Bell stared openly at Rose. She wore a red silk dress that nearly matched her flaming hair. This night it was a combination of a bun in the back and curls along the sides and front. Her breasts were pressed against silk fringe that edged the bodice of her dress and swelled into twin, white mounds. She was a beautiful woman from toes to hair.
Her lips were parted in a delightful laugh and her golden brown eyes twinkled in mirth. Her hand fell on Alexander’s arm, indicating to Bell that she liked to be physical. A sense of excitement surrounded her that was contagious to those at the table. She was a charmer, gorgeous and ravishing, but her aura did not penetrate Bell. He felt no fire, no passion of arousal toward her. In his analytical mind, she was the enemy, not an object of desire. He saw through the transparent veneer of her loveliness to the cunning and guile beneath.
He decided he had seen enough. Quickly, he ducked behind a waiter who was heading back to the kitchen and walked beside him un
til they passed through the swinging doors.
As Bell put on the gear he’d left hanging on the motorcycle, he considered himself lucky. He had stumbled on a situation he had not fully expected but one he could profit from. As he rode back to the Brown Palace, he knew the only information that he’d feed to Alexander would be false and misleading. He might even conjure up a bit of trickery to beguile Rose Manteca.
That part of his plan intrigued him. Already, he felt as if he had a head start in tracking a cagey lioness.
7
SHORTLY AFTER BELL RETURNED TO THE OFFICE THE next morning, a runner from the telegraph office brought him a telegram from Van Dorn.
My chief agent in Los Angeles reports that he can find no trace of a Rose Manteca. There is no family by that name owning a ranch within two hundred miles of the city. It looks to me as if the lady has pulled the wool over your eyes. Was she pretty?
Van Dorn
Bell smiled to himself. He stuffed the telegram in his pocket, walked to Alexander’s office, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Alexander said softly, as if talking to somebody in the same room.
Barely hearing the words, Bell stepped inside.
“You’re here to report, I assume,” said Denver’s head agent without prelude.
Bell nodded. “I wanted to bring you up to date on our activities.”
“I’m listening,” Alexander said without looking up from the papers on his desk or offering Bell a chair.
“I’ve sent Curtis and Irvine out into the field to question the law enforcement officers and any witness to the robberies and killings,” Bell lied.
“It’s not likely they will dig up anything the local law officials haven’t already provided us.”
“I intend to leave myself on the next train to Los Angeles.”
Alexander looked up, a suspicious expression in his eyes. “Los Angeles? Why would you go there?”
“I’m not,” Bell answered. “I’m getting off in Las Vegas and taking the spur line to Rhyolite, where I plan to talk to witnesses, if any, on my own.”
“A wise plan.” Alexander almost looked relieved. “I thought for a moment that you were going to Los Angeles because of Miss Manteca.”
Bell feigned surprise. “You know her?”
“She sat at my table with my wife and me at the country club party and dance. We’ve met on other occasions. She said you two had met at the Orphans Ball, and she seemed very interested in your work and background. She was especially fascinated by the bank robber/ murderer.”
I’ll bet she was interested in my work, Bell thought. But he said, “I didn’t know I made an impression on her. She did a pretty good job of brushing me off.”
“My wife thought Miss Manteca was smitten with you.”
“Hardly. All I learned about her was that she came from a wealthy family in Los Angeles.”
“That’s true,” Alexander replied out of ignorance. “Her father owns a huge spread outside the city.”
It was obvious to Bell that Alexander had neither investigated Rose nor bothered to be suspicious of her questions about him and the Butcher Bandit case.
“When do you expect to return?” asked Alexander.