Chapter 6
Wednesday, January 12, 1887The blackness was thinning in the pre-dawn sky when I woke from my stiffened position in an upholstered chair. I stood and stretched. The young ladies were fast asleep. Even though my weapon stayed out of sight in my skirt pocket, the explanation for my presence had made it difficult for them to settle down. They looked angelic now, frown lines smoothed, soft hair a-tumble upon their pillows.
I pulled the chair away from where I had it blocking the door and squinted at my watch. Mercy, nearly five o’clock. Time for a short nap, followed by quick morning ablutions and a change of clothes. I’d been in the same rumpled skirt and shirtwaist since Pittsburgh. But first, I wanted to check the locks on the first floor, in case there were signs that Lightfoot
