“Yes, it is,” David agreed easily. “You have every right to refuse to serve customers you deem unfit.”
“See?” Margaret said to the crowd gathered close enough to hear. “I told you Mr. Alexander wouldn’t be offended if he knew I was standing up for my rights as a store owner.”
“Oh, but I am offended, Mrs. Jeffers,” David corrected her. “In refusing to sell the supplies to Miss Roarke, you refused to sell to me. When you called her names, it was the same as calling me names. And when you refused to accept the ‘dirty money,’ it was my money you turned away. You have a right to do all those things,” David told her. “Just as I have a right to buy my supplies elsewhere, and I will gladly pay more to do so.”
“But I have your order right here.” Margaret recognized the danger; if she lost David Alexander’s business, she would risk losing the Trail T ranch’s business as well. “The order is ready. It’s been sitting here all afternoon just waiting for you to pick it up.”
“Then I’m afraid you went to a great deal of trouble for nothing, Mrs. Jeffers, because I’ve come to settle my account.” David extracted his wallet. “I trust you’ll accept gold today. I wouldn’t want to be accused of foisting dirty bills on you against your will.” He stopped long enough to read the expression on Margaret Jeffers’s face.
She nodded in mute assent.
“Good. Now, please be so kind as to tell me how much I owe—minus today’s order, of course,” David instructed her. “Oh, and strike my name from your account list.”
Lorna stepped forward and politely told him how much he owed the store. “Your account totals seventy-three dollars, Mr. Alexander.”
David placed that amount in gold on the counter.
“You can’t do this.” Margaret Jeffers now fully comprehended the enormity of what she had done. “You can’t do all this just to stand up for that…that…saloon hussy.”
“I have done it.”
“She’s not worth it,” Margaret warned.
“That’s not for you to decide,” David reminded her.
“But you’re one of my most valuable customers,” Margaret protested.
“I was,” David replied.
“What about the ranch account?” She couldn’t restrain herself. She had to ask.
“Oh, yes, the ranch account.” David paused as if he’d forgotten, then removed several more gold coins from his wallet. “If this doesn’t cover the outstanding amount on the Trail T’s ledger, send me a bill.” He returned his wallet to his inside coat pocket. “And don’t forget to strike the ranch from your ledger as well. Good day, Mrs. Jeffers, Miss Taylor.” David nodded. “You know, Miss Roarke was right about the Satin Slipper,” he said, standing at the door. “It does cater to a better class of customers.” Seeing the outraged look on Margaret Jeffers’s face, David left the store.
The crowd began to disperse, disappointed that there hadn’t been screaming and name-calling, but aware that a major battle had taken place just the same. David Alexander was the undeclared winner.
He’d won the skirmish, David thought, as he walked back to his North Street office, but he found little pleasure in the victory. It would cost him. Not just money, though it would cost him plenty of that. It would cost Tessa, too. It would make it that muc
h harder for her to be accepted into Peaceable’s small-town society once this was all over. People would remember the showdown at Jeffers’s Mercantile and that Tessa was the cause. He’d done the right thing, but now he had to worry about the damage to Tessa’s case and the repercussions once the murder of Arnie Mason was solved.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Arnie Mason. God, everything came back to Arnie Mason. David wasn’t looking forward to another showdown with Tessa, who seemed determined to keep every shred of evidence to herself. But he needed help. She had to help him. The only evidence he had to go on was her word, a length of gold chain, and the note found in Arnie Mason’s pocket inviting him to Tessa’s room. David’s quiet isolation in Peaceable had been shot to hell by Tessa’s arrival in his life. His whole life had been turned upside down, and it was time he did something about it.
Chapter Nine
When David reached his office he found the front door locked. The printed sign in the window proclaimed otherwise, as did the hours posted on a plaque that hung on the front door. The sign said Open, but the door refused to yield. Inhaling a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, David inserted his key into the lock.
“Coalie?” Tessa’s voice came from somewhere inside the main room of the office.
“No, it’s David.”
“What happened?” Tessa asked as soon as she heard his footsteps cross the threshold. “What happened at the mercantile? You didn’t make a spectacle of yourself, did you?”
“No.” David walked to his desk. “I did not.” He removed his heavy coat and hunted for a place to hang it. He decided he wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity easily this time.
The main room of his office was a garden of white. It looked the way David imagined a cotton field down south might look, provided the cotton was processed into fabric and sewn into ladies’ undergarments. Stockings, petticoats, pantalets, chemise, corset cover, and corset decorated nearly every piece of furniture in the office, including his desk; a wet petticoat lay draped across its polished surface.
He smiled ruefully. His office looked as exotic as the Satin Slipper.
“What the hell?” David muttered beneath his breath. On the floor nearby were his stacks of papers. He picked up a brief, checking it for watermarks and damage. A tiny drop of water dampened one of its corners. “Tessa!” He looked around for her.