Katie Rose Read Online Free

the ceiling in fascination. The paintings were unbelievable. Was it really possible for men and women to?… Suddenly she remembered her companion. A fleeting thought went through her mind, one that caused her terrible embarrassment. Would Thomas Hall be like that with a woman? Tearing her gaze away from the paintings in shame, she composed herself and looked purposefully at the ruined furniture once more.
    “Why would someone do this?” She wondered aloud. “Do you think it was vandals?”
    “Possibly.” Thomas shrugged. “Or someone who was looking for something. Something of value.” He gave Emily a dark, piercing look.
    “like what?” Emily glanced up at him in confusion.
    “I don’t know. Didn’t your father tell you anything about this place, or how he got his money? Maybe he left some indication in his will, or some other documentation?”
    There was something about the way he was questioning her that made her uneasy. Emily sank down onto one of the least damaged chairs. She focused onthe portrait hanging on the wall. “I know my father had secrets. He was very evasive in his letters home about what he did for a living and who his friends were. My mother couldn’t tolerate the idea of living on the frontier, so he went west to provide for us in the best way he could. She never said much about him, but never indicated that anything was wrong. I don’t think she ever imagined this!” Emily’s gaze was once more glued to the bordello paintings.
    “Then it seems you didn’t know much about John Potter.”
    The preacher sounded disappointed, as if he were expecting some other answer. Emily shrugged. “It appears that there is more than one mystery here. But it is a capital mistake to theorize without data. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get started investigating.” She rummaged through her carpetbag and withdrew the magnifying glass, then dropped to her knees on the floor.
    Thomas stared in amazement as Emily, oblivious to his presence, began to examine every inch of the room. She crawled over the rug, grunting when she saw something that held meaning for her, frowning when she realized the trampled condition of the room might have destroyed a clue. Scooping up some ash near the fireplace, she put it carefully away in an envelope that had been in her bag, then scraped some threads from the carpet. At one point she withdrew a tape from her bag and measured some marks on the floor. Calculating several figures, she jotted notes in her book. By the time she stoodup, her hat askew, her nose smudged with dust, she looked as wretched as the room.
    “Miss Potter, what are you doing?” The preacher asked finally, astonished at her behavior.
    “Collecting data,” Emily replied, as if he were a fool. Then she sighed in disappointment. “Unfortunately, many people have been here since the murder. If only I had gotten here when the trail was fresh! I would have had him!”
    The preacher’s expression changed from amused to thunderous. “Miss Emily, stay out of this. Whoever killed your father and Rosie has never been caught. The murderer is still out there. And still dangerous.”
    “I know.” Emily smiled at him, but saw no response in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. I’ve read a hundred of these stories, and they all work the same way. Now I’ll have to meet with the sheriff and the coroner, read the papers, interview suspects, and find out everything I can about my father and the girl—”
    “Emily!” This time he shook her, cutting off her words. The magnifying glass bounced to the floor and Emily’s jaw dropped in stunned surprise. “This isn’t a story we’re talking about! This is real life! Whoever vandalized this place was looking for something, and they won’t let a woman stop them! The very best thing you can do is get back on that stagecoach and go home.”
    Emily squirmed, uncomfortably aware that she was pressed right up against him, his trouser-clad legbetween