Frank Butler took comfort from the pistols he carried in each pocket of his suit jacket. He scanned faces in the stream of showgoers moving toward the three lines forming at each of the ticket wagons. Tanned farmers in straw hats, doddering Civil War widows in solemn black, little girls in dresses made from flower-printed feed sacks, farm boys in blue overalls, society belles in enormous hats covered with artificial roses—none was a face he sought. He saw no sign of Lillian Smith or any other show rivals.
One face came as a shock: Mrs. Colonel Cody. Louisa was in Sedalia. Why would Louisa Cody leave Kansas City to attend a show in the middle of Missouri? Still more puzzling, why would she come when her husband wasn’t even in town?
Frank had little time to ponder what might have happened at the Coates Hotel after he and Katherine left. He needed to focus all his attention on his impossible task—finding a would-be killer in a crowd of ten thousand people before the spotlight fell on his own Annie.
He wanted to throw up his arms and quit this whole insane scheme hatched by that impossible female from the St. Louis Illuminator.
Why did I think she was a reporter? What newspaper owner in his right mind would hire a woman—not even a woman—a slip of a girl—to do actual reporting? If she were harmed while doing dangerous work for him, the rest of the press would crucify the dimwit. Of course Joe Pulitzer hired Nelly Bly, but Joseph P. is in a class of his own when it comes to lunatic tricks.
Why did I agree to this idiotic plan?
He knew full well why: Annie had endorsed it. She would never refuse to perform out of fear. He had married a lady with true courage, too much courage for her own good.
Short of tying her up as he had threatened to do, he knew of no way to keep her out of the arena. Tie his wife up? Pure bluff—he would never do that. Frank’s dread of losing her love rose up to collide with his fear of losing her to a bullet. Together the two polar opposites made his mind carom between anger and helplessness.
He moaned inwardly. Annie, why can’t you be sensible? Why won’t you let me protect you? What does it take to scare you, woman? Isn’t being shot at today along with the shooting of Tiffin and Little Elk enough?
He realized Annie would never admit being frightened. What else was there to do but turn his anger on the nameless, faceless threat that could be lurking around any corner or sitting in the stands that selfsame minute?
Why won’t you show yourself, you monster? Let me get my hands on you. You’ll wish you’d been lucky enough to die with Custer at the Little Big Horn.
The day was racing ahead of him even though his love had given him extra time. Annie stunned him when she agreed to delay her act until next-to-last on the bill—right before the grand finale. Did the fact that she had compromised prove she was afraid? Too much had happened for him to take it all in. He found comfort in only one thing. That McBustle girl’s crazy plan gave him a little breathing room—time to rally the company.
Show folks had put on full dress and makeup early, two hours before the opening parade. By the hundreds, they pitched in to roam the grounds. They shook hands as they pretended to greet customers while working on their real mission, scouting out potential assassins.
Strain began to show in the higher-than-usual pitch of Frank’s voice. The pain in his throat made him realize he had been clamping the hands of the revelers instead of clasping them in a friendly handshake. A hard-palmed farm boy took Butler’s punishing grip as an invitation to arm wrestle. Frank could not extricate himself until he dropped to his knees and gave the boy a silver dollar in “prize money.” The boy strutted off holding the coin aloft as he proclaimed his victory to admiring girls.
From that moment on, Frank eased his tension by clenching the hard wood handles of the revolvers in his pockets. The carved walnut gave him small comfort. He fought to keep a smile on his face as he reached for another hand to shake, “I’m Frank Butler. Welcome to the Wild West. Lovely evening, isn’t it? I know you’ll enjoy the show.”
Then everything changed.
In a single instant the agony of his double life fell away when he spotted a plug hat with a plump woman under it—Lillian Smith.
She was walking arm in arm with a tall, lean man in an old-fashioned frock coat. Graying hair curled down over his collar from under a top hat. He wore attire suitable for an opera—or a funeral.
Frank gave the “attack” signal and nodded in her direction. A half-dozen Cossack Rough Riders in fur hats and high black boots separated the pair and whisked the aging dandy off in the direction of the cook tent. The man didn’t resist or even call out—a sure sign of guilt—or innocence.
Frank smoothly took the dandy’s place at Lillian’s side and wrapped her arm around his. He held it there with a grip on her wrist strong enough to cut off circulation. “Say nothing. This won’t take long provided you don’t become foolish. Don’t even think of screaming. Your dandy in the top hat is in no position to rescue you.”
He steered her to the back of a ticket wagon and knocked on the door. When it opened, he shoved her up the stairs. She tripped into a space shielded from the ticket takers by a heavy black curtain. Without warning, he tore off her hat then began a most unceremonious pawing of her person.
Lillian seemed to understand why she had been kidnapped. She clenched her jaw and submitted. The fact that she refused to fight vexed him. “Why don’t you say something?”
“I’ve learned Frank Butler finishes what he starts.”
He found no firearms of any kind. “Say something.”
“Not until you’re ready to listen.”
Lillian’s calm answers and stoic dignity goaded him to search with even greater frenzy. He turned up his nose at the smell of her greasepaint and powder.
He found nothing more interesting than a return ticket to Kansas City and a flyer. It advertised “Cheapest Rate Excursions” on the Missouri Pacific Line round trip to Sedalia for $1.60, including show admission. In disbelief, he pawed her all over once again. He even pulled out her hair rat. He found nothing more lethal than a hand full of hairpins.
Lillian dropped the brown-dyed cotton hair rat in her reticule and calmly began re-pinning her hair.
He grabbed her by the waist and plopped her on top of the safe. “The dandy in the top hat. He has the rifles, right? He wore a frock coat to hide them. A suit jacket wouldn’t be long enough.”
She crossed her arms in surly defiance. “What? No club to conk me over the head? However will you prove what a caveman you are? Still protecting feeble little Phoebe from big bad Lillian?”
“Cut the sarcasm and tell me what I want to know.”
“I’ll tell you what you don’t want to know. I’ll have you up on charges for molesting me.”
“There’s not a bruise on you. Who will take your word over mine?” His sarcasm could match hers any day. “You—an actress on the stage.”
Lillian whacked her forearm against the edge of the safe, then tore the lavender dimity sleeve to expose white flesh that would soon turn blue. “No bruises you say? What could be easier?”
As she raised her other arm, Frank pinned her legs against the safe with his thighs and grabbed both arms. “You think I wouldn’t go to jail to save Annie’s life? You think I wouldn’t kill you to save her?”
There. He said it. For the first time he put words to his raw need for Annie. It feels like standing naked in church so all the congregation could see how pitiful and useless I am.
Lillian dropped her bravado. “I see you’re serious. What I don’t see is proof I have ever done one single thing to make you think I want to kill Annie.”
Frank’s words came softer but still bitter and accusing. “For starters, she can make a thousand dollars a week. What do you make at that sleaze parlor you call a theater in Kansas City?”
“None of your business, but I do all right. I own a townhouse and a farm with a few acres. Do I look like I’m starving?”
“You’d do better if you had Annie’s job, wouldn’t you?”
“You probably won’t believe this, but I don’t like being on the road. I like sleeping in my own bed and watching corn grow in my own fields when I have a day off.”
“So, you came to Sedalia on your day off to watch corn grow. And what a lucrative business you must be in. No successful show I’ve ever heard of would be closed on a Friday.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the theater is dark tonight on account of a fire in my dressing room. If you want proof, read the Kansas City Star.”
“Clever. Set a fire in your dressing room so you can be free to come to Sedalia to kill Annie Oakley.”
“I didn’t set the fire. The magician, the ‘top hat dandy’ you had strong-armed, was practicing a trick using fire in my dressing room. Mine is the biggest one, the star’s dressing room. His trick misfired. I hope you’ll pardon the pun.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “If all you wanted to do was see this show, why didn’t you see it in Kansas City? Why travel a hundred miles?”
“Would you loosen your grip? My fingers are turning blue.”
Frank obliged, but didn’t let go.
“Who could resist the cheap excursion rates trains offer? Under two dollars for ride and show ticket, too. I came here cheaper than I could hire a carriage to ride across Kansas City.”
He tightened his grip again and shook her. “No more sass. I’ll have real answers from you, and I’ll have them now.”
“Ease up and show a little common sense. You already know the reason I couldn’t see the show in Kansas City. I was working in a show of my own. The fire closed my show temporarily. That is the only reason I can be here now.”
“And you have no idea who shot at Annie this afternoon.”
Lillian squinted. “Somebody shot at Annie?”
“Not only today. During Tuesday’s show someone shot her horse. On Wednesday someone put a bullet in Little Elk. It was you, wasn’t it? You didn’t mean to wound Little Elk. You were aiming at Annie.”
“When you pushed me in here and mauled me—even when you accused me of trying to kill Annie, I put up with it. I thought you were just being the overprotective Frank Butler I knew of old. But now I think you’ve gone completely round the bend. I am one great shot. If I had aimed at Annie, I wouldn’t plug some poor Indian by mistake. If I aimed at your scrawny twig of a woman, she’d be dead. What’s more, you know I’m telling the truth.”
Frank had run out of questions. Lillian’s answers made sense, but what about the top hat dandy? “Pull yourself together. We’re going for a walk.”
On the way to the cook tent, Frank wrapped Lillian’s arm around his and held it there to prevent her running away. To his disappointment, she didn’t try.
Entering the cook tent gave him an even bigger let-down. The top hat dandy had transformed his abductors into an applauding audience. On a table lay a heap of colored scarves, a half-dozen identical bottles, a dozen or more interlocking rings, and three bouquets of artificial flowers. The magician was at that moment using playing cards to delight his captors with sleight of hand.
Frank let loose of Lillian’s arm and stomped to the magician’s side. To the Cossacks who held the man prisoner, he spat out a few words—words he knew the Russians would understand. “Guns. You take guns? Guns from coat?” He pointed to the magician.
“Guns, no. Toys. He have toys. Isss all toys.”
Frank’s anger rose. He stripped off the man’s frock coat and felt it for weapons. He found only some balls of red-painted sponge. He threw down the coat and began putting his hands all over the dandy. He searched in forbidden places—places that would have demanded satisfaction under the code duello until recent years.
The magician suffered the groping in good humor, all things considered. As he put his coat back on, he tipped his top hat and offered Frank his card. “Mr. Butler, do call on me when you’re in Kansas City. Should you tire of fondling me, I think I can find others who would esteem a fellow with your manual skill.”
Frank turned the color of a Cossack’s coat. He scanned the faces of the Russians to see whether they grasped the meaning of the dandy’s words. They didn’t.
Lillian understood, though, and uttered a combination snort and whinny. Her high-pitched horse laugh made him want to give her some bruises to match the one she’d given herself. “Get out of here—both of you. But don’t think I won’t be watching you. Go!”
The magician began nesting the hollow-bottomed bottles together until they fitted into a single unit. Lillian smoothed his hair with a comb from her reticule. It was some time before the magician finished tucking away his treasures. With great ceremony, the pair bowed to the Russians and then to Frank and then to each other. Lillian giggled as the pair started to leave.
Johnny Baker and Annie appeared at the tent opening. Frank strode toward them as he motioned toward Lillian and the dandy. “They have no weapons, not even a pocket knife.” He took Annie’s arm to clear the path for the twosome to leave.
Lillian stopped giggling. “Mrs. Butler, I have no wish to hurt you. If I can be of help with whatever is going on here, you have but to ask.”
Annie raised her head higher, but said nothing. Frank offered, “Most generous, especially considering my offenses against you.”
“I’m sincere, Mr. Butler. If given the opportunity, I’ll prove it.”
“Well, then. If you should recognize a rival marksman, you might point him out to any people in costume. They can get a message to me or to a Pinkerton.”
“I will.”
Johnny Baker wrote something on two pairs of passes. “Miss Smith, please take these with our deepest apologies. Let us treat you to the best seats in the arena, the governor’s box.”
The dandy took his pair of tickets and touched them to his hat brim in a farewell salute. The pair swept out arm in arm.
Annie turned to Frank. “Now what?”
Frank shrugged his shoulders in defeat.
Johnny Baker called out, “Saddle up, folks. It’s show time.”