Petticoat Detective
Read Petticoat Detective Online
Authors: Margaret Brownley
© 2014 by Margaret Brownley
Print ISBN 978-1-62836-626-6
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-060-5
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-061-2
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Müllerhaus Publishing Arts, Inc.,
www.Mullerhaus.net
Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
www.shilohrunpress.com
.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses
.
Printed in the United States of America.
Dedication
For all the good men in my life, George, Darin Keith, Daniel, Warren, Danny, and Brian
Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the L
ORD IS IN THIS PLACE
;
AND
I
KNEW IT NOT
.
G
ENESIS
28:16
1883
Goodman, Kansas
W
hoa!”
Former Texas Ranger Tom Colton reined in his horse and stared at the sign hanging from the roof of the two-story brick structure: M
ISS
L
ILLIAN’S
P
ARLOR
H
OUSE AND
F
INE
B
OOTS
. In the faint glow of a full moon the building stood tall, solid, and proper as an old church. Only the red light shimmering in a downstairs window suggested otherwise.
He fingered the letter in his vest pocket. Addressed to his brother Dave and signed simply “Rose,” the letter had brought him to this very address searching for answers.
The red light gave him pause. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake, but he’d traveled too far to turn back now. He hesitated for several moments before dismounting. Securing his horse to the hitching post, he stomped up the wooden steps to the porch.
For once, God, let me be wrong about my brother
.
The door opened to his knock, and a stout-figured woman peered at him from a painted face. Designed for a woman half her size, the bright blue gown and exaggerated bustle did her no favors, nor did hair piled on top of her head like frothy red frosting.
Her appearance quelled any doubt as to the nature of the establishment, and his spirits dropped yet another notch.
Dave, oh, Dave …
“Are you going to stand there all night, cowboy? Or are you going to tell me what you want?” Her lilting Southern drawl seemed at odds with her sharp-eyed gaze.
He pulled off his wide-brim hat. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Name’s Tom, Tom Colton. I came to see Rose.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you around these parts.”
“I’m new in town.”
The woman’s gaze traveled the length of his six-foot frame like a worried mother scrutinizing a daughter’s suitor. The gun belt sagging from his waist made her hesitate. She then glanced at his gelding tied out front next to one other.
Apparently his horse, Thunder, gave him a good recommendation because the woman stepped aside to let him in.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Colton. I’m Miss Lillian.”
He wasn’t especially pleased to meet her, but he gave a polite nod and glanced around the entry. Many were the times he’d stepped into a house of ill repute on official business back in his Ranger days. Even so, he’d never seen anything like this. Men’s boots, women’s boots, and boots that no rational person should ever have occasion to wear were arranged on every possible surface, from shelves to tables and even the floor. What’s more, they were all for sale.
“You want to see Rose, eh?” The proprietor closed and locked the door, her taffeta skirt rustling like autumn leaves. “That’ll be five dollars, but you’ll have to wait.”
He held his hat in his hand and shifted from one foot to the other. “I only want to talk to her.”
“Then it’ll cost you ten. More if you’re a lawman.”
He hoped she was simply stating the rules of the house and not making a guess based on appearances. He’d left the Texas Rangers three years ago but still thought like one, and some even said, talked like one—a blessing and curse on both accounts.
“That’s a lot of money.” He rubbed his chin. Whoever said talk was cheap hadn’t met Miss Lillian.
She shrugged. “Jawing is a lot of work.”
The woman showed no curiosity as to his business with Rose. If anything, she seemed more interested in his scuffed boots.
Slapping his hat on his head, he pulled his money clip from his vest pocket and peeled away a single bill. “She knew my brother. His name was Dave Colton.”
The madam stuffed the banknote into the shiny cloth purse at her waist. If the number of bulges was an indication, the woman had enough greenbacks in her purse to burn a wet barn.
“Sorry, but we don’t make allowances for family members. Everyone pays the same.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not asking for favors. I just want to ask her about my brother.”
She tilted her head, and suspicion bled through her face paint. “Are you sure you’re not a lawman?”
“I’m sure.”
“Not that it matters, mind you. I run a respectable business here.”
He glanced at a purple leather boot. “I can see that, ma’am.”
“I also insist that my girls protect our guests’ privacy. You won’t get much information out of Rose.” She sniffed. “Or anyone else for that matter.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do.” She lowered her gaze to his feet. “Got yourself some good-sized ant mashers there. Looks like you could use some new leather.”
He followed her gaze downward. His dusty boots sure did look out of place on the red floral carpet. “I’m rather partial to the boots I’m wearing, ma’am.”
“Partiality killed the cat.”
“I’m pretty sure that was curiosity,” he said.
She smiled. “So aren’t you at least a little curious as to how your foot would feel in one of these?” She picked a brown leather boot off a nearby counter and thrust it into his hands. “It’s amazing what a man with a hammer and a mouthful of wood pegs can do,” she said. “Had the Southern army worn boots like that, they might have won the war.”
“Now there’s a thought.” He turned the boot over. It had a wide square toe and well-angled heel. He found no fault with the construction; his objection was with the effeminate red rose hand-tooled on the crown. Folks back home in Texas didn’t cotton to people walking around duded out like a fancy barbed-wire drummer.
He handed the boot back to her. “If I ever have occasion to go to war, I’ll be sure to stop here first.”
“You do that, Mr. Colton.”
She set the boot upright on a shelf before leading him through the high-ceiling entryway to the parlor. A log burned in the fireplace, and orange flames lazily climbed the chimney. An upright piano commanded one corner of the room, and a hand-printed sign on the instrument read S
INGING
L
ESSONS
, O
NE
F
IFTY
. He couldn’t imagine anyone coming here for singing lessons, but then he wouldn’t have thought to come here for footwear, either.
In the opposite corner stood a barber chair and a tray of shaving cream and brushes. A sign listed the cost of a shave and haircut. He pulled his hat down a notch to hide his collar-length hair. He didn’t want Miss Lillian coming at him with scissors or razor.
He backed away from the barber chair and almost knocked a crystal ball off a small table in a darkened alcove. Not only was the room heavily furnished with upholstered hassocks, brocaded settees, and all manner of fuss and feathers, it was also booby-trapped.
Miss Lillian watched him set the glass sphere on its wooden stand. “Would you like me to read your fortune while you’re waiting? I’ll only charge you half price.”
He drew his hand away. The woman was a regular jack-of-all-trades. “If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I prefer not to know what the future holds. I like to be surprised.”
“Very well.” She pointed to a red settee. With a sweep of her gown, she stooped to pick up a black-and-white cat curled on a red upholstered hammock. Stroking the cat as she carried him in her arms, she paused beneath the archway and stared over one bare shoulder. “Be careful, Mr. Colton. I see danger ahead for you.”
“There goes my surprise,” he said.
Accepting his sales resistance with good grace, she shrugged and left the room.
He sat and a sickly sweet whiff of perfume rose from the faded upholstery. At least Miss Lillian didn’t charge him to sit—so far as he knew.
The clock on the marble mantel struck nine. It was a weeknight, which probably accounted for the quiet. He balanced his forearms on his knees and rubbed his hands together. Anxious to finish his business with Rose and return to his hotel room, he waited with growing impatience.
The crystal ball seemed to stare at him like a large, unblinking eye. Good thing he didn’t believe in fortune-telling. Didn’t worry much about danger, either.
Okay, maybe a little …
