“To get back to business,” Sabina said, “I don’t intend to lose to Lady One-Eye again tomorrow night. I know ways to counteract her trick, thanks to Jim Moon.”
“At any rate, if you’re convinced, we’ll put an end to the matter as soon as the game is finished. The sooner McFinn sends her packing, the better off he’ll be. There’s more trouble afoot than the possibility of someone else with a keen eye tumbling to the Lady’s trick.”
“What do you mean? Jack O’Diamonds’ attentions to Lily Dumont?”
“Yes. And the overprotectiveness of Jeffrey Gaunt, a gent I wish I knew more about.”
“I could make some discreet inquiries in the morning. As discreet as the Saint Louis Rose is likely to be, that is.”
“A good idea. Anything else the Rose can find out, too, especially regarding Diamond’s affair with Lily and the threatening note.” He paused before adding, “It’s more than possible now that the threat is genuine.”
“Now? Has something happened?”
“At Lily’s cottage half an hour ago. Two rounds from a heavy revolver nearly took my head off.”
“John! Someone tried to kill you? Who?”
“I didn’t get a look at him. Or her. Too dark.”
“There was no light where you were?”
“No.”
“Then whoever it was couldn’t see you clearly, either.”
“Only a dark shape as I left the cottage,” John said. “If you’re thinking he might have mistaken me for someone else, you’re right, I may not have been the intended target.”
“Jack O’Diamonds?”
“Or Lily. Or Glen Bonnifield, if it wasn’t Bonnifield who did the shooting.”
“Is he the reason you went to her cottage?”
“One of them. Lily’s involvement with Diamond seems more than a simple dalliance. It occurred to me that she might have written the note.”
“Why her?” Sabina asked. “What would she hope to gain by it? Unless—”
“Unless Diamond and Lily are in cahoots, the addition of his name to the note was a red herring, and the plan not an attempt to drive Lady One-Eye away but to pave the way for her murder. In that case, the blame would be attached to the anonymous letter writer, a deranged local, and no suspicion would fall on them.”
“Did you find evidence to incriminate her?”
“None. No bottle of green ink.”
Sabina said thoughtfully, “If Bonnifield is the jealous sort he seems to be, he could be the author of the note.”
“He could, though he doesn’t strike me as the type to resort to written warnings. He was in the Gold Nugget tonight, glaring daggers at both Lily and Jack.”
“Yes, I noticed. I don’t like that shooting business tonight, John. You’re right that it portends more serious trouble than we first believed.”
“We had both better be on our guard tomorrow,” he said. “Take your derringer along to the Gold Nugget, just in case.”
“It’s already handy in my bag.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing that, aren’t you glad you didn’t foolishly try to kiss me and take me to bed just now?”
When she was alone again, Sabina finished divesting herself of the rest of her doxy’s costume, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. It was a feather bed and she sank into it gratefully. But despite the lateness of the hour, her weariness after the long, intense poker match with Lady One-Eye, sleep eluded her. Her thoughts roamed here and there, first over the complicated nature of their investigation, then on John and their relationship.
For their first five years as partners in Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, she had insisted on a strict business-only policy, fending off his periodic advances with ease for she believed his only personal interest in her was the typical male’s: seduction and conquest. Likely that was the case in the beginning, but his intentions had gradually changed, his feelings for her growing more respectful, deepening into the kind of affection that, if not exactly love, is the next thing to it. His campaign to take her to bed was now something quite differently motivated, she was sure — the passion of a man eager for a long-term liaison, perhaps even marriage.
Her own feelings for him had changed, too, softened in return. But just how tender she still wasn’t sure. She could never love any man as she had loved Stephen, yet there were different kinds, different degrees of love. For five years now she had remained faithful to Stephen’s memory, but she was a healthy woman in the prime of her life. It would be easy enough to succumb to John’s advances — she had come close, very close, that night at his flat after the one long, passionate kiss she had permitted (and, yes, greatly enjoyed) — but she’d promised herself she would not give herself to him unless he asked for her hand in marriage.
Would her answer be yes if he did? She wasn’t quite sure, perhaps wouldn’t be until, if, and when. Would she consent to sleep with him even if her answer were no? She wasn’t quite sure of that, either, although his kisses, particularly the one that night in his flat, had awakened feelings in her that had lain dormant for five long years...
4
Sabina
In the morning she spent the better part of half an hour once again turning herself into the Saint Louis Rose.
First she pinned up her hair, then carefully applied pancake makeup and rouge — just enough of both to enhance the somewhat bawdy appearance of a lady gambler without crossing the line into that of a strumpet. The false eyelashes were appropriate enough at night, but in the daylight they would be grotesque; she left them off. Although her svelte figure had no real need of a corset, she wriggled her way into the one she’d brought and tightened the straps. In deference to the summer heat, she donned the lightest of her three Rose costumes, a yellow silk dress with a bosom cut somewhat less boldly low than her evening attire. She had a little trouble with the red wig. Dratted thing wouldn’t fit as it should, requiring a number of repinnings.
She smiled with wry satisfaction at the image of herself, or rather of the Saint Louis Rose, in the gold-framed wall mirror. She really did enjoy this sort of playacting, but only on a limited basis. How professional actresses could endure all the time and effort necessary to prepare for regular performances was beyond her.
It was a quarter of nine when Sabina shouldered the folded, gaily colored parasol, the final fillip to her costume, and left the room, locking the door behind her. John had told her he would be taking the Nevada County Narrow Gauge train to Nevada City early this morning, so there was no need to stop at his room. They had arranged to meet at three P.M. on the City Hall green to discuss the day’s inquiries.
She descended the staircase to the lobby. The young desk clerk watched with avid eyes as she crossed to the dining room. She favored him with a smile and a broad, bold wink that caused him to blush noticeably and avert his gaze. Oh, what a wicked wench the Saint Louis Rose was! Nothing at all like the proper, well-bred Sabina Carpenter.
Among the several people having breakfast in the dining room were Lady One-Eye and Jeffrey Gaunt. It was no surprise to find them there; the Holbrooke’s dining facilities were open to the public and they reportedly served the best fare in Grass Valley. The poker sharp wore either the same long-sleeved black dress as the night before or its twin; her brother was also garbed in his usual black frock coat and striped gray trousers — an outfit that put Sabina in mind of a mortician. They were presently engaged in what, judging from their expressions, was a rather intense conversation. Sabina detoured to a stop alongside their table.
“Good morning, Mr. Gaunt. Hello, dearie.”