Petticoat Detective (31 page)

“I’m sorry—”

Jennifer drew back. “You’re sorry? That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

Mrs. Jeremy opened her mouth to say more, but a funny choking sound came out instead. Her eyes rolled back, and her head grew slack.

Shaking her, Jennifer called for Charity, the unfamiliar name like acid to her tongue.

The girl rushed into the room, carrying a tray. With a cry of alarm, she set the tray on the table and hurried to the old lady’s side.

“It’s all right, Mama, I’m here.” She felt her mother’s pulse, covered her with a quilt, and stroked her head like one would comfort a child.

It was obvious that she cared deeply for the woman, and each worried frown that crossed her beautiful young face was like a knife slashing into Jennifer’s heart. Shivering, she ran her hands up and down her arms and swallowed the bile in her mouth.

“What’s wrong with her?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“She has these spells. Sometimes she doesn’t even recognize me, her own daughter.” As she worked to make the old lady comfortable, she glanced at Jennifer. “You were lucky to arrive on a day when she was lucid.”

Jennifer didn’t know what to say, what to do. “Should I fetch a doctor?”

Charity shook her head. “There’s nothing he can do for her. We just have to let her rest.” She left her mother’s side and poured lemonade into a glass. “The doctor said she doesn’t have much time left, but I hope she lasts for my wedding.”

Jennifer took the offered glass. “You’re getting married?” It seemed inconceivable that her baby sister was now all grown up. In her mind, she was still the roly-poly little girl of three who called her
Tenfer
and refused to eat peas.

Charity smiled, and an inner light brightened her face. “I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Mama. The least bit of stress sends her into one of these spells.”

“You think your marriage will cause her stress?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but she’s always been afraid of losing me. I think it’s because I’m an only child.”

Jennifer sipped her lemonade. The cool, bittersweet beverage did little to soothe her dry throat. How many times had she imagined this very scene? Imagined meeting Cissy for the first time after so many years? Imagined the two of them crying and laughing. Talking about the good times, the bad …

“I heard you playing the piano. Beethoven.”

Charity nodded and poured a glass of lemonade for herself. “ ‘Bagatelle in A Minor,’ ” she said, calling “Für Elise” by its more formal name. “I don’t know why, but it’s always been one of my favorites. Everyone plays it, but few play it well.”

I know why
,
Jennifer wanted to shout
.
I know why it’s your favorite. It’s because I played it for you when you were a little girl. You sat on my lap and placed your chubby little fingers on the yellowed keys and tried to imitate me
.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, she said, “I always had trouble with the middle part.”

“It’s all about the proper tempo.” Charity talked about the technicalities of the piece like a true musician. “Your fingers should rotate up and …”

Questions churned in Jennifer’s head, begging to be asked
.
Do you remember me? Do you remember the stories I used to tell you? The games we used to play? Do you remember that you named your doll Elise? Or how, on that long-ago night, you woke from a deep sleep and I tried to calm your fears?

But this wasn’t the Cissy she knew. This wasn’t the one whose diapers she’d changed and tears she’d wiped and hurts she’d soothed. This was a grown woman who evidently had no memory of her early childhood.

“I’m sorry, I’m boring you,” Charity said.

“No, not at all,” Jennifer hastened to assure her. “I’m afraid that I’m one of those who play the piece poorly. I should practice.”

“I’d be happy to help you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I won’t be staying in St. Louis for much longer.”

Charity glanced at her mother. “I should probably put her to bed.”

“Yes, of course. I won’t keep you.” She placed her glass on the tray. “Is he a good man?” she asked. “Your fiancé? Is he a Christian?” Will he love you and cherish you and always be true? Or will he satisfy his needs in another woman’s bed like so many men do?

“Oh yes,” Charity said, and there was no question that she believed it with her whole heart and soul. “He’s a minister and one day plans to build his own church.”

Jennifer envied her sister’s faith in her fiancé and prayed that it wasn’t misplaced. “I wish you every happiness,” she said, bringing a smile to Charity’s face.

All through her teens, Jennifer thought that finding her sister would fix her family’s problems—that her father would stop drinking and her mother stop mourning and her brothers stop running wild. Maybe it would have made a difference at one time, but not now. It was too late to save her parents. Her mother and father were both dead. As for her brothers, they were now married with families of their own, their wild days a distant memory.

Charity walked her to the door. “You said you knew my mother in Illinois.”

Feeling more numbed than angry, Jennifer gazed past her to the woman in the chair. Vacant eyes stared from a face as round and still as the moon.

“I … was mistaken. I never knew your mother at all.”

Outside the world looked different, somehow. Losing her sister had been her personal north guiding her every move. Knowing that her sister was safe and happy freed her from the chains locking her into the past.

Was that God’s plan all along? Was that the reason she ended up at Miss Lillian’s? Not to solve the mystery of the Gunnysack Bandit but to unlock the mystery of her own past?

The ruby-throated hummingbird flitting around a red carnation seemed to think so. She would have sworn the bird nodded his shiny green head. The pastor of her church liked to say that God works in mysterious ways.

That was true, of course, but lately His ways seemed even more mysterious. She only hoped God had something more up His heavenly sleeve because she had no idea where to go from there.

After turning down the Colorado assignment in order to track down her sister, she wasn’t even certain she had a job left. Then there was Tom. Weeks had passed since she’d last seen him, but her misery was no less potent today than it had been when he left. She sighed. Her life was a complete mess.

The sun hung just above the horizon like a crystal ball shooting arrows of red and yellow across the sky. The hummingbird continued to flit from blossom to blossom. With its whirring green wings and ruby throat, it looked like a rainbow in flight.

“
You’re getting married?”
How was that possible? Her baby sister?

“I haven’t told anyone yet.”

Two thoughts churned in her head. They seemed totally unrelated but in some strange way connected. A sense of uneasiness came over her, but she couldn’t define the source.

“I haven’t told anyone yet.”

The hummingbird hovered over a red blossom.

“I haven’t told anyone yet.”

She drove the rented horse and buggy back to town, the thought persisting. Something churned just outside her memory, but she couldn’t for the life of her bring it to the forefront.

“I haven’t told anyone yet.”

Hummingbird
.

Texas

J
ennifer tugged on the reins and muttered, “Where is it?” The wagon rolled to a stop and the dapple gray horse nickered and flicked his tail as if protesting the delay.

The man at the stables told her to follow the road and it would lead straight to the Colton ranch. “
You can’t miss it
.”

So far the land revealed nothing but sagebrush, dry ground, and an occasional cattle skull. If there was a ranch anywhere to be found out here, she would be inclined to eat her hat.

She mopped her damp forehead with a handkerchief. Though she’d passed mesquite trees at the start of her journey, she hadn’t seen a spot of shade since. If the buzzards overhead and bright scorching sun weren’t bad enough, the humid air weighed upon her like a wet blanket and her clothes stuck to her like glue.

Feeling hot and tired and more than a bit lightheaded, she reached for the canteen. The few precious drops that remained did nothing to ease her thirst, and she tossed the flask aside.

If only it hadn’t taken her all this time to figure out that Rose’s journal wasn’t about birds. Instead, it held the clue to the identity of the Gunnysack Bandit—and it wasn’t Tom’s brother. Of that she was certain.

The incongruity of it amazed her. She had gone to St. Louis to find her sister and ended up solving not just one mystery but two.

Anxious to reach Tom, she picked up the reins and, with a glance at the still circling vultures, urged the horse forward.
Please, God, just let me live long enough to tell him the good news
.

Tom stood by the fence, hands over the top railing, watching the black mustang circle the corral. It was June but felt like August. Last night’s rainstorm left a blanket of hot, sticky air behind.

The steed with its thundering hooves, flying mane, and fiery breath looked no less wild today than when he was first brought to the ranch three months earlier.

Twice already that morning, the animal tried clearing the fence. The first time he fell on his side, mouth open, eyes frantic, body arching until he was finally back on all fours.

The next time he looked about to jump, the horse trainer, Clint, snapped his whip down hard on the ground, and the mustang thought better of it.

Sure-footed as a mule, Clint Saunders moved fast and talked slow. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were but a man of few words. Unfortunately, he liked to talk almost as much as he liked horses. Once he got going on one of his long-winded tales, all the glazed eyes and yawning in the world couldn’t stop him.

Now he sauntered over to Tom, his white hair held down by a floppy brimmed hat and tied at his neck with a piece of rawhide. “I don’t know, Tom. I’ve tamed my share of wild horses, but this one …” He shook his head. “This one’s off his mental reservation. Never thought I’d say this about a horse, but he’s an outlaw. Reminds me of the time—”

“Let him go.”

Clint pulled off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He pressed his hat back on, gray eyes narrowed. “Never thought I’d hear those words come outta your mouth.”

“Let him go.”

Tom pulled away from the fence and started for the barn. It had been more than a month since he’d returned to the ranch, and he still didn’t want to believe the things said about his brother.

Even now, the thought sickened him. His brother the outlaw, his brother the killer.

The signs had all been there, but Tom hadn’t wanted to believe them. He wanted to think there was a simple explanation for the stolen banknotes found in his brother’s pocket and the neatly typed list of holdups. He wanted to believe what Reverend Matthews said was true, but that was only wishful thinking on his part. On the preacher’s part, too, probably.

Perhaps the most damaging evidence of all was the lack of holdups since his brother’s death. His brother was a criminal, and it was time to let him go.

The problem was how to break the news to his young nephew. He couldn’t hold back the truth much longer.

He lengthened his stride. Since returning home, he’d brushed off his nephew’s questions with vague answers. That had to change.

Like it or not, it was time to sit down with the boy and tell him the truth about his pa. He expected honesty from his nephew and the boy deserved the same consideration in return. Maybe then they could put this whole episode behind them and start afresh.
God, don’t let me fail my nephew like I failed Dave
.

What didn’t make sense was the way he kept thinking of the woman he now knew had tricked him
.
God, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I sleep? Eat? Why does everything remind me of her, even a wild horse that stubbornly refuses to be tamed?

To make matters worse, he imagined seeing her at that very moment as he walked toward the stables. Imagined seeing her wave, seeing those big beautiful eyes of hers that lit up a room as they lit up his heart. He blinked, but the vision stubbornly remained behind the shimmering heat. It was like looking at her through a dream. He stopped in his tracks. Or was it?

Amy? Jennifer?

Was it really her or were his eyes playing tricks again? His legs carried him forward without hesitation. This time the vision didn’t fade away as it had so often in the past.

He ran to her and would have taken her in his arms had she not lashed into him.

“Tom Colton, you had no right blaming me for anything that happened. You know I couldn’t reveal my real identity and …” On and on she went, emphasizing her displeasure with finger pokes to his chest. “You were a Texas Ranger. You have to know what it’s like to work undercover.” Green fire shot from her eyes. “Furthermore …”

At last she ran out of words, or maybe she just needed to take a breath. “Are you finished?” he asked.