Fatal as a Fallen Woman (23 page)

He let the moment stretch. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the miniature French clock on the mantel. Expensive, he noted, as were all the room's furnishings. Even the perfume stand on the dressing table was made of gold and crystal.

His attention seemed to make Pearl nervous. She crossed to the bed, reached into the night stand drawer, and brought out two items, a small revolver and a prayer book. "Protection for both body and soul," she quipped. "What do you want to know?"

"A simple question to start. You deal with a high-class clientele. How did a fellow like Charlie get in?"

He could see she fought a smile. "This is Saturday night, doctor. All the richest men are at home, pretending to be respectable."

"So you lower your standards?"

She bristled at the implied insult. "Charlie and I go way back. I knew him when I lived in Torrence. It's a little mining town up in the mountains. You've probably never heard of it."

"On the contrary. The name is very familiar." He tracked her movements with his eyes as she moved about the room, now toying with the long strand of pearls wound around her neck, now straightening one of the sketches of flowers that decorated the walls. "In fact, that's why I wanted to talk to you, Pearl. Last night Charlie let it slip that William Torrence provided the money to open this place."

"Damn that Charlie. No one's supposed to know that."

"But Charlie does."

"He
was
the only one. Now he's gone and blabbed to you." Her voice conveyed her disgust with the hapless Charlie. "I suppose he was drunk."

"Was Torrence one of your rich and exclusive customers?"

"He never came here."

"Just gave you money to set up in business?"

"I earned it." She sounded defensive.

"How?"

Pearl came close, circling him. "I'm beginning to regret asking you to look at that rash. Sure you won't take something else in trade?"

"I was prepared to pay you for information, Pearl. I still am."

"How much?" She ran a finger along the rim of his ear and looked disappointed when Ben didn't react.

"A hundred dollars."

Involuntarily, her eyes widened. Ben was certain she'd earned as much from a single customer before now, but it was an extraordinary sum to pay just to talk. "All right." She left him alone and went to perch on the edge of the bed. "Why not? Timberline Torrence is past caring. A couple of years back, he paid me to move from Torrence to Leadville."

"Leadville?" He'd expected her to say Denver. "Why?"

"I was supposed to keep a real close eye on a fella, if you know what I mean. Report back to Mr. Torrence on everything he did."

"This 'fella' have a name?"

"Evan Spaulding."

Silently, Ben digested that. "Who was he?"

"Somebody who made an enemy of William Torrence. After I got to know him, Evan boasted to me that he'd gotten money out of Mr. Torrence to start his own acting company."

"He was an actor, then?"

"At first. Actor-manager, he called himself. But he wasn't much good at the managing part. By the time I got to Leadville, he was already fighting with the members of his company. A short time later, it folded. He didn't have an act on his own, and he thought vaudeville and burlesque were beneath him, so even though there were plenty of theaters and concert halls in town, he ended up taking a job at the Texas House. That's a gambling hall. A dozen faro tables available twenty-four hours a day."

"Not a bad way to make money."

"Not at all. Most faro banks range in amount from $500 to $2000 and that's when the dealers limit single card bets to twenty-five dollars. At the Texas House the proprietors are always willing to take the limit off for the real high rollers. One fella I know of bet $10,000 on the turn of a card." Her eyes glittered at the memory. "When things get that serious, the floor manager takes over the dealer's box. I heard tell that one floor manager won more than $80,000 for the house during the first few months he was working at the Texas House. Faro banks don't always earn that much, but the ones in Leadville probably average $1000 in profit a month."

"So, did Spaulding make enough to reorganize his troupe?" It wasn't easy pretending he didn't already know what had happened to Diana's late husband, but Ben persevered.

"Not a chance. The damned fool gambled away most of his money." She gave a delicate, ladylike snort. "I found out later he'd nearly lost it all even before he got to Leadville. Charlie told me that. You see, doctor, Mr. Torrence sent
Charlie
to Denver, to keep an eye on Evan until he left for Leadville. Once he got there, I took over."

"Why all this interest in an actor?" Ben asked.

"You don't ask someone like Mr. Torrence for reasons."

"What happened to Spaulding?"

"Cheated at cards. Got caught. Another fella shot him." She shrugged. "It was no surprise. He may have been a charmer but he was never an honest man."

"So, Spaulding ended up dead. You came here and invested your . . . earnings. And Charlie got a pretty good job at the Windsor."

"That's about the size of it." The caution was back in her voice.

"And then Torrence was killed at the Windsor. There are rumors going around that he was using that suite for assignations. Were you the woman he met there?"

Pearl leapt off the bed, reaching for her revolver. "Get out."

"I'm not accusing you of murder. I only want to know what Torrence's mistress saw that night."

"Nothing. She saw nothing."

"How do you know?"

She just glared at him.

"A hundred dollars an answer, Pearl. If the replies are honest."

Avarice warred with caution in her eyes. Slowly she lowered the gun. "Ask."

"What can you tell me about the woman he was meeting in that room?"

A small chuckle escaped her. "Cleverly phrased, doctor. You don't want to spend more than you have to."

"I can be generous, if I'm satisfied with your answers."

She returned the revolver to the night stand and once again sat on the bed, but this time she curled her legs beneath her, tailor-fashion, and kept her hands loosely clasped in her lap. "I supplied William Torrence with girls. He liked variety, he liked luxury, and he liked secrecy. That night, he sent word that the girl wasn't to show up until after midnight. I figured he was expecting one of his spies to make a report earlier in the evening and didn't want to chance anyone seeing who came to his suite."

"Spies?"

A hint of sarcasm edged her tone of voice. "What? So much interest in Mr. Torrence and you don't know about the spies?" When he made no reply, she grinned. "Torrence and his former wife spied on each other. It was almost a game with them, each one vying to learn the other's secrets."

"All right. He was meeting a spy. So you think. What did your girl see when she arrived?"

"A dead man. She got out fast. She didn't see anyone else around."

And she'd have had no reason to murder Torrence.

Neither would she have been a threat to Miranda. Torrence wouldn't have been likely to get another divorce just to marry one of Pearl's girls. The second Mrs. Torrence might have resented knowing her husband used prostitutes, but that was a situation many wives faced. Most of them learned to live with it, or filed for divorce themselves. Given what Diana had told him about Miranda, it seemed unlikely to Ben that she'd have been provoked to violence.  

So who
had
killed Torrence? Ben was no closer to an answer than he had been before he'd left the hotel.

He returned to his room at the Windsor in a morose frame of mind. His efforts were getting him nowhere, and he'd be surprised if Diana had made any progress, either. First thing tomorrow, he decided, he'd go to Matt Hastings's house and get her out of there. They'd continue to look for Torrence's killer, or they'd return to the East, but whatever they did, they'd do it together.

He opened the door and stepped into light and warmth. He frowned. He hadn't left the lamps burning.

The sound of feminine voices wafted out from his bedroom into the parlor of the suite. One of them was familiar.

"Diana?"

She came out in a rush and flew straight into his arms. He caught only the briefest glimpse of the other woman, bespectacled and timid-looking, before Diana crashed into his chest, all but knocking the wind out of him.

* * * *

Diana hugged him tightly and inhaled deeply, expecting the reassuring scent of Ivory soap that always clung to him. Instead she got a strong whiff of heliotrope.

She lifted her head and sniffed. "You smell—"

"Like the inside of a whorehouse. Yes, I know."

His candor deflated her irritation before it had a proper chance to grow into anger. She swallowed hard. "Which one?"

"The madam's name is Pearl."

Jane gave a little squeak of surprise.

Diana studied the dark gray wool cheviot in front of her nose. The jacket of his single-breasted sack suit was soft to the touch. Reassuring. "So, these pale blonde hairs are . . . ?"

"Poodle." The word flowed over her in his resonant baritone, warming and comforting. "Hard to avoid them. There must be a dozen white dogs in that house."

Her fingers closed on his lapels. "Ben, why did you go there?"

"Why do you think?" Jane asked,
sotto voce
.

Diana ignored both the question and the tug on her sleeve. She had no doubts about Ben's fidelity. If he'd been with a prostitute earlier, there had been a reason for it other than sexual congress.

He was staring at her, and at the pile of luggage in the bedroom beyond. "You have more to explain than I do, Diana."

The ominous undercurrent that had insinuated itself into that deep rumble of a voice warned her tread carefully. "I thought it best to move out of Matt's house." They'd left as soon as he was asleep, sure of their escape because Matt's supper had contained a liberal dose of the opiate Matt had given Jane for Diana's warm milk.

Waiting for more information, Ben eyed Diana warily. When she didn't add anything to that first statement, he asked, "Where is Ning?"

"I sent him home to his aunt after he and the detective you hired escorted us here." She paused. "Thank you."

He ran long, flexible fingers through his gently-waving, jet-black mane and sighed. "You're keeping something back, Diana. Out with it."

"I'm more interested in hearing about your adventures."

"I'm sure you are." His mustache twitched as his firm lips twisted into a small, ironic smile. He covered it with the hand he lifted to smooth an already perfectly groomed short beard. Their eyes met. Diana saw no censure in his gaze, only concern for her. She stared into the dark brown depths, delighting as she always did in the unexpected flecks of amber she found there. She loved Ben's eyes.

She loved everything about him, even his stubbornness.

She dropped her gaze and lifted one hand to toy with the silk shield bow he wore with his turn-down collar. She didn't want to confess all, but there wasn't really any way around it now. Trust worked both ways. There were times, she was sure, when total honesty was not the best policy, but for here, for now, she and Ben needed to pool information. Neither pride nor embarrassment must be allowed to stand in the way.

"I suppose it's useless asking you to promise not to be angry?"

"With you or with Hastings?"

She winced. "I want you to hear me out and then stay right here to tell me all you've learned since we last met. And tomorrow I want you to go with us to Torrence."

"Us?"

Belatedly, Diana realized that she'd never introduced Jane to Ben. She remedied that situation, then said, "We have to catch a train at eight in the morning. It's important, Ben."

His dark brows lifted, but he nodded. "All right. We'll all go. Now tell me why. No editing," he added before she could even draw breath to begin. "I want to know everything, Diana. And in turn, I'll hold nothing back from you. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

And so she began.

He kept his temper, but barely.

"I've warned Ning to stay away from Matt," she concluded.

"A piece of advice I wish you'd followed yourself."

"Ben, we're here. We're safe. Now, what did you find out from Pearl?"

"That your father paid her to keep an eye on you and Evan, particularly Evan, when you were in Leadville. And that the mystery woman in your father's suite was one of Pearl's girls. She arrived after he was already dead."

Diana was glad she was already sitting down. Jane, who had been standing by the window, sank into the nearest chair, eyes wide.

"Did she see anyone?" Diana asked.

"Apparently not."

"I want to talk to her."

"That's not possible. She was shaken up by her experience. And afraid the police might blame her. She told Pearl what happened, then took off."

"Maybe she lied. Maybe she
did
kill him."

"Why would she? She barely knew him. According to Pearl, she was looking forward to the evening. Pearl said your father had a reputation for being generous with ladies who pleased him."

"Then who did kill him?" Her frustration was almost palpable. She'd been wrong about the suite. It had not been window-dressing to impress a mistress. At the same time, she'd been right in believing there had been a mystery woman. Diana didn't know what to think about Ben's discovery.

"Pearl suggested Torrence might have been meeting someone earlier," he added. "To use her word, a spy in his employ. It seems your father liked to keep tabs on people. These last few years, he's paid more than one person to report back to him about your mother's activities."

"I don't like the sound of that," Diana said.

"No," Ben agreed. "For one thing, it may have given your mother yet another reason to want him dead."

Chapter Twelve

"Two daily Express Trains equipped with Pullman Palace Sleepers, Horton Reclining Chair Cars, Elegant Regular Coaches, Modern Open Observation Cars, Westinghouse Air Brakes, and running over Steel Rails, Iron Bridges and Rock Ballast," Ben Northcote read, "insure the highest type of rapid, safe, and luxurious railway travel."