Monica's Mystery Page 2

  “Perhaps. It's far different than where we grew up, though, isn't it?”

  “Yes, I think that's part of the reason I like it. It may not seem like much just by looking at it, but it's the people that really make Galveston special. Of course, there is a criminal element, vagrants and thieves that weren't able to make moving out west a success. But other than that, the people here are very nice. We're all doing our best to make a home out of this wild place.”

  “It doesn't look too wild to me. You speak as if you're living in the jungle.”

  “It can feel like it sometimes.” Ellen’s voice softened as she looked at Monica. “You mustn't ever roam around here alone, Monica. Some of the men here have no morals, and they will take what they please.”

  “Oh no, Ellen, has anything happened to you? Have you been threatened?” Monica’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “No, but Jacob has been very strict with me since the first moment I arrived here. At first, I thought he was very controlling, but then I heard the stories from other women and I realized he was just trying to protect me. There are very few laws enforced here. That's why Jacob and the other rangers are working so hard to get things in order. It just isn't safe, especially for a woman.”

  “I'll be careful.” Monica’s voice grew heavy with concern. Back home there were dangers, but nothing too great. Here, she was beginning to understand, she was on her own in more ways than she expected. Perhaps the freedom she desired was only a fantasy. Now she had to be frightened to walk alone. The very thought made her heart heavy with dread, and not a little fear. Still, she reminded herself, this was an escape from the inevitable imprisonment of marriage to Jeb. It had to be better than what she’d left behind.

  “Excuse me, stop here, please!” Ellen waved to the driver, who guided the horses to a stop. “I want you to meet my favorite shop owner, Mrs. Standish.”

  “A woman?” Monica's heart skipped a beat. There were women back home who ran shops, but they were the wives and the businesses were always owned by men. The thought of a woman opening her own shop in the Wild West was thrilling to Monica. Maybe it was something that she could do as well, to provide herself an independent income. Ellen stepped down out of the carriage and then turned to offer Monica a hand. As she took Ellen's hand, a rush of excitement flooded her. When her foot struck the sandy soil, her mind raced with all of the possibilities that lay before her.

  “She is the only woman that owns a shop here. Actually, it was her husband's, but when he passed away, not long after they arrived here, she took it over. As soon as I met her, I knew that she was someone that would be able to give me good advice on living in this new place. She has become a very good friend.” Ellen grasped the knob on the thin wooden door and pulled it open. It rattled and creaked as it bent away from the frame to reveal a narrow entrance to a shop piled up with goods from floor to ceiling. Monica was immediately struck by a variety of smells the moment she moved through the door. The plethora of sights that surrounded her made her senses come alive with curiosity. She touched soft bags of flour and other baking supplies. She breathed in the scent of perfumes, soaps, and detergents.

  “There's so much to choose from,” Monica ran her fingertips along soft cloth and pictured what it could one day become under the guidance of a knowledgeable seamstress.

  “I know, isn't it great? There's so much to look at! Whatever you're looking for, she's likely to have it.”

  “Wonderful.” She held back her confession that despite all of the fascinating items, she would not have the funds to be able to purchase any of them. She'd brought very little money with her, and with no intention of returning, she had no idea how she might make an income. She had to figure something out, and fast, if she intended to support herself. Though her mother taught her to sew, as patiently and diligently as she could, Monica never had the knack for it. She could darn socks and sew holes, but when it came to dressmaking, she lacked the eye for detail. Monica wondered if she might be able to earn some money here, the same way she had back home, by solving mysteries for people. It was never significant, but enough to give her a small savings to spend. Once she'd found a lost hunting dog and been rewarded with quite a large sum of money. At the time, she'd given it to her parents; now she wished she'd held on to that money so that she'd have something to start off with. Ellen led her to the counter and smiled at the short, full-figured woman who stood behind it.

  “Hello, Mrs. Standish, this is my friend Monica; she will be staying with us for awhile.”

  “Hello.” Monica smiled at her, but her cheeks flushed as she realized that at some point she needed to reveal the truth to Ellen, that she had no intention of leaving.

  “This is Mrs. Standish, she's the owner of this shop, and she makes these wonderful satchels. I have them all over my house in all different scents.”

  “Made.” Mrs. Standish's entire body shook as she heaved a deep sigh.

  “Made?” Ellen's eyes widened with concern. “Why have you stopped making them?”

  “I don't see a point to making them, just to have them stolen.” The shopkeeper’s brow creased with frustration. “I suppose the thieves around here think I'm too old to stop them, and they must be right, as I've not been able to catch them.”

  “Stolen? Do you have any idea who the thief might be? I can tell Jacob as soon as he gets home.” Ellen's tone grew stern, which drew Monica's attention. Ellen had always been the shy one of the two, but it appeared to her that being married to a ranger had made Ellen a bit more bold.

  “I have no idea. Every morning I hang a new bunch near the front door, and by the evening they're gone. I haven't seen anyone take them, but they disappear. Someone must be taking them.”

  “Do you suspect any of your customers?” Monica's eyes narrowed with interest. “Maybe someone who is less friendly, or lingers near the door?”

  “No, that's the worst of it—I couldn't begin to point a finger. So many customers go in and out of here each day, I can't keep track of them all, and I suppose that is the biggest problem. It used to be that I knew every face that passed through here, but since so many people are moving here now, most are strangers.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “Maybe it is time for me to retire. I certainly can't afford to be picked clean by the clever thieves around here.”

  “I wouldn't rush to that decision, Mrs. Standish. I find it so inspiring that you are able to run this shop, and even though I’ve just arrived, I would love to see you keep it open.” Monica touched the back of Mrs. Standish's hand. Her skin was paper thin and dry from all of the years of hard work.

  Monica wasn't about to stand by and watch as a woman's livelihood was stolen right out from under her. “Perhaps I can help you catch this thief.”

  “How?” Mrs. Standish stared at her, with that familiar look that reminded Monica that she was just a woman in the eyes of most people.

  “I have some experience with solving mysteries.” Monica's cheeks flushed again. She didn't quite know how to speak up for herself without coming across as boastful. In this new and vast place, she wondered if people would be as tolerant of her insistence that she could solve crimes just as well as any man.

  “She's fantastic at it! If Monica's on the case, she'll figure it out for sure,” Ellen gushed as she placed her hand on Monica's shoulder to show her support. “She is the most clever woman I know.”

  “A woman detective?” The laughter that rippled through Mrs. Standish's rounded frame, caused her entire body to tremble. “Well, that's wonderful. You should have seen the reaction of the men around here when I took over my husband's shop. Hours after he died, they lined up here, expecting me to sell the shop to them. They were shocked when I continued to run it. It was hard at first, because many of the men here are still stuck in traditional thought, but thanks to the rangers soon everyone came around.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Ellen smiled. “Jacob was the first one to shop here. Once he did, the rest of the rangers did, as well. Onc
e the rangers did, everyone felt more comfortable doing so, I suppose. Now I think you have one of the more popular shops.”

  “Popular with thieves apparently. I won't be able to stay open if this keeps up.” Her voice shuddered around her words. It was hard for Monica to hear, and she decided then and there that she needed to do what she could to help.

  “Try not to worry, Mrs. Standish, I will get to the bottom of this for you.” She gave the woman's hand a gentle squeeze before she released it.

  “All right then, between you and my watch-cat Alice, I'm sure you'll figure it out.” The older woman laughed.

  “Watch-cat?” Monica grinned at the thought.

  “There she is, chasing a bug.” Mrs. Standish pointed out a ball of gray fur near the back of the shop. She was big, fluffy, with patches of pure white. It was likely her fur was once all white, but rolling in the dust on the floor as she chased the bugs seemed to have left her coat a dull gray. “She is very good at keeping the shop pest-free.”

  “Perhaps that is what I need for the spiders in the house.” Ellen grimaced and wrung her hands together. “Every time I think I've gotten rid of them, more show up.”

  “That's just how it is here, sweetheart. But perhaps a peppermint satchel will help. I'll make you one for the next time that you visit.”

  “Thank you so much. Are you sure you don't want me to mention this to Jacob?”

  “No, not just yet—let's see what Monica can do.”

  Monica had already walked away, occupied as she walked up and down every aisle of the shop. She wasn't browsing. Instead, she searched for any clue, any hint as to who might be behind the thefts. Next, she assessed the distance from the door to the counter. One thing was certain—as much noise as that door made, no one would be able to sneak in. So, either one of her customers stole from Mrs. Standish right in front of her eyes, or the satchels were going missing some other way. A blur of white-gray fur bolted past her. As Alice's paws slid across the dusty wooden floor, she let out a yowl. The bug she chased was about to escape, but Alice's powerful paws swung hard at it on the wall, not far from where the satchels hung. Monica laughed aloud as the cat continued to attack the bug.

  “Monica, we should be going, before it gets dark.” Ellen paused beside her and smiled at the cat’s antics, as well.

  “Just a moment, I think I may have solved this mystery.”

  “Already?” Ellen rested her hand against a shelf stacked with bags of beans and rice. “But there's no one else in here.”

  “Oh, but there’s a watch-cat.” Monica followed the cat's tiny steps into the corner of the shop, and down a narrow hallway to a storage room. There among the piles of boxes, stacks of barrels, and an assortment of crates, Alice pranced into a small nook. A nook filled with satchels.

  “Alice! How could you?” Ellen laughed as she followed, and reached down to stroke the cat's fur. “She's not a very good watch-cat if she's the thief herself!”

  “Alice!” Mrs. Standish peered through the door at the cat's hiding place. “Why in world would she steal my satchels?”

  “I don't think she meant to steal them, Mrs. Standish. I think they got caught on her paws when she was battling with bugs, or maybe she pretended they were mice and her conquests.”

  “To think I was ready to accuse perfectly innocent customers. Tsk, that would have been horrible. Thank you so much, Monica. I guess it's time I find another place to hang the satchels.” She clucked her tongue and began to collect the satchels from the floor. “Here, Ellen, free of charge since it's been cat-clawed. And for you, Monica.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out some coins, which she attempted to place into Monica's palm. “It's not much I know, but I do want to show my appreciation.”

  “No, I couldn’t, Mrs. Standish. It was a simple mystery to solve, and I offered to help.”

  “I insist! Who knows when I would have realized Alice was the thief, and in the meantime, sales would have been lost.” She placed the coins firmly in Monica’s hand.

  “Well, that’s very kind.” Monica smiled as she closed her hands over the first pay she'd received as a free woman. “Thank you very much.”

  3

  On their way to Ellen’s house, Monica's mind traveled back to the neighbors and friends of her family—some had merely tolerated her mystery solving, yet others had been impressed, she knew. One man in particular had encouraged her and had told her often how valuable her skills were. He was a retired lawman, and he had given her countless tips and advice on how to solve the crimes when she was stumped. That, combined with Grandmother Mary’s insistence that all her grandchildren be given equal treatment and education, gave Monica the confidence and experience that she needed to feel empowered that she could be independent. However, broaching the topic of her real plans with Ellen was something she was not yet ready to do. The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a small, well-built cottage. It was whitewashed, had two floors, and a beautiful front porch.

  “This is your home? It’s just lovely, Ellen!”

  “Do you think so?” Ellen smiled shyly back at Monica as she climbed down out of the carriage. “When I first saw it, I thought it was the cutest little house I'd ever seen. Jacob actually apologized that it wasn't larger. He was so nervous when we met.” She turned to help Monica down the rickety steps of the carriage. “He had no idea how much it meant to me to have a home of my own. I've never met a man so concerned with my feelings, and my needs.”

  “That is a unique find. I'm so glad that he's good to you, Ellen. You deserve that. When you first told me about moving out here as a mail-order bride to marry a man you'd never met, I was terrified for you. But now it seems it worked out after all.”

  “I have moments of regret at times about being so far from family, but never about marrying Jacob. I'll be honest, I'd given up on the idea of finding a man who would share my views on women's rights, and allow me the freedom I craved until I met Elizabeth Sharpe at the Choice Brides Agency. I pictured a bully in a cowboy hat that wouldn't be happy unless I produced baby after baby. But he's not like that at all. In fact, he told me that we won't have children until I'm ready, even if that means we never have children at all.”

  “How wonderful, Ellen, and rare. Very few men would have that kind of understanding.”

  “He's very considerate. There are a few things he's old-fashioned about, like my safety, and me working outside of the home, but other than that I am free to do as I please.”

  “Why doesn't he want you to work?” Monica’s heart beat quicker at that statement. Would he be opposed to her being friends with Ellen if she decided to set up a house and income of her own? Would he try to prevent her from staying if he found out her intentions?

  “It isn't so much that he doesn't want me to work, as it is that he feels it would be impossible for us to have a good relationship if I did. He is gone so often and never knows ahead of time when he might return. On the occasions that he does come home, he wants to be able to spend all of his time with me, and that would be impossible if I worked for someone outside the home. I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to me bringing in an income from some sewing, or crafting, but right now I am still getting used to running and cleaning a home.”

  “I guess it is a lot of work.” She managed a small smile as she glanced around the spotless house.

  “I know, it may seem as if I've given up on the fight for my rights, but that's not the case, Monica. I don't do these things because Jacob asks me to, I do them because I love my house, and I want it to look a certain way. I love my husband, and I want to show him in as many ways as I can. He loves me as well, and makes all kinds of efforts to show me in return.”

  “I think that's beautiful, Ellen. I really do. It's just not for me. My father is trying to force me to marry Jeb Byrd, and I just can't picture spending the rest of my life with him.” Her stomach churned at the very thought, and her mouth grew dry with horror. Perhaps Ellen found some peace in her role as a hom
emaker, but that was something that would never set right with her. She needed more than the lacy doilies adorning almost every surface in sight. She needed far more than the broom and dustpan that leaned against the back door.

  A few minutes after arriving at home, there was a knock on the door. Ellen's posture tensed as she turned toward the door.

  “Stay here, Monica.” She grabbed the broom from beside the back door and made her way toward the front. Cautiously, she peered out through the side window.

  A moment later, her entire body relaxed and she cast a smile over her shoulder at her friend. “Don't worry, it's Jacob’s friend, Gabriel Randall.”

  “Gabriel Randall?” Monica's gaze settled on the door as Ellen swung it open to reveal a man in uniform. He was tall, and broad, with dark, thick waves of hair that appeared to have a will of their own. In one hand he clutched his hat, and over his opposite shoulder she could see a rifle strap.

  “Ellen, I hope I'm not disturbing you. I heard that you received a visitor today and Jacob asked that I check in to make sure that everything went smoothly.”

  “That’s very kind, Gabriel. Yes, please come in and meet my friend Monica Benton.” She gestured in Monica's direction to summon her to the door. “Monica, come meet Jacob's best friend, Gabriel Randall.”

  Monica’s attention was still focused on Gabriel, whose bold green eyes had already settled intently upon her. She felt scrutinized by the way he searched out every detail of her features, and yet she knew she was doing the same to him. The faded color of his shirt indicated many hours spent in the sun, and the creases at the corners of his eyes bespoke a sense of humor despite his stern demeanor. Only when Ellen cleared her throat did Monica remember that she had yet to move forward to greet him. With confident steps, she walked up to the man who consumed the entire doorway and offered her hand.