the middle of the night and told me he’d been murdered in Laramie City. Of course there was no one I could cable for confirmation, because Ulrich had wandered away from Wisconsin one night in search of fame as a musician. I didn’t know a single soul in Laramie who could confirm or deny this. Just the fact that his geist , you know, his spirit, was standing in my room telling me these things led me to believe he was dead.”
“So you came to Laramie…” Spenser prompted.
“Yes! I ran away—” Fidelia stopped, and once again the color drained from her face. She corrected herself. “I came to Laramie, and of course, after asking around, I met people who did know Ulrich—he was living in a shantytown on the other side of the tracks with other vagabond musicians and traveling showmen. But no one has seen him for over a month.”
Spenser shrugged. “Maybe he moved on.”
Fidelia compressed her mouth into a thin line. “Then how do you explain what you just saw in the hallway?”
She was right. There was no explanation for that other than the ridiculous and absurd. “So he has given you clues as to how to find his murderer?”
“Yes. At first all I knew was it had to be someone who came to ‘the place where women pose as Eve,’ so I easily found the Morning Star Gallery. Ulrich told me he’d drink absinthe, so that made perfect sense, since this is the only place in town where they serve that. I was convinced that Chess was the murderer when I searched his room last night and found this pair of enormous spurs—”
“What?” Spenser guffawed. “You rifled through Chess’s room?”
“Yes, but he convinced me he wasn’t the murderer.”
“Enormous spurs?”
“Yes, Chess had a pair of those spurs the size of saucers maybe six inches in diameter, with spikes like nails.”
“Californio spurs. The Spaniards wore those, but I’ve never seen anyone in Wyoming Territory stupid enough to. You have to take them off every time you dismount. I’d suspect Chess too—he’s arrogant and angry enough to murder someone—only he just arrived in town.”
“Right. Today Ulrich has been making things worse by telling me—oh, silly, teasing things. Now I don’t know whether to believe a word he’s saying.”
Fidelia blushed, and a wave of tenderness washed over Spenser. She was confiding her most mortifying and intimate secrets to him. That was a good sign. Spenser grinned seductively, playing upon their new friendship. “What sort of silly things? You can tell me. After all—I must be close to you if I’m the only one who can see his ghost.”
Fidelia’s look became almost flirtatious then. She wiggled her hips and rotated her shoulders, even twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Well, things such as—”
Chess Hudson was a gambling man
He squandered far and wide
But when he saw Fidelia swoon
He took her for his bride
Stunned, Spenser waved his sword about the room, pivoting on one foot. Ulrich was singing, his German tones infusing what was clearly supposed to be a Western song. His brisk guitar accompanied him, strumming heartily away, but Spenser couldn’t see him.
“Do you see what I mean?” Fidelia cried. “This is the sort of thing! All day long, since I met Chess Hudson, he has been singing junk like that. I will be Chess’s bride, we will name a house after Ulrich, something about a Mirror Man—”
Spenser leaped and spun about when the jangling, twanging guitar started up again and Ulrich blared,
Fidelia is a bonny lass
Of this she does not boast
But when she saw Spence Murphy
She mistook him for a ghost
Spenser rattled his sword as the guitar strummed on, seeming to come from somewhere near the ceiling. “Thanks a lot, Ulrich!” he shouted at the ceiling. “You of all people should know I’m dressed like this because I’m at work acting! If you were in show business like Fidelia says you were, you’d know this. Besides, who’s the ghost
“So you came to Laramie…” Spenser prompted.
“Yes! I ran away—” Fidelia stopped, and once again the color drained from her face. She corrected herself. “I came to Laramie, and of course, after asking around, I met people who did know Ulrich—he was living in a shantytown on the other side of the tracks with other vagabond musicians and traveling showmen. But no one has seen him for over a month.”
Spenser shrugged. “Maybe he moved on.”
Fidelia compressed her mouth into a thin line. “Then how do you explain what you just saw in the hallway?”
She was right. There was no explanation for that other than the ridiculous and absurd. “So he has given you clues as to how to find his murderer?”
“Yes. At first all I knew was it had to be someone who came to ‘the place where women pose as Eve,’ so I easily found the Morning Star Gallery. Ulrich told me he’d drink absinthe, so that made perfect sense, since this is the only place in town where they serve that. I was convinced that Chess was the murderer when I searched his room last night and found this pair of enormous spurs—”
“What?” Spenser guffawed. “You rifled through Chess’s room?”
“Yes, but he convinced me he wasn’t the murderer.”
“Enormous spurs?”
“Yes, Chess had a pair of those spurs the size of saucers maybe six inches in diameter, with spikes like nails.”
“Californio spurs. The Spaniards wore those, but I’ve never seen anyone in Wyoming Territory stupid enough to. You have to take them off every time you dismount. I’d suspect Chess too—he’s arrogant and angry enough to murder someone—only he just arrived in town.”
“Right. Today Ulrich has been making things worse by telling me—oh, silly, teasing things. Now I don’t know whether to believe a word he’s saying.”
Fidelia blushed, and a wave of tenderness washed over Spenser. She was confiding her most mortifying and intimate secrets to him. That was a good sign. Spenser grinned seductively, playing upon their new friendship. “What sort of silly things? You can tell me. After all—I must be close to you if I’m the only one who can see his ghost.”
Fidelia’s look became almost flirtatious then. She wiggled her hips and rotated her shoulders, even twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Well, things such as—”
Chess Hudson was a gambling man
He squandered far and wide
But when he saw Fidelia swoon
He took her for his bride
Stunned, Spenser waved his sword about the room, pivoting on one foot. Ulrich was singing, his German tones infusing what was clearly supposed to be a Western song. His brisk guitar accompanied him, strumming heartily away, but Spenser couldn’t see him.
“Do you see what I mean?” Fidelia cried. “This is the sort of thing! All day long, since I met Chess Hudson, he has been singing junk like that. I will be Chess’s bride, we will name a house after Ulrich, something about a Mirror Man—”
Spenser leaped and spun about when the jangling, twanging guitar started up again and Ulrich blared,
Fidelia is a bonny lass
Of this she does not boast
But when she saw Spence Murphy
She mistook him for a ghost
Spenser rattled his sword as the guitar strummed on, seeming to come from somewhere near the ceiling. “Thanks a lot, Ulrich!” he shouted at the ceiling. “You of all people should know I’m dressed like this because I’m at work acting! If you were in show business like Fidelia says you were, you’d know this. Besides, who’s the ghost
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