Chapter 6

6

Philip swallowed his impatience and strolled into the third general store on Houston Street. For a small town, Queen City had an abundance of mercantile shops. The first one he’d selected had featured a display of gardening implements and seed packets, practical items that should be of interest to someone wanting to live away from town. Yet the owner recognized neither Iris Hood’s name nor her photograph. The next store sported baking paraphernalia in its window—pots, pans, bowls, utensils, all displayed atop a brand-new cookstove. Several women perused the shop, but the clerk working the counter had only lived in town a few months and hadn’t heard of Mrs. Hood. This one specialized in readymade clothes, fabrics, and shoes. If he struck out here as well, he’d be stuck going door-to-door. Not a cheerful prospect for a man in a hurry.

Making his way to the counter, Philip tallied the customers as he went. A Pinkerton learned to keep track of the various players in any room he entered, analyze potential threats, and catalog information that might prove important should trouble arise.

A man in a suit befitting a banker perused a case of ladies’ gloves to Philip’s right. Shopping for a gift for his wife, perhaps? Likely a family man, then. Slender build, no gun belt or bulge in his coat to indicate a concealed weapon. Pale skin, well-pressed trousers. Not a man to get his hands dirty. Would probably cower behind the display case should danger manifest. A couple of ladies, possibly mother and daughter, stood near the back of the store, engaged in a spirited debate regarding the merits of blue flowers on brown fabric versus yellow flowers on blue fabric. Trouble could definitely erupt from that corner, but Philip doubted it would reach lethal proportions. The fellow in red flannel scowling at the price tag on a pair of boots in the shoe aisle proved the most menacing figure of the bunch. Brawny physique, weathered skin, dirt-encrusted pant legs. He matched the look of the worn saddle on the dark bay tied at the hitching post outside. The one with a hunting rifle in the scabbard.

Reaching the counter, Philip angled his position so he’d be able to catch movement in his peripheral vision should Flannel Man require attention, then tugged on the brim of his hat and dipped his chin in deference to the silver-haired clerk smiling in his direction.

“Howdy. What can I do you for?” The man’s waxed mustache curled at the ends, the whimsical style matching the twinkle in his eyes.

Philip grinned in return. “I’m hoping you can help me find someone. A woman named Iris Hood. Her daughter hired me to find her.” He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve the daguerreotype. “This is an old photograph, but you might recognize the woman’s face.”

The clerk held up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t need the picture. I’m well acquainted with Iris. Used to come in here once a year to buy shoes. For a girl. Said they were a gift for a family member. Never saw a child with her, so I reckon she was shippin’ them off somewhere. Iris wasn’t much for conversation. Did her business, then went on her way.” The clerk took a cloth and idly wiped down the counter. “Don’t see her as regular anymore. I’m guessin’ whatever feet she’d been shoeing quit growin’. Bought a bolt of dark red wool from me a couple years back, though. Seemed an odd purchase since I’d never seen her wear any colors other than blue, green, or brown, but her eyes lit up when she found it. I remember asking what she planned to make with it, and in true Iris Hood fashion, she smiled, leaned over the counter, and whispered, ‘It’s a secret.’” The clerk shook his head and chuckled. “That woman is somethin’ else.”

A touch of red seeped into the shopkeeper’s cheeks, making it clear why he’d remembered so many details about the reclusive Iris Hood. The man was smitten. And smitten men tended to notice details others ignored. Exactly what Philip needed.

“Does she live in town?”

The clerk shook his pomaded head at the same time that hinges creaked on the shop door. Philip twisted enough to catch a glimpse of who had entered the store. Another flannel fella, only this one wore a sling over his arm.

“Rumor has it she lives up on the ridge west of town, but no one seems to know exactly where.” The shopkeeper turned his attention to the newcomer. “Hey, Kauffman. You ever seen a cabin out near the loggin’ camp? Up on the ridge maybe?” He turned back to Philip. “Kauffman and Parker are part of the crew cuttin’ timber along the Black Bayou.”

“You mean the haunted ridge?” Kauffman’s eyes widened, and he gave a little shudder. “Nothin’ lives up there but wolves and ghosts.”

Philip swiveled to face the lumberman, leaning an arm on the counter. “Ghosts?”

Kauffman nodded, not the slightest hint of teasing in his gaze. “Saw one of ’em with my own eyes. A floating specter came screeching out of the woods and spooked my horse. The critter threw me and busted up my arm. That she-spirit cursed me. Doc says I can’t work for six weeks.”

She- spirit ?

Flannel Man marched out from the aisle he’d been in, a different pair of boots in hand than the ones he’d been examining when Philip last saw him. His scowl darkened as he dropped the boots onto the counter with a thud.

“Parker can vouch for me.” Kauffman slapped the man on the back with his good arm. “He was there. Tell him I ain’t makin’ it up, Park.”

The man called Parker shrugged away from Kauffman’s hand. “I don’t know what I saw, but it weren’t no ghost. Ain’t no such thing, and any man who says otherwise is a fool.”

Kauffman glared at his companion and moved a step away from him. His chin jutted out, and his jaw took on a stubborn tilt. “Call me a fool if ya want, but I know what I saw. And what I heard.” He turned back to Philip, his expression growing more animated as he warmed to his tale. “We was up on the ridge huntin’ a wolf Parker had spotted, but the thing seemed to disappear into thin air whenever we got close. It coulda been a ghost, too, but more’n likely it was just under the protection of that she-spirit. One minute all was quiet as we tried to decide whether to continue the hunt or return to camp, and the next, a wraith flew out of the trees, shrieking like a banshee. Her blood-stained cape fluttered on the wind, flappin’ in the horses’ faces and causin’ them to rear.”

Parker slapped three dollars onto the counter, grumbling under his breath. “If you’d been able to sit your horse with any skill, we might’ve been able to take down that wolf. He was running alongside your ghost-girl like some kind of pet. I could have shot him if I hadn’t had to stop and pick your broken carcass up off the ground. You were bellyaching so loud I thought you was dyin’.”

Kauffman’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if you hadn’t been so obsessed with shootin’ that wolf, we coulda been havin’ a drink at the saloon instead of ridin’ the haunted ridge. Which means it’s your fault I broke my arm and can’t work for the next month and a half.”

“My fault?” Parker’s voice vibrated the rafters. “How is your inability to sit a horse my fault?”

“I can sit a horse just—”

“Gentlemen!” The store clerk rounded the counter with surprising speed for a fellow who looked to be in his sixties. After shooting an apologetic glance toward the scandalized ladies who had abandoned their fabric debate to gawk at the goings-on at the front of the store, the proprietor shooed the loggers toward the exit. “It sounds like the two of you had quite the adventure. The boys around the corner at the livery are always lookin’ for a good yarn. I bet they’d get a kick out of your ghost story, Kauffman. And, Parker, I hear tell Gregor Samuels has had some trouble with wolves out his way. You might stop by his old man’s hardware shop and see if Gregor might be amenable to lettin’ you hunt his land, if wolves are what you’re after.”

The men groused and grumbled, but they didn’t resist the shooing. They stalked off in different directions, too, as soon as they cleared the doorway. Hopefully to cool off. Philip kept an eye on Kauffman, noting that he did, in fact, turn the corner at the edge of the block.

Eager for an excuse to make his own departure, Philip tipped his hat to the helpful clerk and murmured his thanks as he edged away from the counter.

The clerk raised a hand in farewell. “If you track Iris down, tell her Will Cosgrove sends his regards.”

Philip grinned. “I’ll do that.”

Renewed optimism brought a spring to Philip’s step as he stepped out onto the boardwalk. He’d found Flora Anderson! Well, technically, he’d found her base of operations, not the lady herself, but it was only a matter of time. And he was pretty certain he’d just uncovered evidence of Scarlett Radcliffe as well. A female ghost in a bloody cape roaming the woods? Kauffman’s specter sounded an awful lot like a young woman who liked to wear red hooded cloaks. One who apparently kept company with wolves. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that particular tidbit, but he figured a girl who’d been forced to grow up in isolation would be hungry for whatever companionship she could find.

Breaking into a jog, Philip turned south on First Street, wanting to catch up with Kauffman. Between the two loggers who’d been on the ridge, Kauffman seemed the more likely to provide the information Philip sought. Thankfully, he hadn’t flown the coop. A man in a sling strode down the street a few yards ahead of him, veering toward a pair of old-timers playing checkers atop an upturned barrel.

“Hey, Kauffman,” Philip called before his quarry could become enmeshed in another conversation. “Hold up!”

Kauffman glanced over his shoulder, his face still red with temper. “What do you want?”

Philip slowed and manufactured his best commiserative expression. “I just wanted to say that I think that other fella was out of line. Any man can fall off a horse when caught by surprise. It’s happened to me more than once.” When he was a kid, but he’d not make that distinction. Besides, he wasn’t so arrogant as to believe it couldn’t happen to him. Given the right set of circumstances, even the most experienced horseman could lose his seat.

Some of the belligerence eased from Kauffman’s features. “Thanks.”

Philip dropped his voice and glanced around as if ensuring no one could overhear. “I was hoping you could give me directions to the haunted ridge. I’d like to try to find your wraith. See her for myself.”

“Shoot. Only a crazy man would want to meet a ghost.”

Philip shrugged. “Might be my only chance.”

Kauffman shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He pointed north with his good arm. “Go up to the depot and take the road by the old ironworks. Follow that a couple miles out of town. You’ll come to a fork. Take the path that leads to the right. It ain’t much more than a set of wagon ruts, but it leads up to the ridge. When the path disappears, you’re on your own, but you’ll be deep enough in the woods by then to do your searchin’.”

Philip tipped his hat. “Much obliged.”

Kauffman nodded in return. “Just don’t shoot at her wolves. She don’t take too kindly to that.”

“Good advice. Thanks.” Philip backed away, eager to fetch Steele and be on his way.

Before he could make it back to Houston Street, a man in a station agent’s uniform ran across First a block north of Philip’s position and disappeared into a small building. Odd for a trainman to leave his post. Especially in such a small town where one man handled all the ticketing, telegraph, and baggage duties on his own. Intrigued, Philip continued down the road, lengthening his stride until he reached the building.

They’d already determined that Flora Anderson had to have an ally at a railroad depot, someone who could slip envelopes and photographs into unsuspecting passengers’ bags. The station agent he’d just spotted could very well be that ally. So what had the man so bothered?

Philip drew near enough to hear voices filter into the street through the door that had been left open.

“Please, Doc, I don’t have time to explain. You just gotta come. I think her heart gave out.”

“This is quite irregular. How could you possibly know that Mrs. Hood collapsed in her home? I can’t afford to go traipsing off on a wild goose chase when I might be needed here. Mrs. Ellmore’s baby is due any day. I promised her husband I’d not travel any more than absolutely necessary. After losing their first to a stillbirth, they’re terrified they might lose this one as well.”

“I’m sorry about the Ellmores. Truly. But it’ll only take an hour. Two at most. Surely you can spare that. I’ll drive you there myself. My son’s covering the station for me.”

“How do you even know where to go? From what I hear, Mrs. Hood is fiercely protective of her privacy. No one knows precisely where she lives. For all I know this could be some elaborate ruse to get me away from town so you can do me in.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Why would I possibly want to do you in?” The man fairly growled in frustration. “Iris and I were schoolmates as children, if you must know. I was the one who bought the old hunting cabin she lives in so she’d have a place away from town. A messenger showed up at the station a few minutes ago and told me of her collapse. Now, please, let’s go.”

“All right, all right. Quit your badgering, Darby. I’ll fetch my bag.”

“Thank you. I’ll collect my son’s wagon and team and be back in five minutes.”

Philip immediately pivoted and started walking back the way he’d come, keeping his stride casual and unhurried. He doubted Mr. Darby would pay him any attention in his agitated state, but the more anonymity Philip preserved, the better. Besides, he needed to retrieve Steele if he was going to tail the doctor’s wagon.

It seemed he’d secured himself a guide to Flora Anderson’s hideaway. He just prayed it hadn’t come at the expense of her life.