The Circuit Rider by Dani Amore Page B

and, according to de
facto sheriff Chuck Adamson, Perkins was the woman who had rented a room to the
now-deceased Sadie Bell. Bird had gotten the information, then tracked down
Tower and suggested they find out more about Sadie Bell.
    Perkins
met them at the front door. A man wearing bib overalls sat on the rocking chair
nearest the door. He had a pipe in his mouth, and smoke curled up and hung
there, trapped against the beadboard ceiling.
    “Ma’am,
my name is Mike Tower, and this is Bird Hitchcock. We’d like to ask you a
couple of questions about Sadie Bell,” Tower said.
    The
woman looked from Tower to Bird and back again before she said, “Yes, please
come in.”
    They
entered a foyer with a wide staircase featuring a thick mahogany banister. The
stairs wound around the corner at the top, where Bird saw another foyer or
landing with a large window with leaded glass.
    To
the right of the foyer was a formal dining room.
    To
the left, a great room with a huge fireplace, a long couch with magenta
upholstery, and several deep leather chairs in a semicircle around the
fireplace.
    There
was a grand piano and several oil paintings.
    To
Bird’s eye, it was one of the finest boardinghouses she’d ever seen. And she’d
seen more than her share of them.
    “Would
you like a cup of coffee while we talk?” Mrs. Perkins said.
    “Yes,
please,” Tower said.
    “Yes,
and if you could rustle up a shot of rye to thicken mine up, that would be
wonderful,” Bird said.
    A
brief look of disapproval crossed the woman’s face, but she recovered. “Of
course,” she said.
    Tower
looked at Bird and shook his head.
    She
shrugged her shoulders.
    The
woman returned, gave them their coffee, and motioned for them to sit on the
couch. She took one of the deep leather chairs.
    “So
how can I help you?” she said.
    “What
can you tell us about Sadie Bell?” Tower asked.
    The
woman shook her head. “So sad.” She brought out a small handkerchief and wiped
at the corner of her eye.
    Bird
watched the woman, trying to gauge if the emotion was real. It seemed genuine.
    “Sadie
was a naive, innocent, and wonderful girl. She originally came to Twin Buttes
to be a teacher, but the little school was already staffed, so she worked as a
nanny for Mr. and Mrs. Whitcomb. Do you know of the Whitcombs?”
    “No,
ma’am,” Tower said.
    “Well,
William Whitcomb is the whole reason Twin Buttes exists,” Mrs. Perkins said,
with no small amount of pride. The woman was practically beaming at the mention
of William Whitcomb. “He discovered silver here, years ago, and built this
whole operation. He owns three-quarters of everything here, and the rest pay
rent to him.”
    “Does
he own this place?” Bird asked.
    “He
owns a small part of it. I own the majority. We’re partners.”
    Tower
wondered how much Mrs. Perkins had to pay her “partner” to remain the only
boardinghouse in Twin Buttes.
    “So
do you have any idea of how Sadie Bell ended up in Hop Alley?” Tower said.
    Perkins
shook her head. “Knowing Sadie, she was probably trying to help someone. And
look at where it got her. Those heathens are good for nothing but doing laundry
and smoking opium.”
    Tower
offered no comment.
    “Anything
else you can tell us, Mrs. Perkins?” Bird said. She drank down the rest of her
coffee. She could barely taste the rye. Mrs. Perkins had a very light hand when
it came to fortifying coffee, apparently.
    “No,
I’m afraid not. But they already found the Chinamen who did this, am I
correct?”
    “I
believe they found the men they think are responsible,” Tower said evenly.
    “You
don’t sound convinced,” Perkins said.
    “I
just want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”
    They
got to their feet, and Perkins opened the door for them.
    “I
hope you can help,” she said. “Twin Buttes is a fine, fine town.”

Forty-Two

    T he
weak coffee and even weaker rye, along with Mrs. Perkins’s strange affection
for William Whitcomb, all combined to