Chapter 8 – Fears and Tears

"He wants something? As in what, money?" Ginny asked. "Surely that's not a problem. Lil's must make a fortune every night."

"If he saw you this mornin' and he's comin' in tonight . . . he ain't comin' in for money."

"Then what?"

Red finally spoke up. "More than likely he wants to see you."

"Me? Whatever for? He's already got Mae."

Beatrice reached over and took Ginny's hand. "But Mae doesn't look like Elizabeth. You do."

"I've been here a month and you all are just now gettin' around to tellin' me this?" Ginny had a hard time keeping the anger out of her voice, and she pulled her hand away abruptly. She wasn't sure who looked the guiltiest, Bea or Red. She certainly didn't need any complications if she was ever going to find out who was shanghaiing girls from saloons in Kansas City. And Grant Milton was most definitely a complication. With one fell swoop she reached up and pulled the pins out of her hair, and the red curls cascaded down her back. "I ain't gonna be nobody's look-alike."

"I'm sure he just wants to meet you, Sammi Jo, and talk to you. Grant's been lost without Elizabeth." Bea seemed awfully certain of what she'd just said. Red didn't look quite so certain.

"He met me this morning. He doesn't need to meet me again. Tell him I'm sick or somethin'. I ain't workin' tonight." Ginny stood up abruptly and made a hasty exit. She went running up the stairs and slammed her door behind her. She flopped down on the bed and waited; in less than ten minutes there was knocking on her door. "Go away. I ain't comin' out."

She didn't expect the voice she heard – it was Frank's. "Sammi Jo, can I come in?"

Pulling herself up, she answered, "Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Then come in." She was sitting up by the time the door opened. "Did they send you up here?"

"Nobody sent me. I saw you runnin' out of Red's office and wanted to know what happened."

"I'm not goin' back down there. Nobody told me I look like his wife. That's just . . . creepy. Why didn't you say somethin' to me this morning when Mae introduced us?"

"You don't look like Elizabeth Milton, Sammi Jo. She was a redhead, too, but that's all. That's why I didn't say nothin'. Red's delusional, and Bea's just plumb crazy."

"But they said . . . "

"They're wrong." Frank moved across the room and sat down on the bed next to her. "She was nowhere near as pretty as you." And before Ginny could say anything to stop him, the head bartender had leaned over and kissed her. When Frank saw the look of surprise and bewilderment on her face, he abruptly stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her into a standing position before kissing her gently again. Ginny quickly pulled away.

"Frank . . . I don't . . . I'm not . . . "

"I'm sorry, Sammi. I know you're not like most of the other girls here. You just looked so . . . lost. It won't happen again – unless you want it to." Carson headed for the door, turning back for just a moment to tell her, "You don't look like Elizabeth. Bea and Red are wrong. Milton would have said something this morning; he has money and education, but he's not a subtle man. I won't let him bother you, no matter whose partner he is." He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.

Ginny was usually prepared for things like what had just happened, but this one caught her by surprise. All she could hear in her ears were Bret's words from weeks ago. 'Men are gonna expect certain things, and I don't want you put in that position.' And her reply. 'I'm a big girl, Bret. I know how to say no.'

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Things hadn't been going well in New Mexico, and Bart was worried. He stood outside his brother's cell and tried to decide just how to ask the question on his mind without antagonizing Bret. He needed to know, in case circumstances didn't improve. "Where's Ginny? If I need her for anything."

"She's undercover."

"Where, Bret?"

"You can't reach her."

"Bret."

The only sound in the air was that of a wagon moving down the street. Finally a sigh could be heard inside the cell. "Kansas City. Workin' as Sammy Jo Withers at Diamond Lil's." Bart added it to the list he'd been making. "You can't contact her, Bart. Not even if they hang me."

"I won't contact her. Especially if they hang you."

XXXXXXXX

Ginny changed dresses, putting on something less provocative, and went back downstairs. She stopped at the bar and told Will, "I need whiskey." Frank was only a few feet away and looked up immediately. She took the shot Will poured her and drank it down, grimacing as she did so, then turned her head directly to Frank. "I still don't like it." That brought a small smile to his face and she went straight back to Red's office.

Beatrice and Red were sitting exactly where she'd left them. "You're exaggerating. And even if you're not, I'm a big girl. I have no interest in the man." Without waiting for a reply of any kind, she walked back out into the saloon and headed for one of the roulette wheels. Things were beginning to get busy, and she intended to keep herself occupied until Bret's words quit ringing in her ears.

It was almost midnight when she noticed Carson was no longer behind the bar. She'd stayed busy all night but hadn't seen anything of Grant Milton or Mae, for that matter. And Beatrice had scrupulously avoided her, while Red remained closed up in his office. She stopped at the bar and told Will, "I'm goin' upstairs," before doing just that. Once inside her room she locked the door and braced a chair up against the doorknob to stop unwelcome visitors. She took off her dress and slipped under the covers on the bed; she was worn out and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

Ginny was more confused than she'd ever been on a case. She'd been in Kansas City a month and not one single girl had disappeared, from Diamond Lil's or any of the other saloons. Every instinct she had was telling her that Frank Carson was somehow involved, but she had not one shred of evidence to prove it. Something was off kilter about Mae, but whether the woman had something to do with the disappearances or was just a nasty case escaped her completely. And then there was Beatrice, Red Mitchell and Grant Milton. Beatrice was rich by saloon girl standards; Red seemed scared to death of his silent partner, and Milton? She didn't know what to make of Grant Milton. Or whether to worry about him at all.

And worst of all, she missed Bret. He hadn't wanted her to take this case, and she should have listened to him. He was right all along and it was only her stubbornness and foolish pride that drove her forward when she should have stopped. And what had happened to her so-called ability to say no? That deserted her when Carson made his move.

Where was Bret? She wanted to wrap herself in his arms and forget all about the cast of characters she found herself in the middle of. Maybe Arthur had been right. 'Priorities change. Focus shifts. People come and go in our lives. What was important yesterday isn't as important today.'

The tears started to run down her cheeks and she couldn't stop them. She hadn't cried in years, but she sobbed like a little girl until there were no more tears in her. "I'm sorry, Bret. I'm so sorry. Please be with Bart and be somewhere safe. Somewhere out of harm's way." She let out a deep sigh and tried to ignore the nagging feeling that told her the man she loved was in trouble and needed her. She had to send a wire to Arthur in the morning. She had to know if Bret was alright. Finally, exhausted beyond words, she fell asleep.