Love in Disguise (33 page)

When Gates and Fleming had warned her of danger during her briefing in Chicago, she’d brushed it off as the type of admonition a concerned uncle would give to a niece heading off into a new situation. But now their concern for her well-being seemed altogether warranted.

Ever since her arrival in Pickford, she had lamented her slow progress on the investigation. Evidently, some of Lavinia’s questions had struck closer to home than she’d thought.

The reality of her recent brushes with danger shocked her through and through. Finding herself in imminent danger in real life was far different than living it vicariously through a character in a novel or play.

A play . . . Her mind jumped back to the comparison she’d made earlier of the scene from
Much Ado
and the one she’d seen on the streets of Pickford that evening.

Ellie shook her head. What was it about Marvin Long’s account of the robbery that bothered her so?

She bent to scoop up the dress she had been wearing. If she could have her way, she would never touch it again, let alone wear it and bring back the memory of what she had just been through. But after throwing away the smoke-damaged dress the day before, that wasn’t an option. Her limited wardrobe didn’t give her the luxury of disposing of a second one.

Holding the dress at arm’s length, she examined it for any tears it might have gotten when she fell. Her gaze fastened on what appeared to be a splotch of blood on the right sleeve.

Why hadn’t she noticed a cut on her arm before? Ellie pulled up the sleeve of her wrapper. A discoloration on her arm where her assailant had held her in his grip told her another bruise would likely be forthcoming, but she couldn’t find a spot where the skin had been broken.

Mystified, she looked more closely at the dress. Turning it over, she saw another streak of blood on the back of the collar.

She let the dress fall to the floor and hurried to her dressing table. Letting the wrapper slip down over her shoulders, she picked up her hand mirror and held it up so she could check her neck and back.

Nothing. Not even the beginnings of a bruise.

Ellie pulled the wrapper back up over her shoulders. Picking up the dress again, she carried it over to the armchair and held it up under the light of the cranberry-glass oil lamp. The stains looked like blood, all right. They must have come from her attacker.

Holding this evidence of his contact in her hands made her feel as if he’d invaded her home with his presence. She felt the bile rise in her throat. Swallowing it back, she forced herself to examine the spot more closely.

She hadn’t injured him. Much as she’d wanted to, he hadn’t given her the chance. But he’d been hurt somehow. The thought gave her immense satisfaction.

Ellie studied the bloodstains again, giving particular attention to their location. The one on her sleeve must have come from his hand, and the one at her collar from his face.

A vision of Marvin Long staggering into the street flashed into her mind. She remembered the way he’d held his left hand against his bleeding head. Her attacker had used his left hand to hold her against him.

But Marvin Long had gone to the doctor, hadn’t he?

Not necessarily.

Ellie swallowed hard as a succession of thoughts raced through her mind with startling clarity. She’d seen Long go off in the direction of the doctor’s office, but that was no guarantee he had actually gone in to see the physician.

She closed her eyes, straining to remember every detail of the way she’d been grabbed and manhandled. She hadn’t been able to see a thing, but she’d heard him clearly enough. Could that grating voice belong to Marvin Long?

But that would make him one of the robbers, or at least in league with them. It didn’t make sense that they would attack one of their own.

She recalled the strength of the arms that had held her in the alley. Her assailant hadn’t shown the signs of weakness Long displayed out on the street. He certainly hadn’t acted like a man dazed from losing a significant amount of blood.

Acting.
The word teased at her mind. Once again, she saw herself backstage at the theater, watching one of the actors apply theatrical blood to a simulated wound before he staggered onstage.

Just the way Marvin Long had staggered into the middle of Grant Street.

Ellie held the dress up closer to the lamp’s etched-glass globe. A slight sheen on the stain reflected in the lamplight.

Real blood didn’t shine after it dried on fabric. Ellie had pricked her fingers with a sewing needle often enough to be sure of that.

What could it be, then? Harold Stiller, the Orpheum’s stage manager, had a favorite recipe for concocting stage blood, a mixture of sugar syrup and berry juice. Sugar would glisten like that when it dried.

Ellie raised the fabric to her lips, then lowered it back into her lap. The very thought of tasting blood—particularly Marvin Long’s—sent a wave of nausea through her.

But it wasn’t blood. She was positive of that.

Almost.

She stretched the fabric between her fingers. Whatever made that offensive stain, it was up to her to determine what it was. She was a detective, and detectives sometimes had to perform unsavory tasks in order to discover the truth.

Besides, hadn’t she promised God she would give Him all of herself? That meant every bit of her belonged to Him.

Including her queasy stomach.

Once again, she lifted the dress. This time she dabbed the tip of her tongue against the spot and smacked her lips together, trying to identify the taste.

She’d been wrong. The stain on her dress wasn’t Harold Stiller’s blend of sugar syrup and berry juice after all.

It was raspberry jam.

She lowered the dress again, her mind in a whirl. If those splotches had been made by Marvin Long, then he had indeed been acting, and she’d been duped, just like any gullible theater audience.

But why? The question wouldn’t leave her alone.

Now that she had thought things through, she had no problem once again believing Long to be one of the robbers, but why the act? What purpose could it serve?

Ellie didn’t have the answer, but she knew she would have to keep an eye on him from that moment on.

And she was equally certain of one other thing—never again would she leave the house without the pistol Cousin Ted had given her.

25

E
llie slipped out of the dark gray dress and sat on the edge of her bed to unwrap the cloth strips from around her legs. A paisley-print frock in creamy yellow lay draped across the bed, ready for her to assume her second role of the day. When she got up to hang Lavinia’s dress in the wardrobe, she tottered a little, as if old age truly was creeping up on her. Grasping the bedpost to steady herself, she removed the gray wig and prepared to transform herself into Jessie.

Maybe the weariness shouldn’t come as a surprise, she thought as she pulled out the cheek plumpers. After Marvin Long’s warning, she hadn’t asked questions of anyone—she would save the inquiries for Jessie, whose questions for some reason did not concern the thieves—but she had spent the morning in a state of constant awareness, noting every detail of her surroundings and each person she saw around town. That was enough to wear down the sturdiest constitution.

She settled the red wig on her head, dabbed a bit of color on her cheeks, and slipped into the paisley dress. A memory stirred of helping Magdalena into the dress months before, bringing with it a wistful longing for days gone by. How she would welcome the chance to be back in Chicago again, dealing with what she used to consider the hardships of theater life.

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. The girl she used to be had no idea what hardship meant.

But if she had remained in Chicago, she never would have met Steven.

But that was of no consequence at the moment. She didn’t have time to act like a love-struck schoolgirl. Not while menace loomed on the horizon. And the best way to overcome that peril was to identify the gang members and notify the Pinkertons so they could call in the authorities and break up the ring.

She went to the kitchen, where she foraged in the cupboard for food and decided on a quick snack of tea, cheese, and crackers. No time for a proper meal. She could get something more at the Mother Lode if her hunger became too great.

During the morning’s foray through town as Lavinia, she thought through the previous night’s performance yet again and reached a conclusion. Marvin Long was very probably a member of the gang, but he wasn’t the leader. Nothing about his actions spoke of him as being the author of the current drama, only a character playing out his lines as written.

Ellie carried a cup of tea to the table and sipped at it while she nibbled on her cheese and crackers. In that case, in addition to keeping a watchful eye on Long, she also had to watch for someone higher up in the organization. The thieves’ hold on the mine owners of Pickford had gone on far too long. She needed to bring it to an end, and it had to be done soon. The sense of imminent peril, along with harboring suspicions about everyone she met, was eating her alive.

The only person she trusted was Steven, and now, more than ever, she couldn’t tell him what had happened. If these criminals would go to such lengths to keep a sweet-tempered old lady from asking questions, what would they do to stop a robust man bent on saving his business?

The possibilities made her shiver.

No, if she planned to help Steven—and herself—she would have to keep her own counsel and play out the role she’d been given.

She swallowed the last drops of tea and swept the cracker crumbs off the table. Lavinia hadn’t been able to discover anything of note. She would see what Jessie could turn up.

By dinnertime, Ellie’s steps were flagging, along with her spirits. Despite an afternoon of carefully guided conversations, she hadn’t been able to turn up one scrap of useful information. Nor had she seen any sign of Marvin Long, though she kept a constant watch for him.

Time was getting short, and she knew it was getting more and more foolish to keep asking questions—she had no way of knowing when she might ask the wrong question of the wrong person. She felt as though she were watching the final grains of sand slip through to the bottom of an hourglass.

Walking west on Grant, she crossed to the south side of the street at the corner of Third. She couldn’t bear to retrace her steps over the same spot where she’d been assaulted the night before. Mildly embarrassed by her squeamishness, she continued on, squinting into the rays of the setting sun.

She hated to go home with nothing accomplished. It felt too much like giving up. Her intuition told her to linger awhile, that she would have a better chance of noting things of significance after darkness settled over the town.

But she couldn’t afford to stay out after dark. Not again. Whether as Jessie or Lavinia, the risks were too great. Even the weight of the pistol in her reticule didn’t offer enough sense of security to offset her fears.

Ellie reached Second Street and turned right. How she wished Norma hadn’t found the love of her life until after their job had been completed. She needed another person for companionship, for counsel, and to guard her back.

She needed help, it was as simple as that, but she had no one to turn to. If she asked Steven to watch Marvin Long, he would be sure to ask why. And what could she tell him?

“Bang! Bang! I got you!”

Ellie shrieked and spun around to see Billy Taylor behind her, his finger pointed at her midsection in imitation of a pistol. Without thinking, her hand shot out, catching his ear between her thumb and forefinger.

“Owww!” His yowl of protest sounded like a cat who’d gotten its tail under a rocker. “What are you doing? Lemme go!”

“What am I doing? What do you think
you’re
doing, sneaking up on people and scaring the daylights out of them? I ought to drag you home and give your mother a piece of my mind. What can she be thinking of, letting you stay outside so late?”

The boy tried to pull away, but her grip on his ear held him fast. He jutted out his chin and glared up at her. “It isn’t all that late. Ma always lets me play outside after supper. She says it gives her peace of mind.”

Ellie could well believe it.

And the news didn’t really come as any surprise to her. On many an evening, she had seen Billy and his buddies playing outside long after she would have expected their mothers to have called them inside. Shouldn’t they be concerned about what their children were doing? There was no telling what they could be getting into, running all over town like that.

In the dark.

Unnoticed.

With no one paying them any mind.

Ellie tilted her head and regarded the lad thoughtfully. “If I turn loose of your ear, will you stay here and not run off?”

Billy drew his brows together in a fierce scowl. “Why should I?”

Ellie released the pressure of her fingers a smidgen, but not so much that she couldn’t nab him again if he made a move to run off. “How would you like another detecting job?”