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  “Let me go,” Annie said, her teeth clenched.

  LeFleur grabbed her other arm, shook her.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing with Frank Butler?”

  Annie met his pointed gaze with equal intensity.

  “That’s none of your business, Mr. LeFleur. Now, let me go before I do something we both regret.”

  “I’m sorry, Annie.” LeFleur released her. “I don’t mean to be so brash, but you know very well that I have feelings for you.”

  “And I’ve made it clear that I do not return your feelings.”

  “I know you don’t, but Frank Butler will bring you nothing but pain.”

  “Mr. LeFleur.” Annie straightened her shoulders. “If you’re trying to protect me, I appreciate your concern, but I’m in love with Frank Butler, and—”

  “It’s not good for your public image.” LeFleur’s face reddened. “You’ll be the target of more bad press, Annie.”

  “The lies that were reported will be righted in tomorrow’s newspapers, and I’m told that many women view my reputation in a positive manner.”

  LeFleur crossed his arms over his chest, and, to avoid looking into his eyes, Annie’s eyes moved down to his hands, where she again noticed black stains on his right palm.

  “Twila is furious that she discovered you in Frank’s tent. You do know, I presume, that Twila and Frank were lovers.”

  Annie bristled. “I am aware, but I—everyone—is also aware that Twila is the Colonel’s mistress, and has been for some time.”

  “This is not a woman you want to anger.” LeFleur’s eyes darkened to the shade of burnt coffee. He leaned in closer. “She is ruthless when it comes to getting her way. She uses whatever she can to make everyone—even the Colonel—do what she wants.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that Twila has something she can use against the Colonel?”

  “I’m saying nothing of the sort, only that you don’t want this woman as your enemy.”

  “I’m not afraid of Twila Midnight.”

  “Annie, I don’t wish to create any animosity between us.” LeFleur softened his approach. “But please believe me when I tell you that Frank is not the settling kind. He’s only looking out for his own self-interest. He’ll take advantage of you.”

  “And were you thinking about your poor, ailing wife when you kissed me?”

  LeFleur’s face blanched and his eyes darted behind Annie. She turned and saw Frank coming at them.

  “You aren’t giving Annie a bad time, are you, Derence?” Frank moved past Annie until he and LeFleur were face to face. “This is a woman who knows her own mind, and it’d be best for everyone if you—and Twila—keep your observations and opinions to yourself.”

  Annie watched the muscles below LeFleur’s ears tense, his face turn redder. He butted his chest against Frank’s.

  “How dare you take advantage of this poor girl.”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Annie grabbed LeFleur’s arm and placed a firm hand on Frank’s shoulder. “No one took advantage of me. I’m not a ‘poor girl,’ and I am quite capable of making my own decisions.”

  “You see, that’s just what I said, LeFleur. My intentions toward Annie are honorable, and this isn’t anyone’s business but hers and mine, so I need you to clam up, leave Annie alone, and don’t rile Twila. She’s got no claim on me, and never did. So I suggest you trot off now and leave us be.”

  LeFleur used both hands to jerk down the points of his vest, and stalked off.

  Frank reached out and settled one of Annie’s errant curls behind her ear. She leaned her face into his hand, then pulled away. They’d have to be more restrained in public, keep their relationship a secret, at least until things settled down.

  “Is the Colonel in there?” Frank tilted his head toward the mess tent.

  “He’s hired a private detective team to help the sheriff. Do you think he’s concerned that he’ll be blamed for the murder?”

  Frank sniffed. “Well, he certainly has a motive. When they split the business, Carver thought he got robbed, and he’s come around every so often to look for something he could nail on the Colonel. He’s tried to undermine the show many times. Don’t guess anyone would be surprised if the Colonel finally had it—or that Carver finally had something that could ruin the show.”

  “You don’t think the Colonel would stoop to murder, do you?”

  “A man will do almost anything to protect his financial interests—or his reputation. The Colonel spent years building up the Wild West Show and now that it’s been so successful, he sure wouldn’t want Carver dipping into his pie.”

  Annie furrowed her brow. She could not envision it, even if he’d fought in wars—surely he wouldn’t kill a man over a business deal, or a woman for bearing his child.

  Frank winked and tipped his hat to her.

  “Don’t worry, Annie. They’ll find the person who shot Carver, and it won’t be the Colonel.” He used a finger to lift her face and flashed one of his most charming smiles.

  Frank could probably get away with anything, she thought—even murder.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Samson’s Horse Traders in Need of New Horses.

  Will Buy or Trade.”

  St. Louis Times, Evening Edition – April 18, 1885

  Early that evening, with the afternoon performance cancelled, Annie retreated to her tent for a long overdue sleep. Still wound tight as a watchspring, Annie sought the soothing comfort of a warm cup of tea.

  After she had the coals glowing in the little campfire outside her tent, Annie went back inside to find her tea tin and porcelain cup. Her eyes drifted to the corner above Kimi’s bed, to the little pouch and porcelain cup she’d hung from the corner tent pole. Nakota told her that the pouch, filled with a lock of Kimi’s hair and bits of food, must be hung where Kimi had lived, so that her spirit would be welcomed and nourished. She had added her own gift of some sweets, placed them in Kimi’s teacup, and hung it next to the pouch.

  Annie smiled at the notion of Kimi’s spirit watching over her.

  She went to her trunk and picked up the tea tin. She pried open the lid and was shocked to find the tin empty. It had been full only a few days ago, she could have sworn it. Did Lillie break into her and Kimi’s stash? Didn’t seem likely—Lillie didn’t drink tea, only whiskey.

  Annie put the lid back on the tin and set it on her trunk. She looked down at the rug where she had found the coin. The bits of tea leaves still remained. Annie reached into her pocket and pulled out the coin. She’d meant to ask Bobby about the gold flecks in the file, but the detective had been correct—Bobby couldn’t be found. She put the coin back into her pocket.

  Befuddled and too tired to stand any more, Annie went to her bed and crawled under the covers, fully dressed. She scanned the room, grateful for the silence. Her gaze fell onto the teacup and pouch in the corner, and she remembered the calico scarf she’d thrown in her wardrobe—Kimi’s scarf. She had worn it every day. If Kimi had just dropped dead in her tracks, why had the scarf been so far away from her body? Did someone toss it away from her, or did it fall off Kimi in a struggle? There had been no ligature marks on her neck that might indicate it had been used to strangle her.

  Annie closed her eyes, reasoning that she would think about it later, and when she awoke, she would wrap the scarf around the tent pole with the rest of Kimi’s belongings.

  Some time later, Annie woke to darkness when she heard what sounded like someone banging a pan near her tent. She sat up, rubbed her face, and ran her hands through her tangled hair. A glow from outside lanterns barely lit the room. Lillie’s bed was empty. How long had she slept?

  Annie got out of bed and lit the gas lantern, noticing an envelope with her name printed on the front lying on the desk. She picked it up and turned it over. It had been sealed with wax, but she couldn’t make out the design embedded in the seal. She hastily opened it.

  “When you get this, come to my tent. I need to spe
ak with you. It’s urgent. Frank.”

  Annie’s heart leapt, and she quickly ran a brush through her hair, placed a bright blue ribbon at the nape of her neck, and tied it in a bow at the crown of her head. She then retrieved a rag from her toiletry bag and rubbed her teeth with it, then straightened her corset and pulled down her blouse. Her skirt, a wrinkled mess, hung limp. But did it really matter? His message said urgent.

  She hoped that Chief Sitting Bull had spoken to the Colonel on Frank’s behalf as he’d promised. Annie couldn’t imagine the Wild West Show without the world famous Frank Butler, couldn’t imagine herself without the man she had fallen in love with. She had enough burdens to bear. Could she please just have this one piece of heaven to herself?

  After a brief, rushed moment at Lillie’s mirror, Annie smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks. She left the tent and ran through the night air, her path lit by lanterns and the stars twinkling in the midnight-blue sky. When she got closer to Frank’s tent, she slowed, not wanting to arrive out of breath. Once there, however, she couldn’t help rushing in.

  Lit only by a dim light in one corner, Annie saw two naked bodies on the bed. The woman had long, black hair, but Annie’s eyes were riveted on her lily-white hips, undulating above Frank, his hands gripping her, urging her on. When Annie gasped, Twila swung her head around and lifted her chin, grinning in such a malicious, hateful way that Annie fled, choking back sobs as she ran back to her tent. Once there, she flung herself onto her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.

  Frank had lied to her. Lied. He had told her that he loved her, that she’d stolen his heart, that Twila held no attraction for him—and now he was making love to her? What could have happened? Why would he do this? Why would he betray her? Why?

  Annie felt like her heart had been wrenched from her body. She cried for what seemed hours. When the tears no longer came, her face ached, her throat burned, and her body felt as if it had been wrung out like a dishtowel.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard a rustling in the dark. Dim light beamed in as someone opened the tent flap.

  “Annie, are you awake?” Lillie stumbled, knocking over something. “Ouch. Annie?”

  Annie closed her eyes, holding her breath. She didn’t want to talk to Lillie, especially a drunk Lillie. She listened as Lillie slumped down onto her bed and let out a rush of air so loud it sounded like a carnival balloon deflating. Annie lay quiet, not moving a muscle. Within minutes, Lillie’s breathy snores filled the tent.

  Annie curled onto her side, the pain in her chest so heavy she thought she’d suffocate from the weight of it. When she thought of Frank’s face, his eyes, his smile, the strength of his arms around her, she could barely breathe. She thought of Frank’s boyish charm, the tenderness in his embrace, his lips kissing hers . . . and now Twila’s. Tears again streamed from Annie’s eyes, seeping into the pillow, until eventually she fell into a fitful sleep.

  “Miss Oakley, Miss Smith. Wake up.” A male voice called from outside the tent. “The Colonel wants everyone at the mess tent in thirty minutes. Please hurry.”

  Annie heaved a sigh and blinked her eyes open. Her stuffy nose and swollen face reminded her of the nightmare of her heartbreak. She pressed a hand to her pillow, hoping it wouldn’t be wet with tears, hoping that what she’d seen between Frank with Twila had been a cruel dream. But the pillow remained wet, and she knew in her heart that she had been summoned to Frank’s tent to witness his betrayal. She closed her eyes again. Make it not be true, she silently pleaded.

  When the flap opened, sunlight pierced the tent’s darkened interior.

  “Miss Oakley, are you okay?”

  “Bobby?” Annie leapt to her feet to hug him. “They said you disappeared. The sheriff and the detectives were looking everywhere for you.”

  “Yes, I know.” Bobby lowered his head. “I spoke with them.”

  “But where did you—”

  “I had something I had to do.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lillie said, throwing off her blankets.

  The light in the tent diminished as fast as it had come. Bobby vanished.

  Not wanting to face Lillie, Annie went to her bed again, sat down and braced her elbows on her knees, placed her chin onto her forearms. Lillie rose from her bed, stumbling over clothing she’d abandoned on the floor.

  “Damn it!” Lillie kicked at the mess. She then placed both hands against her temples. “Oh, my aching head.” She made it as far as the vanity table and flopped into the chair. “Oh, dear. I look like hell. Too much hooch and too many cowboys. Hey, you’re awfully quiet over there. Are you all right?”

  Annie lifted her head and forced a smile, confident that Lillie was too self-absorbed to notice her swollen eyes.

  “I wonder what the meeting is about.” Lillie noisily moved items around on the vanity. “Maybe they found out who murdered poor ole Dick Carver.”

  “Maybe.” Annie wished that Lillie would leave. She didn’t want anyone to see her anguish. She didn’t feel ready to face Lillie, let alone the entire show, including Frank . . . and Twila.

  “Well, that’s as good as the face is going to get this morning.” Lillie stood up and groaned, as she wrestled herself into her corset. “Good God, I need some coffee.” She glanced briefly in Annie’s direction, waved her hands. “You better get going, Miss Annie Oakley. You know the Colonel doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  After she left, Annie staggered to the vanity to view the state of her face. Her usually pale, freckled skin was stippled red and smeared with streaks of tears and dust. Her hair stuck out like porcupine quills.

  She gathered water from the porcelain ewer, sank a cloth into the cold liquid until it was soaked, squeezed some of the liquid out, and pressed it against her sore and swollen eyes.

  Next, she addressed her mass of wild curls, brushing them from the bottom up, fighting too many tangles. Braids would have to do today. She methodically plaited her hair, working slowly, trying to prolong the activity. Her heart felt so tender and bruised, she worried that she’d break down the minute she laid eyes on Frank, or she’d rip out Twila’s hair in patches and poke out her cold, black eyes.

  She changed her dress, not forgetting to take the gold coin from its pocket and placing it in the pocket of her clean dress. She might get a chance to ask Bobby about it, now that he’d returned, thank goodness.

  Annie stood for a moment in the silence, smoothing the skirt, her composure feeling fragile in a way she’d never experienced before—not even when her father died.

  She could hear someone ringing the cowbell outside the mess tent.

  Showtime.

  When Annie stepped outside, the sun’s brightness striking the white canvas tents blinded her still-sensitive, irritated, tear-addled eyes. She wished the congestion high up in her nose would go away and relieve the persistent throbbing in her head.

  Halfway to the mess tent, Frank came striding toward her.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “How dare you speak to me, Frank Butler!”

  “You’re upset.” He reached for her arm.

  “Do not touch me!” Annie pushed his hand away.

  Frank looked startled, but Annie didn’t care. She kept walking, and he matched her pace.

  “Annie. What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “How could you, Frank, after I—”

  “What are you talking about?” Frank lifted his hands in question.

  His blue eyes implored hers, threatening to melt her resolve.

  They reached the mess tent just as LeFleur flipped open the flap.

  “You’re late.”

  Annie lifted her skirts and ducked in under LeFleur’s arm.

  People gathered in small groups, holding hushed conversations.

  Annie’s eyes immediately found Twila, talking to Lillie. Lillie blinked at her and sucked on a ridiculously long, mother-of-pearl cigarette holder. When Twila saw Annie, she narrowed her eye
s and then laughed—the most evil laugh Annie had ever heard. Annie’s stomach tightened.

  Apparently, Lillie, Twila, and Frank had all set out to make a fool of her—and they’d succeeded.

  She felt Frank approaching behind her and quickly made her way through the groups of people to the other side of the tent. She glanced at him from across the room. His eyes had never left her. He looked genuinely baffled. Did he think she would buy his innocent act?

  The Colonel stepped through the tent flap and everyone stopped talking.

  “Attention, folks. As you all know by now, we had a situation yesterday. Someone shot my former business partner, Mr. Dick Carver, in the stands. The sheriff reckons the shooter fired the fatal shot during the performance when our people were firing their weapons. It seems no one near Carver heard anything and didn’t realize he’d been shot until the end of the show.

  “You may have already surmised that Mr. Carver and I did not get along. When we dissolved our partnership, he held a grudge against me and showed up from time to time to rustle up trouble. What I want you to know is that I had nothing to do with his death, and since we don’t know who did shoot him, until we find out, you’re just going to have to take my word on that.”

  A quiet murmur filled the room.

  “I’ve gathered you here today because I want you to know that we are all going to speak to everyone in this room, and you may be pulled aside for questioning. If you saw or heard anything unusual yesterday—or if you saw someone acting suspiciously—I want you to let the investigators know immediately.”

  Annie’s eyes fell on LeFleur, standing apart from the Colonel, arms crossed over his chest, stance wide, his feet planted. Bobby stood next to him, fidgeting. LeFleur uncrossed his arms to place a hand on Bobby’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  “We’ve got some reporters nosing around,” the Colonel continued. “As you also probably know, a week or so ago, a reporter wrote a story about Miss Oakley that did not paint a flattering picture.”