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August 1948
The wind blew something fierce, and the air, heavy with moisture, pressed a foreboding awareness into his back and shoulders as he pushed open the curtain and gazed down the street. It was just past sun-up. No one would be hanging around the dilapidated whorehouse this early in the morning. Besides, this old place was on its way out of favor in the community. As far as he knew, only Maggie and Jewel still took in customers. As he dropped the tattered floral curtain, he watched his hand tremble. Damn. He needed to think.
If he took the ladies’ clothes and all the woman garbage from the tops of the dressers, everyone’d think they’d packed up during the night and left town. That was it, his answer. Excitement surged through his body.
He ambled across the room to the closet and pushed aside the plastic curtain Maggie’d strung up over a heavy cord to hide the two dresses she kept there. At the back, he found a battered suitcase hugging the shadows.
Thirty minutes later, he had one trunk, three suitcases and a pillowcase filled with Maggie’s, Jewel’s, and Fire’s personal belongings. He didn’t take everything, only enough to make the sheriff think the women had moved to a more welcoming place. However, he had to figure out what to do with all of that junk. He guessed it meant a trip back into the tunnel.
He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He’d left Maggie’s room in the middle of the night, hoping she’d think he was gone. But he’d waited...waited until everyone left the building except the women.
He’d wanted to convince Maggie to go away with him. He loved her so much. Watching from the end of the hallway, he saw her make her way to the ballroom. Then he’d followed her to the balcony where, back in the heydays of the house, the orchestra had set up. Maggie knelt on the floor, and he watched her take her nightly earnings from a pocket in her robe. Effortlessly, she raised a floorboard, but she shocked him. Withdrawing a Derringer, she turned and pointed it at his heart.
“Magnolia, darlin’, what the hell are you doing with that?” he had cried, using her full name instead of his endearing nickname, terrified she’d really use the gun on him.
She stared at him with eyes round as saucers. “What are you doin’ here? I thought you were a robber.”
“I came to take you away with me.” His heart pounded out a staccato of fear when he realized she knew who it was, and she still had the gun pointed at him.
She shook her head slowly, her curls bouncing against her neck. “Forget it. I wouldn’t go with you now if my life depended upon it.” She continued to point the gun at him. “I’m not goin’. Now leave me alone.”
He lunged toward her and she fell against the railing. At the last instant before she fell over the edge, their gazes met. Hers were filled with hate.
If only sweet Maggie had left with him...
It took two trips to the basement to lug down all that junk. He would be the last to see the prostitutes alive. No one knew a spur off the main tunnel still existed. He had found it accidentally while waiting, night after night. Waiting for the men to leave Maggie’s room. He and Maggie had talked for weeks about the life they would have when she left...until a week ago. That’s when she found out he wasn’t a rich rancher, only a hired hand.
Damn.
It had taken a lot of work to pile the large rocks in front of the plank door. Now he had to move them again. The women’s clothing and notions must disappear to have his plan work. He started moving the rocks.
“Help! We’re in here! Let us out!”
He could barely make out the muffled sound of female voices screaming in terror. They pounded on the door and the rocks began to move from their attempts to break free. He propped the flashlight in the rocks he’d already moved and then swung open the door with one hand, keeping the gun pointed toward the captives.
Three sets of eyes rounded with terror. Swallowing past the greasy lump in his throat, he fired three times and watched with dismay as two bodies dropped. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.
The older woman, Madam Madeline Brown, Miss Fire they called her, glared at him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked bitterly, her voice strong and demanding. She didn’t look down to see if her daughter Jewel was dead or alive.
“I don’t have a choice! Maggie is dead because of me.”
“You shot Jewel and Lolly! Why? They didn’t deserve this.” Her voice was a whisper.
He aimed the gun at her chest. “I’m doing you a favor. It’s better to go like this than if I left you in here to starve to death.”
He pulled the trigger.