about what you’re doing here later.”
An uneasy silence descended around them. The room had mostly cleared upon his arrival, though one or two men remained, too drunk to flee. An overturned glass of beer dripped steadily onto a scattering of playing cards like sour rain. The mingled odors of alcohol and cigar smoke turned Garrett’s stomach. He picked his way through the glass and approached the auburn-haired woman hovering near the door. She looked as if she wanted to say something, and he never turned away a witness.
Tipping his hat, Garrett offered a friendly greeting. “You’re Beatrice, right? Did you see the men who started this? Or the shooter?”
“Probably Tom.” She shook her head and the drooping purple feather in her hair fluttered. “The whole place went mad at once. There was a new group this evening. They came in from Wichita earlier in the day.”
“How many?”
“Four, maybe five. I didn’t pay much attention. They didn’t seem interested in dancing.”
A tingle of apprehension darted along Garrett’s spine. “You notice anything else unusual?”
“I noticed one of the McCoy boys in here. That’s unusual. He better hope his pa never finds out. Or his sister, for that matter.”
Garrett flashed a wry grin. “I’ll take care of David.”
The woman winked at him and he started, then fixed his attention on the sawdust-strewn floor. He sure was getting winked at a lot these days. “Thank you, Miss Beatrice. You think of anything else, let me know.”
“Oh, I’ll let you know,” she murmured suggestively.
“Don’t you get sassy on me, Miss Beatrice.”
“You’re real cute when you blush.” She twisted her waist from side to side, sending her fringed skirt fluttering. “She’s cute, too, your niece.” Beatrice fiddled with an auburn corkscrew curl resting on her shoulder. “Tell you what, because you called us ladies, I’ll help you keep an eye on that David McCoy. I didn’t see him drink or gamble, and he wasn’t hanging around the girls. He seemed more interested in Mr. Stuart than anything else. Except Mr. Stuart was busy fighting with Mr. Hodges. Besides...”
She studied her tapered fingernails. “I owe JoBeth.” Beatrice met his curious gaze. “She’s been teaching me Morse code. I’m getting a job in Denver as a telegraph operator. A real job. Not dancing with cowboys for nickels.”
“That’s a fine goal,” Garrett replied.
Another mark in Jo’s favor. He’d been raised around people who wouldn’t lift a finger for someone below their class, and that had never sat well with him. Seemed like the Bible was pretty clear on ministering to the poor as well as the poor in spirit.
Garrett touched his forehead in a brief salute. “When you and Jo finish your studies, you let me know if you need a reference.”
This time Beatrice blushed, making her appear younger, almost girlish. “You’re too soft for a marshal.”
“And you’re too smart for this place.”
With that parting comment, Garrett turned. Behind him, the steady clip-clip of heels echoed through the open building as Beatrice walked through the adjoining door.
Garrett sighted David stationed near the door and motioned him over. “Let’s straighten up.”
Together with Schmitty the bartender, they set about clearing the room. Garrett righted a chair and reached for an overturned table. A pair of boots caught his attention. Another casualty of the brawl, no doubt.
Garrett nudged one of the boots. “Wake up, mister. Time to take it home.”
The body remained ominously still. Garrett heaved the table upright, revealing Mr. Hodges. His blank eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy and unmoving. A darkening patch of red covered his white shirt and bled into his faded gray coat. Garrett flipped him onto one side, already knowing what he’d find. A bullet had passed clean through the man’s body.
The bartender, a diminutive man with unnaturally dark, slicked-back hair, leaned over
An uneasy silence descended around them. The room had mostly cleared upon his arrival, though one or two men remained, too drunk to flee. An overturned glass of beer dripped steadily onto a scattering of playing cards like sour rain. The mingled odors of alcohol and cigar smoke turned Garrett’s stomach. He picked his way through the glass and approached the auburn-haired woman hovering near the door. She looked as if she wanted to say something, and he never turned away a witness.
Tipping his hat, Garrett offered a friendly greeting. “You’re Beatrice, right? Did you see the men who started this? Or the shooter?”
“Probably Tom.” She shook her head and the drooping purple feather in her hair fluttered. “The whole place went mad at once. There was a new group this evening. They came in from Wichita earlier in the day.”
“How many?”
“Four, maybe five. I didn’t pay much attention. They didn’t seem interested in dancing.”
A tingle of apprehension darted along Garrett’s spine. “You notice anything else unusual?”
“I noticed one of the McCoy boys in here. That’s unusual. He better hope his pa never finds out. Or his sister, for that matter.”
Garrett flashed a wry grin. “I’ll take care of David.”
The woman winked at him and he started, then fixed his attention on the sawdust-strewn floor. He sure was getting winked at a lot these days. “Thank you, Miss Beatrice. You think of anything else, let me know.”
“Oh, I’ll let you know,” she murmured suggestively.
“Don’t you get sassy on me, Miss Beatrice.”
“You’re real cute when you blush.” She twisted her waist from side to side, sending her fringed skirt fluttering. “She’s cute, too, your niece.” Beatrice fiddled with an auburn corkscrew curl resting on her shoulder. “Tell you what, because you called us ladies, I’ll help you keep an eye on that David McCoy. I didn’t see him drink or gamble, and he wasn’t hanging around the girls. He seemed more interested in Mr. Stuart than anything else. Except Mr. Stuart was busy fighting with Mr. Hodges. Besides...”
She studied her tapered fingernails. “I owe JoBeth.” Beatrice met his curious gaze. “She’s been teaching me Morse code. I’m getting a job in Denver as a telegraph operator. A real job. Not dancing with cowboys for nickels.”
“That’s a fine goal,” Garrett replied.
Another mark in Jo’s favor. He’d been raised around people who wouldn’t lift a finger for someone below their class, and that had never sat well with him. Seemed like the Bible was pretty clear on ministering to the poor as well as the poor in spirit.
Garrett touched his forehead in a brief salute. “When you and Jo finish your studies, you let me know if you need a reference.”
This time Beatrice blushed, making her appear younger, almost girlish. “You’re too soft for a marshal.”
“And you’re too smart for this place.”
With that parting comment, Garrett turned. Behind him, the steady clip-clip of heels echoed through the open building as Beatrice walked through the adjoining door.
Garrett sighted David stationed near the door and motioned him over. “Let’s straighten up.”
Together with Schmitty the bartender, they set about clearing the room. Garrett righted a chair and reached for an overturned table. A pair of boots caught his attention. Another casualty of the brawl, no doubt.
Garrett nudged one of the boots. “Wake up, mister. Time to take it home.”
The body remained ominously still. Garrett heaved the table upright, revealing Mr. Hodges. His blank eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy and unmoving. A darkening patch of red covered his white shirt and bled into his faded gray coat. Garrett flipped him onto one side, already knowing what he’d find. A bullet had passed clean through the man’s body.
The bartender, a diminutive man with unnaturally dark, slicked-back hair, leaned over
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