Birdie's Nest (19 page)

Lila cried out. Birdie took a quick look, yanked the gown back down and eased her to her back.

“One more question. What did you smell—liquor, tobacco, shaving soap or cologne?”

Gasping from the exertion and pain, she panted, “Oh, lawsy, yes. Expensive shaving soap or cologne. I’ve never smelled it before but will never forget it to my dying day.”

Now that was a clue they could work with. How many men in Waco could afford expensive shave soap?

Chapter Fourteen

Back in Detective Ethan’s buggy, Birdie glanced at the drawing she’d made of the victim’s wounds. Miss Sanders would be mighty sore for a good while. Hopefully none of her internal organs were damaged. “Can we go to the crime scene now?”

“Not dressed as you are. I think we better put it off until tomorrow. Come in about the same time the classes start and hopefully Tad won’t notice a difference in your routine and start asking questions.”

That’s all Birdie needed. He’d been quiet since learning about the Wounded Knee situation. She could see his not understanding her take on the situation. His experience with Indians was probably horror stories he’d been told by his grandfathers. Raiding parties attacking and killing settlers. She sighed. Of course, he’d not been out of Waco, and was just a child when the Civil War broke out. In fact, early in Texas’s history, several tribes—the Lipan Apaches, the Tonkawas, and the Wacos collaborated with the rangers to defeat the Comanche Nation. The Comanche slowed down progress in Texas and encroached on the other tribe’s lands.

Shoot, that might not be the problem at all. The story upset Olivia, and the fact people had starved and been driven off their land might be causing his poor mood. Or, it was possible he still had difficulty accepting the fact she was from the future? She often caught him watching her, as if trying to make up his mind about something. Who knows what he thought. She knew one thing, though. If he found out what she was doing, he’d try to make her quit or kick her out of his house.

“What if Tad finds out?”

“He won’t like it, that’s a fact. If he suspects something and pressures you, be best to go ahead and tell him.” He stopped the buggy by the river and helped her down. “Let me get Molly for you.”

Birdie stroked the mare’s neck. “Poor girl. I’ve made you stand around all day. We’ll see that you get an extra ration of oats tonight.”

She mounted the horse. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about clothes. We’ll have a uniform for you. Bring something to tie your hair up.”

Birdie led Molly into the barn and undid the cinch. Before she could lift the saddle, she was spun around. Alarmed, she raised her arms in defense. Tad eased back from her and slammed a fist into the wooden post.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick and was about to gather the men to come looking for you.”

She bristled. “I didn’t realize I had a curfew.” She lifted the saddle and carried it to the waiting sawhorse. “Look, I’m sorry I’m late. Some things came up and I got distracted.”

“What kind of things?”

“I met some people and visited for a while.”

His eyes narrowed. “Was it a man?”

“You are not my brother or my father. And you’d have no right to question me if you were.”

He yanked his hat off and raked a hand through his hair. “You’re three hours past the time you usually get home. Mother’s beside herself with worry, she’s been ready to notify the sheriff.”

“I am sorry for that, truly.” Drat, she hated to make people worry. She’d been inconsiderate and would have to lie about where she’d been. “I’ll hurry here, Tad, and get up to the house and apologize.” She removed the bit and bridle and quickly stored them away along with the saddle blanket.

Tad grabbed a bucket and filled it with a ration of oats.

“I promised her a little extra.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And you think she’ll remember?”

“Of course. Women don’t forget things like that.”

She swallowed a chuckle as he dropped his head to hide the twitch of his lips. He hadn't fooled her. “All right. If you say so.” He scooped a little more into the pail and hung it where Molly could get to it. While she brushed the mare, making sure to remove any dirt or debris that might have attached itself to her coat, Tad lifted her hooves and used a nail to clean them.

Tad eased an arm around her shoulders as they walked up to the house. She tried to pull away but he squeezed. “Relax. I just want to touch you a minute.”

Birdie slipped her arm around his waist and their hips bumped as they walked. “I’m really sorry I worried you. I’m not used to people fussing about my coming and going. My schedule was always so erratic Aunt Patty learned not to panic when I was later than usual.”

“Where were you?”

“It’s really none of your business.”

“True, but it would be nice if you told me anyway.”

“Detective Ethan came by the warehouse. We went for a buggy ride down to the river, and ended up going to the police station and talked for a long time.”

“Is he courting you? I know he’s interested. I need to know if he has a chance.”

“No, he’s not. We talked about detective work the entire time.”

Tad snorted. “Maybe you thought it was all work, but I imagine Ethan thought otherwise. Guess I better start wooing you with a vengeance.”

Birdie stopped and whirled to face him. “I told you I don’t want to be courted.”

“Too bad.” He took her by the arm and pulled her behind a tree to protect them from view from the house.

“What are you—”

Before she could finish, his lips were on hers. His arms lifted her off her feet, up against his hard frame, her face even with his. Against his taller body, she made a perfect fit. She struggled for a moment then gave in and twined her arms around his neck. Tad deepened the kiss, grabbed her butt and pulled her hips flush with his. His arousal throbbed against her belly, eliciting a deep moan low in her throat. Breathless and shaking, she drew back and dropped her head to his chest.

“Birdie, sweetheart, I want you something fierce,” he whispered against her hair. “But I can wait... for a time.” She tilted her head and stared into his blue eyes, searching her brain for a witty remark. None came to mind. He winked and lowered her to the ground. Evidently he’d worked through whatever had been bothering him earlier.

No doubt about it, the man was sexy as all get-out and knew his way around the art of kissing. He was dangerous. Dangerous because she could care deeply for him, and she had a goal to accomplish. If she had to marry, it would be someone with money to build Birdie’s Nest. Shame washed over her for her materialistic position, but she had no choice. Her home came before her happiness.

* * *

Dressed in the wool uniform of the Waco Police, Birdie studied the horse Detective Ethan had selected for her. It was warm for February. Probably would get up into the 80s today. Sweat already tickled between her breasts and it wasn’t even nine o’clock. Even though it was winter, the sun could get hot some days. Texas was notorious for its unpredictable weather. She scratched her back. What was it about wool and this era? The fabric had always made her itch like the devil. At least she didn’t have to wear a coat over the uniform. Regardless, she’d be miserable on warm days. The mare named Brownie appeared gentle enough. She patted the horse’s neck and let her smell her hand. Molly munched on a scoop of oats and swished her tail contentedly as they walked by. They mounted and Birdie followed behind. On Washington Street they turned left and on Third Street turned right and crossed a bridge.

“This is Barron’s Branch where the Reservation begins,” explained Ethan as he waved his arm to designate areas. “Every building along this street on either side of this block is part of the prostitution trade.”

There were at least thirty houses—some mere shacks and others large establishments. How could a town of twenty-five thousand bring in enough customers to keep these places going, especially here in the Bible belt? Of course, everyone had vices; many they kept hidden their entire lives. “Every one of them?” she queried his statement.

He scratched his chin. “I expect some are not.” He shook his head. “I pity the folks who live here and can’t get away from the neighborhood. Though the police are called on occasion, there are rarely problems. The madams don’t put up with it for fear they’ll get closed down. They administer their own form of punishment.”

Birdie rode up beside him as they turned on what would someday become Columbus Avenue. She wondered how many citizens in her time were aware of the area’s shady past.

“Let’s ride completely around so you’ll get a better feel for the layout.” His gaze raked her as she sat the horse. He grinned. “Remember, you’re a man. Rock back in the saddle a bit.”

“Yes, sir.” The mustache they’d glued to her upper lip twitched as she talked. She placed her fingers on it to make sure it was still in place. Man, it was going to hurt when she ripped it off.

The houses varied in size and appearance. Many were well kept while others showed signs of neglect—peeling paint and unkempt lawns. Shades covered most of the windows. Likely, the ladies slept days after their long nights of business. It seemed unnaturally quiet. No children played, or shouted or ran around. Inside the square was a large lawn area dotted with trees. Weeds and tall grass grew over much of the space, though a couple of yards sported benches and flowers.

They pulled their horses to a stop at one of the larger houses. From that angle Birdie could see a lone policeman standing guard by an attractive white gazebo nestled within a grove of trees and shrubbery.

The officer nodded to Ethan.

“Jones, take a thirty-minute break.”

Jones eyed Birdie. She rocked back on her heels and hitched up her pants as she’d seen men do. She nodded to acknowledge the man. Then she placed her hands on her hips, John Wayne style. She must have passed muster as Jones’s attention moved from her to Ethan.

“Yes, sir, Detective.”

Birdie followed Ethan around behind the gazebo to an area where tall grass had been flattened. “He must have dragged her over the rail and pulled her into the foliage,” Ethan said.

“With all the grass, there’s no way we can obtain any footprints.” Birdie knelt by the flattened spot. “Has this area been scoured?”

“Men went over it twice.”

That may be, but Birdie was better trained to look for minute details. She withdrew a magnifying glass from a pocket and bent to look closely at every blade of grass and underneath it as well. Her first find was a cigarette butt. Using tweezers, she lifted it from the ground, blew off bits of dirt and debris, and then sniffed it to determine how old it might be. “It still has an odor so it’s probably not too old. Odd, it doesn’t look like one of those roll your own type.”

Ethan looked at it closely. “It’s not. I bet it’s a packaged smoke—Duke of Durham brand.”

Birdie didn’t know they’d had packaged cigarettes in the 1890s. Of course there was a lot she didn’t know about the period. “Did you bring some envelopes?”

He pulled one from his pocket, held it open for her, and she dropped the butt inside. “I don’t suppose you have finger printing capabilities yet.”

“We’ve read about it, but only one man in the department has given it a try. Name is James Reed. Spends a lot of time in a little cubicle he’s confiscated for his experiments. He’s used most of the force as guinea pigs. We walked around for days with ink-stained fingers.”

“I’d like to get with him and see if we can develop a system that will work.” She knew cellophane tape hadn’t been invented yet so coming up with a way to get prints off an object onto paper where they could be studied would be vital.

Birdie continued her search and found only one other thing—a button. Excited to have more evidence, she held it up for Ethan to see. “What do you think it came from?”

“A man’s suit coat most likely. From the looks of it, a nice one. It didn’t come from one of the department stores. I’d bet it is tailor made.” He filed away the two pieces of evidence in his jacket pocket and helped her up. “Here comes Jones. I don’t want you talking to him, so you go ahead to the horses. I’ll meet you there.”

Birdie did her best to execute a manly stride as she headed for the horses. At least she wasn’t tottering in high heels on gravel. She was anxious to get back to the station and go over the victim’s clothes.

By lunch, she’d collected several fibers from Miss Sanders dress. The garment reminded Birdie of the one she’d worn to serve the subpoena. Red satin, trimmed in black, this one was longer, fuller, and decorated with feathers. Who’s to say if the pieces of evidence she found came from the man who’d attacked her, or from one of her customers? One piece was interesting, though—a gray thread, an almost identical match to the color of the button.

Chapter Fifteen

Birdie stood at the counter of Goldstein-Migel Co. A young clerk rushed over. “May I be of assistance, ma’am?”

“Why yes. I’m shopping for my bedridden aunt. She wants a new cologne for her husband and sent me to collect samples.” She pointed at a non-descript bottle behind him. “Can I smell that one?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s our newest addition to our exclusive line of imported products. We carry scents designed for both men and women.” He leaned in and whispered, “We don’t handle those cheap brands, if you know what I mean.”

“Indeed, I do.” He tilted the bottle, removed the lid, and dabbed a bit on one of the business cards lying on a glass tray. After waving it in the air for a moment, he handed it to Birdie. “It is Penhaligon’s English Fern, just in from England—a hint of clove, lavender, and fern—earthy.”

Birdie waved the card under her nose, testing its strength. It was clean and refreshing, not over powering. “Nice. I like this very much. Will you write the name on the back of the card so I won’t get them confused?”

He wrote the name and then tapped the card with his pencil. “I added my name so when you come back you can ask for me.”

She fluttered her lashes and smiled like a giddy schoolgirl. Gad, she hated this flirtatious stuff. “Of course. I’ll be sure to do that.” She slipped the sample into a clean envelope in her bag to help preserve the smell until Miss Sanders could smell it.