Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [19]
Megan was having a hard time picturing her academically inclined mother at Woodstock.
“We kept in touch for a few years afterward. She sent me a wedding announcement. That’s how I knew she’d married some guy named West from Chicago.” Fiona paused to pop an Altoid in her mouth before continuing. “I got married a couple of times myself. Divorced a few times too. My last husband died on me. Literally. I had a gambling problem at the time, so when I got his life insurance money I blew it in the casinos. This place was the only asset he had left. I got help for my gambling issues and started running the Butterfly Ranch, cleaning it up into a reputable establishment. It’s not like Bertha’s Brothel. I warned her that with a name like that she’d never make it and she didn’t. But she was old school. Well, not really, really old like the heyday of the red-light ladies.”
Fiona paused to point to a small antique black-and-white photograph in a dark frame on her desk. “Do you know who that is?”
Megan shook her head.
“That’s Rosa May. She’s something of a local legend in these parts. She was originally from back east, but she came to Nevada during the silver and gold rush days in the late 1800s. She was a big-hearted prostitute who died after taking care of sick miners during a pneumonia epidemic. Despite her act of generosity, the locals refused to bury her within the official cemetery grounds and she was put to rest outside the fence on her own. It’s sad that she was ostracized even after death. You’d think that people would be a little more forgiving, but noooo.” Seeing the expression on Megan’s face, she added, “Don’t look so surprised. Just because I run a brothel doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’m a history buff.”
Fiona’s face lit up. “You are? Then you should visit the Comstock area around Virginia City and Gold Hill. The oldest hotel in the state is still operating in Gold Hill even if that’s about all that’s there anymore. But Virginia City still has a lot going on. That’s where Mark Twain got his start writing as a newspaper reporter for the local paper there.”
“I’m only visiting Las Vegas for my cousin Faith’s wedding over the weekend, but she and I did visit Virginia City and Gold Hill a few years ago. We even stopped at the costume museum in Carson City . . . I forget what it’s called.”
“That’s the Marjorie Russell Clothing and Textile Research Center. It’s open by appointment only.”
“Right. My cousin is a librarian and she set it up with the curator.”
“A librarian, huh?”
Megan nodded. “I’m a librarian too.”
“It figures that Astrid’s daughter would do something brainy like become a librarian. I never had any kids myself.”
Logan cleared his throat with male impatience. “So, Fiona, you’ve heard from Megan’s mother over the years, right?”
Fiona nodded. “A Christmas card or two. Then nothing. I assumed she got busy raising a family. She’s doing that, right?”
“I don’t know,” Megan said. “I haven’t seen her since I was two.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean my father told me my mother died, but I’ve only recently discovered that she’s alive after all. It’s complicated.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Anyway, that’s why I’m trying to track her down. So anything you could tell me about her would really be greatly appreciated.”
“Well, like I said, we went to high school and then Woodstock together. After Woodstock, she went to some fancy college on a scholarship. Hold on, I think I have our high school yearbook.” Fiona scanned her bookshelves, which held everything from the latest