Such precautions didn’t hide the fact that each brief meeting brought a new and growing awareness of him. It was now at the point of her sensing the moment he rode into town even before spotting his black horse. She even knew when he’d left by the sudden feel of emptiness in the air.

  Today, as if by mutual consent, she and Brandon took great pains to stay as far away from each other as the size of the barn allowed. He stood against one wall and she on the opposite. If ever their gazes happened to meet—which occurred with alarming regularity—they quickly looked away.

  Spotting Haley, Josie started toward her, but then stopped. The girl was with her friends and looked like she was having fun. It did Josie’s heart good to see Haley looking like her old self again.

  Female laughter drew Josie’s attention back to Brandon. He was surrounded by flirtatious women who seemed to hang on to his every word.

  Trying to take her mind off him, she opened her notebook and pulled a pencil out of her drawstring purse. People tended to relax at weddings. Confidences slipped out; secrets were spilled. With this many people, she was bound to find something newsworthy. Work always provided a diversion, and if ever she needed one it was now.

  Becky-Sue wandered over to her side, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, look at that gorgeous dress.”

  Josie followed the young woman’s gaze to Mrs. Gilbert, whose lavish blue ensemble outshone every other gown in the room, including the bride’s.

  Becky-Sue sighed audibly and held her reporter’s notebook to her chest. “Oh, to have a dress like that. I really must find out who her dressmaker is.”

  Becky-Sue moved away, and Mrs. Tremble took her place. Though her husband had passed away more than five years ago, she still dressed in full widow’s weeds. “I don’t know how you can stand being in the same room with the man.”

  “Whomever do you mean?” Josie asked.

  “Why, Mr. Wade, of course.” Mrs. Tremble tutted and wagged her head. “The things he says about you.”

  “He says no more than what I say about him,” Josie said and quickly changed the subject. “Have you any news for me?”

  Mrs. Tremble gave a long, audible sigh. “I’m at that in-between age. Too old to be news and too young to be history.”

  Next to her Mrs. Brighten gave a haughty shake of the head. “In my day, a woman’s name was in the paper only three times. When she was born, when she married, and when she passed through the pearly gates.”

  “You don’t think a woman’s accomplishments are worthy of mention?” Josie asked.

  “Getting married is an accomplishment,” Mrs. Brighten assured her.

  The women drifted off, and Josie worked her way over to the refreshment table and filled a glass with punch. It was too sweet for her taste, however, and she set the half-empty glass on a tray.

  The music grew louder. Watching the couples two-step the length and width of the barn, Josie couldn’t help but feel envious. How she longed to kick up her heels. But even though she was no longer in widow’s attire, everyone still treated her like one, and no men asked her to dance.

  Her gaze traveled to the opposite side of the barn where Brandon stood. As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced her way.

  Something tugged at her insides like a ship trying to escape its moorings. She ached to go to him, ached to feel his arms around her. She wanted so much to inhale his manly fragrance and hear the rumble of his laughter in her ear. But giving into the temptation could lead to financial ruin. The success of her newspaper—of both their newspapers—depended on them keeping up the charade.

  She turned her back to the dancing couples and looked for someone to talk to. Steering clear of the row of matronly chaperones, she circled the refreshment table.

  And then Brandon suddenly appeared by her side. Without a word he took hold of her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

  Alarmed, she leaned toward him. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “What you want me to do,” he murmured back. Facing her, he placed his hand at her waist. “Admit it. You want to dance with me. I saw it in your face.”

  “You saw no such thing,” she said.

  He chuckled softly before speaking, his voice loud enough to be heard over the music. “Why Mrs. Johnson, you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of this dance, would you?”

  A collective gasp filled the room, and all eyes turned to them. Even the fiddler stopped playing.

  Wishing that the floor would swallow her, Josie forced herself to look Brandon square in the face. The challenge in his eyes clearly laid out her options: she could either play along or walk away. Weighing one choice against the other, she quickly made up her mind.

  “I’ll dance with you, Mr. Wade,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear, “but only because it would be rude not to. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it, Mrs. Johnson,” Brandon said, giving his part full hilt. With a nod to the fiddler, he stepped forward.

  The music started up again, and this time the fiddler surprised her by playing a slow waltz. With a slight bow, Brandon gathered her in his arms, tucking her hand in his. Resting a trembling palm on his shoulder, she forced herself to breathe as he slowly twirled her around the dance floor.

  One by one, other couples joined in, casting curious stares their way.

  Aware that all eyes were on them, she felt self-conscious. Her cheeks blazed, but that lasted only as long as it took to circle the barn twice. Brandon was a commanding presence and demanded her full attention. Whether from the music or the way they fell effortlessly into step, she didn’t know, but the tension soon left her body and a serene sense of well-being took its place.

  His dark eyes reflected glimmers of golden light as he gazed down at her. “Why, Mrs. Johnson, I can’t believe you’d think such despicable things of me,” he said in a loud voice for the benefit of the nearby dancers.

  Playing along, she lifted her voice to be heard above the fiddle. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mr. Wade. I thought I made it perfectly clear what I thought about you and your sorry excuse of a newspaper.”

  Brandon lowered his voice for her ears only. “You don’t have to look like you enjoy insulting me so much.”

  “You’re the one who started it,” she whispered back. The curious faces turned their way made her want to laugh out loud. It had been a long time since she’d had this much fun.

  She felt his hand tighten at her waist as he continued to whirl her about. For such a tall man, he was surprisingly light on his feet. Warm humor blazed in his eyes as they traded loud jabs for the benefit of the other guests, followed by whispered exchanges meant only for each other.

  “It seems like you’re spending a lot of time away from the office lately,” she said softly. At times, he was gone nearly all day.

  “Ah, so you’ve noticed,” he said, his husky voice close to her ear. Aloud he said, “Why Mrs. Johnson, I’m shocked that you would accuse me of such a thing.”

  His guarded look made her even more curious, but aware they were being watched, she waited before quietly asking, “Are you working on some big scoop?”

  “Do you think I would tell you if I were?” he asked, his hot breath circling her head. “Would you tell me?”

  “Absolutely not!” she said, forgetting to lower her voice.

  All too soon the music stopped, and Josie felt her spirits drop. The look on his face, the formal way he bowed, told her that nothing had changed between them. It would be business as usual.

  “A pleasure, Mrs. Johnson,” he said loud and clear with no hint of a secret meaning.

  She slanted her head slightly, but it was a struggle to maintain her stiff demeanor. “The pleasure was all yours.” No one could guess from her voice how false those words were or how much she regretted the end of the dance.

  Since she was in terrible danger of bursting into tears, she quickly turned and walked away. Like two obedient children they took their rightful places on opposite sides of the room to the collective sigh of the other guests.

  ***

  The following afternoon Josie sat at her desk reading Becky-Sue’s article about Hank’s wedding. The girl showed real writing ability. She’d described every detail of the bride’s attire down to the little bows on the white satin slippers.

  “You’re so good with fashion,” Josie said. “Maybe you should forget about writing for newspapers and write instead for Harper’s Bazar.” The woman’s periodical advertised itself as a repository of fashion, pleasure, and instruction.

  The complement brought a blush to Becky-Sue’s face. “I did have a little help,” she admitted, digging into her portfolio. She pulled out a drawing that Josie immediately recognized as Haley’s work.

  “This is Mrs. Gilbert, but the one she drew of the bride was even more detailed,” Becky-Sue said.

  Josie studied the drawing up close. Haley had done a fine job of capturing Mrs. Gilbert’s image. Her nose was a bit long, the eyes perhaps a bit too almond shaped, but the bow-shaped mouth was just right. The neck, however, was too thick, and the shield-like ornament at the throat looked more like a belt buckle than a cameo. But Haley had expertly reproduced the gown with its rows of ruffles that almost overshadowed the woman’s delicate form.

  Josie’s gaze returned to the cameo at the neck. Something like a forgotten dream tiptoed around the edges of her consciousness. The more she tried to recall the memory, the more elusive it became.

  Becky-Sue slid the drawing into an envelope. “Maybe you should hire Haley to sketch pictures for the newspaper,” she said.

  “Not a bad idea,” Josie said, her mind still on the cameo.

  Becky-Sue started to leave, but stopped at the door, her forehead rippled with concern. “Is everything all right?”

  Josie’s nod hardly did her distracted thoughts justice. “Yes, everything’s fine.” After a beat she added, “Would you mind leaving Haley’s drawing here? I’ll see that Haley gets it back.”

  If Becky-Sue thought the request was an odd one, she showed no sign. “No, of course not.” She pulled the drawing out of the envelope and left it on the desk.

  Chapter 25

  Iron worker Matthew Kimble was arrested for disorderly conduct and locked in a jail cell he built himself. He said if he had it to do over again, he would have made the cell less secure.

  —Two-Time Gazette

  Mr. Farthing was nowhere in sight when Josie walked into the photography shop that Tuesday morning. She expected to see Mrs. Gilbert’s photograph on display. Instead, it was Brandon’s image that greeted her, and it looked so lifelike it near took her breath away.

  Mr. Farthing called from the backroom. “I’ll be right with you.”

  Shaken by the impact the photograph had on her, Josie cleared her throat. “Take your time,” she finally managed.

  Farthing hadn’t just captured Brandon’s likeness. With a clever combination of shadow and light, his camera had revealed both Brandon’s inherent strength of character and zest for life. Most people tended to look serious in their photographs, but not Brandon. The corners of his mouth lifted in a half smile as if he was enjoying a private joke. His deep-set eyes reflected intelligence and wit. She raised her hand to the intriguing curve of his mouth, her body trembling from the memory of his lips on hers.

  “Come to have your portrait taken?”

  Startled by Mr. Farthing’s sudden appearance, Josie dropped her hand. Embarrassed to be caught staring at Brandon’s photograph, she answered quickly. “Not today. Perhaps another time.”

  “I liked what you did with the advertisement. It has already brought loads of wedding business my way, thanks to the “Love Links” column. I’m so busy I don’t need to run any more ads. Least for a while.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, trying to sound happy for him. The baker Mr. Hobson had pulled his advertisements for the same reason, as had the dressmaker. Her “Love Links” column was turning out to be a tad too successful.

  She glanced around. “The last time I was here I noticed a photograph of Mrs. Gilbert. We’re doing a story on her for the newspaper, and I wanted to have another look at the dress she was wearing in her portrait.”

  “’Fraid I can’t help you there. Mr. Gilbert has already picked up his wife’s photograph.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sorry. Anything else I can help you with?”

  Josie shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  After leaving the shop, Josie started along the boardwalk toward Madison and First. There had to be a way to get another look at Mrs. Gilbert’s photograph, but how? She was so deep in her thoughts she failed to notice Brandon on horseback until he called to her.

  “Ah, Mrs. Johnson, you look like you’re in a hurry.” They still called each other by their formal names in public. “You must have gotten wind of a big story.”

  She slowed down to match his pace. One hand on the reins of his horse, he sat tall in the saddle, the brim of his Stetson shading his face. He looked as at ease riding as he’d appeared on the dance floor or behind his desk.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Care to share?”

  “I don’t see you sharing the story you’re working on,” she said. There had to be a reason he kept riding out of town and staying away for hours at a time. Not that she was keeping track of his coming and goings, but it was hard not to notice.

  “Still miffed about that, are we?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson,” he said with a mysterious air. “You’ll find out soon enough what I’m working on.” With that he rode off.

  Josie watched him until he was out of sight. Now she really was curious. What in heavens name could he be up to? Shaking the thought away, she picked up her pace. She turned on Madison and, dodging traffic, crossed over to the two-story brick building with the green trim.

  The house looked surprisingly respectable in the glare of the morning sun. It was only at night when the red light glowed from the parlor window that the bordello lost its cloak of respectability.

  Her reporter notebook in hand, she waited for what seemed like forever for the door to

  swing open.

  “May I help you?” asked a young woman dressed in a pink satin gown that was far too fancy for daytime wear.

  “I came to see Miss Bubbles.”

  The woman looked her up and down before inviting her in and telling her to wait in the entry.

  A man’s laughter wafted from the parlor, and Josie immediately recognized it as belonging to Pepper. His presence gave her pause. She had been wrong to think Pepper had anything to do with the fire. Was she also wrong to think that he might have known Miss Ruby?

  Before she could follow that thought any further, Miss Bubbles greeted her from the top of the stairs, dressed in a cloud of blue satin.

  “Do you have news for me?” she asked before reaching the bottom.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Josie asked with a meaningful glance toward the parlor.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Miss Bubbles led the way down the hall and into a small office. Closing the door, she pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  Josie sat and waited for the madam to take her place behind the desk. Her businesslike demeanor seemed incongruous given her shiny gown and brightly painted face.

  “So, tell me, did my reward bring the desired results?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Josie said. Miss Bubbles’ disappointed look made her quickly add, “But I do have a question that might help. It’s about the photograph you showed me of Miss Ruby. I believe she was wearing a cameo.” Josie hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time and only vaguely remembered it. “Would you mind if I have another look at it?”

  “Not at all.” Miss Bubbles opened a drawer. “Here it is.” She pulled out the photograph and slid it across the desk. “That cameo was her most treasured possession. I believe she inherited it from her Italian grandmother.”

  “It has the most unusual shape,” Josie said. Most cameos were oval or round, but Miss Ruby’s was shaped like a shield. “Would you happen to know where it is?”

  Miss Bubbles blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “What happened to the cameo Miss Ruby is wearing in this photograph?”

  The madam sat back in her chair. “Why . . . I have no idea,” she replied. “I mean, I never thought about it. I know it wasn’t among her things. I went through them myself.”

  “Do you think any of the other girls might know where the cameo is?”

  “I don’t know, but I can certainly ask.”

  “Do you mind if I keep the photograph for a short while?”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  Josie tucked the photograph into her purse. “Did Pepper—Mr. Kerrigan—know Miss Ruby?”

  “Yes, he did. And he was quite upset about her demise, as were all her clients. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Josie said, standing. Knowing Scooter, he’d probably checked everyone on Ruby’s client list.

  Miss Bubbles’ eyes narrowed. “About the cameo. Is it important? Do you think the killer might have taken it?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t want to get the madam’s hopes up, but neither did she want to dash them altogether. “I suppose anything is possible.”

  ***

  Two days later Miss Bubbles informed Josie that none of her girls knew anything about the cameo’s whereabouts.

  Still, Josie was reluctant to jump to conclusions. She didn’t know the Gilberts that well. At most, they were nodding acquaintances seen at church and various social affairs. They’d moved to Two-Time while she was still in Arizona. Neither struck her as killers. What motive could either one of them possibly have for killing a prostitute?