Free Love in Disguise by Carol Cox

idea came to mind.
    Her brief surge of hope sputtered and died like a moth flying into a footlight. She resumed her seat at the table and went back to her list of possible suspects. She didn’t know where to find these people, but surely someone in Pickford did. Hadn’t she already seen evidence that the townsfolk seemed to know the details of each other’s lives?
    Hope began to flicker again, and Ellie grinned. Here was one instance when being Lavinia would pay off. Elderly ladies were expected to take an interest in other people’s business. She gathered up her reticule and headed for the front door.

    Johnson’s Mercantile smelled of leather, tobacco, and a pungent odor Ellie couldn’t identify. She moved past baskets of vegetables and headed toward the fancy-goods section near the rear of the store. Passing a rack holding reins and bridles, she spotted a scruffy-looking man who looked like he’d just crawled out of a hole in the ground. Ellie wrinkled her nose. Apparently the disheveled customer was the source of the unidentifiable smell. She edged around him and made her way to the back.
    Ellie eyed the assortment of shoppers and gave a satisfied nod. Two young ladies fingered a variety of notions at a table in the dry-goods area. At the long counter, a sharp-faced woman in an outlandishly feathered hat ticked off the items on her list, insisting to the harried storekeeper that her baking powder had to be the Czar brand, and none other.
    A tall, muscular, sandy-haired man dressed in a dark wool jacket and canvas-duck pants carried a keg of nails to the counter and set it down with a thud beside a stack of items Ellie couldn’t name. Another man—a cowboy, judging from his large spurs and heeled boots—stood in the ready-made-clothing section looking through a stack of shirts.
    Ellie smiled. She had chosen the location for her first foray well. The variety of people she saw represented a fair cross-section of the local citizenry.
    Where to begin? The mercantile owner would be a likely source of information, but the frazzled-looking man was still taking orders from the woman with the feathered hat. One of the men might be able to tell her where to find the miners, but how could Lavinia approach him right out of the blue?
    The women, then. Ellie made her way to a section of the store devoted to fancy goods and approached a plump woman of about Lavinia’s age. “Good afternoon. The storekeeper appears to be occupied. Could you tell me where I might find some picture hooks?”
    “I’d guess they would be over there with the curtain rods and such.” The woman pointed toward an area on the other side of the store without taking her eyes off Ellie.
    “Thank you.” Ellie sighed and shook her head. “Setting up housekeeping is always such a trial, don’t you think?”
    “Oh?” The other woman’s eyes gleamed.
    Ellie smothered a grin, recognizing a kindred inquisitive spirit.
    “I’m Althea Baldwin. You’ve just arrived in town?”
    Ellie nodded. “My name is Lavinia Stewart. I’m staying over on Second Street. In the Cooper place.”
    “Well, what do you know? Welcome to Pickford.” Her new acquaintance set down the set of stamped-muslin pillow shams she’d been looking at and peered past Ellie. “That’s a rather small house. How large is your family?”
    “It’s just me, I’m afraid—at least for the moment. I’ve been widowed for several years, but I expect my niece to join me later.”
    “You too?” Althea clucked in sympathy. “It’s been nearly five years for me. It’s bitterly hard, especially at first, but we must press on, mustn’t we?”
    Ellie nodded, not knowing what to say. She was merely playing a role, but this woman had to live out that sad truth. She looked around the store, wondering what stories the lives of the others there would tell. “Pickford seems to have quite a variety of people.”
    “That we do.” Althea nodded, seeming fully as eager to impart information