“Oh. I am sorry she doesn’t feel well. I was looking forward to meeting her.”
“Hangover,” Amanda Tyler said bluntly. “No head for drink. I sent Handy up to her apartment with the cure. With any luck it will persuade her not to imbibe anytime soon. She is a dear, and I like her very much, but she can be rather full of herself, and in my view, alcohol is the great leveler of puffery. It’s why I never criticize her drinking.” She smiled shrewdly, a little full of herself as well. “And the opportunity to give her cure is frankly irresistible.”
Amused, Phoebe simply shook her head as she did another casual inspection of the room. “Are most of the diners familiar to you?”
“Most, yes, and ‘familiar’ is the correct word. I don’tknowthem. I am better acquainted with the hotel guests, some of whom were here before I came and will be here after I leave. It astonishes me still that there are men who make a comfortable living at the card table.”
Phoebe’s gaze did not linger on any one diner, and she was only listening to Amanda with half an ear. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Miss Carolina open her reticule and produce a small black velvet pouch.
“I think your son is about to have his first look at the ring,” she said. She quickly placed one hand on Amanda’s forearm and cautioned her again. “Don’t stare.”
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Handy McKenzie pulled out the empty chair at the table and flopped into it. He grinned toothily as both women stared at him, and because his back was to the other diners, he had to go through several contortions to get the same view they had before he joined them. “Oh, her. You like her dress, Mrs. T.? Puts me in mind of the sun.” He swiveled around in his chair. “Probably good for one’s disposition to wear all that yellow.”
Mrs. Tyler ceased looking put upon and waggled a strip of bacon at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Of course I do.” With all the cheek of a young hooligan, Handy plucked the bacon strip from Mrs. Tyler’s fingers and bit down on it. “I’m here, aren’t I? So this must be the somewhere I have to be.”
“Impudent rascal,” she said, picking up her fork. “Did you deliver the cure?”
“Certainly.” He eyed her scrambled eggs. “Are you going to eat those or wave your fork over them?”
“Here.” It was Phoebe who passed her plate, not Mrs. Tyler.
Handy hesitated. “Oh, I couldn’t, ma’am.” But his eyes darted to Mrs. T. for permission. When she nodded indulgently, he seized the plate in both hands before Phoebe could change her mind. There was an extra setting of silverware on the table. He chose the correct fork but not before he carefully spread a napkin over his lap. “I stayed with Mrs.Molly until she drank it all down, just like you said. I think you’re right, Mrs. T., she drinks it a mite quicker when she knows I won’t leave. She says, ‘Thank you very much.’”
“I’m sure she did,” Mrs. Tyler said.
Handy jerked his head backward to indicate the table that had interested the women. “So what’s the law doing here?”
Phoebe blinked. “Mr. Frost is not the law.”
“Not him. The other fellow. The one I don’t know. He’s the law.”
Mrs. Tyler returned to staring at young Handy. “How could you possibly know that?”
Handy shrugged his bony shoulders. “I been scrappin’ with the law since I was a young’un. You get a feelin’ for it. Where’s he from?”
“A little town north of here called None of Your Business.”
He laughed appreciatively. “You tickle me, Mrs. T. That’s a good one. And I suppose that woman with him works at the Never-You-Mind cathouse.” He cast an apologetic smile at Phoebe. “Sorry, Miss Apple. Probably shoulda said ‘brothel’ instead of the other. I got a feelin’ for those places, too.”
Mrs. Tyler spoke before Phoebe could. “Not the time for your life story, Handy. Take your plate, napkin, and silverware to the kitchen and don’t let Mrs. Anderson put you to work before you’ve finished eating. If it’s a problem, send her to me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to you, too, about the cathouse comment. I figure my tongue outruns my manners most every time.”
Mrs. Tyler nodded. “We will keep working on that.”
Phoebe noticed that Handy did not seem at all displeased to hear it. He jumped up from the table, caught his napkin before it fell, and cleared his place. He wended his way through the dining room with the agility of a little monkey until he came to the table occupied by Remington, Junior, the law, and the whore, and then didn’t he just manage to knock everyone about so that he had a good look at what they were inspecting. He retreated quickly when Juniorthreatened to cuff him and backed through the swinging kitchen door. In spite of his rushing, he still had time to catch Mrs. T.’s eye and gave her a crafty, face-splitting grin.
Mrs. Tyler sighed and sat back. “Isn’t he a one? What can I do but have a soft spot for him? God help us all if he pinched the ring.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“No, not so he’d keep it, but—” She stopped because there was a scramble at the other table as the men ducked and Miss Carolina rose and it was obvious from their postures that everyone was looking for something. “That’s what I mean,” she said with considerable composure. “Give them a moment. Someone will find it.”
It was Blue who came up with the prize. Pleased with himself, he held the ring aloft and showed it off. It was only when the diamond sparkled in a ray of sunlight that he realized that the attention he had called to himself was not solely from his table companions. He sat slowly, took the velvet pouch that Miss Caroline held out to him, and dropped the ring inside.
Phoebe breathed more easily once the ring was confined to the little drawstring bag. “Is it yours?” she asked Mrs. Tyler. “Could you tell?”
