“Come on, Charlotte, you can tell me,” David cajoled. “What was going on between Tessa and Arnie?”
“I can’t answer that.” There was an edge to Charlotte’s voice.
“Can’t you whisper it? Nobody else will hear.” David raised his voice to make sure his words would carry through the thick curtain.
“I don’t think so.” Charlotte hesitated.
“Even for a drink?”
“Well, I don’t guess it’ll hurt to whisper.” She reached for the bottle.
“Answer first. Just whisper in my ear.”
She did and David handed her the bottle. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
“Sugar,” Charlotte answered between gulps of whisky, “the only good thing about this game is you and the whisky. When can we play something else?”
Tessa waited until the whispered conversation, the rustling of sheets, and the giggles subsided into snores before creeping from her hiding place. According to what she’d heard, the barmaid had drunk a lot before she’d passed out. Tessa wasn’t sure quite how much David had drunk, but he hadn’t seemed to enjoy his game or Charlotte’s favors. She tiptoed to the bed. The snores were louder, deeper. Tessa carefully lifted the blanket. Charlotte lay on her back. Her mouth was open and she was snoring. David lay beside her, his breathing deep, his wide chest rising and falling, rhythmically. Tessa eyed him suspiciously, but he appeared to be asleep.
Tessa leaned over him, reaching toward Charlotte and the rosary just inches away.
David moaned in his sleep, moving his head against the pillow. A strand of Charlotte’s dark hair tickled his nose. Tessa grasped the lone lock of hair just as David moved to brush it aside. His fingers met hers, closed around her wrist, and moved her hand aside. Tessa cursed in frustration.
“Now, now, Charlotte sugar,” David said clearly. “You know ladies shouldn’t curse.”
Almost as if he were wide awake.
* * *
Negotiating the dark stairs leading down the outside of the saloon was hard work. Tessa mumbled to herself as she made her way down them. How dare Myra Brennan give her room and her personal belongings to Charlotte the Harlot? And how dare that…that…lawyer find anything at all attractive about such a woman? Tessa’s anger smoldered as she ran through the dark streets back to David Alexander’s law office. The nerve of him. The gall to leave her alone in a strange place while he went to the Satin Slipper for a little fun with Charlotte the harlot. And then to confuse her with that…that…prostitute!
Unlocking the back door, Tessa lit a lamp and made her way quietly down the hall to check on Coalie. Assured that he still slept soundly on his cot in the storeroom, she tucked a quilt around his thin shoulders and placed a kiss on his cheek. She closed the curtained doorway to the storeroom behind her before entering her own room. She took the envelope out of her pocket, then reached up under her skirt and released the nightgown she’d tucked inside the waistband of her drawers. Clutching the envelope in her hand, Tessa let the flannel nightgown fall to the floor. She ope
ned the envelope and took out the precious photographs.
Holding the first one close to the lamp, Tessa studied the face. Her brother Eamon smiled back at her. She blinked away tears, before pressing a kiss to the sepia-colored surface. On impulse she removed the other photos. One showed a man in profile, his face half-covered by bushy sideburns and a thick mustache. A series of numbers was written in ink across the bottom of the picture. She knew now that this man was Arnie Mason, but she didn’t know why Eamon had carried a photograph of him in his coat pocket. Tessa slipped the second picture back into the envelope and looked at the third. This one featured a smiling, fair-haired young man dressed in a plaid shirt and stiff denim trousers. Tessa studied the photograph again, although she didn’t need to. She knew what she’d see. She’d examined the picture over and over again since she left Chicago. It was a photograph of Liam Kincaid. A younger Liam, minus the attractive blond mustache he currently sported, but Liam Kincaid all the same. It, too, had been found in her brother’s coat pocket the day he died.
Afraid to leave the envelope out where it could be found, Tessa went to the cupboard in the main room of the office. She located a small paring knife in the back of one of the drawers. After taking the knife to her bedroom, Tessa cut a slit in the left side of her mattress, under the sheets beneath her pillow, and placed the envelope inside for safekeeping.
Now she had another reason to stay, she told herself. A reason besides Arnie Mason. David knew Liam Kincaid and that meant he knew more than he was letting on. It appeared that David might be useful in answering the questions that had plagued Tessa since her brother’s death. She had to keep close to David Alexander, lull him into a false sense of security, and find out how deep his involvement with Liam Kincaid went. And she had to stay with David Alexander in order to protect Coalie.
Tessa finished her task and remade the bed. Tired, she struggled with the fastening of her dress until she finally opened enough buttons to shimmy out of it. The green calico was pretty and made of durable fabric, but it was not a dress Tessa would’ve chosen for herself. It wasn’t practical. Getting in and out of it without help was nearly impossible. She unhooked the petticoats at her waist, pulled her corset cover and chemise over her head, and tossed them onto the bed. She picked up the nightgown and sniffed it. It was clean. Thankfully, Charlotte hadn’t worn it.
Tessa carried it with her into the office. Standing in front of the potbellied stove, Tessa worked at the knot in the laces of her stays. Once she had it undone, she took the big wooden spoon out of the cupboard, reached over her shoulder, and shoved the long handle between the corset and the laces, then wiggled the spoon back and forth. Where was the man when she needed him? Her arms aching from the effort, Tessa finally managed to loosen the strings. With a satisfied sigh, she pulled the corset over her head, then donned the comfortable nightgown. Gathering up her stays, Tessa returned to her bedroom and tucked it into the dresser drawer along with her other unmentionables.
She straightened the bedroom, then went into David’s office to wait. Tessa stood next to the stove. The coffee pot and the covered plate of beans she’d left for David were still warming on the burners. Everything was as she’d left it. Now all she had to do was wait for him to return.
She closed her eyes. It had been a long, horrible day and a night full of surprises. More than she’d bargained for. Tessa was exhausted, tired to the bone, but she didn’t dare fall asleep. Not yet. Opening her eyes, she sighed, then jumped in fright as something soft brushed against her ankle. Her heart pounding, Tessa looked down and recognized Greeley.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that. I’ve had enough scares for one night,” she admonished the cat, before reaching down and lifting him into her arms. “You’d better watch yourself,” she warned. “I don’t much care for cats. Or their owners.” She pressed her nose against his orange fur for a moment, feeling heartened by his loud purr, then set him on his feet. Greeley trotted off down the hall. Tessa watched him go, then sat down on a chair beside the stove to wait for David Alexander.
* * *
David pulled his collar up around his ears. The night air was just as cold as it had been when he’d left his office hours ago. Though his eyes were bloodshot and his sight bleary, David was able to see his way along the street in the moonlight. His normally long strides were uneven and unsteady, testimony to the long hours he’d worked and the amount of sleep he’d missed. Sleep. He’d left Charlotte snoring in drunken oblivion on the tiny bed where, earlier in the day, Arnie Mason’s lifeblood had soaked the sheets and stained the mattress before trickling down to the hard plank floor.
It still made him shudder. David had paid two dollars to engage a prostitute in conversation, then spent the time asking leading questions and studying the little room in minute detail. She’d drunk half a bottle of whisky before her tongue was loose enough, her senses dulled enough, to relax her guard and talk about the murder and the occupants of the saloon.
He jerked to a sudden halt outside his office door, fumbled in his trouser pocket, and pulled out his key. He had Tessa’s silver rosary in his other pocket, but this… David knew he’d seen it before—on someone. If he could just remember where and on whom. He studied the length of chain entangled around his key. It was gold and very delicate, part of a necklace or bracelet, with a tiny Celtic cross dangling from one end. A Celtic cross, David thought, sometimes called an Irish cross. He carefully unwound the broken chain, and closed his gloved fist around the tiny links. David slipped it into the safety of his coat pocket. He’d found the piece of chain wedged in a crack in the wooden planking near the washstand as he leaned forward to pick up the bottle of whisky Charlotte had set on the floor by the bed. David knew the value of that gold chain; it could be a vital piece of evidence in his search for Arnie Mason’s killer. He just hoped to hell it didn’t belong to Tessa Roarke.