“I am, yes. Do you have any new information to report?”
“Uh...cain’t say that I have, no. Talkin’ to those miners is like conversin’ with a clammed-up clamshell.”
“Has the coroner made a report?”
“Nope.”
“Have any witnesses come forward?”
“Nope.”
“You hear any rumors or scuttlebutt around town about the killing?”
“Nope.”
Rand gritted his teeth. Looked like miners weren’t the only closed-up clams in this town. “Sheriff Lipscomb, would you care to accompany me to visit the coroner?”
“You mean now?”
Rand nodded. “Now.”
The sheriff set his whiskey on an uncluttered corner of his desk. “Well, shore, Marshal. Doc Arnold’s a friend of mine. His office is just around the corner on Jasmine Street.”
Jasmine Street smelled like rotting garbage, not like anything remotely floral, but Dr. Arnold’s office smelled better, like antiseptic.
Sheriff Lipscomb barged into the coroner’s tent. “Doc, this here is Marshal Randell Logan.”
Rand shook the man’s hastily extended hand. “Dr. Harvey Arnold,” the physician muttered. The sheriff plopped onto a canvas folding chair and ran two fingers through his thinning hair.
“Jeremiah,” the physician intoned, “you want a drink?”
“What? Uh...no, thanks, Harve. I’m on duty.”
For a split second a look of confusion crossed Dr. Arnold’s lined face, and Rand nodded in comprehension. During the day Sheriff Lipscomb drank. A lot. Rand clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. That might explain why Dorothy Coleman’s killer hadn’t been apprehended; the sheriff was probably drunk by noon. Sheriffs were elected. How did this man ever get voted into office?
He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I am investigating the death of Dorothy Coleman.”
Dr. Arnold jerked. “Oh, yes, I remember. Murder, as I recall. Gunshot.”
“You recover any bullets from her body?”
“I dug one out of her back,” the physician said in an almost inaudible voice. “The other one was embedded too deep in her brain to retrieve without...you know, damaging her looks.”
“Are you saying she was shot twice? Once in the back and once in the temple?”
Doc Arnold nodded and turned to a tall cabinet in the corner. He scrabbled through three file drawers and finally dropped a bit of metal into Rand’s hand. A thirty-two-caliber bullet, Rand noted.
“Any other injuries on her body?”
The physician exhaled heavily. “Other than a slight abrasion on one elbow, Miss Dorothy looked as pretty as she always did.” His voice died away, and he dropped his eyes to study the stack of medical reports on his desk.
The doctor was behind in his paperwork, Rand noted. He also noted how inappropriate the physician’s observation was.
“Was a funeral held?”
“Oh, sure, Marshal Logan,” Dr. Arnold assured him. “Half the population of Silver City turned out, all of ’em crying and carrying on like it was the end of the world. Miss Dorothy’s buried up on the hill, behind the stamp mill.”
“Is that the town cemetery?”
“Not exactly,” Sheriff Lipscomb said. “But Miss Dorothy was awful partial to the Lady Luck mine, and that’s as close as we could get to dig her grave.”
Rand nodded. “If either of you think of anything else that might help the investigation, you’ll find me at the hotel. I’m registered as George Oliver, for reasons that should be obvious.”
The sheriff and Dr. Arnold exchanged a puzzled look. “Pinkerton sent you, isn’t that right?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes, that’s right. But I’m working this case undercover.”
Both men looked at each other and nodded, and Rand took his leave. “Gentlemen, stay in touch.”
He headed back to the hotel with a sinking feeling in his gut. The sheriff liked whiskey. The coroner was almost obscene in his admiration for Alice’s sister, Dorothy Coleman. And if either one of them knew anything of significance, they weren’t saying. This investigation was going to be uphill all the way.
“Lolly? Open up, it’s me, uh... George.”
Alice removed the chair she’d pushed under the doorknob and slid back the dead bolt as he unlocked the door. “Rand!” She swung the door open. “Did you talk to the sheriff?”
“I...” The words died on his lips. Standing before him was a stunningly attractive woman in a shiny red satin gown with a neckline so low it would make a shady lady blush.
“Say something, Rand. Do I look the part? Like a saloon girl?”
“You do,” he said tersely. “And I want you to take it off.”
“What? What do you mean, take it off?”
“I—I’ve changed my mind, Alice. I don’t want you to go anywhere dressed like that.”
“But it was your idea,” she protested. “This was your plan, you said so yourself.”
Rand nodded. “Yeah, I did. Now I wish I hadn’t.”
Alice propped her hands on her hips. “But you can’t have changed your mind! You said I was just what you wanted, an undercover saloon girl. The dressmaker made this gown especially for me.”
Rand settled himself heavily onto the bed closest to the door. She was right. But he was so shocked at seeing her all dolled up like that, all red sparkles and creamy bosom, that for a minute his mind wasn’t working right. Lolly-Alice had sneaked up on him.
“Rand?”
“Give me a minute, Alice.” He tried to calm his racing pulse by reminding himself of the assignment he’d taken on. Pinkerton wanted... Oh, hell, Pinkerton wanted him to use Alice as bait. He’d thought it was a good idea before he saw her in that sparkly red getup. Now he wasn’t so sure.
She settled on the bed beside him. “Whatever is the matter? Is my dress not daring enough? Don’t you like it?”
He stifled a groan. Her skirt rustled and he smelled the unmistakable scent of violets. “Yeah, I like it fine, Alice. You look very...fetching.”
You look so damn beautiful it makes my mouth water.
“Rand?” she said, a tentative note in her voice. “You are looking at me most oddly. Is something wrong?”
“No,” he lied. Everything is wrong! “I’m just surprised at your...disguise.”
She stood up and twirled in place, making her skirt bell out, then sent him a look of pure girlish pride. He almost choked.
“I find dressing up as Lolly Maguire has made me quite ravenous,” she announced. “Are you hungry?”
Hungry! He bit back a groan and considered stripping and plunging into the tub of cold bathwater still sitting in the middle of the room. He reached to unbutton his leather vest, then caught himself. He wouldn’t mind taking his clothes off