Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch (9 page)

“What about Dina?” I said. I couldn’t believe my sister would abandon her daughter as long as she was still a suspect in a murder investigation.

Jenna tossed her head, her sleek black hair falling back into perfect place, the new hat clinging to her skull. “She doesn’t need me. She’s got you and Dad and Cord and now Audie. For that matter, she’s probably got the whole community of Grace Gulch behind her. She doesn’t need me. She never has.”

That’s where you’re wrong.
An entire community couldn’t take a mother’s place. But I didn’t say the words. Jenna wouldn’t believe it now, anymore than she had any time in the past nineteen years.

Grabbing the bag with the hatbox and receipt, Jenna marched to the door. “Just be sure nothing happens to my baby.” With those parting words, she left us behind, like she always did.

Jenna’s flight from responsibility shouldn’t surprise me, but my frustration demanded release. I wanted to tear up something. Anything. I posted a sign that read
Ring Bell for Service
and headed for the back room.

Tomorrow was trash pickup day. Usually I sorted through boxes and paper, recycling what I could and discarding the rest. Not today.

A stack of empty boxes in the back left corner seemed like a good place to start. Some items arrived in hand-packed boxes, wrapped with simple paint tape.

“That no-good sister of mine.” I flattened one box, slamming down the sides with my fist. “Will she ever take care of anyone beside herself?” I started on a second box. “Or will she always leave me holding the baby?” No one ever asked what I wanted. My family needed me. So I stayed in Grace Gulch. I might have stayed anyhow, but I wanted a say in the matter. But Jenna had made the choices for all of us.

Before long the pile of boxes lay flat on a pallet. I had given Jenna’s behavior over to God long ago, but this weekend had stirred up old resentments. I simply couldn’t believe that she would let Dina face possible murder charges alone.

By the time I finished, soft tissue paper was strewn on the floor, useless now that I had tramped it underfoot. Stupid of me. Now I would need to replace it, an unnecessary expense.

The bell rang. A customer! I took a deep breath and walked at a deliberate pace into the store.

I searched my memory to place the face. Stacy Ward, a cousin of some kind to Mitch Gaynor. She belonged to the gulch’s scattered family; if I remembered correctly, nowadays she lived somewhere in Kansas. “How may I help you?”

“I saw all those beautiful costumes at the concert on Sunday,” Stacy said. “Someone mentioned that you had provided most of them. I thought you might be able to suggest something for me.”

If the short, stout lady hoped one of my costumes would restore her Gibson-girl figure, she was doomed to disappointment. But I excelled at matching style to customer. “Dresses from the Gay Nineties and the early 1900s are over here.” I directed her to the depleted rack of period costumes. We found a suit in light blue silk that didn’t throw her body into an
S
curve, but rather made the most of her coloring. Another customer came in while I was ringing up the sale. My cell phone rang, but I couldn’t answer it. By the time they left, my emotions had cooled down.

Audie had left a message. “I’ll be there at 5:30. Plan on dinner.”

Audie. The sound of his voice sent my emotions flying again. What had Jenna said—something about wanting him for herself?

I whipped the empty hangers from the dress rack with more force than necessary. Did it really matter that much? I retrieved a few more dresses and hung them on the Centennial rack. More people came in.

They poked around the store. “Do you have anything on sale?”

“I might have a sale next week. For the best selection, you should shop now.”

As I expected, they browsed through the store and left without buying. I urged a catalog on both of them—“in case you change your mind.”

Jenna had breezed in and out of our lives again like those shoppers, looking for the best bargain.

Jenna had her career. She had New Mexico. She had freedom. She had—the world!

She couldn’t have Audie, too.

9

September 18, 1891 Excerpt A

Dearest Mary,

It is finally happening! A second chance! The Cherokee Commission has completed negotiations for purchasing land from the Iowa, Sac, Fox, Pottawatomie, and Shawnee, and the date for the next land run has been set for four days hence, Tuesday, September 22nd.

My dreams are flying as high as the red-tailed hawk that I watch soaring overhead in a sky as clear as the water in our river. We will have our ranch. I am sure of it. God would not have brought us this far to fail us now.

~

Monday, September 23

When I thought about it, I realized of course that Jenna didn’t want Audie. But she sometimes understood me better than I understood myself. She had seen through my protests to my heart, and she wanted to open my eyes to my true feelings—in her own unique way, of course. I cared about Audie. A lot.

Maybe I was giving too much credit to my sister, or maybe I had guessed the truth. How could I look Audie in the eye tonight? Would he want to hold my hand? Kiss me—again? Suddenly I wished I had chosen to wear something a little more feminine than my walking suit.

Don’t be silly.
I dressed to please myself, and the outfit was both comfortable and practical in light of my workday. I rearranged the hats on the front counter into a pleasing line and studied the rest of the store layout. With the Land Run festivities over, the store could use a front window display from a different era. I had fun featuring different times in Oklahoma history, gathering photographs of famous Oklahomans, brief bios, and descriptions of their outfits, with clothing and accessories for sale.

Kate Barnard, who moved to Oklahoma in the 1890s and became the first woman elected to a state office in 1907, graced my Land Run Days window. I liked selling a bit of history with my merchandise. I kept a few books on fashion for sale; Dina teased me about that, saying that I was running a clothing store, not a library. I didn’t see it that way. Cici’s Vintage Clothing opened a door into the past, and the books added detail.

Before I could decide on what to feature next, business picked up. Customers came in, two or three at a time. Several stopped to look at the books; some of the shyer types found more satisfaction in reading about history than in dressing the part. They bought enough of the books to make it worth the investment.

The front doorbell rang several times in the next hour. At four o’clock, I looked up in time to catch a glimpse of hair the color of spun gold entering the store—Suzanne Jay. Her appearance reminded me of my list of suspects.
Investigating will be easy if all of them seek me out.

I waved a welcome and rang up the current customers. A mother and daughter had chosen a pillbox hat, an A-line dress for the mother, and a poodle skirt for the daughter. “Thank you for your business.” I smiled. “Come again.”

Suzanne made a beeline for the register. The red-spangled dress she had worn to dance the cancan at the concert was draped over her left arm. Her beautiful, bottle-blond hair had lost the bouffant bees’ nest that made her stand out over the weekend. If anything, it looked deflated, sticking to her head as if she had combed out the teasing without bothering to wash it in between. Dark smudges marred the taut skin under her hazel eyes. The weekend must have worn her out.

The weekend. Now that I had the suspect in my sights, what should I ask her? I couldn’t blurt out, “Did you kill Penn Hardy?”

Suzanne spread the garment across the counter. “I’m afraid I tore the dress when I was dancing yesterday.”

“I can imagine. I’ve torn the hems in my own dresses with my heels.”

“Your dress wasn’t made for dancing.” A small smile sprang to her lips then quickly disappeared “I watched you and your sisters from the wings. People loved it. I saw a few camera flashes.”

I groaned. “Another chapter in the saga of the Wilde sisters.” Her words struck a chord. “Camera flashes, you say?” Mitch Gaynor sat in the front row, ready to record the highlights of the concert. He wouldn’t! But he would. Anything to sell a paper, and he might choose to feature us instead of the clowns. I grabbed the morning’s edition of the
Sequoian
, unread except for the front page. In small print, under the description of the concert, I read aloud, “For more pictures, see page four.” I ruffled the pages and found what I feared: a close up and personal photograph of three pairs of kicking legs, our faces out of focus but recognizable. “The joys of living in a small town,” I muttered.

“When do you think you can have my dress ready? I’m supposed to return it to Dina as soon as possible.” As a props person, Dina handled the dresses that I loaned to the theater group for the Land Run Days celebration.

Suzanne’s words brought me back to the moment, and I set aside the embarrassing picture. I needed to weave the gunfight into the conversation before we finished business.

“Let me see.” I found the rip and wondered how well I could hide a repair of the fragile silk. “The Gulch seemed to do brisk business during the festival. You certainly looked the part of a saloon proprietor in this dress.” I marked another spot that needed to be cleaned. “I hardly saw you all weekend. You must have stayed busy. Did you get to see any of the play?”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Some of Suzanne’s old verve was back, as if she had arrived on stage, ready to give a performance. “I made one of my helpers stay behind the bar when the crowd assembled outside.” She pointed a finger at me. “I saw you. You looked lovely in that beige dress.”

I fought the blush that threatened to rise in my cheeks. I couldn’t let her change the subject. “I can’t believe what happened. Poor Penn. I didn’t think he had an enemy in the world.”

A bleak look clouded Suzanne’s eyes, and she dropped her gaze. Her reaction seemed out of proportion to a casual acquaintance, or maybe I was overly suspicious. The front doorbell rang, and Audie walked in. “I decided to come early.”

“You weren’t supposed to learn about my little accident.” Light had returned to Suzanne’s eyes. “The dress has a tiny rip.”

More like the Grand Canyon, I thought. But I had seen, and repaired, worse.

“And I’ve asked Cici to fix it for me.”

The doorbell rang again. This time a couple of ladies that I didn’t recognize entered the store. They headed straight for the front counter and studied the hat display.

The opportunity to question Suzanne further had passed. Maybe I could talk with her when she picked up her dress, although I didn’t want to put it off that long.

“When will you have my dress ready?” The voice that could carry across a theater dropped below a whisper. Her attention seemed to be directed somewhere else, at the newcomers in the store.

“Wednesday morning,” I said, and Suzanne turned to leave.

One of the customers tried on a cloche after she signed the guest register and cocked her head to inspect the effect in the mirror. She seemed to notice us for the first time. The smile on her face faded.

“Mrs. Hardy,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The words were directed at Suzanne.

Suzanne’s face paled, and she sagged against the register. Audie sprang into action. He escorted her to a chair and brought her a glass of water while I assisted the customers. Mrs. Hardy?
It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what that implied.

“I didn’t realize you knew—Suzanne,” I said. I glanced in her direction. She sat, cowed in the corner chair like a puppy being scolded after an accident.

“I work as a night clerk at a hotel down in Oklahoma City,” the stranger said. “I remember her and her husband when they came for the weekend. They spent the night in our honeymoon suite. So sad for him to die that way, during the gunfight. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything?”

“She knows you meant well.” My mind was still trying to wrap itself around the idea of Suzanne and Penn together. “When was this? I, uh, didn’t know they had taken a second honeymoon.”

“About a month ago,” she said.

I couldn’t think what else to ask without sounding like a busybody. Did they come more than once? Did you notice that Suzanne didn’t wear a wedding ring?Where was Gwen while this was going on?

We completed our business.

“Please convey our sympathy to Mrs. Hardy,” the customer said. She glanced to the corner where Audie knelt beside a sobbing Suzanne. I promised and turned the sign on my door to
Closed
after she departed.

“You must think I’m horrible,” Suzanne said.

“These past few days must have been difficult for you,” Audie said. “I must say you put on a good face. If you want to talk about it, we’re ready to listen.”

Good thinking. Here was a perfect opportunity to get Suzanne to open up to us.

Audie’s kind words stemmed the flow of Suzanne’s tears a little. “You don’t know how miserable it’s been. I’ve wanted to hole up and cry, but I’ve had to carry on and pretend like nothing happened.” Suzanne sniffled and raised her head in a theatrical gesture. “I’m an actress, after all.”

“How long have, I mean, had you. . .known. . .Penn?”

“In the biblical sense, you mean?” Suzanne hiccuped a hysterical giggle. “We met when he was covering the opening of the MGM last spring. We liked each other and, well, one thing led to another.” She dabbed at her face, her tears creating mud from the mascara and deepening the bags under her eyes.

“I’ll get a washcloth.” Audie disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.

“That weekend in Oklahoma City was our first time together. Very romantic. Every girl wants to be swept off her feet.”

Not usually with another woman’s husband. I refrained from saying so. I didn’t want to stop the flow of Suzanne’s chatter.

“He said all the usual things, I suppose. How Gwen didn’t really understand him and they only stayed together because of the kids, but they were older now, and he and I could start a new life together.” She must have sensed my skepticism. “Oh, I know, it all sounds so trite when I say it out loud, but I believed him. I wanted to believe him.”

I tried to remember what Audie had told me of Suzanne’s past. At least one failed marriage? Biological clock ticking and facing approaching middle age alone? A small amount of sympathy stirred in my heart.

Audie returned with a washcloth. Suzanne blinked tear-laden eyelashes at him. “Thank you, Audie. You’re so kind.” She offered a small smile.

“I’m surprised you managed to keep it a secret.” I wanted her attention back on Penn. Why hadn’t the gossip mill reported this juicy tidbit?

“Not completely, although we were very discreet. The police know about the. . .affair. They’ve already questioned me.” She sniffed and looked at Audie in mute appeal. “I wonder if Gwen mentioned me to them. Penn said she was getting suspicious.”

I thought about the name and address of the customer who had just left and wondered if I should give the information to Chief Reiner.

Audie asked the question that was on my mind.

“What did the police say?”

“They consider me a ‘person of interest.’ ” Suzanne said the words like a character in a police drama. “They asked me where I was during the gunfight. I told them that I was on the sidewalk, along with half the population of Lincoln County.”

Suzanne looked as though she was going to cry again. She dabbed at her face with the damp washcloth. I dragged a chair from behind the register and sat down next to her, trying to model my expression after Enid Waldberg, someone with a compassionate and listening ear. There had to be more to her story.

“Then they asked if I had handled the gun Cord used during the gunfight. During rehearsals, they said. I told that detective. . .you know, the guy with the Teddy Roosevelt mustache and the paunch that hangs over his belt?”

“Chief Reiner?”

“I told him that I hadn’t been at the rehearsals for the gunfight because I wasn’t in the play. But yes, I had seen the gun. Cord liked showing it off. Apparently it’s a collector’s item. I told Reiner that I could hardly tell a rifle from a revolver and I didn’t pay much attention.” She sniffed. “They said they would be talking with Cord. I suppose he’s a ‘person of interest,’ as well.”

Audie and I looked at each other. We knew about the confrontation between Cord and the chief outside the MGM the afternoon of the concert.

“Penn was going to leave his wife for you. . .” I let the words trail off.

“He was getting cold feet.” Suzanne’s voice carried like a stage whisper. “I think he had changed his mind.” Tears overflowed. “Oh, Audie, you have to help me! They think I killed Penn when I discovered that he would never leave Gwen for me!” She clutched his arm and dragged him down to his knees beside her, heedless of the tears drenching his sleeve.

What a character,
I thought. Suzanne’s lover wasn’t even underground yet, and she had already pegged Audie as her new savior.

“Of course we’ll help you, any way we can.” Audie spoke in the same calm voice he used to defuse tensions on the stage. Why was he promising to help her? Didn’t he remember that she was on our list of suspects? Jealousy flared up in me, red and hot.