The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany

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СКАЧАТЬ thought he was doing me a favour.

      It’s a strange world we live in.

      Earlier, after McKnight and Sterling had left the Savoy, leaving a residue of tension and suspicion lingering behind them, Ray had spent the rest of the night bellowing at the bartenders and croupiers as if he were an overseer at the building of the pyramids, and Pharaoh had died prematurely.

      The entertainment had come to the usual rousing end; the percentage girls, who didn’t perform on the stage and wore their street clothes for dancing, moved into the crowd seeking out partners, and the performers scurried backstage to change out of their costumes.

      Irene descended into the crowd with a huge smile, nodding to her throng of admirers like the Queen on the Horseguards parade.

      No crocodile tears for the late Jack Ireland here.

      Shortly before closing, Irene walked her dance partner up to the bar. He was properly dressed for a day of pheasant hunting in the Scottish highlands in a suit of fine Harris tweed, pants cut off at the knees, patterned socks, perfectly knotted tie.

      It is exceedingly unlikely there is anywhere else in the world where one can in a single day encounter such an assortment of dress as in Dawson, Yukon Territory.

      The pheasant hunter ordered a drink for himself and one for Irene. Ray stood to one side of the bar, watching, his eyes and expression dark. Irene tossed him a huge smile and, while her partner dug coins out of his pockets to pay for the drinks, she leaned over to whisper into Ray’s ear. A grin nearly split his face in two. The pheasant hunter reclaimed Irene, and quite properly (she wasn’t the most popular dance-hall girl in Dawson for nothing) she took his arm, eyes wide and moist mouth smiling. They walked through the doors to the back, leaving Ray with a stupid, happy, love-struck smile on his face.

      At least someone was happy. My right shoe was digging into my little toe, and I’d laced my corset too tightly.

      Finally, closing time arrived. Ray kicked out the stragglers; the bartenders tidied up their bottles; the croupiers closed the tables and stacked chips, and I saw the giggling girls out the door. Most of them had made almost as much money in drink chits in this one night as they normally did in a week.

      Murder was good for business. Although not for me. I was exhausted.

      “I’m leaving,” I told Ray. “I can’t stay on my feet a moment longer.” One dancer remained behind, sitting at a table in the middle of the saloon. “Do you want something, Betsy?”

      “No, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

      “Then why are you still here?” She flushed and glanced at Ray, who immediately turned to Sam and told him what to do to close up. As if Sam had started on the job this morning.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake!

      “Good night, Ray. Try to get some sleep,” I said, with more than a touch of malice. Nothing worse for business than relationships between the staff—and triangles were the worst of all. “You’re looking quite worn out, Betsy. I’d be happy to walk you back to your lodgings.”

      She stopped rubbing at a spot on the table. “Eh?”

      “I said that I’ll walk you back to your lodgings. We wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea that an employee of the Savoy was anything less than a respectable lady, now would we?”

      “No, Mrs. MacGillivray.” She got to her feet as if her boots were dragging her to the bottom of the ocean. I turned my best full-wattage smile on Ray, the very one that had once had the Prince of Wales’ knickers in a knot. A great deal smarter than the Prince, Ray snarled in return. Betsy and I walked through the dark streets. Night had finally fallen on Dawson, although it would not remain for long. High above, the stars were dim, as the sun had not completely gone away. It had simply dipped its face behind the southern mountains. Although the day had been warm, the night air was sharply cool, reminding us of just how far north we were.

      The streets were crowded, and almost every man we passed nodded or touched his hat. I acknowledged every one of them. Sometimes on the streets of Dawson I felt like a toy Angus had had as a small child—a cheap thing that he was inordinately fond of with a head at the end of a tightly-wound spring, constantly bobbing up and down.

      “Do you like working at the Savoy, Betsy?”

      “Why, yes, Mrs. MacGillivray. I do. I like it very much.”

      “Do you like Mr. Walker, Betsy?”

      “Yes, Mr. MacGillivray, he’s a fine man. Fair like. To all us girls.”

      “Glad to hear it.”

      “Here we are, Mrs. MacGillivray. This here’s my lodgings. Thank you for walking me home.” We’d arrived at a tiny wooden house, painted white. With a cheerful red door and matching shutters, it was a good bit nicer than many.

      “My pleasure,” I said. Betsy started up the walk.

      “Just one thing.” She turned around. Her pale, podgy face reflected weak moonlight. “I alone hire and fire the women at the Savoy. If you want to be good friends with Mr. Walker, then you may find alternate employment.”

      She blinked. “Mrs. MacGillivray, I don’t know what…”

      “Mr. Walker would never dream of interfering with how I run the dance hall. Do you understand me, Betsy?” She swallowed. “Yes, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

      “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turned and walked away, feeling Betsy’s eyes boring into my back. Doubtless she was wishing they were daggers. Stupid cow. Everyone in town knew Ray was besotted with Irene. They could sort that out themselves—and might even be on the way to doing so—as much as I might disapprove. But if Betsy were allowed to continue thinking she had a future with Ray, there would be nothing but trouble. For all of us.

      She’ll thank me one day, I chuckled to myself, as I exchanged greetings with the Indian Fighter. No she won’t, she’ll hate me for the rest of her days. I nodded to Mouse O’Brien, stuffing his night’s winnings into his pocket. I really didn’t care what Betsy thought of me, now or in the future; I only wanted peace in my establishment. Irene was my best dancer. If Betsy caused trouble with Irene over Ray, she’d be on the street in a flash.

      “Evening, Mrs. MacGillivray.” A man stepped out of the shadows. In London or Toronto, I would have been on my guard, but Dawson was so law-abiding that I habitually wandered through the night streets with my mind halfoccupied.

      But not totally.

      I stepped backwards, clenched my fists, raised them slightly, and settled into a modified fighting stance—legs apart, knees bent, balancing on the balls of my feet.

      “Pardon me, ma’am. I don’t wish to startle you.” He moved into the outline of yellow light spilling from the lamp in the window of a cigar store. Some of these stores were in the business of selling cigars—but for most of them it was a front for an independent prostitute.

      I relaxed only slightly and dropped my arms to my sides. I would never trust a man who waits in the shadows. “Sergeant Lancaster. What can I do for you?” He moved closer, and the full strength of the lamplight illuminated his open, friendly features. I wiped my palms on my green satin skirt.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ