Angel in My Arms (7 page)

Celeste frowned as Kate's initial words caught up to her. "I can't
believe Margaret was murdered. By a customer?" That would be reason for
Kate's girls to be fearful. Carrington was a small town of less than
two hundred. Working girls didn't get murdered by rough customers here,
as they did in the bigger cities.

"We don't know yet. Sheriff Tate's at Sal's now. I only got a quick
look at Margaret before Tate and his deputy shooed us out, but I'll
tell you, I saw enough that I won't be sleeping any time soon."

Celeste still couldn't quite believe it was true. "What happened? A fight with a customer? Was she knifed?"

"She was knifed, all right." Kate's pale face turned a shade whiter.
"She was tied up. Cut up." Tears welled in Kate's eyes. "Disfigured the
way a woman shouldn't be."

Celeste's stomach gave a lurch. "Do they know who did it?"

"That's the strange thing. Margaret didn't see anyone last night.
She… she was on her off week. She made gingerbread with one of the
other girls at Sal's and then went to bed early 'cause she was
cramping." Kate fished a handkerchief from between her breasts and
wiped her nose. "No one saw or heard anything. They found her this
morning." She wiped her nose. "I need you, Celeste. I'm tellin' you,
the girls are in a way. They won't stop crying."

Celeste brushed Kate's arm with her fingertips. "Let me get my cape. I'll come now."

"What's wrong?" Fox appeared behind Celeste.

"There's been a murder. A woman friend." Celeste grabbed her cape
off the oak rack on the wall. She tried not to think about the fact
that Margaret was one of their own. Celeste could have been Margaret.
"This is my friend Kate. I have to go with her."

"We've met." He nodded gentlemanly, giving no indication that he
noticed she was standing on the front porch in her nightgown and rag
rollers. "I'll go, too."

"No. Really." Celeste tossed her cape over her shoulders. "It's not
necessary." She didn't want Fox at Kate's. She didn't want him to find
out who she was that way.

But Fox already had his hat in his hand and reached for his coat.
"If there's a murderer about town, I don't want you ladies walking the
streets alone."

Celeste made no further protest. What was the point? Perhaps it was
better if he saw for himself what she truly was. If Kate and the other
women needed her now, she had to go. She couldn't be concerned for
herself.

Celeste put her arm around Kate and led her friend across the porch
and down the steps, leaving Fox to trail behind them. The storm had
passed and the rain had ceased, but there was still a light mist in the
morning air. Celeste looked up to see that the sky was as gray and
dreary as her heart.

Funny how easily a sinner's blood washes from my hands. Somehow I knew it would. I am protected. I am unsoiled.

Watching my hands rinse clean and the water in the chipped
porcelain washbowl turn a dirty red, I have to remind myself that I
must remain humble. This is not my work, this slaying of sinners, but
His work. It's through Him that I pass invisibly down the street,
through doors, down hallways where I hear the whores laughing.

I can't resist a smile as I reach for a clean, dry towel and rub
my thick fingers with the rough cloth. It was so easy… Easier than I
had thought it would be. The little slut was so meek that she mewed
when I gagged her and tied her to that filthy bed. She never cried out,
not even when the knife sank into her pale, white breast. Not even when
the blood splattered her dolly.

An omen. I know now that this is what I have been called to do.
It is for this that I was born, have lived out this dull existence.
It's for this work.

Celeste hurried up Peach Street, her arm linked through Kate's.
"Everything's going to be all right," she soothed as they walked. The
misty fog was cold and enveloping. "I'm sure Sheriff Tate will catch
the bastard," she whispered in Kate's ear.

Fox walked behind the two women, remaining silent. Celeste felt
comforted by his presence. She wasn't afraid of anyone in Carrington,
but the idea that a mad killer was in town petrified her. She thought
of Denver and a chill shivered up her spine. She hadn't gotten to know
Mealy Margaret well, and now she regretted it. Had Margaret had her own
Denver somewhere? Would someone weep for the loss of her life? Would
someone's heart break when he or she received word of the tragedy. That
was what frightened Celeste. Not fear of her own mortality, but fear
for the one who waited for her in Denver.

The three passed Sal's Saloon on Peach Street where a crowd had gathered. Celeste resisted the temptation to stop.
Keep walking. Pretend not to see the stone-faced townsfolk. Pretend not to feel the tearing in your heart.
Just the thought that a woman she had played cards with last week had
been murdered so brutally, so senselessly, made her want to scream in
rage. It made her want to hit something… someone. It made her want to
hug someone.

"That where it happened?" Fox asked as they passed the double swinging doors blocked by two of Sheriff Tate's burly deputies.

"Poor girl," Kate muttered. "I always told Sal he wasn't careful
enough about who he let pass through his place. He don't keep a close
enough eye on his girls. It's not right, just not right," she muttered.

Celeste wrapped her arm around Kate and patted her, comforting her
as though she were a child. There had certainly been many a night Kate
had done the same for her. Celeste couldn't help poor Margaret, but she
could help Kate by consoling her. She could help Kate's girls by
calming their fears. "I know, I know, but Sal can't be blamed. It's
nobody's fault," she told her friend.

Halfway between Sal's and Kate's they passed Joash Tuttle, his black
felt hat pulled low over his ears, his old Bible cradled in his arms.

Celeste nodded to Joash as they passed. He tipped his hat, mumbling as he passed her, reciting a prayer, probably.

No doubt he was headed for Sal's to give some Protestant form of
last rites. Celeste didn't envy Joash having to see Margaret's body.
Despite his constant warnings of what fate sinners met, she knew it
must upset Joash to see one human being butchered by another. She mused
how hard it must be for him to keep his faith through such incidents.

They reached Kate's and passed the front door used by customers that
led to the dance hall's central room, turning instead at the end of the
red, white, and blue painted false front and down the alley that ran
alongside the frame building. Mud splashed up on her gown. She didn't
care. What mattered was getting Kate inside, getting her warm.

Fox looked uneasy as the alley narrowed. "This isn't a good idea, Celeste. Not with a killer on the loose."

"Here's the door," she said. "See, we're here." She didn't want to
admit to Fox that she didn't want him to see the dance hall with its
nude women painted on the whitewashed walls, or the stage where she'd
danced half-naked. She didn't even want to admit it to herself.

It looked like he was going to protest again, but then realized Celeste was bound and determined to get Kate home.

"See," she said. "This is the private entrance, where Kate lives."

Celeste turned the doorknob on the back door, but it was locked. She
banged with her fist. The ruffled red curtain on the window parted and
she saw Ace's face peering out. She didn't say anything because Ace
couldn't hear and couldn't speak, but he could read lips. "Let us in,"
she mouthed.

Ace immediately opened the door. Ace was an orphan, of sorts,
adopted by Kate because no one wanted a half-breed Indian who couldn't
speak. He cleaned for Kate, kept bar in the days when the dance hall
had been busy. Now mostly he hauled wood, scrubbed floors, and played
cards. In many ways he was much like the girls Kate hired. They all
worked for her and in return she fed them, clothed them, hugged them
when they needed it, lacing it all with a cold splash of reality.

Ace slammed the door behind them, making an event of turning the
lock as Celeste, Kate, and Fox stepped into the kitchen. His face and
hands were freshly scrubbed, his black hair slicked back, still wet. He
must have just risen. At Kate's they stayed up late into the night and
slept late into the morning. Celeste noticed Ace's rifle leaning
against the wall.

"Let me take off your cape," Celeste said to Kate, then touched
Ace's sleeve to get his attention. "Stoke the fire," she said so that
he could read her lips. "Kate's wet and cold."

Ace nodded and hurried to do her bidding. He was a great lumbering
man with big feet, broad hands, a mane of long black hair, and coal
black, hooded eyes. Ace wasn't smart, but he was caring and fiercely
loyal to Kate, who had taken him in when he was only nine or ten. He'd
been with Kate when Celeste met her in Denver eight years ago.
Apparently Kate had found him in some kind of perverted house of
ill-repute back East, and brought him west with her. Rumor had it she'd
bought him. Celeste had never asked Kate for details, and Kate never
offered them.

Celeste ushered Kate to a chair at the long wooden table in the
center of the room. Here in the kitchen was where the cook prepared
meals, where Kate hired and fired, where the girls met to eat and talk,
and where Sunday poker games were played. It was the center of Kate's
girls' lives and, until six months ago when Celeste had moved in with
John, it had been the center of her life, too.

"Fox, will you fill the teakettle and put it on the stove to heat?"

Seeming relieved to have something to do, he moved away from the
door. He glanced suspiciously about the room as he followed through on
the task. He was probably wondering why Celeste was so familiar with
the back room of a dance hall, as well as with everyone here.
Thankfully, he knew this wasn't the time or the place for questions.

She prayed that when he did ask, she would have the chance to somehow explain, and that he would listen.

"You're here!" Her arms flung out, Silky Sally burst through the
curtained doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. "I knew you
would come."

Sally's pale face was streaked red from tears, her eyes bloodshot.
Her satin sleeping gown and robe billowed around them both as she
embraced Celeste.

Celeste hugged her tightly. Sally was her best friend. Her
confidant. She and Kate were the only people in her life who knew about
Denver, past and present. She'd never even told John.

"I just can't believe it," Sally breathed, patting her eyes with a
handkerchief as she stepped back. "Little Margaret killed like that."
She gave a delicate sniff. "She didn't deserve it."

"No one deserves it," Celeste said. Out of the corner of her eye,
she spotted Fox making a pot of tea, digging through cupboards to find
what he needed. That uncharacteristic male self-sufficiency again. "I'm
going upstairs to see the other girls," she told Fox. "I'll be back in
a few minutes." She patted Kate as she passed her. "I'll send down a
robe for you. You sit here and warm yourself."