Katie Rose (6 page)

“That makes sense,” Thomas said. “So you think this accomplice may have been involved in the murder?”

“The way I figure, his partner was supposed to get a fifty percent cut. But Potter double-crossed him. When his accomplice found out, he got his revenge the hard way.”

“Murder,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “It seems strange that his accomplice wouldn’t fear for his own life in coming back here. Potter must have been dangerous, too, if crossed.”

“My guess is he had two million reasons for coming back,” the sheriff said dryly. “The way I see it, his accomplice, whoever it is, killed Potter and Rosie. And he still hasn’t been caught.”

“Why the girl? She didn’t have anything to do with this, did she?”

“I think she just happened to be with him when the accomplice confronted Potter.” The sheriff shrugged. “And she was a witness. Rosie probably knew the whole story, may even have known where Potter put the money, he trusted her that much. But she’s dead.”

“And Potter’s daughter is alive.” Thomas looked at the window. Was that a shadow still lurking outside? Emily was undoubtedly poised with her ear to the door.

The sheriff nodded. “Now do you see why it’s important to get her out of here? Whether she knows where the gold is or not, I don’t want to go back to that house and clean up another mess like I had to that night. The girl is in danger. Someone has to make her see that.”

“I’ve tried,” Thomas said in exasperation. “She
won’t budge. The woman is as stubborn as a mule. Until I can make her see reason, I’m going to find a servant to stay there. Maybe a stable boy who could keep an eye out.”

“You could try Russ Whittaker’s boy. He used to take care of the stables for Rosie. He might not mind coming back. All the girls fled after that night, and even the servants disappeared. We had a tough time trying to find witnesses.”

“Were there any?”

“We did talk to the housekeeper, Bertie Evans, who’s still somewhere about. She wouldn’t tell us much. Then there was a China woman, used to do the laundry. Her name is Sung He, and she lives at the edge of town, near the mining camp. The men all called her China Blue. We haven’t been able to find her, though. She disappeared right after the murders.”

“Anyone else? Odd that none of the girls saw or heard anything.”

The sheriff rummaged in his desk and pulled out a black book of bound notes. “Here is my report. Most of those girls scattered like fleas after the killings. We did hear of one of them. She came back to the house one night, apparently to get some of her things. She ran out in a hurry, and I lost track of her. Lizzie was her name. Lizzie Wakefield. Prettiest of all the girls.”

“Lizzie,” Thomas repeated. “Why was she in such a hurry to leave? Did she know something?”

“No, I don’t think it had anything to do with that. It seems she got scared out of her wits. Folks around here all say that, anyway.”

“And what do you think?”

“Apparently, the place is haunted. Lizzie said she wouldn’t go within ten feet of it again, even if her life depended on it—”

The sheriff’s next words were drowned out when a crash sounded outside the office. Instinctively the sheriff grabbed his gun and got to his feet. Flinging open the door, he stared in astonishment at his office bench, toppled over on the floor, along with a bookcase and a vase of flowers his mother had brought by. Fred, the young deputy, sat behind the desk, his head in his hands. Emily was sprawled on the floor. A glimpse of snow white petticoats frothed beneath the hem of her dress, and Thomas could see just enough of her shapely ankles and stockinged calves to give him an idea of her unbridled charms. Blood pounded in the back of his head, but it was the sheriff who exploded.

“What in blazes is going on here?”

“I can explain—” Emily began, but the sheriff only glared at her.

“I’ll take care of this,” Thomas said quickly, stepping over the mess and taking Emily by the arm. He yanked her to her feet, then set the bench back upright while the sheriff fingered his gun. “Thank you for your time, Sheriff. It’s been most informative. Miss Potter, I think you should be getting home now, before the kind sheriff changes his mind and arrests you.”

“But—” Emily started to protest, but the lawman’s glance toward the cell indicated that Thomas’s guess wasn’t too far from the mark. “But I still need information!”

“Miss Potter will pay for any damages, won’t you? I look forward to seeing you again real soon, Sheriff.”

Thomas propelled Emily out the door, even as she
continued to stutter objections. He had barely closed the door behind them when the sound of the sheriff’s shouting rattled the windows. Thomas flinched for the poor deputy, who’d obviously been out of his league with Emily. Quickening his pace, he half-dragged her down the street, determined to put as much distance between the irate lawman and Miss Potter as possible.

When they were several blocks from the jail, Emily was forced to stop, breathless from the exertion. She yanked her hand out of Thomas’s grip, glaring at him indignantly.

“What do you think you’re doing? I need to have an interview with the sheriff. There is so much information missing—”

“Miss Emily,” Thomas said, cutting her off, “I don’t know what your experience was back East, but lawmen here don’t take kindly to females barging in and demanding to investigate. You were very close to spending the night in jail, if you haven’t figured that out.”

“Reverend,” Emily replied haughtily, as if his words were the grossest exaggeration, “I really don’t think he would have done any such thing.”

Thomas gritted his teeth in exasperation. This woman could be so damned obstinate! “Miss Potter, trust me. Not even the good Lord himself could have helped you. The man was ready to kill you. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that had you stayed there, you’d be conducting your interview behind bars.”

Emily finally saw the truth in his words. The fire went out of her eyes and she appeared so dejected
that he actually felt a pang of sympathy for her. She lifted her hands hopelessly. “Then I am defeated before I start. Even Lestrade, the intellectually inferior policeman in London, helped Sherlock Holmes. How can I investigate a case when the sheriff won’t even give me the time of day?”

Thomas sighed. He should just let her realize how futile investigating the case would be, then maybe she would give up and return home to safety. Or she would confess what she knew and stop this ridiculousness. But something in her eyes made him relent. Coupled with the thoughts of those pretty ankles, the petticoat, the warmth of her hand when he’d clasped hers, he found it very hard to stand his ground. Somehow he heard himself saying something he never intended. “All right, Miss Potter, I will share with you some of what he told me. Will that satisfy you?”

“You were discussing my case with him! Why?”

Thomas forced a smile, cursing himself for being taken in by a pair of silver eyes. “Yes, we were talking about it. I decided to ask about the case after seeing the house last night and your methods of investigation. You aroused … my curiosity.”

That wasn’t all she aroused, but Thomas would be damned if he’d venture there. In truth, the simple physical contact they’d made had affected him far more than he would ever admit. This strange slip of a girl had a disconcerting influence on him, and it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

Emily blanched, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I must say that I think it very odd for a
preacher to be so interested in a murder. Where are you staying? I haven’t heard of any new mission here.”

“I’ve decided to start one, if there is enough interest,” Thomas explained readily. “I think the good people of Denver will appreciate a new preacher. This seems a most unholy town. In the interim, I’m staying at the boardinghouse.” When she continued to watch him with disbelief, he shrugged. “Miss Potter, since you seem so determined to remain suspicious of me, I’ll be on my way. I have a lot to do myself, being new in town.”

“I suppose secondhand information is better than none.” She sighed in resignation. “What did he tell you?”

Thomas glanced down the street and saw the sheriff rounding the corner. The man didn’t look any happier now than he had earlier. Muttering under his breath, Thomas indicated the restaurant across the street.

“I suggest we get something to eat. Your new friend is coming this way, and I don’t think he’s in the mood for polite conversation,” Thomas said bluntly. “I also don’t think you want to discuss your father’s murder in public.”

“Very well,” Emily agreed reluctantly.

Was she really so displeased at the prospect of socializing with him? Thomas wondered how he had gotten himself into this, and for a woman who apparently wasn’t in the least grateful. He led her across the street, into the immaculate restaurant that was part of the hotel. When the waitress saw his collar,
they were immediately ushered to one of the better tables and given menus. They ordered soup and sandwiches.

As they waited for the food, Emily retrieved her notebook, then looked at him expectantly. “I have a list of questions here that I hope you can answer. Let’s start at the beginning. Did the sheriff inspect the room? Was he able to obtain any physical data? Does he have an idea who perpetrated the crime?”

“No, no, and no,” Thomas answered solemnly.

Emily’s face fell, and her eyes darkened with dismay. “Then you mean he’s made no progress in the case?”

Thomas tried to explain as the waitress placed their meals on the table. “Miss Potter, did you know anything at all about your father’s life here? Or the rumors surrounding his death?”

Emily flushed and seemed to struggle with her answer. “No. I told you last night. My father wrote to my mother and myself, and sometimes sent money, but that was the extent of our contact with him. My mother didn’t speak much about him, other than to say that things were for the best. She felt she couldn’t live out here, where everything is so rugged and wild. She had family in Boston, and her customers and her church. Evidently that was enough for her.”

The waitress gave Thomas a fluttery glance before moving away, which made Emily scowl all the more. Thomas ignored his curiosity about her reaction as he took a bite of his sandwich and continued his interrogation.

“That’s all he told you? I suppose you never heard about the money, then.

“What money?” Emily asked.

Thomas watched her expression closely. “A stagecoach from Wells Fargo was transporting a two-million-dollar gold payroll out West when the money disappeared. Two men were in charge of the shipment, and everyone thought they were responsible. One of them was John Potter.”

The spoon fell from Emily’s hand and she stared at Thomas in shock. “What? Two million dollars in gold? And you think—”

“Your father vanished, only to turn up months later running a bordello in Denver. The other man was also accused and was fired by Wells Fargo, but no one could prove anything. The money, you see, has never turned up.”

“My God,” Emily whispered. “So that’s why Shangri-La was vandalized!”

“Someone was looking for the gold,” Thomas agreed. “No bank has registered a deposit of that amount, no individual has confessed, and your father was certainly not living the life of a millionaire. Yet all the facts point to him.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Emily, recovered from the surprise, picked up her pencil and began to scribble furiously. “I can’t believe he did such a thing! I mean, I didn’t know him well, I admit that, but to steal two million dollars … Even if he used some of it to build the house, where is the rest? Why didn’t he use it? And how does that tie into the killings?”

Thomas sighed. Emily’s surprised reaction was totally believable. Was she simply a good liar? “The sheriff thinks someone else was involved in the robbery. If your father reneged on his agreement with his accomplice and absconded with all of the money, that person would certainly have had a motive to kill.”

Emily tapped her cheek thoughtfully with her pencil. “That theory certainly fits the facts, if one believes the initial supposition is correct. However, I find it difficult to accept that as truth. Therefore, the conclusion is faulty, and leading us in entirely the wrong direction.”

“Miss Potter,” Thomas said, trying to keep a tight rein on his emotions, “I only agreed to give you this information in the hope that you would see how dangerous this situation is for you. Whoever killed your father most likely did it for the money, and they aren’t going to stop until they get it. Don’t you understand? Every moment you are living in that house you are in jeopardy!”

The waitress brought their bill, which Thomas insisted on paying. As soon as the woman left, Emily rose, picked up her bag, and gave him a rare smile. It was a beautiful smile, Thomas noticed, even as her words caused his blood to boil.

“Thank you for the meal, Reverend, and the insight. I think I can manage from here. As Holmes would say,
‘Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute.’
It is only the first step that costs.”

“Miss Potter,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, “does nothing I’ve said make any difference to you?”