Petticoat Detective (18 page)

He had to hurry to keep up. Something told him he was in for a good tongue-lashing. Not that it worried him. Okay, maybe a little …

S
lamming the bedroom door shut, Amy whirled around to face him. “Why are you stalking me?”

He drew back, but his innocent act didn’t fool her one whit. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Every time I turn around, you’re there.” She paced back and forth. Two of tonight’s guests were on the suspect list. She and Miss Lillian had devised a plan that would have allowed her to engage each of them in conversation. Now, thanks to Colton, she’d missed her chance.

“You had no right to drag me away from the other guests!”

“Is this the thanks I get for trying to save your virtue?” He bit the words out between clenched teeth. “Or rather, what’s left of it?”

“I don’t need your help,” she sputtered. It wasn’t just his interference that worried her; it was the way his mere presence played havoc with her senses. She felt all at once disturbed and excited and, more than anything, confused. Whatever happened to the levelheaded woman who had helped put away some of the country’s worst criminals?

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot. The lady is armed.” He availed himself of the only chair in the room and tossed his hat on the bed. “Relax. All I want is information. We have a deal. Remember?”

“I told you I’d be in touch if anything turned up.”

“It’s been three days,” he said. “The guilty look on your face when I walked in tonight tells me there’s a cat in the bag, somewhere. So let’s have it.”

She was just about to order him out of her room when she decided against it. Maybe tonight wasn’t entirely a lost cause. She stopped in front of him and forced herself to think like a proper detective.

“How do I know
you
didn’t kill Rose?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Me?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was with you, remember?”

“You could have killed her before entering my room.”

He pursed his lips. “What motive would I have?”

“Revenge. Perhaps you blame her for your brother’s death.”

“Makes sense.” He nodded. “Makes perfect sense. Only it’s not true. I never set eyes on Rose until I saw her on the floor, dead. That’s why I mistook you for her.”

“That could have been an act.”

“Or it could be true,” he said. “Ask Miss Lillian what time she sent me upstairs. Less than thirty seconds later I walked into your room.”

Miss Lillian had more or less confirmed the time line, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. “There’s another way in and out of the house.”

“Oh, you mean the cellar door?”

She blinked. “So you know about that.”

“The night you were playing … kitty in a tree … I had just finished searching the grounds. That’s when I found the trapdoor.”

Recalling how she had fallen into his arms that night, she blushed. Hoping he wouldn’t notice her reddening cheeks, she practically barked out the next question. “What were you searching for?”

“Another way in and out of the house. There were only eight of us here the night Rose died, including Miss Lillian and one other … what do you call ’em … guests? I know I didn’t do it, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t, so that leaves six possible suspects.”

“Mr. Pepper was with Buttercup.”

He rubbed his upper lip. “That still leaves four suspects.”

“None of whom had a motive for killing her.”

He shrugged. “That remains to be seen. But I doubt that any of the ladies or even Mr. Pepper had the strength to do the deed. She put up quite a fight, and if you recall, I was unruffled when I walked into your room. So that leaves the possibility that an outsider entered the house through the trapdoor.”

“There was no fight.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Rose probably never knew what hit her. Someone snuck up from behind and hit her over the head. Her killer then searched the room. Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

A dark cloud fleeted across his face. “I’m here for one thing and one thing alone—to find my brother’s killer! You can think what you want, but that’s the unbridled truth.”

She lowered herself onto the bed. “The whole truth?” she asked. For all she knew, he was still a Texas Ranger tracking down the Gunnysack Bandit. That would make him a competitor.

His eyes brimmed with emotion. “I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to lose a sibling.”

Her breath caught. “I know very well what it’s like,” she snapped.
Why do others assume theirs is the only pain?

The lines faded from his face. “Amy?” Before she knew it, he was on the bed next to her. “What is it? Talk to me.”

Maybe it was his gentle tone. Or perhaps the way his gaze seemed to reach into her very soul. Whatever it was, she suddenly found herself telling him about her sister’s disappearance. It was wrong to mention anything so personal, to reveal telling details about her past, but she couldn’t help herself. It was as if an emotional volcano had erupted inside and she couldn’t stop the flow.

He listened closely, intently, holding her gaze in the blue depths of his.

“I was twelve at the time, and Cissy was three.” That fateful night had happened fifteen years ago, yet she remembered the details as if it was only yesterday.

“She and I shared a room. One night she cried out in her sleep, and when I went to her she told me that a monster was trying to take her.” “
There’s no such thing as a monster
,” she’d assured her. “
Hush, now. I won’t let anything bad happen to you
.”

“I waited for her to fall asleep again before tiptoeing back to my own bed. The next morning she was gone and … was nowhere to be found.” She’d cried an ocean for her lost sister and thought she had no more tears to shed, but her burning eyes told her otherwise.

“Some people believed she might have wandered outside. Bears and wolves had been known to carry away small animals in the area. No one said as much, but I knew the dangers. A child wouldn’t have a chance against such a predator.” Wouldn’t have a chance against a monster, either.

“Do
you
think that’s what happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to believe.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Eventually, everyone stopped looking.” But not her. She kept track of Cissy’s age and imagined what she would look like as she got older. To this day Amy scrutinized every blond she met, each woman’s face studied to the point that some people had accused her of staring.

“And you never heard from her again?” he asked, breaking the sudden silence.

“Not a word.”

He studied her. “But you don’t think she’s dead.”

She’d never really thought about it in those exact terms. Now that she did, she knew he was right. “It’s just a feeling I have. I can’t explain it.”

It was crazy. Everyone else believed Cissy was dead, even her own parents. People back home said Amy was foolish to live in the past. Her mother had been convinced it was the reason Amy hadn’t married and feared she was doomed to spinsterhood. Her father had simply refused to mention his missing daughter’s name, even on his deathbed. If only she could get Cissy’s last words out of her mind, perhaps she could let the past go.

Colton’s hand on hers stunned her out of her reverie. The gentle touch of his strong fingers surprised her.

She looked up at him, and the tenderness in his eyes nearly tore away the last of her defenses. Battling for control, she pulled her hand away, but nothing could be done for the tears.

“The worst part is not knowing what happened to her,” she said. With death came a sense of closure, but there was no closure with Cissy. It was like living with an empty tomb.

He nodded. “As a Texas Ranger, I saw firsthand what a missing person could do to a family.”

Cupping her face tenderly, he brushed away her tears with his thumbs. No touch had ever affected her on such a deep level. It felt as if he’d reached into her heart and removed part of the pain.

“Thank you,” she whispered. No gaze had ever made her feel more understood.

He released her physically, but his gaze never left her face. Sitting together on the bed they talked—he about his brother, she about her sister.

He leaned against the headboard and stretched out his long legs, letting his feet hang off the edge of the mattress. She sat next to him, hugging her knees. Her taffeta skirt nestled against a trouser leg, forming an intimacy between them she didn’t want to break.

Despite their close proximity, she felt no threat—at least not from him. But the niggling inside cautioned against the dangers of forming a bond, a warning she feared might have come too late.

“Aren’t we a fine couple,” she said, after he’d shared a humorous story about his brother; not all his memories were sad.

He flashed a crooked smile before his face grew serious. “Have you thought about hiring a private detective to search for your sister?” he asked. “The Pinkerton agency might be a good place to start.”

Hearing the name of her employer startled her, but she managed to keep from reacting. She’d already availed herself of the Pinkerton resources, of course, but he had no way of knowing that.

“I heard they’re expensive,” she said, hoping that would end the discussion.

“I’d be willing to help with expenses.”

She stared at him, shocked. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Maybe if you found your sister—” He grimaced. “Amy, I hate seeing you in this place. This isn’t what God wants for you. For anyone.”

It was all she could do to breathe. It had been a long time since anyone had shown honest interest in her welfare, and she was touched beyond words.

“I should go,” he said, apparently mistaking her silence for censure. He hesitated. “You look like you could use some shut-eye.”

She didn’t want to sleep; she wanted him to stay. “Wait,” she said. Slipping off the bed, she dashed across the room and reached into the top bureau drawer for the handwritten list she’d made.

“Here’re the names you wanted.” He had no way of knowing it, but handing him that list was a sign of trust; any suspicion that he had something to do with Rose’s death had been completely put to rest.

Standing, he took the list from her. After a quick glance, he folded the paper in fours and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you. That’s a big help.”

She smiled. Only then did she realize how much lighter her cares seemed. She hadn’t talked to anyone about her sister for years, and it had done her heart good to open up to him. If only she could share the rest and tell him the truth about her residence at Miss Lillian’s.

He reached for his hat, and she felt an odd sense of disappointment. She didn’t want the evening to end.

“You can’t go yet,” she said. It was all she could do not to bar the door to keep him there. Already she felt loneliness creeping into the room and sensed the ghosts of the past waiting to pounce.

He donned his hat and tugged on the brim. “It’s late.”

“Not that late,” she said. “Miss Lillian will think I … didn’t treat you right.” It was actually the other girls who worried her. Coral was already suspicious.

He gazed at her for a long moment before slipping a hand around her waist and drawing her so close it was as if their hearts beat as one. He brushed his lips against hers, and when she offered no objection, he covered her mouth in a full but tender kiss.

Melting next to him, she slipped her hands up the front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Thrilling to the sensations that rippled through her, she willingly returned his kiss, surprising herself by how much pleasure it gave her.

All too soon he let her go, and she felt like something vital had been ripped away, the part of her that was real, perhaps. The part of her that was most vulnerable. It took every bit of willpower she possessed to slip back into her role.

He looked equally shaken by what had transpired between them. Puzzled even. He stared at her for a long moment as if he sensed that the woman in front of him wasn’t the one that he’d kissed.

“I’ll tell Miss Lillian you treated me just fine,” he said, his voice hoarse. With that he slipped out of the room.

She grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. Now she’d done it. Told him about her personal life, told him about the loss of her sister. He had enough information to uncover her real identity if he bothered to check. If either William or Robert Pinkerton found out what she’d done, she would be fired on the spot.

What was it about this house that brought back the past in such vivid detail? Was it that nothing about Miss Lillian’s Parlor House was genuine? Certainly not the people who lived there. Even their smiles were false. It was as if this strange, phony world forced her to search within for something real, bringing long-forgotten memories of Cissy and the night she disappeared to the forefront.

As for Tom Colton …

Forcing herself to breathe, she turned and caught sight of her painted face in the mirror.

The reflection staring back looked nothing like her. The eye makeup was intact, as were the rouged cheeks and powdered nose. All she was willing to claim as her own were her lips, bare except for the burning memory of his.

It pained her to think that the woman he’d kissed—or thought he’d kissed—didn’t even exist.

Pained her even more to wish that she did. For such a woman was likely to take such a kiss in stride and probably not give it a second thought.