He recovered one bullet from her back, but the other one—” He stopped at her stricken look.
She laid her fork down beside her uneaten steak, her face white as milk. “What does that mean, that she was shot twice? Two different killers? Or did the same person fire twice?”
“I don’t know what it means. But you can bet I’m going to find out.”
She drew in three deep breaths before she picked up her fork again. “While I am...um...entertaining the gentlemen at the Golden Nugget tonight, what will you be doing?” Her voice was shaky.
“Watching you.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks turned pink.
“There’s a killer somewhere here in Silver City, Alice. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“How do you know he’s still here? Or would it be a she?”
He thought about how to phrase his answer. “Because the sheriff in Owyhee County said it wasn’t a robbery. Your sister’s murder was very deliberate, not something done in haste. Whoever shot your sister meant to kill her and he, or she, took a good deal of care in doing it.”
Alice studied her plate of uneaten food. “Very well,” she said slowly. “I think it is time to go to work.”
The air in the Golden Nugget was blue with smoke and sour with the smell of liquor and old cigars. The minute Rand and Alice walked in, the place went silent except for the piano player, who went on pounding out “Clementine.”
Rand escorted Alice up to the bar, feeling the gaze of every male in the place following them. Or rather following Alice. Any red-blooded male would look his fill and he wouldn’t blame them one bit.
The bartender, a burly red-haired man with sharp blue eyes, swiped his greasy rag over the polished mahogany counter and then planted both elbows on it.
“You’ll be wantin’ something, I’m bettin’.” It wasn’t a question. Rand opened his mouth to order a beer when Alice spoke up.
“I’m wantin’ a job, sir.” She let her shawl drop just enough to show some cleavage. “I’m known as Lolly Maguire back in Chicago.”
The bartender’s eyes dropped to her chest. “Maguire, huh?”
“Sure and it is,” Alice said, her voice low and sultry.
Rand blinked.
“I want you to know that I can be quite friendly in the right company,” she said softly.
He blinked again.
“Oho,” the bartender said. “An’ what’s the right company, if it’s not too much to ask?”
“I am partial to the Irish,” she purred. “Irish men in particular.”
“Well, now, girlie—”
“Lolly,” Alice reminded. “Maguire. I haven’t been called ‘girlie’ since I was five years old back in County Clare, Mr....?”
“Donnell. Lefty Donnell. And what’ll ye be havin’ this fine night, Lolly Maguire?”
“Beer,” Rand said shortly.
Alice rested two fingers on the bartender’s beefy hand. “And I would like a chat with your piano player, if you please.”
Lefty Donnell’s red-blond eyebrows rose. “Hey, Samson!” he yelled. “Lady here wants to talk to ya.”
Alice sent Rand a quick look, stepped away from the bar and glided toward the piano against the far wall. Ignoring the tall glass of beer the bartender slid toward him, Rand couldn’t help but watch.
She spoke to the piano player, Samson, no more than a minute before he swiveled his stool around to the keyboard and placed his fingers on the yellowed keys. He looked to be Chinese, Rand thought. Short and compact, with jet-black hair and very white hands. He rippled out a cascade of notes, and Alice turned to face the patrons.
The piano sounded a chord and she began to recite. “‘’T’was Robin of Locksley and Little John, in Sherwood Forest hiding...’”
She’d added an Irish lilt to the words; it sounded like poetry spoken out loud.
Another rippling chord, followed by a pause.
“‘When King John came riding through the thick green woods...’”
More chords. Patrons began shushing their companions as Alice’s voice rose. Rand gulped down a swallow of his beer.
“‘...and spied a gleam of silver there...’”
By now the entire saloon full of miners sat as if spellbound. Even Rand listened, scarcely breathing. Where had this come from? he wondered. Was it something she had memorized? Or was she making it up as she went along?
Her voice rose and fell like dusky smoke, with a slight Irish lilt. “‘All soft among the greenwood trees...’”
Mouths hung open and drinks were forgotten as the men listened with rapt attention. And, Rand knew, every one of them looked at Alice, swaying provocatively at the piano, with hungry eyes.
As the poem wound on and on, she began to move about the room, stopping at each table to smile at her goggle-eyed listeners. She ended up back at the piano, and when she brought her recitation to a close, she briefly touched Samson’s shoulder. Instantly he began pounding out a waltz.
Alice sashayed up to a paunchy miner and held out her arms in invitation. When he lurched to his feet, Rand gulped two more quick swallows of beer and dropped his hand to the Colt at his hip.
Alice and the miner whirled around and around the smoke-filled saloon while Rand gritted his teeth. And then he noticed that the miner was talking a mile a minute, and Alice was nodding her head and listening.
Chester, he said his name was. He smelled rank, but Alice pasted on a smile and asked another question in as sultry a voice as she could manage.
“Oh, sure, Miss Lolly. I know ever’body in town almost. Been a miner at the Lady Luck for thirty years. Not much ever gets by ol’ Chester.”
“Thirty years! Why, how very interesting. Tell me more.”
Gradually she brought the conversation around to Coleman’s Assay Office, and then to her sister.
“Yep, I knowed Miss Dorothy. She was a real fine lady, she was. Always had a kind word when we came in with our diggins’. I was real sorry when she died.”
“Oh? How did she die?”
“Don’t rightly know,
