Petticoat Detective (34 page)

She studied each woman in turn, hoping to see a telling look, a conspiratorial wink, a whispered exchange. One of these women had been in the cellar that night. One of them had hit her over the head, and she was willing to guess that woman had been Coral.

Miss Lillian played a lively ditty on the piano and Mr. Cunningham got up and danced a jig. This brought gales of laughter and applause from the others. Since Coral was watching her, Amy had no choice but to clap, though it sickened her. All she could think about was the man’s son, Scott, and the desperation that drove the boy to throw bricks at the parlor house.

Mr. Studebaker announced he had some sort of throat trouble that prevented him from singing that night. Coral cooed with mock sympathy, which the silly man took for the real thing.

A smile plastered on her face, Amy held her fan judiciously and willed herself not to keep looking at the long clock when Mr. Miller cornered her. The man had nothing of interest to say but insisted upon saying it, anyway.

His broad face and walrus-like mustache bore a striking resemblance to President Arthur, a man Mr. Miller soundly abhorred.

She glanced at Coral, who was engaged in what looked like an intimate conversation with Mr. Monahan. Amy would give anything to hear what the two discussed.

Polly, as usual, didn’t say much for fear of stuttering, but with her pretty blond hair and deep blue eyes, she didn’t need to talk. Buttercup was bookended by two men vying for her attention. She looked bored but kept glancing in the nearby mirror and fiddling with her hair. None of her admirers seemed to notice her dull eyes or disinterested expression.

Having played the second of her two-song repertoire, Miss Lillian scooted around the piano stool and gave her jeweled hands several dainty claps.

“Amy has graciously agreed to read everyone’s fortune tonight. On the house,” she said, careful to use the words she and Amy had rehearsed earlier. “Mr. Tully, you’re first.”

Mr. Tully stood and straightened his cravat. Built like a cracker barrel with skinny legs, he stabbed the floor with his cane. “There’s nothing like a good fortune.”

Miller gave a low-pitched snort. “Yes, but with President Arthur in charge, good fortune will be hard to come by.”

Amy didn’t want to have to go through the entire charade, but it would surely raise suspicion had she zeroed in on Monahan alone. Playing her part to a T, she slipped her arm through Mr. Tully’s crooked elbow and led him out of the room and across the entryway to Miss Lillian’s office. Having no need of his cane for mobility, he tucked it beneath his other arm.

“I’ll pay you handsomely for a good fortune,” he said.

She smiled. “Why, Mr. Tully, you wouldn’t be trying to bribe me now, would you?”

The office had been prepared in advance. Candles were already lit and draperies drawn so as not to let in any moon or starlight. The desk was covered with a black velvet cloth and the crystal ball looked like a bubble ready to pop.

“Have a seat,” she said in a quiet voice. She took her place behind the desk and peered into the shiny globe. Miss Lillian explained that the purpose of staring into a crystal ball was to reach a person’s subconscious. Most people thought a fortune-teller’s glass sphere foretold the future; such ignorance made some charlatans rich.

Though her insides were tied in a knot, she forced herself to take her time. “I see a woman crying. An older woman … with frilly curls and a mole.”

Mr. Tully’s gaze involuntarily landed on her chin, and she placed her finger on the exact spot.

He looked startled. “That … that’s my wife. Why is she crying?”

“Shh.” She stared into the ball and pretended to concentrate. “Oh dear.”

“Go on,” he said, his voice anxious.

“She’s holding a gun.”

He drew back. “Good heavens!”

“Someone has … betrayed her.”

“No!”

“She doesn’t think she has any reason to live. She raises the gun….”

Jumping to his feet, he held out an arm like an overwrought actor in a bad play. “Tell her no!”

Amy sat back. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell her anything. The vision is gone.”

Face pale as a winter moon, he stammered, “D–do you suppose that she …?”

“The future is in your hands, Mr. Tully. Perhaps if you talked to her … Let her know you would never … betray her.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll go home and tell her that right away.” He swung around and exited the office, leaving his fashionable cane behind in his haste. Amy laughed. “You do that, Mr. Tully. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay home.”

A moment later, Miss Lillian poked her head in the office. “Mr. Tully left in a hurry. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is perfect,” Amy said. “Send in the next guest.”

One by one, Amy read each man’s fortune, careful not to rush the ritual. She told Mr. Webber what would happen if he continued ignoring his wife. No sooner had she finished the session than he hurried away to buy his wife her favorite sweets.

She “read” a bleak future for Mr. Cobble’s mining company if he didn’t stop overworking his employees. She “foresaw” a terrible illness if Mr. Sweeney refused to mend his ways and kept avoiding church.

For Scott’s father, Mr. Cunningham, she poured it on especially thick. “I see a boy. About twelve or thirteen …”

“That must be my son.”

Pretending not to hear him, she swayed slightly as if in a trance. “His name begins with an S. Samuel, Steve. Scott.”

“Yes, yes,” he thundered, “Scott. That’s him. That’s my son.”

She kept her gaze focused on the crystal ball. “Oh dear. Oh my.”

He gave an anxious gasp. “What do you see? Tell me!”

“I see … the sign of death.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Whose death? Not Scott’s!”

Encouraged by the man’s obvious concern for his son, she continued in a low monotone. “Your family will be safe, providing you—”

“Go on, providing what?”

“Ask God’s forgiveness and change your ways.”

“Change my ways?” He looked mortified. “You mean stop coming here?”

“And similar places.” She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “If you don’t, sir, your family’s safety will be in serious jeopardy.”

He stood so quickly his chair slammed against the door. “I’m much obliged to you for letting me know. I must go. My family needs me.”

He quickly left the room.

“Yes!” Amy banged on the desk. Praise the Lord!

So far, the evening had been an unexpected success. For that she was grateful, but she also felt deeply humbled. Words had popped out of her mouth from seemingly nowhere. Somehow she knew exactly what to say to each man, and she could think of only one explanation; while she was hoping to trap a killer, God had worked through her to change lives.

He really did work in mysterious ways—and in a bordello, of all places. The thought filled her with unspeakable emotion.

A knock sounded, and she immediately checked her neckline to make certain the lace tucked there for modesty’s sake was in place.

“Come in.”

Mr. Monahan entered the room and sat, placing his palms on the desk. “So what does the future hold for me?” His oily smile and mocking tone made it clear he didn’t believe in such nonsense and was just playing along for the fun of it.

She lowered her gaze to the crystal ball, surprised to find her knees shaking.
God, please help me make this work. For Tom’s sake. For Davey’s
.

“I see … gold.” She raised her gaze to his. “Do you own a gold mine, Mr. Monahan?”

“Unfortunately, no.” His eyes glittered as if she had just proven how ridiculous this whole business was. “At the price of gold, I wish I did.”

Amy lowered her gaze to the crystal ball. “I see …” She held her hands to the ball without touching it. “I see a ship. No, not just one. I see three ships on a stormy sea.”

She sensed Monahan stiffening but she kept her gaze focused on the ball. “I see a steel box.” Not wanting to be too obvious, she avoided using the word
safe
. “It holds great riches and it will make you very happy.” She let him digest that for a moment before gasping in alarm. “Oh dear. Should a ship arrive before midnight, peril awaits. After midnight, your treasure will be safe.”

She relaxed as if letting the vision drain away. “It looks like your ship is about to come in, Mr. Monahan.”

He stood and tossed a gold coin on the desk. “Since we live in Kansas, that would be an interesting trick.”

He left the room, and she knotted her hands. Had she been too obvious? Too subtle? Most importantly, did he fall for it?

The last fortune she read was Mr. Studebaker’s. “Do I have a future as a singer?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

She kept her gaze fixated on the crystal ball. The man couldn’t carry a tune in a basket, but since she wouldn’t be around much longer to hear him, she saw no harm in offering encouragement. “I see many notes in your future, Mr. Studebaker.”
Flat
notes.

The news seemed to please him to no end. “I knew it,” he rasped. Despite his sore throat, he left the room humming.

No sooner had Studebaker left than Miss Lillian entered her office, wringing her hands. “The guests are gone!”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone!”

Amy felt a rush of cautious optimism. The news was encouraging, but it didn’t necessarily mean Monahan had taken the bait.

“What did you say to make everyone leave?” Miss Lillian asked with a frown.

Amy rose. “I guess they were overwhelmed by my predictions.”

Miss Lillian’s lips puckered with annoyance. “Remind me not to let you play fortune-teller again. It’s bad for business.” She lit the lamp and covered the ball with a black cloth. “Do you think the suspect fell for it?”

Amy wished she could answer that. It was hard to tell what went on behind Monahan’s polished veneer. “We’ll know soon enough.”

“You better get ready.” Miss Lillian picked up the crystal ball. “You don’t want to keep Mr. Monahan waiting.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “I never said it was him.” She’d told Miss Lillian her plan but not the name of the suspect.

A smiled inched across Miss Lillian’s face, the first real smile Amy had seen all night. “I’ve been practicing my detective skills. I figured there was a reason why you wanted to read the men’s fortune in a particular order.”

“I didn’t want anyone to be suspicious.” Amy glanced at the open door to make sure no eavesdroppers lurked in the entry hall.

“Don’t look so worried. Discretion is my middle name. I know how to put two and two together and keep my mouth shut.” She waved her hands. “Now go and get ready. Detective Lillian will hold down the fort.”

Grateful that Miss Lillian had not let Coral’s earlier outburst ruin the plan, Amy paused at the doorway. “Coral was wrong. You
are
a good businesswoman. You’re just in the wrong business.”

Without waiting for a response she left, but not without peering into the parlor. Coral, Polly, and Buttercup sat in waiting silence, no doubt wondering where all the guests had gone.
Detective Lillian
better have a good explanation.

Yanking the taffeta skirt up to her knees, she rushed up the stairs two at a time.

A
my changed into a plain blue skirt and tailored shirtwaist. She stared at herself in the mirror. It was unusual to feel this nervous or anxious before an undercover operation, but then never had there been more at stake.

If she was wrong about Monahan or if she botched this up in some way, she could pretty much count on her career as a Pinkerton operative coming to an end.

Oddly enough, the thought wasn’t quite as devastating as she expected. Finding her sister had changed her in surprising ways. She no longer felt quite as restless or driven. She wanted to catch Monahan, no question. But not because of career advancement; this time her goal was far more personal.

Nothing could bring Dave Colton back or change the past, but at least she could restore Tom’s faith in him. Perhaps even more importantly, she could give a young boy a legacy of pride instead of shame.

She checked her derringer and slid it back into her leg holster. It was time and she was ready. At exactly ten minutes past ten o’clock, she opened the door and peered cautiously into the hall. Normally at this time on a Saturday night, the house bustled with activity. The silence felt odd, eerie, as if even the walls were afraid to breathe.