The Case of the Deadly Desperados Read Online Free PDF Page A

stage, so I went over to it & pumped some water & splashed it on my face. Then I pumped some more and bent my head to drink when a woman’s voice called out, “Stop! Don’t drink that! It’s poison!”

Ledger Sheet 8
    â€œSTOP!” CRIED THE WOMAN. “No drinkee!”
    I turned & saw that it was the woman with the parasol from the stage. She had brown hair with a little feathered hat perched on top and a puffy red and pink dress.
    She said, “No drinkee water. It heap bad medicine.”
    I said, “Beg pardon?”
    She said, “Oh! You speak English. I thought you were an Indian. I wanted to warn you that the water hereabouts is undrinkable. It is tainted with arsenic, plumbago and copperas.”
    I did not know what any of those things were but they sounded nasty.
    I said, “What do people drink?”
    She said, “Mainly whiskey.” She smiled. I could not tell if it was Smile No. 1 or Smile No. 2.
    I studied her carefully. Her red and pink dress was puffy below the waist & skimpy above. It had some faded black lace on it & I judged it had seen better days. Her fringed parasol matched the dress. She also had a pearly fan and a pretty beaded purse.
    She tipped her head on one side and said, “Wasn’t it nice of the driver to let you keep your twenty-dollar gold piece?”
    I said, “Are you a Soiled Dove?”
    The woman’s eyes opened wide. They were as blue as the sky above.
    I said, “The reason I asked if you are a Soiled Dove is this: my dead pa used to say that women who wear red and black lace are usually Soiled Doves, but I see you are wearing a corset, so I cannot be sure.”
    â€œWell, yes,” she said, fanning herself. “I suppose you could call me a Soiled Dove, only it is not real polite to call a person that to her face. I prefer the term
Actress
.”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “I did not mean to offend you.”
    â€œThen no offense taken.” She looked me up and down. “Can you tell me why you are dressed like an Indian but speak like an American?”
    â€œI am half white, ma’am. My name is P.K. Pinkerton.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, P.K. My name is Belle Donne.”
    She held out her hand. She was wearing dusty black gloves. I shook it. She smelled of rose oil and whiskey.
    â€œI was just visiting a gentleman friend over in Como,” she said, “but I live here in Virginia, in a crib up on D Street.”
    â€œHow can you live in a crib?” I said. “That is where babies sleep.”
    She said, “Here in Virginia they call a one-room frame house a crib. It must be your first time up here.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. We only moved to Dayton four months ago.”
    She was still smiling. “Would you like me to show you around?”
    I nodded. I was glad to have a resident of the place show me around, even if she was a low-class woman who sometimes sparked men for pay.
    Belle gestured at the dusty street with her fan. “This is F Street. People here call it Chinatown. Many people despise the Celestials and only tolerate them because they are the best launderers. However, I like them. I find them to be even-tempered & calm. I live up on D Street but I intend to move up to A Street as soon as I can bag a rich banker or broker. See up there?” She used her folded fan to point up the mountain. “The most desirable houses are highest up. They have hardly any shootings.”
    I said, “Shootings?”
    She said, “You often see men shooting at each other right out in the open. But they don’t mean nothing by it. It’s just that people drink a lot of liquor here in Virginia and everybody carries a gun.”
    â€œDo you carry a gun?” I said.
    â€œOf course.” She fished down the front of her low-cut dress & pulled out a small Deringer handgun with an engraved barrel and walnut grip.
    I swallowed hard. My pa