Kathleen Y'Barbo (27 page)

A bell sounded at the harbor, announcing the departure of a steamboat. Kyle waited until the noise abated before responding. “I was
supposed to be there for Christmas, but Pinkerton business diverted me.”

“Then you will be happy to know it appears Pinkerton business will be
sending you there after all.” She glanced at the pocket where he had placed the envelope. “And for the record, it did not take any sort of fancy detective work on my part. Henry offered me the chance to go along.”

“And you accepted?”

She shook her head and nodded toward the docks. “I declined. My business in New Orleans is not ready to be conducted just yet, and I’m needed back in Denver.”

“I see.”

“So that pretty brunette you nearly bowled over coming out of Parker’s Jewelry?” she said as the beginnings of a grin touched her lips. “It does not take a Pinkerton agent to know she was not pleased to find you with me.”

He thought of the hint of jealousy she had allowed and tried not to smile. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch.” Her grin broadened. “That, and the fact she is hiding behind those cotton bales next to the Cope Warehouse.”

Kyle leaned just far enough in that direction to allow his peripheral vision to catch a glimpse of crimson skirts shifting out of sight. “So she is.”

“Far be it from me to give instructions to a fellow agent, but as a woman I believe I can safely say you will probably want to go and have a conversation with her.” She shrugged. “You were heading that way anyway.”

“I was?”

Sadie nodded again to the envelope now in his pocket. “Our suspect owns that warehouse and the other three beyond that one. He has a nice new office over in the Cotton Exchange.”

The reminder of that building caused his attention to return to Millie, whose hat rode just high enough above the bales to look as if someone had left the latest fashion sitting atop the cotton.

“And, of course, he has the required address on Adams Street,” she continued. When she rattled off the address, Kyle’s attention jerked back in her direction.

“What? Does that address sound familiar?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” She looked beyond him to where Millie was doing who knew what. “And your lady friend?”

“Lives at that address.”

“Oh.” She paused and her expression brightened. “Miss Cope?”

“Not sure but probably so.”

“Well, I would say you are in an excellent position to prove or disprove the case. Any qualms about possibly ruining that girl’s daddy if he’s guilty, Agent Russell?”

She had every reason to ask, and yet her question stung. “None,” was his brief response.

“Then I suggest you get to it.” She reached to shake his hand, sliding kid gloves over his roughened palm as their eyes met. “I ought to offer some sort of sage advice regarding the duties of a Pinkerton agent, should I not?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Sadie looked away. “It’s one I hope someone would ask me should the situation ever require it.”

Kyle was still thinking about that statement even after he bid her goodbye. After she disappeared onto a steamboat some distance away.

Turning his back to the river, Kyle allowed his gaze to lazily scan the docks. Or at least that was the appearance he hoped to offer. The feathered hat no longer danced atop the cotton bale, but by placing his long-distance spectacles on his nose, he did see a blur of crimson disappear behind a stack of boxes just beyond the cotton. Adjusting his bowler hat to be certain his listening device was in place, Kyle set off in that direction.

As he walked, he made a show of removing his spectacles and appearing to clean them with his handkerchief. All the while, he kept his attention focused on the spot he knew Millie would be hiding.

Millie Cope. Part of him hoped it was not true, but there was no denying the facts that all lined up so neatly. He glanced at the Cope Enterprises sign over the door and then let out a long breath.
Lord, what are You up to with this?

With no sign of Millie, he made an abrupt left turn and slipped inside to cross the warehouse and emerge on the street beyond. Though he would make it his business to see the society scientist very soon, this was not the time.

A little while later, Kyle opened the door to his room at the Peabody Hotel and went to his satchel, where his important papers were stored. Taking them out, he placed them on his desk and added the envelope Agent Callum had given him to the pile. It was then that he noticed an envelope from Henry he had apparently overlooked. He tore open the seal, tossed the envelope onto the desk, and unfolded the documents it contained.

Scanning the words his boss had written, his gaze stalled when he saw the name Mildred Cope.

Daughter of Silas Cope, owner of Cope Enterprises.

The letter went on to detail the business interests of the Cope family, the deaths of Mrs. Cope and two daughters, the possible connection to Confederate gold, and then finally the claim of a relation to the pirate Lafitte. All information he should have read and reported back to the Chicago office well before now.

Also included was a copy of an article that appeared in the local newspaper announcing Millie’s engagement to a British nobleman, Sir William Trueck. Though the photograph was dark and poor in quality, there was no mistaking the society scientist’s grim expression.

He tossed the letter and its accompanying newspaper clipping aside. Likely Henry had wondered why he had not received a response—and with good reason. Kyle should have opened the envelope the minute it arrived. How had he missed it? Undoubtedly by being absorbed in a distracting combination of beauty and science.

“That girl has been dangerous since the first day I met her,” he muttered as he rose to walk to the window. He could not see the river from there, though the sound of the vessels and the smell of the docks were never far from this side of the city. Unlike Adams Street, where Mildred Cope lived.

Kyle let out a long breath and stepped away from the window. He owed Henry an explanation, and he would give him one. And then he would go and do the work he was being paid to do, even if that meant he had to steer clear of Millie Cope.

He wrote three versions of an apology letter and then settled on a fourth that he went down and mailed before he could change his mind. With a few hours of daylight still ahead of him, Kyle decided to go do some checking on the property he had visited with Millie. Finding the information
he sought was a simple matter of showing his Pinkerton badge to the courthouse clerk.

Purchased fifty years ago by a J.L. Arnaque, the records had long ago been buried by time and inattention. What set this transaction apart was the manner in which the buyer had arrived in the county, made his purchase, and then disappeared.

The taxes were paid from an account set up for the purchase, the balance of which was substantial considering the humble purchase price. Had Kyle not come looking for anomalies such as this one, another fifty years might have passed without comment.

Or longer, given the amount of funds available for the property’s tax burden. In his search for Confederate gold, Kyle had only given the information a cursory glance, but where money went out, there were records for how it came in.

The other curious fact was the issue of Arnaque himself. When the city of Memphis had its charter revoked by the state in 1879, changes were made to the taxing structure. Notifying landowners had proven difficult owing to the fact that many of those who had not lost their lives to yellow fever the year before had chosen to relocate their interests elsewhere until the epidemic had passed. Arnaque, however, was not reported dead, nor did he appear elsewhere. His lone contribution to public record seemed to be the purchase of that property.

Then there was his name. Perhaps it was his New Orleans background, but Kyle took notice immediately of the fact that the meaning of
Arnaque
in French was “swindle.” Could “J.L.” be an abbreviation for “Jean Lafitte,” the pirate whose death had been claimed and retracted multiple times over the past sixty years? Perhaps the Baratarian had tired of the pirate’s life and reinvented himself to spend the remainder of his days as an upright and law-abiding citizen.

The topic of Lafitte and his brother, Pierre, was a popular one in New Orleans. Experts and amateurs alike debated the truth of the reports that the pirate had been killed after taking aim at a pair of Spanish vessels in the Gulf of Honduras. But was he truly buried at sea on that foggy day in February 1823? Conveniently, no concrete proof
existed on either side of the argument.

How it all connected back to Silas Cope and Cope Enterprises was still to be determined, as was any connection to Lafitte’s treasure. Kyle thought for a moment about the Spanish escudo coins made into Millie’s cypher. Coincidence? He tried not to hope but failed miserably. Again he wondered what the Lord was up to. On the one hand, the evidence of His approval of Millie Cope had been found in the confession of her name that she made at this very property he now researched. On the other hand, what if he had misunderstood?

Logic would settle on the second option, although Kyle found himself hoping he was right about the first. In either case, he was a Pinkerton agent bound by duty to complete the requirements of his job, and right now that meant doing all he could to see just what kinds of secrets Silas Cope was hiding.

“Finding what you need?” the records clerk inquired.

“I believe so.”

As soon as the clerk was once again out of sight, Kyle removed his newest gadget, a mechanized portable camera small enough to fit in his satchel, and quickly assembled the pieces. Then he spread the documents on the table and stepped back to look through the viewfinder. After an adjustment to the lens, he was ready to put in the glass plate.

That accomplished, Kyle pulled the lever and held the camera very still while the flash sparked and a photograph of the evidence was taken. As he waited for the requisite developing time, he heard the clerk come running.

“What in the world was that flash of light? Why, I could have sworn—”

“Nothing to see here,” Kyle said as he continued to hold the camera still. “Pinkerton business.”

A few minutes later, he braved a peek at the glass slide. “This will do just fine.”

He summoned the clerk to retrieve the documents and then headed back to the Peabody Hotel.

As the building came into view, Kyle thought once again about Arnaque and the meaning of his name. Much as he hated to, he had to consider whether Millie might be part of a swindle involving a large sum of stolen money in a Memphis bank. Money that, should its provenance be determined as Confederate, he had been hired to find and return to the United States government.

He bypassed the hotel to retrace his steps to the wharf, where he found a beehive of activity but no one resembling Millie Cope. Turning away from the river, he walked toward Adams Street, unsure as to what he would do when he reached the Cope home. The photographic plate in his satchel would not wait much longer, nor could he spare a visit until he was fully prepared. He needed to search the Arnaque property thoroughly with the metal detecting machine to eliminate the obvious connection between buried treasure and the Copes.

Or to prove it.

And then Kyle spied Millie looking out the third-floor window, and he hoped she would be found innocent of any wrongdoing. He could not get her out of his mind. There was something special about her, a connection he had not yet managed to break.

And yet he couldn’t possibly allow the possibility of feelings for a woman who was also a criminal. Surely God would not permit it, and neither would the Pinkerton Agency.

Millie let the curtain slide into place and turned her back on the man she had been foolish enough to kiss. Foolish enough to follow until better judgment took over. So Kyle had another woman. Of course. That would explain everything. The secrecy. The surprise arrivals in her attic hideaway under cover of darkness.

“And what sort of idiot dreams of a man whose name she does not fully know?” she muttered.