Katie Rose (26 page)

“I was in town yesterday and heard the very same woman asking the postman about Bertie Evans. There are too many loose ends here, and too many people getting wise. That preacher man’s still sticking to her like flies on horse dung. I don’t like the looks of it. We should have finished the housekeeper long before this.”

“I thought you didn’t want no more killings,” Jake said, but his grin belied the regretful tone of his words.

Emmet scowled. “The boss doesn’t, but it seems we left a few messes behind. The housekeeper shouldn’t be hard to silence, and she’s in Silverton—far enough away that it won’t be traced back to us. The postman almost peed his pants when he told me where she was.”

Jake chuckled at the picture of that. “I’ll take a little ride to Silverton, then. Housekeepers are getting to be my specialty.”

Emmet smiled, then waved a hand toward the hills outside. “You know, I ain’t nearly as concerned about Bertie Evans as I am that China woman. She turned up yet?”

“Naw.” Jake shook his head. “We looked everywhere,
but those Chinese wouldn’t tell you a thing. Clam up quicker than a virgin’s legs as soon as you ask them a question.”

Emmet smiled, but his voice was deadly when he spoke. “We’ve got to find her. Of all of them, she could cause some real trouble. The boss wants this thing done clean. I want that China girl found, and I want her dead. And if Miss Potter gets in the way, the same goes for her, too.”

“So, honey, how did it go? I can’t wait to hear the details!”

Emily stood before the mirror, slowly removing her gown. Confusion overwhelmed her, and her face screwed up into a knot as she tried to puzzle it all out. To further complicate matters, she felt very strange physically as well; her body still glowed from Thomas’s lovemaking, and a stinging ache between her legs reminded her that after tonight, nothing would be the same.

Rosie sat up, her excited smile changing quickly to concern. “What’s wrong, Emily? He didn’t propose anything outlandish, did he? My God, those holy men are always the worst. I remember one minister, who wanted to play Indians, and tied me up—”

“No, nothing like that,” Emily hastened to reassure her. But when she spoke again, her voice was blandly logical, as if she were speaking about the weather. “That part was very nice, and more enjoyable than I would have thought. But he caught me looking through his papers.”

“He did?” Rosie froze in horror. “Oh, my. What did you do?”

Emily sighed in self-disgust. “I did the worst thing I could have done. I told him the truth. I told him that I was afraid I was falling in love with him and I had to know who he really was.”

“Thank the Lord.” Rosie let out the breath she appeared to have been holding. Her smile returned and she eyed Emily with admiration. “That was real clever of you! You’ve learned more from me than I thought! Normally I wouldn’t advise saying that to a man until you were certain of his feelings for you, but in this case, the timing couldn’t have been better. What did he do?”

Emily looked at the floor. “He seemed relieved. I guess he thought that I was only pretending to want him, just to spy on him. What I told him was true, though. I am beginning to care for him.”

“I know,” Rosie said softly. “I think he feels a lot for you, too. He just may not be ready to tell you about it. But honey, this sounds like good news. Why do you look so glum?”

Emily lifted her chin and looked directly at the phantom. “Rosie, I have to ask you something, and I really need to have the whole answer.”

Rosie nodded, sitting at attention. “I’ll try. What do you want to know?”

“Thomas told me a lot of things tonight. He worked for Wells Fargo, and his real name is Thomas Brant. He was transporting a gold shipment, a payroll, with my father. Thomas claims my father stole
the money and tried to lay the blame on him. He also thinks there was an accomplice who killed you both when my father double-crossed him, and that, whoever it is, is still determined to get the money.”

“Good heavens!” Rosie’s expression became sympathetic. “Now I can see why you’re so upset. That is terrible! I can’t imagine such a thing.…”

“I need to know,” Emily whispered, pain filling her voice. “I really need to know about my father.”

The ghost gazed at Emily with fondness. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft and understanding.

“Your pa wanted so much to help you. You’re all he ever talked about, honey, and that’s the truth. He was so proud of you! He kept anything that reminded him of you, and the few letters he received from you, he treated like they were gold. I don’t know if he was capable of doing such a terrible thing, but if he did, he did it for you.”

Emily shook her head in disbelief. “But why? I never asked for money. I never wrote to him of any desire for wealth, or tried to make him feel less of a man because we didn’t have it. Frankly, I didn’t think much about him at all. He left me when I was so young, I never even knew what kind of man he was.”

Rosie nodded, a tear spilling down her face. “I know, honey. You know how men are sometimes? They start out thinking that they want success, and that usually means money. It’s only when they get older that they start to think about other things, and what success really is. I think that’s what happened to your pa.”

“It’s all so confusing.” Emily sighed, and Rosie nodded.

“I know, and it only gets more so. But that’s life, isn’t it?”

Emily looked at the ghost, thinking of what an odd thing it was for her to say. Yet perhaps, being on that side, it was easier to see.

“I still can’t accept this,” Emily said softly. “If I did, I would have to admit that my father was a thief and worse. And Thomas …” Thomas would have every reason on earth to despise her. How could he hold her, make love to her, if he really believed her father caused his ruin?

As if reading her mind, Rosie spoke softly. “Why don’t you just wait and see what turns up? Your preacher man doesn’t seem to be holding your father’s actions against you. I think he genuinely cares for you, and he’s sure put himself out to help you. And if you solve this mystery, you may very well get your answers then.”

Emily smiled, watching the ghost fade from sight.

The next morning, Emily summoned Darrel to fetch the hats. Then, she made her way into town to borrow the post office clerk’s cart once more.

Rain poured, making her journey a misery, but Emily pressed on. Last night, while falling asleep, she had figured a few things out. The shop had to be opened immediately, and she needed to attend the functions that Eleanor Hamill had suggested to her. Further, she had decided to paint the ceiling of the house and tone down any other vivid reminders of
what went on there. Emily realized she couldn’t count on all the women having Eleanor’s astigmatism, and she finally understood that Thomas was right—at least about this. She needed to win the approval of the town’s women, come hell or high water.

Thoughts of Thomas were twice as unsettling this morning. Unfortunately in this case, Rosie’s advice didn’t work, for the hot bath she’d suggested had only reminded her of the delicious lovemaking they’d shared the previous night. It troubled her greatly that he hadn’t returned her words of affection, and she still couldn’t believe what he’d said about her father. The fact that Thomas did bothered her intensely.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t professed any strong feelings for her. Perhaps, when he looked at her, all he saw was her father. Several people had remarked on their likeness, and Emily swiftly recalled Thomas’s efforts to question her when they first met. Could he still be using her for his own gains? He was determined to find that gold, and she might be the only lead he had. To her dismay, Emily had realized a startling truth. Since finding out his identity, her doubts about Thomas had only gotten darker.

Frustrated, she ran swiftly through the rainfall and into the post office. Closing her umbrella, she saw gratefully that no one else was in the place—due, she supposed, to the weather. She managed a smile as she approached the desk, but when the clerk looked up and recognized her, his face drained of color.

Emily sighed. This again. “Sir, I was wondering if I could beg a favor,” she asked prettily.

“Miss, would you mind coming around the back?” The clerk’s manner was nervous and jerky. He circled around the counter to where she stood, then to Emily’s amazement, began to draw the shades.

“Look, I told you I don’t work at the saloon anymore—”

“Miss Emily.” The man turned toward her and Emily’s words seemed to dry up. He looked terrified, and he indicated the office in the back. “I meant there. Can you step in for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with you.”

Nodding, she followed him into the office, noting anxiously that he bolted the door behind them. She saw, too, his furtive glance out the back door, then he bolted that firmly as well. When all was secure, he turned to her, and even then, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Do you remember the last time you were here, asking about that housekeeper?”

“Bertie Evans. Yes, I remember.” Emily frowned. Something was terribly wrong here. This went far beyond being embarrassed by having a tart on the premises. She waited patiently for him to gather his nerve.

“After you left, Emmet Colter came in here, asking the same things. He wanted to know who you were, what you wanted, and what I had told you. When I mentioned the housekeeper, he got angry and asked me where Bertie was.”

“Good God.” Emily sank down into a chair, staring at the piles of mail before her without really seeing them. “Emmet Colter! Here? Why?”

“I don’t know,” the clerk said, still literally shaking in his boots. “But I thought I should warn you. My life is in your hands, for if Emmet finds out I said a word to you, he’ll kill me. I can’t go to the sheriff, much as I’d like to ’cause word would get around too quick. Then Emmet would come looking for me.”

The significance of the clerk’s words was sinking in. “Then I was right! He
is
involved in this. But if Emmet knows where Bertie is, I’ve got to warn her—”

“That’s not necessary.” For the first time, the clerk looked genuinely pleased with himself. “I told him her address was Silverton.”

“How wonderful of you, and how brave!” Emily said with sincere admiration. The clerk flushed, but his gaze remained steadily on her.

“Emmet knows where you are. Keep an eye out, Miss Emily. Keep an eye out.”

When the rain finally stopped, Emily was able to transport the hats safely from the house to the millinery shop. She put them neatly on the counter, displaying them in their full glory in an effort to entice any passing traffic into the shop. Again, she had to admit Thomas was right about the place. Its location couldn’t be better, and without even having to advertise, she would attract exactly the crowd she needed. Now, if only the townswomen would give her a chance, she knew she could be successful.

While waiting for customers, Emily propped her notes between the hats and began her work, just as she had during her days in Boston. Retrieving a tablet of paper and a pencil, she began scribbling the facts of the case. Her encounter that morning with the postal clerk had left her wary—and more frustrated than ever.

Chewing her pencil, Emily nodded to herself. The web around Colter was tightening. But she knew time was running out. Even now, Emmet was probably riding to Silverton to look up the missing Bertie Evans. When he realized she wasn’t there, he wouldn’t drop his pursuit; most likely, he’d redouble his efforts. The postal clerk had bought them a few days, but that was all.

Rising, Emily folded the slip of paper and put it into her pocket. She knew what she had to do: find
Bertie and warn her of the danger, then find out what she knew before Emmet could silence her forever. And the only way she could do that was with Thomas’s help.

Closing the shop, she started resolutely down the street, grateful that the rain had stopped. As she rounded the corner, she saw the hotel where they’d had dinner. A blush heated her cheeks as she recalled the night they’d spent together, and the scene that followed. Thomas’s accusations about her father troubled her in so many ways, but one thing nagged at her more than anything else. What if he was right?

A crowd had gathered at the edge of town, and Emily paused, curious, to see what was going on. She heard what sounded like preaching, and saw the women listening with rapt attention. She was within a few feet of the knot of people when she recognized the voice.