She didn’t have to inspect it to know that Deacon’s shirt was custom made. The finished seams caressing her flesh confirmed the superiority. That in turn reminded her he was an educated man she didn’t want to appear a fool in front of. Keep your lips sealed and you’ll be fine.
Her audacity at being in this room with Deacon McCallister left her speechless. After a year of wistfully staring at her rival from afar, she’d done it—tasted forbidden fruit.
Miri had hung around Eclipse long enough to ascertain McCallister was on the road to recovery before returning to the task of tracking the spread of phony money through Texas and the Territory. It was the biggest case she’d ever pursued and she was determined to catch the criminals involved. She’d gathered what information Hiram had about the three men spreading fake money and followed his leads to other towns where bills had been found.
Finally she’d narrowed her pursuit to one man, a Texas cowboy named Ned Jackson, but Jackson’s trail had frequently crossed the other two men’s, Collier Syms, an Eastern banker, and Jefferson Landau, a Southern preacher. Being adept at disguises herself, she figured out fast that Syms, Landau and Jackson were all the same man.
She’d found the pretend minister real soon but instead of catching him, she’d decided to watch Landau, hoping he’d lead her to the plates he’d used to print his phony money. She followed him to Dodge and attended a tent service that started before the dew on the ground was dry.
Landau was preaching and the tent was jammed with saved sinners. He probably wouldn’t have gotten more than the usual two bits but he salted the mine, so to speak. Every once in a while, a churchgoer waving a hundred-dollar bill would jump up and praise Jesus. The lucky men and women claimed they’d found money after giving.
“Proverbs 21:26,” Landau had shouted. “The righteous give without sparing.” He’d started his service in the morning and by afternoon, lines had formed outside with folks waving dollars and trying to get in the tent to put money in the collection plate and praise God.
She knew there was no mistake and Landau was her crook. Figuring that finding the plates would pay a bigger reward, Miri had held off taking him prisoner, hoping he’d lead her to the source of the bills.
He’d gotten away and it had taken her two more weeks to find another clue. This time she’d found Jackson. After studying the information that had been gathered by lawmen and comparing it to hers, she could see that whether there were three or one, two of the identities had something in common. One time or another, Syms and Landau had both visited the Pleasure Dome in Fort Worth. She’d based her next move on her conviction that Ned Jackson would show up at the brothel. The same day she quit looking in Wichita Falls, she traveled to Fort Worth.
When she’d arrived she could see that the section of town called Hell’s Half Acre had sprawled way past its allotted size. She didn’t much care for the wild goings-on but didn’t figure to stay in the city of sin any longer than it took to complete the task at hand.
She was on the hunt when she’d struck up an acquaintance with Mrs. Lydia Lynch, the owner of the house of ill repute named the Pleasure Dome. The brothel owner needed a new butler and Miri needed to get inside the fancy whorehouse. Her path to success seemed destined to include butlering . Getting hired wasn’t as easy as it sounded though.
The first time Miri applied for the job, she’d been wearing her Beau Beauregard clothes. She’d climbed a great number of fancy steps to a door decorated in gold and painted blue. When she knocked, the man who opened up was a bruiser. He took one look at her and said, “Sales, produce and complaints, take ’em around back.”
Before he could get the door shut, Miri had explained in Beau’s Tennessee drawl that she wasn’t in trade and she wanted to apply
Her audacity at being in this room with Deacon McCallister left her speechless. After a year of wistfully staring at her rival from afar, she’d done it—tasted forbidden fruit.
Miri had hung around Eclipse long enough to ascertain McCallister was on the road to recovery before returning to the task of tracking the spread of phony money through Texas and the Territory. It was the biggest case she’d ever pursued and she was determined to catch the criminals involved. She’d gathered what information Hiram had about the three men spreading fake money and followed his leads to other towns where bills had been found.
Finally she’d narrowed her pursuit to one man, a Texas cowboy named Ned Jackson, but Jackson’s trail had frequently crossed the other two men’s, Collier Syms, an Eastern banker, and Jefferson Landau, a Southern preacher. Being adept at disguises herself, she figured out fast that Syms, Landau and Jackson were all the same man.
She’d found the pretend minister real soon but instead of catching him, she’d decided to watch Landau, hoping he’d lead her to the plates he’d used to print his phony money. She followed him to Dodge and attended a tent service that started before the dew on the ground was dry.
Landau was preaching and the tent was jammed with saved sinners. He probably wouldn’t have gotten more than the usual two bits but he salted the mine, so to speak. Every once in a while, a churchgoer waving a hundred-dollar bill would jump up and praise Jesus. The lucky men and women claimed they’d found money after giving.
“Proverbs 21:26,” Landau had shouted. “The righteous give without sparing.” He’d started his service in the morning and by afternoon, lines had formed outside with folks waving dollars and trying to get in the tent to put money in the collection plate and praise God.
She knew there was no mistake and Landau was her crook. Figuring that finding the plates would pay a bigger reward, Miri had held off taking him prisoner, hoping he’d lead her to the source of the bills.
He’d gotten away and it had taken her two more weeks to find another clue. This time she’d found Jackson. After studying the information that had been gathered by lawmen and comparing it to hers, she could see that whether there were three or one, two of the identities had something in common. One time or another, Syms and Landau had both visited the Pleasure Dome in Fort Worth. She’d based her next move on her conviction that Ned Jackson would show up at the brothel. The same day she quit looking in Wichita Falls, she traveled to Fort Worth.
When she’d arrived she could see that the section of town called Hell’s Half Acre had sprawled way past its allotted size. She didn’t much care for the wild goings-on but didn’t figure to stay in the city of sin any longer than it took to complete the task at hand.
She was on the hunt when she’d struck up an acquaintance with Mrs. Lydia Lynch, the owner of the house of ill repute named the Pleasure Dome. The brothel owner needed a new butler and Miri needed to get inside the fancy whorehouse. Her path to success seemed destined to include butlering . Getting hired wasn’t as easy as it sounded though.
The first time Miri applied for the job, she’d been wearing her Beau Beauregard clothes. She’d climbed a great number of fancy steps to a door decorated in gold and painted blue. When she knocked, the man who opened up was a bruiser. He took one look at her and said, “Sales, produce and complaints, take ’em around back.”
Before he could get the door shut, Miri had explained in Beau’s Tennessee drawl that she wasn’t in trade and she wanted to apply
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