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Dedication
For all the good men in my life,
George, Darin Keith, Daniel, Warren, Danny, and Brian
Chapter 1
1883
Goodman, Kansas
hoa!
Former Texas Ranger Tom Colton reined in his horse and stared at
the sign hanging from the roof of the two-story brick structure: Miss
Lillians Parlor House and Fine Boots. In the faint glow of a full
moon the building stood tall, solid, and proper as an old church. Only
the red light shimmering in a downstairs window suggested otherwise.
He fingered the letter in his vest pocket. Addressed to his brother
Dave and signed simply Rose, the letter had brought him to this very
address searching for answers.
The red light gave him pause. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake, but hed traveled too far to turn back now. He hesitated for several
moments before dismounting. Securing his horse to the hitching post,
he stomped up the wooden steps to the porch. For once, God, let me be
wrong about my brother.
The door opened to his knock, and a stout-figured woman peered at
him from a painted face. Designed for a woman half her size, the bright
blue gown and exaggerated bustle did her no favors, nor did hair piled
on top of her head like frothy red frosting.
Her appearance quelled any doubt as to the nature of the establishment, and his spirits dropped yet another notch. Dave, oh, Dave. . .
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Margaret Brownley
Are you going to stand there all night, cowboy? Or are you going
to tell me what you want? Her lilting Southern drawl seemed at odds
with her sharp-eyed gaze.
He pulled off his wide-brim hat. Sorry to bother you, maam.
Names Tom, Tom Colton. I came to see Rose.
Her eyes narrowed. Dont believe Ive seen you around these parts.
Im new in town.
The womans gaze traveled the length of his six-foot frame like a
worried mother scrutinizing a daughters suitor. The gun belt sagging
from his waist made her hesitate. She then glanced at his gelding tied
out front next to one other.
Apparently his horse, Thunder, gave him a good recommendation
because the woman stepped aside to let him in.
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Colton. Im Miss Lillian.
He wasnt especially pleased to meet her, but he gave a polite nod
and glanced around the entry. Many were the times hed stepped into
a house of ill repute on official business back in his Ranger days. Even
so, hed never seen anything like this. Mens boots, womens boots, and
boots that no rational person should ever have occasion to wear were
arranged on every possible surface, from shelves to tables and even the
floor. Whats more, they were all for sale.
You want to see Rose, eh? The proprietor closed and locked the
door, her taffeta skirt rustling like autumn leaves. Thatll be five dollars,
but youll have to wait.
He held his hat in his hand and shifted from one foot to the other.
I only want to talk to her.
Then itll cost you ten. More if youre a lawman.
He hoped she was simply stating the rules of the house and not
making a guess based on appearances. Hed left the Texas Rangers three
years ago but still thought like one, and some even said, talked like
onea blessing and curse on both accounts.
Thats a lot of money. He rubbed his chin. Whoever said talk was
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Petticoat Detective
Margaret Brownley
foot would feel in one of these? She picked a brown leather boot off a
nearby counter and thrust it into his hands. Its amazing what a man
with a hammer and a mouthful of wood pegs can do, she said. Had
the Southern army worn boots like that, they might have won the war.
Now theres a thought. He turned the boot over. It had a wide
square toe and well-angled heel. He found no fault with the construction; his objection was with the effeminate red rose hand-tooled on
the crown. Folks back home in Texas didnt cotton to people walking
around duded out like a fancy barbed-wire drummer.
He handed the boot back to her. If I ever have occasion to go to
war, Ill be sure to stop here first.
You do that, Mr. Colton.
She set the boot upright on a shelf before leading him through
the high-ceiling entryway to the parlor. A log burned in the fireplace,
and orange flames lazily climbed the chimney. An upright piano
commanded one corner of the room, and a hand-printed sign on the
instrument read Singing Lessons, One Fifty. He couldnt imagine
anyone coming here for singing lessons, but then he wouldnt have
thought to come here for footwear, either.
In the opposite corner stood a barber chair and a tray of shaving
cream and brushes. A sign listed the cost of a shave and haircut. He
pulled his hat down a notch to hide his collar-length hair. He didnt
want Miss Lillian coming at him with scissors or razor.
He backed away from the barber chair and almost knocked a crystal ball off a small table in a darkened alcove. Not only was the room
heavily furnished with upholstered hassocks, brocaded settees, and all
manner of fuss and feathers, it was also booby-trapped.
Miss Lillian watched him set the glass sphere on its wooden stand.
Would you like me to read your fortune while youre waiting? Ill only
charge you half price.
He drew his hand away. The woman was a regular jack-of-all-trades.
If its all the same to you, maam, I prefer not to know what the future
10
Petticoat Detective
Margaret Brownley
hall wasnt a john. The sound of a floorboard signaled someone outside the door. She held her breath until the footsteps faded away. Her
shoulders slumped, and her breath escaped in a single gasp of relief.
That was close. Too close.
She strained her ears. A mans laughter sounded from one of the
other rooms, but otherwise all was quiet. For now.
She moved away from the door. Catching sight of herself in the
gilded framed mirror, her mouth dropped open. Frowning, she stuck
out her tongue. It was her, all right, but with all that face paint it was
hard to tell.
Turning, she viewed herself from all angles. Ugh! She looked worse
than shed thought. Her bustle forced the skirt almost horizontal from
the waist. Sideways, she looked like the front part of a horse, but it was
the top of her dress that caused the most alarm. Covering her exposed
neckline with crossed hands, she glanced about the room for a shawl, a
cape, a newspaperanything with which to cover herself. Except for a
brass bed, upholstered chair, desk, and more mirrors than a carnival, the
room offered no help for modesty. She resisted the urge to pull a sheet
off the bed and wrap herself in it.
As a Pinkerton operative, shed worked undercover as a Southern
belle, a heartbroken widow, a jilted schoolteacher, and even a secretary
(though with terrible typing skills). But never before had she worked in
a bordello or had to wear face paint. Her only hope was that she would
get what she came for without having to defend her virtue.
Shed arrived at the brothel that afternoon, hoping to convince
the proprietress that she was Roses long-lost cousin. She never had
a chance to share her well-rehearsed story. Thinking she was seeking
work as a fancy lady, Miss Lillian took one look at her plain skirt and
prudish white shirtwaist and dragged her into the house.
What do you think Im running here? A nunnery? the madam
demanded.
Quick to see the advantage of approaching the woman named Rose
12
Petticoat Detective
as a colleague, Jennifer-slash-Amy decided to play along, indeed, considered it fortunate to have fallen into what at the time seemed like the
perfect disguise.
She would conduct her business and leave posthaste; at least that
was the plan. Not once did she consider what such a pretext would
entail until Miss Lillian ordered two women in corsets and bloomers to
make her look decent.
Decent, indeed! Her boss, Mr. Pinkerton, should see her now. On
second thought, no he shouldnt! She prayed that no man would.
Wringing her hands, she paced the floor. The horrid corset felt like
steel around her middle, and she could hardly manage an honest breath.
Think, think. She was almost certain the room directly across from this
one was Roses. She would simply knock on the door. With a little luck,
Rose would be alone and, if all went as planned, tell what she knew.
She could do this, had to do it. After botching her last assignment,
she couldnt afford another failure. The Pinkerton National Detective
Agency wouldnt stand for it. Mr. William Pinkerton, head of the western division, had been very clear on that account.
This time she would get it right if it killed her. After months of
investigation, the trail to one of the most notorious criminals in the
West led to this establishment. Guilty of fraud, theft, and murder, the
Gunnysack Bandit had a hefty price on his head. He also had a gift for
evading every lawman, bounty hunter, and detective on his trail.
Well see how good you are at dodging a female detective, Mr. Gunny.
The thought made her smile. For once her gender worked for and not
against her. The room was proof that a female operative could go where
angelsand male counterpartsfeared to tread.
She lifted a foot onto a trunk and gathered up miles of taffeta fabric to check the derringer holstered to her thigh. The voluptuous skirt
would prevent anything resembling a fast draw, but unless she bumped
into a persistent male, her chances of needing a weapon were low. Probably. Hopefully.
13
Margaret Brownley
Certainly, the woman named Rose had no reason to pose a threat.
Unless, of course, she was in cahoots with the bandit.
Amy tightened the buckle of her holster attached to a
silk-stockinged thigh just as the door flew open. Much to her
horror, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, square-jawed man
in a wide-brim hat. If his height wasnt bad enough, the determined
look on his face was worse. This was a man who wasnt about to take
no for an answer.
14
Chapter 2
Margaret Brownley
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, maam. 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.
Im Dave Coltons 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, maam?
She gave a slow nod as if she couldnt make up her mind whether
she was or wasnt. Its just that Im 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. Im
afraid I cant do that, maam.
Her eyes narrowed, and he detected a spark of combat in their seagreen depths. And why is that?
16
Petticoat Detective
Margaret Brownley
cork. His brother loved this woman, and she was as cold and heartless
as a fish. Im not leaving, lady. Not till I get what I paid for.
Fury darkened her face. Im warning you, Mr. Colton. If you dont
leave, youll 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 wouldnt 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 noticeuntil 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. Im 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 youre ready.
For a moment neither spoke, but the ladys skirt kept inching upward. Im ready, she replied.
He nodded. Now were 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 ones
self-confidence. All that remained of the reserved, modest woman he
found when he walked in the room was the hand still strategically
18
Petticoat Detective
Margaret Brownley
female residents and into the room on the other side of the hall. A
woman in a blue gown lay on the floor. He didnt have to look twice to
know she was past saving.
If this was Rose, then who in the name of Sam Hill was the greeneyed beauty with the iron-like fist?
w
Ignoring the chaos around her, Amy dropped to her knees in full detective mode and studied Roses body. One thing shed 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 Roses 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 Roses 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 youve 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 Ive done?
Had you told me from the start you werent Rose
You never asked me, she shot back.
He frowned in cold fury. You must have known I mistook you for
20
Petticoat Detective
21
Chapter 3
Petticoat Detective
Mr. Coltons icy glares was the hard part. The man had his nerve, blaming her for Roses death.
In due order, the body was removed from the premises, and the
marshal, doctor, and Colton departed. Since no one could sleep, Miss
Lillian ordered one of her girls to make pots of hot tea.
While the women sat forlornly in the parlor, Amy managed to
sneak in a few questions, but the answers were worthless at best. No
one heard anything, saw anything, suspected anything.
The person who interested her most was Colton. Was he a
bounty hunter? The Gunnysack Bandit was wanted dead or alive.
With a ten-thousand-dollar bounty, every criminal chaser in the
country was on his trail.
Still, Colton didnt seem to fit the part. The bounty hunters shed
had occasion to meet were rough and tough and often uncouth. Always
in transit, they seldom worried about hygiene or appearances, and most
sported long, shaggy beards and mustachesnone of which applied to
Mr. Colton. Not only was he clean shaven, he looked and smelled like
hed just made friendly with a bathhouse.
So what is your business, Mr. Colton? What did you want with Rose?
And what do you know about the Gunnysack Bandit? Somehow she had
to find out. Recalling their angry exchange, it wasnt something she
relished, but so far Colton was her best bet for information.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she stooped to examine the doorknob.
She had never had any luck picking locks, but she could try. Just as she
pulled a hairpin from the back of her head, an ear-piercing scream sent
chills down her spine.
Reaching in the false pocket of her skirt, she pulled out her gun and
darted down the hall. In her haste, she practically stumbled down the
stairs. Oh, God, please, not another body.
The scream grew louder as her slippers hit the ground floor. Mr.
Beavers, the cat, streaked past her as she dashed into the parlor.
She practically fell over the back of an upholstered settee in her
23
Margaret Brownley
haste. Miss Lillian looked up from the piano, curved fingers poised
above the ivory keys. Next to her a tall man with a pencil-thin mustache
sent a gargling shrill note into the stratosphere before falling silent.
Miss Lillian was the first to speak. Good heavens, child. What are
you doing with that gun? She looked tired today, and even the thick
coat of paint failed to hide her pallor. Amy wasnt the only one who got
little or no sleep last night.
Amy hid the weapon behind the folds of her skirt. I thought I
heard a scream.
A scream? Miss Lillians eyes widened. I didnt hear a scream. Did
you, Mr. Studebaker?
No maam, he said. Considering the high-pitched volume hed
managed moments earlier, his speaking voice sounded surprisingly normal.
You must be hearing things, Miss Lillian said, turning back to
the piano.
Studebaker stared down his long, thin nose at Amy, as if resenting
the intrusion and straightened his bow tie. With his patent leather hair
and carefully waxed mustache, he bore a striking resemblance to an
embezzler she had recently helped put behind bars.
My mistake, she said, backing up. No sooner had she left the room
than a piano chord sounded, followed by what could only be described
as a blaring foghorn.
The music abruptly stopped. Stand up straight and breathe! Miss
Lillian ordered. Okay, again, one, two, three. . .
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
Amy slipped her weapon through her false pocket and into the holster at her thigh. After the unfortunate incident with Mr. Colton the
night before, shed ripped open a seam in her skirt so she could more
easily retrieve her weapon. She was still miffed for allowing the man to
wrestle the gun from her hand. Something like that would never happen again. Not if she had anything to do about it.
24
Petticoat Detective
But Mr. Colton wasnt the only reason she was riled. A murder
had been committed beneath this very roof, and no one saw anything
suspicious. The room was in terrible disarray, yet no one heard a thing.
Either someone was lying or. . .
Somehow she had to get into Roses room. Where did Miss Lillian
keep the keys?
The volume of Mr. Studebakers voice increased, and Amy clapped
her hands over her ears and looked up. Prisms of the crystal chandelier
rattled like a bunch of old bones. A man caught in a bear trap couldnt
sound worse.
That morning over breakfast, Miss Lillian had announced that no
guests would be allowed for three days out of respect for Rose. Too
bad the womans regard for the deceased didnt extend to singing lessons.
Breathe, breathe! Miss Lillian thundered.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
Fortunately, the man either ran out of breath or passed out, and
blessed silence followed. With a sigh, Amy studied the door leading to
Miss Lillians office. Maybe the key to Roses room was in there.
Psst.
Amy whirled about. One of the girlsCoralstood next to the
staircase, motioning to her.
I want to show you something, she said, her voice hushed. She
was a tall, slender woman with a broad nose and full lips. As was the
fashion for dark-skinned women, her black hair had been straightened
with a hot metal comb and piled on top of her head.
Motioning with her hand, Coral led the way through the dining
room and into the kitchen. A cookstove filled one wall and a tall icebox
and bakers cabinet another.
Coral reached under the counter and pulled out a Peacemaker.
Amy slapped the barrel of the gun away. You mustnt point a gun
like that!
25