Petticoat Detective

Chapter 2

Tom Colton caught a glance of a shapely leg before the woman named Rose dropped her voluminous skirts. Rounded green eyes met his and her red-rouged lips formed a perfect O followed by an audible gasp.

He closed the door behind him. "I apologize for startling you." He should have knocked, but Miss Lillian told him that Rose was expecting him and to just walk in.

Rose crossed her arms in front, an act that surprised him. How odd that a woman in her profession would worry about bare shoulders. Her attempt at modesty—if that's what it was—couldn't have been more misplaced. No amount of cover could hide her appeal or the intriguing way her gown molded against her slim feminine form.

The scarlet gown would look garish on most women, but it gave Rose's complexion a pearly pink glow. Honey-blond hair cascaded down her back in a riot of ringlets and long dark lashes ringed the eyes staring back at him.

His brother had made more bad choices than could be found on a ruffled shirt, but he knew how to pick his women, that's for certain and sure, at least appearance-wise.

Rose's mouth closed but the dismay in her eyes remained. It didn't seem possible, but the lady looked downright...what? Scared? Terrified?

Of him?

He was tall and he was strong and many were the outlaws who had once feared him, but never had he known a woman to feel threatened by his presence. Perhaps she saw a family resemblance. She certainly looked like she saw a ghost. Except the only things he and Dave had in common were the same parents and similar height.

"Howdy-do, ma'am. My name is Tom. Tom Colton."

Not so much as a shadow of recognition flickered across her painted face at mention of his name, but her crossed arms stayed stubbornly in place. Maybe clients were expected to follow a certain protocol.

Having no knowledge of the etiquette that such an establishment required, he clarified.

"I'm Dave Colton's brother."

Still no response.

Considering the amorous tone of her letter to Dave, her lack of emotion struck him as odd. When the silence continued to stretch between them, he looked around. The only chair in the room was piled high with enough feminine under-riggings to make the most jaded man blush. That left only one place to sit.

She followed his gaze to the neatly made bed. "Oh!"

He frowned. She looked like she was having trouble breathing. Hand out, he stepped forward, but she backed away quicker than chain lightning. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

She gave a slow nod as if she couldn't make up her mind whether she was or wasn't. "It's just that I'm not working tonight, Mr. Colton." She looked like she was trying to put up a brave front. "If...if you would kindly leave...?"

Not working? His gaze traveled down her shiny taffeta gown before he zeroed in on her red-rouged lips. She could have fooled him. "I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am."

Her eyes narrowed, and he detected a spark of combat in their sea-green depths. "And why is that?"

"I paid Miss Lillian ten dollars, and I mean to get my money's worth."

Her eyes widened. "There are other women"

"But you're the one I came to see." The madam had assured him that Rose agreed to talk, if that's what he wanted, so why was she making it so difficult? What kind of game was she playing?

She glanced past him to the closed door as if measuring its distance. "I want you to leave." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Now!"

"Not till you tell me what you know about the Gunnysack Bandit." Surprise crossed her face at mention of the outlaw, followed by a look of curiosity. Ah, now they were getting somewhere.

"I'm waiting," he said.

"I have no knowledge of the man."

An out-and-out lie if he'd ever heard one. Frustration built up inside, and he punched a fist into his palm to relieve it.

She shrank clear back to the mirrored wall. Much to his dismay, he realized how his thoughtless action could be misinterpreted. He began again, this time in a gentler tone.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to alarm you."

She studied him much as a cat studied a mouse. "You didn't alarm me, Mr. Colton. Now if you would be so kind as to let yourself out-"

He pulled off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. Things weren't going as he hoped, but he'd come too far to give up. "I'm sorry. I can't do that." He replaced his hat and hung his thumbs from his holster. "Not till you tell me what you know."

The stubbornness on her face matched the hands placed firmly on the deep valley of her neckline. "I know nothing."

He narrowed his eyes. "You do know that my brother is dead."

She looked genuinely confused, or maybe that was an act, too. "I'm sorry about your brother, but-"

"Sorry? That's all you can say?" Anger erupted in him like a blown cork. His brother loved this woman, and she was as cold and heartless as a fish. "I'm not leaving, lady. Not till I get what I paid for."

Fury darkened her face. "I'm warning you, Mr. Colton. If you don't leave, you'll be sorry!"

Was that a threat? He stared at her, but she turned slightly sideways, and, keeping one hand firmly on her chest, she dropped the other hand to her side. Had it not been for the mirror on the wall behind her, he wouldn't have given her strange behavior another thought. But the reflection showed her bunching up the fabric of her skirt. A nervous habit?

He pretended not to notice-until the hem of her skirt raised high enough to reveal his second glimpse of her leg. Suddenly he had trouble recalling his purpose for being there.

He drew his gaze away from the mirror and cleared his throat. One moment she wanted him to leave. Now she was apparently trying to seduce him.

In no mood for such tactics, he decided to show her he meant business. "I'm not leaving until I get what I came for and paid for," he said, his voice gruff. "Now, either we do this civilly or not. Your choice. "When she failed to respond he added, "Let me know when you're ready."

For a moment neither spoke, but the lady's skirt kept inching upward. "I'm ready," she replied.

He nodded. "Now we're getting somewhere."

The hem of her skirt fell to the floor, and suddenly he was on the serious side of a double-barrel derringer. Blast it all!

Berating himself for not suspecting she was armed, he drew in his breath. "You better put that toy away before someone gets hurt."

The corners of her mouth tipped upward in a half smile. "Make no mistake, Mr. Colton. I know how to use this gun, and I seldom miss."

It was amazing what a little iron in hand could do to one's self-confidence. All that remained of the reserved, modest woman he found when he walked in the room was the hand still strategically placed on her bodice.

There were perhaps If Rose were a dozen ways to disarm someone with a a man, he wouldn't hesitate to use gun. full force. Disarming woman was a bit trickier because he didn't want to cause unnecessary harm or discomfort.

Still, he was in no mood to let the woman get the best of him-not when he'd traveled this far and had so much at stake. His mind made up, he stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. Her hand left her chest and caught him on the jaw so hard that his head snapped back.

For such a small package, she packed a good wallop. Still, she was no match for him. Okay, maybe a little.

Clenching her arm tight, he grabbed the barrel of the gun with his other hand. With a flick of his wrist, her derringer fell to the carpet. That alone might take the wind out of most people's sails, but not hers.

She dived for the gun, but he grabbed her around the waist and spun her in his arms. Fighting like a wildcat, she pounded on his chest with her fists.

"Hey! Stop that," he commanded. Never did he see a woman so fired up. "I don't want to hurt you."

A high-pitched scream filled the room. Rose stilled in his arms, and that was when he realized the scream hadn't come from her.

He released her, and in a flash, she scooped up her derringer and darted to the door. Together they ran into the hall where a couple of scantily clad women peered into a room. Nearby, a thin bald man hopped around, trying to put on his trousers. One woman slumped against a wall, sobbing.

Next to her, a comatose Miss Lillian sprawled on the floor like a marlin on a ship's deck. Two women were trying to revive her with smelling salts.

"What's wrong?" a redheaded woman clad in only a petticoat asked.

"It's...it's...Rose," a dark-skinned woman squeaked out.

Tom stared at her. Rose? Did he hear right? He pushed past the female residents and into the room on the other side of the hall. A woman in a blue gown lay on the floor. He didn't have to look twice to know she was past saving.

If this was Rose, then who in the name of Sam Hill was the green-eyed beauty with the iron-like fist?

Ignoring the chaos around her, Amy dropped to her knees in full detective mode and studied Rose's body. One thing she'd learned from experience was to pay close attention at crime scenes. Even the most minor details could turn out to be significant in solving a case.

It was clear by the blood in her hair that Rose had been hit over the head. The bloodied candlestick holder on the floor next to the body was apparently the murder weapon.

Earlier, Amy had guessed Rose's age at thirty. Now she realized the woman was much younger, perhaps in her early twenties. How did such a pretty young woman end up in a place like this? How, for that matter, did any of them end up here?

She pushed the thought away and scanned the room from one end to the other. It was a mess. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, and a lamp lay on its side, kerosene dripping onto the carpet. Rose must have put up quite a fight during the last moments of her life.

Amy gave Rose's hands a cursory glance. Other than the wound on her head, no other marks were evident. Mr. Colton hunkered down on the opposite side of the corpse, his face grim. "Now look what you've done." His low voice was meant for her ears only, along with the accusation in his eyes.

She lifted her chin. What an annoying man. "What I've done?"

"Had you told me from the start you weren't Rose-"

"You never asked me," she shot back.

He frowned in cold fury. "You must have known I mistook you for someone else. Now, thanks to you, she's dead."

Holding her gun by her side, she glared at him. "You have your nerve blaming me!"

He leaned over Rose's body, his nose practically in Amy's face. "What do you know about the Gunnysack Bandit?"

She seethed inwardly. The man was probably a bounty hunter or private detective interested in the reward. Amateur sleuths were, the bane of professional detectives and always got in the way of an investigation.

"I told you I know nothing," she retorted. "What did you want to talk to Rose about?"

"It's none of your business," he said, his voice curt.

"Any time I'm accused of someone's death, it's my business," she sputtered.

"Excuse me?"

Both their heads swiveled toward the throaty voice.

Miss Lillian was on her feet, but just barely. It took three women to keep her from falling. Even with their help, she leaned back at a ninety degree angle with only the heels of her shoes on the floor. "Would someone please fetch ole Tin Star?" she said in a weak voice.

Amy shot her accuser a fiery glance. "I'm sure Mr. Colton would be happy to fetch the marshal for us." The sooner she got rid of him, the sooner she could concentrate on the crime scene. She also wanted to query the others while their memories were still fresh. Given the appearance of the room, someone must have heard something.

A muscle tightened at Colton's jaw, but he rose. "I'll be back." He made it sound like a threat, but before she could respond, he stomped from the room.