Flora's Wish (8 page)

“Thank you.” Flora stepped off the curb as a crowd of train passengers emerged from the omnibus. At once several dozen men, women, and children flooded the area. Thankfully, the doorman pressed his hand atop hers and skillfully steered her around the chaos.

And into the waiting arms of the green-eyed man with the bowler hat.

“Good day, darlin',” he said with a grin that might have been appealing had he not been addressing her in such an uncouth manner. “I thought you and I would take a buggy ride. Maybe find a chessboard and play a game or two. Or we could just have a nice friendly talk.”

Before she could react, the doorman released his grip on her arm. “I'm sorry, Miss Brimm,” he hastened to mutter before slipping into the crowd. “The boss said I was to cooperate with this fellow here.”

A few feet away, a mother scolded a crying child while the omnibus driver hauled luggage onto the curb. Flora made a dart in their direction, but the stranger grabbed her arm and hauled her back against him.

“Unlike last night, I am now quite mindful of your identity, Miss Brimm. I believe I tried to tell you as much earlier,” he said, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear. “Unless I miss my guess, your friend Mrs. Honeycutt is over there playing a cordial round of croquet with a general's wife and a few other society types. I also know your banged-up reputation can't stand another dent in it, so why don't you make this easy on both of us and not draw her attention over here?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, sir, but I demand that you unhand me.” Her heart raced as she worked to clearly and distinctly enunciate the words her grandmother had taught her. “The Brimm family will refuse any ransom, so I'm quite worthless to kidnap.”

The statement was a total fabrication, of course, for surely Father would pay any price to see her returned…and to keep Cousin Winthrop from his inheritance.

Or so she hoped.

“There will be no ransom requested. It's not that kind of buggy ride. As to that woman, Mrs. Honeycutt? You know exactly what I'm talking about,” he said with deadly calm as he released her. “Poor Simon. I wonder how his mama will ever get over losing her only son just days before his wedding. Maybe you and I ought to go see how she's doing.”

Flora saw a woman who could possibly be her almost-mother-in-law in conversation with two other women on the far end of the hotel gardens while yet another lady appeared to be playing her turn at croquet. From this distance it was impossible to know for sure.

“Of course, you'll have to explain to her why you have me with you. You don't think she'll tell anyone you're in trouble with the law, do you?”

“The law? You have no proof of that.”

The man chuckled, sending a shiver down her spine. “Do I need it? My guess is Mrs. Honeycutt will take a look at the badge I carry in my pocket and be inclined to believe me.” He paused. “And repeat it. I'm sure the manager and his desk clerk will back her up.”

“That woman over there could be anyone,” Flora said as she sent up a fervent prayer she was correct.

“Oh?” He handed her an ordinary-looking pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “Take a look using these.”

“Honestly, I fail to understand why—”

“Just take a peek and then you'll understand.”

She fitted the spectacles in place, blinking several times to adjust her vision. To her surprise, Mrs. Honeycutt's image came into view. Flora could clearly see not only the older woman but also her companions, one of whom she thought she recognized as a friend of Grandmama's from the garden club. Another was definitely the wife of the general who had hosted them for dinner just last week.

All of this she saw in great detail. And from a distance too far away to be visible.

“How do these spectacles do that? They look perfectly normal,” she said as she handed back the spectacles, her knees threatening to buckle. “Obviously they're some sort of special lens. It's so far, and yet I could clearly see.”

“It doesn't matter how they work. What matters is whether you and I are going to have a nice walk over there to visit with your Natchez friend or not.”

He had her. “What do you want?”

“Turn around slowly, and while you're at it you might want to think about smiling. That lady looks a little worried, and I don't think it's because her child won't settle down. You wouldn't want her to think I'm upsetting you.”

Flora spied a woman watching from her place near the back of the omnibus as she bounced a squalling baby against her shoulder. A nod or, failing that, a scream, and she would likely go for help.

A glance around, and Flora decided there were plenty more who could come to her assistance: men piling suitcases on the curb, women preening in tiny purse mirrors in an attempt to smooth their road-ruined coiffures, and even a pair of curious youths who were currently poking at the flank of the lead horse in the team.

If she managed it just right, she could escape without Mrs. Honeycutt being any the wiser. For surely the Natchez matron did not possess a pair of oddly powerful spectacles.

“Flora Brimm,” the man said, “you need to turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said as she made eye contact with the mother.

“I've been called a whole lot of things in the commission of my duties as a Pinkerton agent, but ridiculous isn't one of them.”

“So now you're not just the law, you're a Pinkerton? If that's true, why didn't you admit to it last night?”

“Last night I had no reason to believe I needed to.”

The lawman put hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her around to face him. “Get in the buggy. We're going to take a ride.”

“Not until I see a badge.”

He regarded her with some measure of amusement. “You'll see a badge when I decide you're not going to take off and run.” One dark brow rose. “Remember, Fatal Flora, you're the one with the most to lose here.”

Drawing herself up to her full height, Flora looked him in the eyes. “I demand you either release me or offer proof of your affiliation with the Pinkerton Detective Agency, Mr…”

“McMinn,” he said as he peered down at her from under the brim of his hat. “Lucas McMinn. Under other conditions I'd say I was pleased to make your acquaintance. The best I can do right now is to tell you one last time to climb up into the carriage before I put you up there myself. Or I can put handcuffs on you and march you inside. The manager and a few of his employees have all confirmed my identity, and I'm sure they'll be glad to tell you that.” He paused. “So will the sheriff for that matter. So do I pick you up and situate you in the buggy? Might cause a scene.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she said, even though the expression on the rogue's face told her he would.

“Just like a fine lady like you wouldn't climb out a window to act as lookout for your boyfriend? Oh, excuse me. Your fiancé. And you did. Last night. With me tailing you.”

“Truly, sir, I have no idea what you're talking—”

“Will Tucker is what I'm talking about.” He almost spat the words, such was his obvious distaste for the topic. “And don't bother denying you know the man. You told me yourself last night you were looking for him. You called him by name.”

Flora gasped. “Looking for him and finding him are two different things!”

This time his grin was swift, though the sobering expression that followed was swifter. “Don't take me for one of those Natchez boys you can fool by batting your pretty blue sky eyes and acting cute, Miss Brimm.”

“What did you just say?”
Blue sky eyes?
She hadn't heard that term in many years. The phrase conjured up an Irish kitchen and an old friend of her Aunt Clothilde.

Or had she heard him wrong? The memory slipped back into place and was gone.

“Please, Miss Brimm. Interrupting will not have the desired effect. I know you found the man. I watched you two getting reacquainted not thirty minutes ago. And I heard every word you said about your wedding tomorrow.” He paused as if to allow her to absorb the information. “Now, how about we finish this conversation elsewhere?”

“I still demand a badge and some answers,” she managed as she gripped the edge of the buggy to remain upright.

A glance behind her showed Flora that all the occupants of the omnibus had disappeared inside the hotel. Only Mrs. Honeycutt and her companions remained in sight, but thankfully they had not moved any closer.

“This isn't a Sunday social, Miss Brimm. You'll have plenty of time to get your answers just as soon as I get mine. Only thing is, I don't plan to stand around and let your fiancé size me up for a coffin, which he just might be doing from any one of those windows up there.” He let out a long breath. “Look, here's my identification.”

The man discreetly opened his coat to show her what appeared to be an authentic Pinkerton badge. “Now up you go. We can finish talking once we get clear of this hotel.”

She complied, but only to buy a few moments of time. As soon as he left her to step around and take the reins, Flora planned to jump out and run. What she didn't plan on was for the man to slap a pair of handcuffs on her before he slid into the driver's spot.

“I'll scream.”

“Go ahead. The sheriff won't care if I bring you in quietly or shouting from the rooftops, but my guess is you have an opinion on whether people are watching.”

She did, and so she refrained from any response, especially as Mrs. Honeycutt had left the other women behind in the garden and was now strolling toward the hotel's front entrance.

“Just go,” Flora said as she held her back straight and tried not to give any indication that she was trussed up like a turkey at Thanksgiving. “But do not think I will be locked in a jail cell. My father will certainly have something to say about—”

The horse lurched forward, almost knocking her backward. “Easy there, girl,” Mr. McMinn said, though Flora couldn't tell whether he was addressing her or the spirited steed.

She braced herself as the carriage made a sharp turn onto the road leading toward the city below. While the Crescent Hotel perched high above Eureka Springs with a view on all sides, there was not much to interrupt the vista except for trees. Thus, in what seemed like seconds they left the bustling hotel behind in favor of the bracing mountain air and the thick shade of the surrounding forest.

Though the city lay just down the road, they might have been miles from civilization, a thought that was foremost in Flora's mind when her companion turned onto a tiny trail and stopped.

Silenced reigned, interrupted only by the furious staccato of her heartbeat. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrists, but she refused to let him know.

“Look,” he finally said. “I'm not enjoying this.”

Oddly, his tone gave an impression of truth. Flora shifted her attention to the canopy of green and the deep blue sky beyond while she collected her thoughts. A crackle overhead drew her attention to a fat squirrel perching on a pine limb, his attention divided between her and whatever he held in his cheeks.

“First, I want to be sure you understand the purpose of this carriage ride.” He paused and seemed to be studying the toes of his boots. Abruptly he returned his attention to her. “I've shown you my badge that proves I'm a Pinkerton agent, but I want to be sure you're convinced of it.”

“Why does it matter?”

He shifted positions and the carriage creaked. Though he was not an overlarge man, he was of sufficient size to cause her to look up to meet his eyes. “It just might, and that's all I will say right now.”

Flora studied him a moment, carefully weighing what little she knew of the dark-haired fellow. From his penchant for hiding to the deference shown him by the hotel staff, she had deduced there was something out of the ordinary about him. That he was a lawman had been one of her assumptions last night. To have it confirmed with the evidence of a badge gave Flora no reason to doubt his claim.

“Mr. McMinn, is it?” When he nodded, she continued. “Yes, Mr. McMinn, I do believe you. And I assume we've stopped here because you're amenable to an arrangement other than jail, though I cannot imagine what charges anyone would have against me.”

“The charges are easy enough to explain.” He reached for her arm with, Flora hoped, the key to the handcuffs. Instead, he ran an index finger over her watch.

For a moment his stern expression went soft. Then, in an instant, the lawman's hard stare returned. “Flora Brimm, you are charged with accepting stolen property, aiding and abetting a known criminal, and a few other things I might choose to add once I get you situated in the jailhouse.”