Kit clamped her mouth lest she gape. No wonder Jackson kept this man at his side.
“Mebbe I’ve seen him.” The man’s voice was kicked gravel. “Mebbe not.”
“Maybe I’ve put too much money on the counter, then.” Charles twisted the knife, the blade nicking against the man’s skin and blooming blood on the fabric.
Sweat ran down the barkeep’s temples in rivulets. “Maybe you’ve not put enough.”
“Need a hand, Paunch?” A voice shot out of the darkness, accompanied by the scrape of a few chairs.
Kit pulled out the rest of her coins and smacked them down before this spiraled out of control. “You gonna answer the man or not?”
The barkeep’s gaze flicked between the money and her, then slid to Charles. “See Sissy Boggs. Next door down. Don’t know if she’s housin’ yer game or not, but she’s got an extra jingle in her pocket from some new boarder.”
Charles lowered his gun and yanked out the knife. “Nice doing business with you.” He nodded at the money. “That oughtta cover a bandage and then some.”
He pivoted. Kit tagged his heels. A grumble of “Don’t let me see yer faces again” hit them square between the shoulder blades as they left.
Once past the door, Kit shot out her hand. “While I appreciate the lead, I’d like my blade back now. And I’ll be taking this next one. Can’t have you mauling a defenseless woman.”
Charles flashed a grin as he laid the hilt in her palm. “I highly doubt Sissy Boggs is a frail flower.”
And he was right. After Kit’s knock on her door, the woman in question appeared with a thick club clutched in her beefy hand, and judging by the thickness of her arms, one swing of the thing could take a man’s head clear off his neck.
“Penny a night.” Her cancerous gaze drifted to Charles and back again. “Two fer yer man. And ye’ll be sharin’ with ten others.”
Ten? Not bad for these parts. But all the same, good thing she wasn’t in the market. “I don’t need a room,” Kit explained. “I need to know if you’re renting to a man with a crooked nose, square jaw, wide mouth, brown hair and eyes. He might have a baby with him.”
The woman’s lips pinched. “I’m no squealer.”
Drat. She’d given her last penny to the ox behind the bar. She lifted a pleading glance to Charles, and though he shook his head slightly, he produced a shilling and handed it over.
Sissy bit the coin with teeth that looked as if they’d been coated in mouse fur. Apparently satisfied, she shoved the money into a grimy apron pocket and flung the door open wide. “Second floor, last door.”
She disappeared into her quarters, leaving them alone in a narrow hall with holes in the plaster. After exchanging a glance with Charles, Kit began scaling the rickety staircase. One flight up, she nearly gagged on a stench that rivaled the morgue. Behind her, Charles coughed into his sleeve, and they both upped their pace. It didn’t smell much better on the second flight, nor was the lighting any brighter. A poorly boarded hole at the end of the long stretch of corridor leaked in the only light available. Thankfully, that’s where the last door—hopefully Mr. Coleman’s—was located.
Kit stopped in front of it and peered up at Charles. “Follow my lead.”
Charles shook his head. “Not again.”
She banged on the door before he could complain any further. “Aye-oh Neddy boy! Got a cone o’ fish to share wit’ ya, lovey.”
“I thought you said his name was Harold?” Charles whispered.
“You think he’d answer to that?” she whispered back, then with another thump-thump-thump on the door, shouted, “Neddy! Open up, luv.”
“Looks like he’s not answering to anything,” Charles quipped. “Want I should kick it down?”
She reached for the knob, and surprisingly it turned with ease. “Save the brawn for now. Though it could be a trap.” She pulled her knife.
He pulled his gun and nudged her aside. “Then I’m going first.”
Save for some sparse furnishings, the room was empty. Seedy, decrepit, and filthy, but completely void of human life. Disappointment sank like sour milk to Kit’s belly. “Whoever rented this room has flown,ifit was Mr. Coleman.”
Charles tucked away his pistol. “Maybe we can find out who was here and where he’s gone. A man always leaves something behind he didn’t intend to.”
Her lips twitched at Charles’ truth. Jackson always left an unintentional trail of destruction behind him at home. She approached a table while Charles rummaged through a washstand drawer near a pallet on the floor.
“Sissy didn’t lie.” He held up a broken razor. “There was a man in this room.”
