You Should Smile More
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It was a strange sensation to be in the presence of so many people, especially since most of them were strangers. The only one I recognized was Missy’s husband, Mr. Hallman, who looked as uncomfortable as me. He had been forced by his wife into this position and he seemed determined not to enjoy it.
I couldn’t help but wonder what they would do if someone from the law came around asking questions about the dead body. They’d have to answer truthfully or face the consequences. If that happened, then the whole town would be in trouble. It might even bring down some sort of government investigation on their heads.
“We’re all here,” said Missy, “except for Mr. Hallman.” She turned her back toward him. “Mr. Hallman, we appreciate you coming today.”
I could tell she was trying to put on a brave front. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke and I wondered how long she had been practicing this speech. “My husband is still working out some business matters with my lawyer.
We’ll meet again tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Afterward, he will join us for dinner, and then you can ask any other questions you may have.”
Missy walked over to where I stood beside our horses. With her arm around mine, she guided me away from the group of men. Then she leaned against me and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will turn out okay. My husband has always protected me before. And now he has an excuse to do it.”
She gave me another quick squeeze and then let go. “Come, we should get inside before someone comes looking for us.”
With Missy leading the way, we stepped up onto the porch of the house. There were no windows except for the door at the end of the hall, which led to the kitchen. When we entered through the open doorway, the smell of fried chicken drifted through the room. I almost choked on the meaty scent.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the woman behind the counter. “But there are no more dinners left for tonight. Would you like something else?”
Missy smiled. “That won’t be necessary.” She paused, obviously searching for words, but unable to find any. Finally, she cleared her throat and asked, “What time will the next dinner service begin? Perhaps we’d like to reserve a table.”
The waitress hesitated before answering. “Dinner service begins promptly at five o’clock.”
Missy frowned. “Do you mean we need to arrive at five o’clock precisely? That seems rather early for dinner. What if we don’t want to wait until then?”
I knew exactly why Missy didn’t want to eat that late. It meant missing the last stagecoach ride leaving town for the day. As soon as we finished eating, I would take her back to her home in Fort Smith, Arkansas, where she could spend the night.
When Missy’s question finally registered with the woman, she answered quickly, probably assuming we weren’t planning on eating. “Of course, ma’am. You can come anytime between four thirty and six o’clock. But you must make your reservation before four o’clock if you wish to dine in the dining room.”
Missy nodded. “Thank you very much. We’ll see you at four-thirty.”
After the woman had gone back to work, Missy turned to me and asked, “Didn’t you say you wanted to order something?”
“Yes, but not right now. Let’s just look around first.” I pointed to the side of the hallway opposite the dining room. “This looks like the main entrance to the house. Did you notice the double doors in the center of the wall? Maybe we can enter there instead.”
“Good idea. Come on.”
As we neared the entryway, I noticed a man standing outside. His hair was tied back with a bandana and he wore a dark suit with a white shirt underneath. The color suited him well. His eyes met mine and I saw nothing but kindness and sympathy in his expression. A smile spread across his lips. “Are you ready?” he said. “You can leave your bags here and then we’ll take care of them for you.”
“Why thank you,” I replied, stepping forward to place my hat and satchel on the floor. I then handed Missy her purse and she placed her hat atop her head.
The man took my hand and helped me step up on the platform. He opened the door and then followed us inside.
Once we passed through the foyer, I looked down at the floor to check my shoes. They had gotten dirty during our walk, so I pulled off one shoe and then wiped my foot on the carpet before putting it back on. Missy glanced down and laughed.
“I think you missed a spot,” she teased. “And what’s wrong with these boots anyway? They’ve served me well since I bought them in New Orleans.”
“They’re nice enough, but they don’t fit you quite right,” I answered, turning to face her. “Your feet aren’t narrow like this. Besides, we might be walking a lot today, so I thought maybe you’d prefer to wear a pair of soft shoes.”
We stopped to exchange glances. Her eyes lit up. “Soft shoes!” She hurried past me into the other room while I watched her go.
Inside the sitting room, I found Missy seated on the sofa. She was busy removing her shoes and socks. While she did, I checked the contents of her satchel. One thing I liked about her is that when she traveled, she packed light—only carrying things she absolutely needed. I figured she wouldn’t mind if I searched through her bag after all.
It seemed strange to be rummaging through an innocent young woman’s belongings. In fact, it made me feel uncomfortable. Yet, I couldn’t stop myself from looking through the neatly folded clothing.
My fingers brushed against something hard. Pulling out the object, I realized it was a pistol. “Is that yours?” I asked, surprised by its size. “Where did you get that?”
She held the gun close to her body. “How did you know?”
I shrugged. “There’s only one way someone could carry a gun like that, and that’s if they owned it or were allowed to have it by their employer.”
Missy chuckled. “I’m sorry. This belonged to my father, who used to hunt rabbits. When I got older and began traveling alone, I started packing it along with a few knives. My brother always teases me about it because he says guns are useless in a fight.”
“So how does it work?”
“Well, once you load the bullet in the chamber, you pull the trigger. Once the gun fires, you need to reload the next round.”
“Sounds simple enough.” I returned the revolver to the satchel and then lifted Missy’s satchel over her shoulder.
Missy reached up to remove my hand. “I don’t mind helping, but let’s put some distance between ourselves before we start talking about fighting.”
“Okay.”
Our conversation died down as we walked down the hall toward the dining room. It wasn’t until we arrived at the door that Missy spoke again. “What time will we meet with Mr. Stoddard?”
“He said eight o’clock. We should arrive at seven forty-five.”
“That’s plenty of time.”
“Will you tell him I want to talk to him privately before dinner? About my family, I mean. If anyone overhears our conversation, I’ll understand.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. Now, come on.”
After we entered the dining room, we paused to study each person seated around the table. The men wore suits and ties and the women were dressed in dresses similar to Missy’s. The men’s attire was more formal than ours.
Their shirts matched their trousers and most had bowties tucked under their collars. All the women except one wore gloves. Even though I didn’t recognize any of the men, I assumed they must belong to the railroad.
When everyone had taken his or her seat, a man stood beside the long mahogany table. His hair was dark brown and his beard was trimmed short. He appeared to be in his early forties. As he cleared his throat, I turned to see if there was another entrance to the dining room. But no doors existed. Instead, the walls curved inward.
“Welcome to the Roundhouse Café,” he announced, smiling at Missy. “This morning I invited a few friends here to celebrate your arrival, so please excuse the lack of privacy.”
A ripple of laughter went through the diners. Most of them waved at us. A couple even applauded.
“Mr. Stoddard,” Missy greeted.
The man nodded. “Pleased to finally meet you, Missy. You may call me Jack.”
Missy smiled. “Jack, then. And thank you for inviting us to this special occasion. It means much to me.”
“Don’t mention it.” He motioned for the waiter to serve us coffee, which was placed before us without being poured into cups.
As the server left, Missy took a sip of hers. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“You’re not going to believe me when I say this, but I’d like to hire you as a detective.”
Her expression changed to one of surprise. “Why would you think I’d agree to help a stranger solve a crime?”
“Because it happened to me.”
“Your family has been murdered?” Missy’s voice cracked. “Oh, God! How terrible!”
“Yes, it is very terrible. But I found the murderer and now I just need to prove my case.”
Missy lowered her cup and stared at me. “And why exactly would I help you?”
I thought back to what she told me earlier about how her parents wouldn’t approve of her working as a bounty hunter. I decided to ask her point blank. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go find someone else.”
For a moment, Missy looked like she might refuse me. Then her eyes lit up. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d accept money to investigate the murders of my family.”
“No!” Her cheeks reddened. “It’s against the law to receive payment for murder.” She glanced quickly at the other people sitting around the table. “But maybe we can discuss this later. I don’t want anyone overhearing.”
“Fine, then. Let’s wait until after dinner.”
***
We spent the rest of the afternoon touring the Roundhouse. The main building housed the restaurant and bar along with several shops. There were also rooms available for overnight stays and three guest cottages.
Outside, there were two barns and an office where the ticket agent worked. On either side of the main building ran a line of tracks. Two passenger cars and four freight cars sat parked on the track nearest us.
Although the buildings seemed well maintained, the area surrounding the station didn’t appear too appealing. In fact, the entire town lacked character. At least from the outside, there were no attractive homes or landscaping. Just lots of flat land covered by scrub trees and weeds.
The train rolled in while we toured the station. When it stopped, a group of passengers disembarked and entered the café. The men wore suits and ties and carried briefcases. One woman wore a black dress. Others wore dresses and hats. They all appeared to be middle-aged or older.
While we watched the newcomers, Missy continued talking about the railroads and the towns that dotted its route. I listened intently because I wanted to learn as much as I could about the industry.
She mentioned a lot of towns along the way, many of which were named after famous presidents such as Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln. Some were small, like Abilene, while others were larger like New York City. Each city boasted a newspaper, bank, post office, school, and church. Many residents owned farms nearby.
“Are you familiar with the state of Kansas?” Missy asked.
“Very little.”
“Well, you should be since it’s the largest state east of Texas. Did you know that most of its territory once belonged to Mexico? We used to have a huge military presence here. Nowadays, we only maintain a few soldiers who are stationed near Fort Riley. That’s where our army trains horses, so I hear.”
“What about the railroad?” I asked.
“That’s a good question.” Missy tapped her fingers together. “There aren’t any rails connecting the southern states, but they’re slowly expanding their system.
My guess is that they will eventually connect to Colorado, Arizona, California, Utah, and Nevada… Well, let’s see, I heard that Arkansas and Oklahoma had recently joined the Union—maybe that’s part of the reason why the railroad hasn’t extended south yet.”
I wondered what would happen to the country if the South seceded again. Would it mean civil war? I remembered reading somewhere that the last time America fought a civil war, the country suffered more deaths than the first and second world wars combined.
“Does your family own the Roundhouse?” I asked.
“My father does. It was his idea to build the place years ago. He always loved trains and thought it would make a nice tourist attraction. Before he passed away, he said we needed to expand the business, and I agreed with him.” Missy paused before continuing. “So far, it hasn’t made much money, though, even with all those tourists coming through.
So far, none of them are interested in visiting a railroad museum. Of course, my brother thinks it would be wonderful if the Roundhouse became known as a haunted house.”
A shudder rippled over me. “Why not?”
Missy shrugged. “You tell me.”
“How come you haven’t tried to turn the Roundhouse into a tourist attraction?”
“Because my mother doesn’t think it’s important enough. If anything, we’ve been trying to attract a different type of clientele. Like the people who arrived today.”
As soon as the strangers stepped off the train, Missy excused herself and hurried toward the café. She returned moments later.
“They’re reporters,” she said. “And they’re asking everyone about the murders. I told them I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Of course.” Missy smiled. “It’s obvious these men have nothing better to do.”
One man stood up and approached the counter. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, tall and thin, with graying brown hair and a beard. His eyes scanned the room, stopping when he noticed me standing behind Missy. He glanced at my hat and then walked toward us.
“May I help you?” Missy asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Is this a saloon?”
“No. It’s a restaurant.”
“Then I’ll need to speak with Mr. Wainwright.”
“Who?” Missy frowned.
“Mr. Wainwright. Do you know him?”
“He owns the Roundhouse.”
“Oh, yes, I know him. But I’m afraid I don’t work here anymore.”
“Is there someone else who can help me?”
“I suppose so. Let me check on something.” Missy walked out of the room and returned with a young waitress. “This is one of the waitresses who work here. Her name is Lila. Can you ask her about Mr. Wainwright?”
Lila nodded and went inside. After several minutes, she returned. “Mr. Wainwright isn’t around right now.”
“Can you give me a message?”
“Sure, just leave a note with me.”
The reporter scribbled down something and handed the paper to Missy. She thanked him, took the piece of paper, and headed back into the kitchen. The reporter followed her, leaving me alone with the other man, who wore a long black coat. He stared at me from under his bushy eyebrows. I turned and left the dining hall, heading toward the saloon.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?” he asked.
I stopped and faced him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Missy if you wanted to interview her?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’d like to talk to you instead. Why don’t you join us?”
Before I could respond, Missy reappeared carrying an envelope. “Here you go.”
The stranger pulled a sheet of paper free and read it. “Thank you, miss.”
“If you change your mind about speaking to the press, please stop by my office. We’ll be open tomorrow morning. That is, if you’re still looking for someone to interview.”
“We may yet,” the man said. Then he and the other two men walked across the street and entered the saloon.
“That was close,” Missy said.
“What was close?” I asked.
“Letting the reporters get close to you. They probably heard you were staying here. Now, every newsman in the state will be hunting for you.”
“But why? What did I say that makes them curious about me?”
Missy shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Just remember what I told you: stay out of sight until we find a way to deal with this mess.”
The End