Undercover Bride (6 page)

“Do you know Linc?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The paperboy? Only that his parents were killed a few years back during the Indian uprising. The boy is living with his grandmother. Why?”

“He should be in school.”

“A lot of children should be in school. Unfortunately, for some families, that’s not possible. Some live too far out of town. Some simply dropped out following the fire.”

She didn’t let on that she knew about the fire or the fund-raiser that led the investigation to his doorstep.

“There was a fire?” she asked.

He nodded. “The schoolhouse burned to the ground. It’s been rebuilt, this time from brick and adobe.”

“But why doesn’t Linc attend?”

“His grandmother needs him. His income supports the two of them.”

She now felt guilty for withholding the dollar. On the other hand, it wouldn’t do the boy any good to get away with a blatant lie.

“Couldn’t the church do something to help?” she asked.

His mouth dipped in a frown. “Been my experience that what happens in church, stays there.”

His harsh tone rendered her speechless. She thought the kindly minister who helped her through those difficult years of her youth was representative of all churchmen, but maybe not.

“My apologies.” He grimaced. “I have no right to saddle you with my personal views.” He moved to the counter and reached into the cash box. “Do you know how much Linc lost yesterday in the robbery?”

“That won’t be necessary. I reimbursed him this morning.”

He looked surprised. “That was a kind thing you did.”

“I guess you could say I have a soft spot for children.” She wasn’t just saying that to impress him. Had she not been a private detective she might have become a schoolteacher.

“You’re all Toby and Elise could talk about when I drove them to school this morning.” He chuckled. “It’s Miss Taylor this and Miss Taylor that.”

“They’re very sweet, your children,” she said. Recalling her own growing-up years as a daughter of an outlaw, she pitied them. It was always an outlaw’s family that suffered most.

“If Toby gives you any trouble, let me know.”

Toby again. “He strikes me as a very bright boy,” she said. “And most imaginative.”

Just then the door flew open and a tall, thin man stepped into the shop carrying a crate. “Only half our order arrived,” he called and seeing her, stopped. “Sorry.”

Garrett beckoned with his hand. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you.”

The man lowered the crate to the floor and ambled toward her. Dressed in dark denim pants and a checkered shirt, he wore a strange fabric hat gathered on top like a woman’s nightcap. The hat was tied beneath his chin with rawhide laces.

“I want you to meet my fiancée, Miss Taylor,” Garrett said. “Maggie, this is Panhandle.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said politely. “Mr.—”

“Panhandle, ma’am,” he drawled. “Just plain Panhandle. Great name for a tinker, don’t you think?”

She smiled. “I guess it is.”

Panhandle gave her a yellow-toothed grin.

“You can start cutting tin for the Stewart order,” Garrett said.

Panhandle backed away. “Will do, boss.”

By the time he picked up the crate and vanished in back, the store was full of customers. Some stopped by to pick up orders, others just to browse.

Pretending to study a skillet, Maggie watched from the sidelines. Garrett seemed to know his customers well and even asked about their families.

He appeared to work hard and was successful at what he did. He also lived a modest life. So what had he done with the money stolen from the train?

Garrett worked behind the counter as he watched his fiancée exchange pleasantries with his customers. He didn’t mean to stare, but her smile was a magnet drawing his attention to her pretty pink mouth without any effort on his part.

With a start he realized he wasn’t the only one who seemed mesmerized by her. Not only had she caught the eye of his apprentice, but all seven male customers in his shop. Each man made it his business to walk up to her and introduce himself. Never had Garrett seen so many red-faced stammering fools in his life.

Not that he could blame them. A looker like her was bound to bring out the wolves. No doubt she could have her pick of men without scars or a soldier’s heart. Men with no children to care for. Men without blood on their hands.

The thought gave him pause. What right did he have for judging her so harshly? All she did was chase after a beggar in an effort to retrieve the paperboy’s money. While he…

He pushed the painful memories away with a shake of his head. A woman like her could have her pick of anyone she wanted. If he had the brains of a grasshopper, he’d marry her before she figured out what a bad choice she’d made.

M
aggie left Garrett’s shop with more questions than answers. Why was Garrett arguing with his brother-in-law?
“He thinks I have something of his.”

His share of the holdup money, perhaps?

What was his name? Cotton, that was it. And why did that name sound familiar?

Picking up her pace, she headed for the hotel. Her first order of business was to make contact with her Pinkerton partner.

A red and yellow box wagon pulled by a dapple gray mare was parked in front of the land office. D
R
. K
ETTLEMAN’S
M
IRACULOUS
C
URE
-A
LLS
was written in big bold letters on the paneled siding.

A man stood next to the wagon dressed in a top hat and green checkered coat with a matching bow tie. “May I interest you in a bottle of snake oil, ma’am?”

“No thank you,” She walked past him and stopped.

“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and I will detect what ails you and offer you a miraculous cure.”

She should have known. Smiling, she turned and took a closer look at the salesman. This time she had no trouble seeing past the phony mustache and bold-colored suit.

His real name was Chuck Greenwood, and he, too, was a Pinkerton operative. Privately, she called him Rikker and he called her Duffy. Rikker was the name of the orphanage cat that used to curl up at the bottom of her bed. She pretended he protected her while she slept. Duffy was what Rikker called his favorite sister who died in childbirth.

Their pet monikers saved them from having to remember each other’s assumed names, which changed with each new case.

A portly man with a pox-marked face and close-set eyes, this latest disguise suited him to a T. Not only did he look like a snake-oil doctor, he had his sales pitch down pat. She couldn’t help but laugh—talk about hiding in plain sight.

Looking left and right and seeing no one around, she closed the distance between them. Rikker was more than just a coworker; he was also a good friend and mentor. Secretly, she considered him the earthly father she wished she’d had.

“What took you so long to find me?” he asked.

“Long? I’ve only been in town for a day.” Rikker was as impatient as he was clever. Nothing he hated more than sitting around waiting even though that was a very large part of a detective’s life.

“How much did it cost you to bribe the hotel clerk into putting up a no vacancy sign?” she asked.

“Not as much as it’ll cost me when our boss finds out you’re staying at Thomas’s house.”

“He doesn’t have to know. At least not yet.”

“I’d hate to be you when the old Scotsman finds out,” Rikker said.

“Allan Pinkerton worries too much.” Since his stroke, his sons managed the company, but he was still very much involved in the planning and execution of investigations.

“That makes two of us.”

It wasn’t just her safety that worried the principal. This case was a thorn in Pinkerton’s side. They had been working on it for two years, and that didn’t speak well for an agency that had sustained much criticism in recent years for what some thought were bullying tactics. Allan and his sons were anxious to get some good press for a change, and catching the Whistle-Stop bandits would certainly serve that purpose.

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you were staying at the hotel. If anything happens to you…”

His concern touched her. “Nothing’s going to happen. At least not in front of the children.”

“If our suspicions are right, we’re not only dealing with a thief, but also a killer. And I’m not just talking about the railroad guard. For all we know, he also killed his wife.”

The memory of Thomas playing tag came to mind. His tenderness toward his daughter when she fell had seemed real. It was hard to believe that such a doting father could be a cold-blooded killer. But then, criminals came in all disguises.

“Her death was an accident,” she said. That was the official ruling, and she had no reason to suspect otherwise.

“I don’t believe in accidents, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t believe in them, either.”

“That’s what I like about you, Rikker. A person is always guilty until proven innocent.”

“And I’m usually right.”

Before she could reply, a matronly woman walked out of the mercantile carrying a basket in one hand and holding on to a small child with the other.

Rikker shoved a bottle of snake oil into Maggie’s hand, and right on cue she pretended to read the label.

Lifting his voice for anyone within hearing distance, he started his spiel. “That magical bottle contains the purest and most refined healing oil this side of the Miss’sippi. One teaspoon of this elixir and your troubles will be a thing of the past.”

The woman walked by them without stopping, and when she was out of earshot he lowered his voice. “Watch your step. If he tries anything… sexual-wise, I mean, I want you out of there.”

Heat rushed to her face. “Since when have you ever worried about my virtue?”

“Since you insisted on moving into an outlaw’s house.”

“Don’t worry. He might be a thief and murderer, but where women are concerned, he’s a perfect gentleman.” With the declaration came the memory of blue eyes and a crooked smile—a disconcerting thought she quickly banished from her mind.

“I’m sure his wife appreciated being killed by a gentleman,” he said wryly.

“We don’t know that Garrett killed her.”

His eyebrows rose. “So now it’s Garrett.”

“He insists I call him by his Christian name.”

“The word
Christian
and Thomas should never be mentioned in the same sentence.” He glanced around. A man was unloading a wagon at the end of the block next to a windmill, but no one was close by. Still, taking no chances, he stabbed the label of elixir with his finger as if trying to sell it to her.

“So what have you uncovered so far?” he asked.

“Since I’ve only been here for less than twenty-four hours, not much. But I do know he has an overbearing aunt and two adorable children.”

“That was in the report.”

“Not the overbearing and adorable part,” she said. “Also, he has a brother-in-law. I heard the two of them arguing earlier. That’s the first I heard that his dead wife had a brother.”

“Interesting. What were they arguing about?”

“He thinks Garrett has something of his. His name is Cotton.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Mr. Cotton was confined to Andersonville the same time that Thomas was there. He was one of the men who tried to escape with Thomas. The other man was shot dead.”

That’s why his name sounded familiar. “Do you think that’s where they first met? In prison?”

“Actually they met before the war while Thomas was attending medical school. He might have even introduced Thomas to his sister.”

It made sense. “It sounds like they must have been good friends at one time.” Nothing made two people closer than sharing an ordeal. “We know there were two men involved in the robbery.” One man backed the train away from the station and one robbed the safe and shot the guard. “Do you think Cotton was the second man? That would explain the bad blood between them.” It wasn’t unusual for criminals to have a falling-out.

“Could be,” he said. “Have you sent a report to headquarters?”

“Not yet. I’ll send one tomorrow.”

“Drop it off here, and I’ll mail it for you. I’ve arranged to send regular shipments to the States so no one will think anything of it.”

She nodded. “That will help.” Though everything was cryptically written, mailing daily reports without rousing suspicion always proved to be a challenge. She leaned closer. “Your mustache is crooked.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he said, but he straightened it. “Be careful. You know where to find me if you need me.”

Two men stepped out of the nearby general store, and Rikker took the snake oil out of her hands. Holding the bottle up, he hawked, “Step right up, gentlemen. Step right up.”