page 1
BORDELLO
WALK
Book 17 of the Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Series
Melissa Bowersock
Copyright © 2019 by Melissa Bowersock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in an online review or one printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
First Printing
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover image by coversbydesign.net.
ISBN: 9781795666916
Books by Melissa Bowersock
The Appaloosa Connection
The Blue Crystal
Burning Through
The Field Where I Died
Finding Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 1)
Being Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 2)
Fleischerhaus
Ghost Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 1)
Skin Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 2)
Star Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 3)
Dream Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 4)
Dragon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 5)
Demon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 6)
Soul Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 7)
Death Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 8)
Castle Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 9)
Murder Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 10)
Spirit Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 11)
Fire Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 12)
Revenge Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 13)
Gangster Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 14)
Karma Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 15)
Mystery Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 16)
Bordello Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 17)
Goddess Rising
Lightning Strikes
Love’s Savage Armpit by Amber Flame
(Originally published as
The Pits of Passion)
The Man in the Black Hat
Marcia Gates: Angel of Bataan
Queen’s Gold
The Rare Breed
Remember Me
Sonnets for Heidi
Stone’s Ghost
Superstition Gold
Acknowledgments
I had some fun with this one. I got an idea from a friend, who suggested having a contest to name a character after a reader. Instead of one, I stretched the contest to name three characters—all prostitute ghosts that were haunting an old bordello. After all, who doesn’t want to be named as a ghostly prostitute? I ran the contest on my blog and Facebook page and had a good response. The trick was that readers had to suggest a nickname for the characters, since almost all prostitutes of the day used aliases. As I was writing the book, I began to flesh out (no pun intended) the “working girls,” then I chose the suggested nicknames that seemed to fit the personalities the best.
The three winning readers and their nicknames were: Michelle “Mai Oui” Schulter, Julianne “Shorty” Stewart, and Kat “Cookie” Brooks.
I want to thank those three ladies and all the readers who entered the contest. All the suggestions certainly gave me a lot to think about, and helped formulate the characters as I wrote.
Another quirk of this book was writing about a place (Jerome, Arizona) that is basically in my back yard. I’ve always heard about the ghosts that haunt Jerome, and my husband and I even took a Ghost Tour (purely for research, of course) to discover the stories that have persisted for over 100 years. Being able to visit Jerome and have my own experiences helped to inform the story and add to the authenticity, but I realized at some point that I needed to separate reality from fiction, as they intersect repeatedly throughout the book. To that end, I’ve added a section at the back of the book on what is real and what is fiction for those readers who might want to verify the facts, or perhaps experience Jerome on their own.
Now, join Lacey and Sam as they delve into the Wild West past of Jerome, the most haunted town in Arizona—and pay the price.
BORDELLO
WALK
Melissa Bowersock
ONE
The deep royal blue shimmered, creating a striking backdrop to the flaming russet orange that erupted from the base of the ceramic pot. The traditional Navajo wedding vase with the handle arching between the two spouts took on a whole new dimension when glazed. Lacey took a picture, shook her head, and rotated the vase a half turn for another picture.
“I just can’t get over this,” she told Sam. “The same kind of pot, the exact same shape, and yet when you glaze it in these colors, it just becomes… alive. I can’t believe the difference.”
She turned the vase again, just slightly, on the black velvet cloth and noted how the deep blue gleamed. She hoped her photos could catch that.
“You think it’s okay?” Sam asked. He stood behind her shoulder, frowning at his latest creation.
She glanced over at him. “No, actually I think it’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Are you kidding? This thing is gorgeous!”
She checked the pictures in playback mode, hoping she could do this vase justice when she uploaded the images to Sam’s webpage. They looked okay in the thumbnail format, but she hoped the larger versions online would really pop.
Sam remained silent, and Lacey knew he was still struggling with this.
“Sam,” she said, turning to face him, “we’ve talked about this. Yes, you’re doing some very different work. You’re combining the traditional with the modern, and you’re making amazing fusions of both styles. But you’re not abandoning the traditional. You’re still doing things your Grampa Ben would do. There’s no law that says you have to stick to only one style.” She stepped closer and laid one palm against his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “Like I said before, you’re an artist, not a production line. Artists create. They make something new that never existed before.” She went up on tiptoes to brush his mouth with her lips. “That’s what you’re doing. Creating.”
Sam bit his lip, and Lacey had the distinct feeling he was trying not to smile. She knew this was hard for him; in every other aspect of life, her husband exuded confidence, but he worried about leaving his traditions behind as he moved into new directions. She also knew he heard her, and was gratified by her forceful arguments.
“Yeah,” he finally said. His black eyes glittered. “I know. I just…”
“I get it,” Lacey said softly. “You know what we should do? We should take some of your new stuff to Ben. See what he thinks. What do you want to bet he�
�ll love it?”
Now the smile surfaced, just a small one, a wry one, but a smile all the same.
“You think so?” he asked.
“I know it,” she said. “You know it, too. He’d go crazy over something like this.” She waved toward the wedding vase.
“Well…” he hedged.
“Well, nothing,” Lacey said. She turned back toward the vase. “We should plan a visit to Arizona soon. We haven’t been there in months anyway.”
She had a sudden thought. “What does Theodora think?” she asked, referring to their ghostly artist-in-residence.
Sam’s face took on a slightly pink glow. “She likes it.” His expression was a combination of embarrassment and pleasure.
“See?” she said. She checked again through the photos she’d taken, and thought they were good. “Okay, what else do you have?”
“I’ll get ‘em,” he said. He headed for the back room of the studio where he stored newly fired pots. She took the wedding vase—carefully—and set it on his work table to make room for other pieces.
Just as she set the vase down, her phone chimed from her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the screen: not a number she knew.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hello. Is this Ms. Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes, it is.”
“My name is Lorraine Kraft. I’d like to talk to you about… about ghosts. Is this a good time?”
“Sure,” Lacey said. She slid into a chair, setting her camera on the table.
“Oh, good,” Lorraine sighed. “I’m at my wit’s end, I’ll tell you.”
“What’s going on?” Lacey asked. Sam came out of the storage room with three more pots in his arms. She pointed to her phone and he nodded as he walked past.
“I live in Jerome, Arizona,” Lorraine said. “Are you familiar with it?”
“I’m not,” Lacey admitted, “but my husband might be.”
“It’s a small town—a very small town—north of Phoenix. It used to be a mining town during the days of the old west. Between those two things—the mining and the old west—it’s got more than its fair share of ghosts. Mine is in a shop I own in town, and because of it, I can’t make a go of the shop, but I can’t sell the place, either. I’m stuck.”
“Okay, hang on,” Lacey said. She grabbed her pack and pulled out her notebook and a pen. Leafing quickly through to a blank page, she held the pen poised.
“What’s the address?” she asked.
“It’s on Main Street,” Lorraine said. She read off the numbers. “It’s in what’s called the Tenderloin District—the old red light district. It used to be a house of prostitution.”
“Oh.” Lacey’s surprise was reflected in her voice. This was new.
Jotting notes, she felt rather than saw Sam looking over her shoulder to read what she’d written. She glanced up at him and noticed his frown.
“I’ve read about you two,” Lorraine continued. “Can you get rid of it?”
“Uh, well, I’m pretty sure we can,” Lacey faltered, watching Sam as he moved away.
“Oh, I hope so,” Lorraine said. “I’ll be happy to pay your travel expenses, and I can book a room for you at the Jerome Grand Hotel. When do you think you could come?”
“You know what?” Lacey said. “I’m not at home right now, but I’ll need to look at our calendar and see what we’ve got going on. Can I call you back this evening?”
“Oh, of course. Let me give you my number.”
Lacey jotted that down as well. She didn’t actually think they had anything on the calendar, but didn’t want to commit to anything without checking.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll get back to you tonight, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, yes, fine. Thank you. Thank you very much.” The woman’s relief was evident in her voice.
Lacey keyed off the call and set her phone down. Sam had taken the wedding vase and was making room for it on the display shelves.
“A new case,” Lacey said. “In Jerome, Arizona. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t turn toward her, but continued fiddling with the pot. He moved it minutely, first one way, then the other.
“Lady says her building used to be a brothel in the old west days. A ghost is making it impossible for her to sell the place. She said she’ll pay all expenses and get us a room in the Grand Hotel. Sounds pretty nice, huh?”
At that, Sam turned slowly toward her, his face unnaturally pale. “I can’t go there, Lace.”
“Oh?” Her brow furrowed in surprise. “Uh, okay. Why not?”
His mouth thinned into a hard, straight line. “There are ghosts there.”
~~~
TWO
She gaped at him. After a few tense seconds, she remembered to close her mouth, and she swallowed and chose her words carefully.
“Sam,” she said, her voice a mixture of concern and exasperation, “that’s what we do. We release ghosts. What—?”
“Not there,” he interrupted. “I can’t stay there.”
“Can’t stay… in Jerome?”
“Not in Jerome and for damn sure not in the Grand Hotel.”
His adamant stance, the non-negotiable set of his jaw, surprised her. She scrambled for a way to get past this wall.
“Sit down,” she said, patting the chair next to her. “Talk to me.”
He hesitated for a second, reluctant to bend, but finally took the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, though, as if ready for an argument.
“Okay,” she said softly. “If that’s the way it has to be, that’s okay. We don’t have to take this job. Maybe we can refer her to Webb and Esmeralda. But… can you tell me why?”
Whether it was her soft voice or her instant capitulation, something touched Sam, and he blew out a heavy breath. He relaxed his arms and laid one on the table.
“The Grand Hotel used to be a hospital. Thousands of people died there. This was an old mining town. During the old west they had all the usual drama of the time—lawlessness, shoot-outs, gambling, prostitution—but they also had all the problems of a mining town as well—cave-ins, explosions. And the entire town was built of wood. It burned down more than once. It was a… a death trap.”
“So, what you’re saying,” she pieced out slowly, “is that there are lots of ghosts there?”
“Tons of them,” he agreed. “Jerome is touted as the most haunted town in Arizona.”
“Okay.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “Help me understand. Will having that many ghosts around make it difficult for you to concentrate on one? Or is it something else?”
He shook his head, but she was gratified that he threaded his fingers between hers. “It’s like sensory overload, Lace. It’s like having a hundred people yammering at you at one time.” He paused, thinking. “Do you remember when we were working on the dumpster murders? And the press swarmed us outside of the police station?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she said. “We could barely get the car out of the parking lot for the crowd.”
“It’s like that,” he said. “It’s just a constant barrage. They all want to tell their story. They all want to be heard.”
She tipped her head at him. “When were you there?”
He sucked in a breath and stared off toward the ceiling. “I was twelve. The four of us went—my folks and Gabe and I. I knew as soon as we started up the mountain that there was something really wrong, but I didn’t know what it was. The closer we got to the town, the more it pressed on me. It was like being stuck in a crowd, like bodies pressing against me, all around, and I couldn’t get away. It felt like I couldn’t even breathe.”
He brought his gaze back to her, and she could see the distress in his dark eyes.
“All right,” she said, nodding decisively. “I’ll call Lorraine back tonight and tell her no. Like I said, maybe we can refer her to Webb and Esmeralda. I’m sure The Restless Dead people would love to take this one. They’d certainly have their pick
of ghosts to investigate.” She smiled. “Maybe they could do a whole season’s worth of TV shows up there.”
She was gratified to see a hint of a smile, just the slightest lift of one corner of his mouth. “Maybe,” he agreed.
She laughed. “Okay, that’s settled. Now, let’s get a few more pictures of your fabulous new creations for the website.”
~~~
She left the studio before he did, heading home to start dinner and, if she had time, put a few of the new pics up on the website.
After their open house some months ago, orders for Sam’s ceramics had continued to come in, not in a flood, but certainly in a constant stream. They were so encouraged by the interest that Lacey had set up the website and they had commissioned a sign across the front of the studio proclaiming simply: Firecloud. Now she spent part of every day processing orders or updating the webpage, and she shipped once or twice a week.
As she pulled into her parking space and turned off the car, she wondered if Sam’s mixed feelings about his non-traditional art were bothering him more than he let on, and perhaps leeching into other areas as well. She’d never known him to shy away from any haunting, and they’d certainly had some harrowing ones. His obvious unease about Jerome was surprising—uncomfortably so—and while she didn’t want to read too much into it, she couldn’t dismiss it, either.
Inside their apartment, she put down her pack and went first to the calendar. As she’d suspected, they had nothing major for the next couple of weeks. A moot point, now, though. She thought again about their TV counterparts, Webb Gannon and Esmeralda Clark. Well, she’d mention the possibility to Lorraine first and see if the woman wanted to go that direction.
By the time Sam got home, she had dinner all ready: tender chicken Alfredo with broccoli. The kitchen smelled delicious and the warm air combatted the January chill outside.
“I didn’t have time to upload the new pics,” she told him at the table. “I can do that tonight after I call Lorraine back. If they look as good as I think they will, we’ll sell the new stuff in no time.”