My Calamity Jane Page 13

  The gang sat down, except for Jane, who opted to stand. “Haven’t they ever heard of more candles?” she asked.

  “Maybe there’s a shortage after the factory thing,” Frank suggested.

  “Ha,” Jane said unenthusiastically.

  Suddenly there was another candle. “I never go anywhere without an emergency candle,” Annie said.

  Right then, the door to the sitting room opened, revealing a silhouette wearing a top hat.

  Everyone jumped, and Annie whispered, “I knew it!” even though Frank had no idea what she thought she’d known.

  The silhouette held the lantern closer to his face. It was the mayor. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Not at all,” Frank said as his heart made its way from his throat back to his chest.

  “Please excuse the lack of lighting. I’m afraid we have been hit by the candle shortage.”

  Jane snorted, and Frank shot her a look.

  The mayor crossed the room and sat in the largest chair near the fireplace. “Now, what is this information you have for me?”

  Bill stood up. “Well, Mr. Mayor, our information involves you.”

  “Is that so?” the mayor said.

  “We think you could shed some light on the happenings at the P and G factory.”

  “How can I shed light when there’s a candle shortage?” The mayor smiled at his own joke.

  “Look, we’re not here to waste time. We know you’re a garou, and not only that, we know you were involved with the tragedy at the candle factory. I’m still deputized, and you’re under arrest.”

  “Am I?”

  Bill stroked his mustache. “But I’m willing to work with you if you—”

  Suddenly the room fell into darkness, except for Annie’s tiny emergency candle. There was a scuffle, a muffled yelp, and the squeak of a door opening and then slamming shut.

  “Don’t let him get away,” Jane shouted.

  Bill lit the mayor’s lantern and turned it all the way up. Light flooded the room.

  “He’s gone,” Jane said.

  “Well, let’s split up,” Bill said. “Jane, you and McCall take the front of the house. Annie and Frank, the back. I’ll search the attic.”

  Frank glanced at Annie, wishing he’d told Bill he didn’t want to be paired with Annie. Sure, on one hand, she was really good at everything, and going with her meant they’d probably catch the bad guy ten years before everyone else caught up. But on the other paw, she hated wolves and was it any surprise that he was wildly uncomfortable being alone with her now?

  It was too late to argue.

  Frank and Annie held their guns at the ready as they ran toward the back of the house. They found a secret door through the kitchen, but it was locked. Frank didn’t hesitate, nor did he think of the damage it would do to his shoulder: he threw himself against the door, and he and Annie burst outside.

  But there was no sign of Mr. Top Hat, er . . . the mayor.

  “You go that way, and I’ll go this way,” Annie said. “We’ll meet at the front.” And because they still had not learned their lessons about horror-movie tropes, they split up, each of them covering half a perimeter of the house.

  They met in the front, but neither of them had spotted the mayor.

  “I got him.” Jane was coming from off the street, the mayor in front of her, his hands tied behind his back. “He was halfway to who knows where when I caught up with him.”

  Jack McCall was trailing behind her. “He was more like half a block away.”

  “He was not,” Jane said with a scoff. “He was practically to the train station.” She turned to Annie and Frank. “Don’t listen to Jack. He’s got, like, no depth perception, and he obviously can’t judge distance.”

  “Ffffffft,” McCall said.

  Jane led the mayor back into the house. “Hey, servant guy, get us some gawl-durned candles!”

  A few minutes later they were in the parlor again, which looked much less scary in the light. Frank lit a few more candles for good measure.

  “Now look, Mayor,” Bill said, his hat in his hands. “You’re headed for a hangin’. But I can lessen your sentence if you help us.”

  “I’ll never help you,” the mayor said.

  “Frank, shoot a toe off.”

  Frank tried not to flinch as he drew his gun.

  “Okay, maybe I’ll help you.” The mayor shifted his tied hands. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you try to kill Charlie?” Bill asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I found out you all were still hunting garou and that Charlie was heading up the whole operation. Of course I’m going to try to get rid of him.”

  Frank tried to hold himself back from striking the mayor.

  Bill leaned forward. “If you’re running the Cincinnati area, then who’s running you?”

  The mayor narrowed his eyes and smiled. “If I told you that, I might as well hang myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Alpha would kill me,” the mayor said. “Or send one of the thralls to do it.”

  “Thralls?” Jane asked.

  But as the mayor opened his mouth again, Jack McCall stomped over and got in his face. “Tell us who the Alpha is,” he yelled, spittle flying.

  The mayor laughed and looked at Bill. “Boy, does the Alpha have it out for you.”

  “Tell us!” McCall raised his fist, and Frank and Bill lunged to stop him, but they were too late. Jack McCall punched the mayor, splitting his lip.

  The mayor spat blood, and maybe it was Frank’s imagination, but his teeth looked a little longer.

  McCall struggled, but Frank wasn’t about to let him hit the mayor again. “This isn’t how we do things.”

  “Watch out!” Annie cried, as the mayor dropped his head and the veins on his neck bulged.

  Frank and Bill both leapt back, releasing McCall.

  “Calm down,” Bill said soothingly. “Just stay calm.”

  “Wooo,” Frank suggested, but it did no good.

  The mayor growled as the bones in his feet and legs cracked, bending backward.

  “You need to stop this,” Bill said. “If you turn, you won’t be giving us much choice.”

  The mayor took two deep breaths and the transformation slowed, but then a shot rang out. The mayor’s body went limp, shifting all the way back to human.

  McCall’s gun was smoking. Beyond him, Jane’s eyes were wide with horror, and Annie’s fists covered her mouth. Even Bill seemed shaken.

  Frank rounded on Jack McCall, as he lowered his gun. “What,” Frank growled, “did you do that for?”

  EIGHTEEN

  Annie

  That hadn’t gone like Annie’d thought it would.

  The next morning, she walked down the streets of Cincinnati, toward the post office, the sound of the gunshot still echoing in her head, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the mayor had been about to say. She wanted the garou dead as much as anyone, but he’d been close to telling them something about the Alpha.

  How stupid of Jack McCall to shoot the mayor right before he gave up important information.

  Who was that Mr. McCall anyway? He wasn’t even part of their posse.

  Well, the city was down one evil garou, and no one would be biting any more innocent people in factories. The whole shooting the mayor might be an issue, but that was Mr. Hickok’s and Mr. Utter’s problem to solve.

  She tried not to think about the way the mayor had shifted back into his human form as he died.

  Because he was dead.

  Because Jack McCall had shot him.

  Was it still murder if the man had been transforming into a wolf right there? What about if he’d been responsible for a dozen innocent people getting bitten?

  Annie put those and other uncomfortable questions away as, at last, she reached the post office, the letter—and her contest winnings—clutched tight in her hand. It was an awful lot of money to entrust to the post
al service, but she didn’t have time to take it home herself—not if she wanted to perform at the show tonight.

  As Annie pulled open the door to the post office, she noticed a familiar figure at the butcher shop next door: Jane. She wasn’t doing much of anything, just standing at the window like something interesting was happening inside.

  “Jane!” Annie waved. “Jane, over here!”

  Jane didn’t seem to notice her.

  “Jane, it’s me! It’s Annie!” They’d been roommates since yesterday, and if that didn’t make them best friends, Annie didn’t know what would. But at no point did Jane look over, although several other people gave Annie a wide berth as they went about their business.

  Frowning, Annie stomped into the post office and waited her turn. “How much to send this?” she asked when she reached the front of the line.

  “Three cents,” replied the postal worker.

  “Three cents?” Annie cried. “Are you kidding me?”

  Three cents was the modern equivalent of about seventy-three cents—for a simple first-class letter! Annie, who hadn’t sent many letters before, was outraged.

  Of course, she paid the exorbitant price, carefully counting out three pennies in the slowest possible manner, and released the letter containing a hundred-dollar bill (one hundred dollars, people!) into the hands of the postal worker who no doubt hated her by now.

  Annie marched back outside, feeling as though she’d been robbed, and found Jane still gazing into the butcher shop.

  Annie walked over to her. “Hi there, Jane.”

  Jane jumped and spun to look at her. “Annie Mosey! Lord, you should wear a bell. Where’d you sneak up from?”

  “The post office.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you all right? You seemed deep in thought.”

  Jane glanced at the butcher shop one last time, then started walking away. “I was thinking about those poor folks from the factory. They didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

  Annie couldn’t disagree with that. They were garou now, but it wasn’t as though they’d asked to get bitten. They were victims of circumstance. But if Annie knew anything about the garou (and she rather thought she did), it was this: they would soon be monsters.

  “It’s a shame they’ll probably do something terrible someday, and then we’ll be right back in Cincinnati so that Mr. Hickok and Mr. Utter can arrest them,” Annie said at last.

  Jane looked curiously at her, but before Annie could ask if the other girl disagreed, Jane said, “What were you doing in the post office?”

  “Sending a letter to my family. Did you know stamps cost three cents?”

  Jane nodded disgustedly. “It’s robbery, that’s what it is.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Annie grinned at the other girl, happy to have something in common with her at last. “Do you send many letters? I expect I’ll be sending plenty to my family as we travel the country. Plus, I want to send them some of my wages; the contest winnings will almost pay off the farm, but they still have to eat.”

  “I send lots of letters,” Jane said gruffly. “Tons. And I send money to my family, too.”

  Annie’s grin widened. “Mother? Father? Siblings?”

  “Siblings,” Jane said. “Parents died a long time ago.”

  Annie’s heart clenched, and she nodded. “My pa, too. It’s his rifle I use, in his memory. Mama just got remarried. It’s been . . .” Well, she didn’t really want to talk about how her mama had been since marrying Grandpap Shaw. “I have lots of siblings, though. Three sisters. A brother.”

  Jane’s smile was more like a grimace. “Yeah, me too. Three sisters and a brother.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Annie squealed. “We’re the same!”

  (Poor Annie. She’s trying so hard.)

  Jane shook her head. “They rely on me. It’s a lot of responsibility. Weighs on me sometimes.”

  “I know exactly how that feels,” Annie said. “You know, we should write our letters together. And go to the post office together. Maybe we can get a group discount on postage.”

  “I, uh, don’t think it works like that.”

  But Annie wasn’t listening. Already, she was imagining the two of them sitting at a table, their papers neat and orderly, and the scent of ink on their fingers as they penned detailed letters to their siblings. How wonderful it would be to have something to share with Jane. They were the only two girls in the posse, after all; they needed to stick together.

  Little did Annie know, but Jane’s mind was far, far away from letter writing. “I have to go,” Jane said, peeling off as they passed a saloon.

  “Wait,” Annie called, but it was too late. Jane was gone, and Annie was alone.

  Annie wasn’t one for paranoia, but it seemed like people were avoiding her.

  First Jane had abandoned her for the saloon, and then Frank claimed he was teaching his dog new tricks. Annie had offered to help, reminding him that she had a way with animals, but he said he had everything under control and didn’t want George to get distracted by her.

  But she could not ignore the unusual coolness to his tone. Or maybe it wasn’t unusual, and she’d misunderstood the connection she’d believed they were developing.

  Alone, Annie practiced for the show, reread Fearsome Garou and Where to Find Them to brush up on her garou knowledge, and started sewing a new dress she could wear on the stage. She also finished that dress, because she had no one to talk to or go on a walk with.

  The new dress was pink, fell to the middle of her calves, and had an embroidered flower up the skirt. It was perfectly girlish, and she loved every stitch of it.

  She didn’t have anyone to show, though.

  Finally, it was time.

  Annie pranced onto the stage at the Coliseum Theater, her rifle resting on her shoulder, and the crowd cheering as she reached the center.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Hickok waved for everyone to quiet down. “Before we get started, the Wild West show has a surprise for you all tonight!”

  Everyone cheered again.

  “And I suppose you’ve already seen her.”

  The cheering crescendoed.

  “Because she couldn’t wait to come up here and give you the performance of a lifetime. Please welcome the newest member of the Wild Bill’s Wild West, Annie!” Mr. Hickok stepped aside and motioned to her.

  Annie smiled and waved.

  Jane stood on Annie’s left side, clapping too, while Frank stood to her right. He was working the crowd, urging them to cheer even louder, and when he glanced her way and their eyes met, and his were so warm and inviting, Annie’s heart lifted into her throat and her foot actually popped back.

  The audience screamed.

  He’d been too busy for her earlier, but maybe it hadn’t meant anything. George did love her, and it was probably easier to train him if Annie wasn’t around.

  So everything was fine between her and Frank. Good. That settled, she threw herself into the show they’d rehearsed, giving it everything she had.

  The first act was a retelling of Annie’s introduction to the Wild West show, including the competition, although it had been thoroughly revised to include a lot more George the Poodle, Jane and her bullwhip, and even some singing. The vote had been left out, which was probably for the best.

  After that, they moved on to trick shots, aiming for smaller and smaller targets—like playing cards and thimbles. The audience ate it up, a few even offering items out of their own pockets. At one point, Frank was given a lady’s hairpin. He tossed it into the air, Annie shot, and Frank handed the bent pin back to the young lady with a flourish.

  Finally, they reached the grand finale, tense with a fictional garou hunt, which Mr. Hickok narrated. This animated, excited man was a mask he put on when he was onstage, she realized, because this was certainly not the Wild Bill she was coming to know. And then there was George: he was the “garou,” and no one could take him seriously, because
every time he was “killed,” he rolled onto his back and wagged his tail as his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  By the time Mr. Hickok swept back to the center of the stage, the audience was roaring with laughter and applause. “Thank you, all!” He waved his hat around. “Thank you so much for coming to our show.”

  If Annie had ever had any reservations about show business, she would never admit to it after this. As the applause escalated and everyone from the company took a bow, Annie knew this was where she wanted to be. Up here, on the stage, with these people—her heart felt full with happiness.

  “And let’s hear it one more time for our newest member, Annie!” Mr. Hickok shouted over the din. “You’ve just witnessed history with this one!”

  Annie curtsied, smiling so hard her face hurt.

  Then, the curtain fell and the audience began to filter out, and the mood backstage shifted.

  Frank, who’d been his normal warm and charming self during the show, abruptly pulled away from her. “I have to help clean up.”

  “I’ll help, too!” Annie trotted after him. “The show was amazing,” she said, reaching for a nearby broom. “All those people! I can see why you love it.”

  “Yeah, it was amazing.” But Frank didn’t sound excited, only irritated. He took the broom from her and nodded toward the door. “Go meet your adoring public.”

  She tilted her head and frowned, but she was new around here, and maybe he was always moody like this after a show? (He hadn’t been before, when she’d demanded to join the posse, but . . .)

  “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine.” He motioned for her to go, then started sweeping bits of paper and glass and shotgun shells without another word.

  Stung, Annie got her gun and headed over to the door and found a dozen young women (the same unchaperoned young women who’d been fawning over Frank after every show), and even a few reporters.

  “Annie!” one of the young women called. “Annie, come here!”

  Annie smoothed her dress and smiled, suddenly imagining a class for women in which she taught gun safety, how to shoot, and more gun safety. If they were interested in her performance tonight, she’d be happy to teach them.