LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Really, Graham! The man’s dead. Have some respect.”

      “I hated him in life, Fiona. I won’t pretend I’m sorry about his death.”

      We walked through the crowd. Men touched their hats and stepped aside to let us pass. The bartenders were busy.

      I eyed Graham. “You knew Ireland before Dawson. Whatever did he do to you?”

      “No need to worry about that now, is there, Fee?”

      “I’m not worried in the least. But the Mounties might want to know.”

      Graham peered into the depths of his glass. “I need another drink.”

      Giggling and swaying their hips, a group of women spilled into the room. They walked through the space the admiring men created for them, heading straight for me.

      “Ooh, Mrs. MacGillivray. We don’t know if we can perform tonight,” Chloe said with a shiver. The others nodded their agreement. “Killed. Right there on our stage. Suppose there’s blood, or something awful, on the stage, and one of us slips in it?”

      “Really, Chloe. Ladies. I can assure you that Mrs. Saunderson has cleaned the entire dance hall thoroughly. You know what a conscientious worker she is.”

      They nodded. One girl leaned over to ask another what conscientious meant. A few of the dancers turned to head for the back.

      But Chloe couldn’t drop it. “Suppose he’s left his spirit behind? My gran always said…”

      The departing girls gasped and stopped in their tracks.

      “Stuff and nonsense,” I snapped. Time to stop this foolishness before I had a roomful of petulant dancers on my hands. “This is the Yukon Territory, Canada, in the year 1898. Don’t tell me you believe that Old World peasant nonsense, Chloe? I would have thought you too sophisticated for that.”

      The girls glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes. They weren’t Old World peasants.

      “Follow me, and we’ll have a look at the stage, and you can see for yourself how clean it is.” I marched out of the saloon. The girls followed in a neat, obedient row like a flock of strangely dressed nuns behind Mother Superior.

      If the finger-licker had managed to get back in, I would strangle him with my own hands.

      But there was only the orchestra, unpacking their instruments and warming up, and Ellie and Irene, relaxing on benches before it was time to start the night’s work.

      “Some of the less experienced ladies are worried about the state of the stage,” I announced to the room. Two of the girls at the back slipped away from the group to edge towards Ellie and Irene, not wanting to be included among the less experienced.

      Ellie laughed. “You should’ve seen some of the places what I’ve danced in. They pushed the corpses up against the wall so we wouldn’t trip over ’em. Sometimes we used ’em as props. I remember the night Big Gertrude…”

      Ellie loved to talk about “some of the places I’ve danced in”.

      “My gran says…” Chloe murmured, standing alone as the other women gathered around Ellie to hear the story of Big Gertrude before getting ready for their night’s work. But no one was listening to her.

      The orchestra struggled to their feet and gathered up their instruments. The dancers scurried off behind the stage in a flurry of lace and ribbons, pearl buttons, white cotton and colourful silk.

      I wandered into the gambling room. Graham beckoned to me from his place at a table, where a high-stakes game of poker was underway. Chips were piled in the centre of the table and in front of every man. A cloud of dense, pungent smoke rose from their cigars.

      “Fiona, give me a kiss for good luck.” I tossed a wave towards Graham and carried on around the table. As if I would ever appear to prefer one customer to another. Might as well shut the business down on the spot and put myself out to pasture. Or open Ray’s restaurant: breakfast and light lunches.

      I continued through to the bar, arriving precisely as Inspector McKnight and Constable Sterling walked through the front door, following the orchestra as it returned from its eight o’clock performance on the street.

      We met in the centre of the saloon. The crowd gathered around to eavesdrop.

      “Good evening, gentlemen.”

      “Evening, Mrs. MacGillivray,” McKnight said. “We’re looking for a fellow named Donohue.” He certainly didn’t worry about observing the social graces, our Inspector McKnight.

      I looked at Sterling. He avoided my eyes.

      “Your man at the door says Donohue is in the next room. Is that correct?”

      “Uh, I’m not sure. Why do you want him?”

      “To assist with our investigation, of course. Now, if you could point this Donohue out to me, it would make things much simpler.”

      “Certainly.” There was no point in pretending not to know Graham. Anyone in the Savoy, including Richard Sterling, could identify him. But I was not happy about taking McKnight into the gambling hall. I didn’t know what he wanted with Graham, and I didn’t want to find out. I hesitated.

      “Mrs. MacGillivray? If you’re not feeling well, I’m sure one of your employees can assist us.”

      “This way.” I led the two policemen into the gambling room. The air was so thick with smoke from the men’s cigars that it was difficult to see the far side of the room. The roulette wheel clattered to the end of its spin, and Mouse O’Brien cheered lustily as he gathered up a pile of chips in his big hands. “Place your bets, gentlemen,” the croupier droned. No one looked up from the faro table, and the men at the poker games stared single-mindedly into their cards.

      McKnight looked at Sterling. Sterling gestured with his head to where Graham Donohue was pushing a sizeable stack of chips into the middle of the table. McKnight crossed the room and placed his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Mr. Donohue, will you come with us, please. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Graham Donohue instinctively pulled his hands back from his chips and clutched his cards to his chest. “I’m busy at the moment.”

      “Too bad,” Inspector McKnight said. “I intend to talk to you. We can conduct our business here, if you like.”

      The dealer’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at me for instruction.

      I gave him a shrug. I had no better idea than he as to what we should do.

      “We’re having a serious game here,” a poker player growled. It was the Indian fighter I’d noticed before. Probably not the sort of man who had a healthy respect for Her Majesty’s Officers of the Law.

      “Graham,” I said, sensing trouble brewing, “I’m sure it won’t take long to answer Inspector McKnight’s questions. And then your game can continue.”

      “You leave this table, pal, game’s over,” the Indian fighter said. He fingered his belt, looking disappointed not to find a six-shooter, or whatever they called it, resting there. Guns were banned from town. The two other players appeared relieved at having their game interrupted. I surmised that they didn’t have promising hands.

      “If you don’t come willingly, Donohue,” McKnight said in a low voice, “then I will be forced to place you under arrest.”

      Graham tossed his cards at the dealer and gathered up his chips. The Indian fighter growled, deep in his chest.

      “If you interfere in this matter,” Sterling said to him, “you’ll find yourself under arrest. Dealer, portion out the remaining chips. This game is over.”

      Graham got to his feet with a heavy

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