Undercover Bride (19 page)

“He was always getting into fights and couldn’t keep a job to save his soul. I can’t tell you how many nights he spent in jail for disturbing the peace. Katherine insisted he wasn’t always like that but had changed during the war.”

“I guess that’s true of a lot of men.”

Aunt Hetty nodded. “Thank goodness it’s not true of Garrett. I mean, he changed but not in a bad way. Now about that guest list…”

The Finnegan dance hall was packed that Thursday night when Maggie and Garrett walked in.

Curious stares followed them as they threaded their way through the crowd, her arm in the crook of his.

She wore a simple blue print dress, the sleeves and neckline edged with lace. The shoulder to hem panels showed off her trim hips and small waist.

A quick glance around the room put any lingering doubts about her wardrobe to rest. Arizona wasn’t Boston, New York, or even Chicago. Local women dressed mainly for comfort and practicality, not fashion. Poor Katherine must have felt like a fish out of water.

A fiddler played a lively tune, his bushy eyebrows moving up and down in time to the music, along with his foot. The lights were low and the dance in full swing. Men and women stood at both sides of the hall clapping for the couples whirling about the dance floor beneath the watchful eyes of matronly chaperons.

A knot of younger women exchanged whispers behind gloved hands and cast flirtatious glances at Garrett. Not that Maggie blamed them. Dressed in dark trousers, white shirt, vest, and bolo tie, Garrett looked especially attractive tonight. His hair combed neatly from a side part, he was one of the few clean-shaven men in the room, and his scar was hardly noticeable in the dim gas lights. Under normal circumstances, Maggie might have considered herself lucky to be escorted by such a tall and handsome man.

Garrett introduced her to several older couples. “I want you to meet Miss Maggie Taylor,” he said, rattling off names.

Maggie shook hands and smiled. People seemed less reserved here than in the States and thought nothing of asking pertinent questions.

A blond woman looked her over with a critical air. “How did you come to know Garrett?”

“We corresponded,” she said vaguely, not sure if Garrett wanted it known they’d met through a marriage broker.

The questions kept coming and she answered most with confidence, sticking to the background she’d invented, the story carefully composed. Yes, she liked Arizona Territory. Yes, the heat did take some getting used to. She was from Remington, Indiana. No, she wasn’t homesick.

She’d never been to Remington, but one of the other operatives had. He had drawn her maps and drilled her relentlessly on every detail of the town until she felt she knew it inside and out.

As long as she avoided looking at Garrett, she was able to maintain her composure. She played her part with none of the uncertainties that had plagued her since arriving in town.

Mrs. Higginbottom tapped Garrett on the chest with her lorgnette. Her bright floral dress made her look like an oversized flower pot.

“Hetty said you’ve set a date for your wedding,” she said.

“Yes, and you should all receive an invitation soon.” He smiled down at Maggie with a look that tore through her defenses. She never really had a beau and wasn’t certain how to act with one in public.

“Show them your ring,” he said.

Maggie held up her hand, and the women all oohed and aahed.

“It’s beautiful,” Mrs. Higginbottom declared. Lifting the glasses to her eyes, she added, “We must announce your engagement tonight.”

Maggie dropped her hand to her side. “We don’t want any fuss.”

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Higginbottom said. “It’s not every day that a girl becomes engaged.”

Her husband stroked his mustache. “Did you ever wonder why we use the word
engagement
to describe both a promise of marriage and a war battle?” His comment brought chuckles from the other men and glares from their wives.

“Don’t mind Paul,” Mrs. Higginbottom said. “Do you wish to make the announcement now or later?”

“Later is fine,” Garrett said. “Right now I would like to dance with my beautiful fiancée.” He turned to Maggie with a smile and crooked his elbow. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

She slipped her arm through his, and a wave of anxiety rushed through her. She’d helped to chase down some of the country’s most dangerous criminals, but never had she been as nervous as she was at the thought of dancing in Garrett’s arms.

“I don’t know how to dance,” she said as they walked away from the group. Life in an orphanage left no room for parties or dances. So far, none of her other assignments had required it of her.

He ducked beneath the low-hanging paper streamers and led her onto the dance floor. “Nothing to it,” he said. “Just do everything I do, backwards.”

She laughed. “That easy, eh?”

He faced her, and her pulse beat erratically. Was it only her imagination that everyone in the room appeared to stand still at that moment as if holding a collective breath? Even the music seemed to hold a longer beat.

Placing his hand at her waist, he drew her close. His gaze locked with hers. “Ready?”

Nodding, she placed her left hand on his shoulder and moistened her lips. He closed the distance between them completely by taking her right hand in his. Nervously she followed his movements.

She felt the rhythm of the music pulse through him as they whirled about the room, his eyes never leaving her face. With a gentle pressure of his hand he drew her around the dance floor as smoothly as a butterfly flitted from blossom to blossom. For such a tall man, he was surprisingly light on his feet.

It took two turns of the room before she could relax enough to enjoy herself. By the third turn she was almost ready to believe she was a woman with no secrets, dancing with a man with nothing to hide.

The fiddler finished his frantic tune and switched to a slower-paced melody. Some couples left the floor, but Garrett’s hand tightened around her waist—an invitation to stay.

He held her so close she feared his leg would brush against the gun hidden beneath her skirt. She would have a hard time explaining why she carried a firearm to a dance, especially since all the men had been required to leave their weapons at the door.

“Where did you learn to dance so well?” she asked in an effort to distract him.

“I’m not dancing. I’m just trying to avoid stepping on your toes.”

She laughed. “You could have fooled me.”

They made a couple more turns around the room, her movements matching his. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so lighthearted.

She threw her head back like a child on a swing. “Wheee. Look at me, I’m dancing,” she said, and his smile deepened into laughter.

Surprised at how quickly she’d learned to follow his lead, she didn’t want the night to end.

A
man wearing peg-topped trousers and a flaming red shirt took his place next to the fiddler and called out. “Grab a partner, men. Grab a partner.”

A flurry of activity followed as people lined up two by two and took to the dance floor.

“Choose your partner, form a ring,” the caller chanted in tune to the music.

Garrett grasped her hands, and they shuffled around in a circle. His eyes shone with merriment as he flashed her a smile.

“How will you swap, and how will you trade? This pretty girl for that old maid?”

Maggie suddenly found herself partnered with someone else. She hardly recognized the debonair man dressed in a three-piece suit and bow tie.

She gasped. “Rikker!”

“Shh,” he cautioned. Interlocking elbows, they made an awkward turn around the dance floor. Dancing with her coworker was like dancing with a centipede. He stepped on her foot, and she grimaced.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. His presence was an unwelcome reminder that she had failed so far to produce any evidence against Garrett.

“The same as you,” he said as they circled each other back-to-back in a do-si-do. “Working. Or at least that’s what I hope you’re doing.”

“You know it is.” She didn’t need him telling her that a detective was always on the job. That had been drilled into all operatives.

“Either you’re a better actress than I gave you credit for or you were having the time of your life.”

“There’s nothing that says you can’t enjoy your work,” she retorted.

Rikker opened his mouth to respond, but the caller said to switch partners, and after several turns around the room she was back with Garrett.

“When you meet your partner, pat her on the head, if she don’t like coffee, give her corn bread.”

Garrett laughed at the mention of corn bread. Like an old married couple sharing a private joke, she laughed, too. All too soon she was sashaying with another partner—an older man with bowed legs.

Several partners later, Rikker grabbed her by the arm and whirled her about with the grace of a bull. “We have a problem.”

She grimaced. “You always know how to spoil a gal’s fun.”

“Thomas made arrangements to pay the debts you ran up in installments. But don’t worry. Something came up.” After dropping that piece of tantalizing news, Rikker promenaded off with Mrs. Higginbottom.

She had to wait until she met up with Rikker again before she found out the rest.

“It looks like more of the stolen money showed up,” he said. “A vagrant purchased tobacco with a stolen hundred-dollar bill. He’s locked in jail.”

That was an unexpected surprise. “Where did he get the money?”

“Claims he hasn’t the foggiest, but I don’t believe it. A man hands you a hundred-dollar greenback, you’re not likely to forget where you got it.”

She frowned. “So you think he’s lying?”

“Maybe, maybe not. You know what poor interrogators these desert lawmen are. Most of them couldn’t get a confession from a dying man if their life depended on it.”

“Swing ’em east and swing ’em west, swing the girl that you like best.”

And just like that, she was back with Garrett. The dance ended, and he led her over to a row of chairs. They were both hot and out of breath.

He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed the beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I’ll get us a cold drink.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I could sure use one,” she said. “Thank you.”

He walked away with purposeful strides, and she looked about the room for Rikker.

What he’d said about the local lawmen was true. The Pinkerton agency was way ahead of most local officials in crime-fighting abilities. Most jurisdictions didn’t have the manpower, knowledge, or resources available to the Pinkerton Agency. This created bad blood between the detectives and Arizona lawmen. While most eastern sheriffs and constables were willing to work with the Pinkerton Agency, Arizona lawmen were not.

Rikker appeared seemingly out of nowhere, startling her out of her reverie, and took the seat next to her. He leaned over and pretended to tie his shoe.

“I wondered where you were.” She glanced toward the refreshment table where Garrett stood in line. “Something about this whole thing doesn’t make sense. Why would Garrett pay his creditors in installments and drop a hundred-dollar bill in someone’s hat?”

“I don’t think vagrants accept installments,” Rikker said.

“You know what I mean.” She sensed they had all the pieces of the puzzle if only they knew how to put them together. “It’s been two years since the train robbery. Then nothing. It was as if the thieves and money vanished into thin air. So why now? Why has the money started showing up now?”

“Thomas is getting married. Wives don’t come cheap.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. Rikker had been married twice; one wife died in childbirth, and the other couldn’t live with the weeks and sometimes even months he was away from home.

“So now what’s the plan?” she asked. Nothing they tried had worked so far.

“I figure that the vagrant might appreciate a little company. An iron-bar hotel can be pretty lonely at times. Perhaps you can give me some pointers on how to get arrested.”

During her last case, the suspect under surveillance had her arrested for being a public nuisance. She took pride in her shadowing ability, and still didn’t have a clue as to how he had spotted her.

“So the plan is to give the sheriff just cause to arrest you, right?” It wasn’t just a lucky guess; she knew how he worked. “You could always get drunk.” Drinking on the case was forbidden by the agency, of course, but Rikker didn’t need alcohol to play the part of a drunk. He was a natural.

He inclined his head toward the refreshment table. “The sheriff might be short a hat size or two, but I doubt he’d believe I got wasted on sarsaparilla.”

“You could just come clean and tell the sheriff who you are.”

“Knowing how he feels about Pinkerton operatives, that and a nickel won’t get me a cup of coffee.”

“If you weren’t so clumsy, you could start a fight.” Not only was Rikker uncoordinated on the dance floor, he couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag.

“Not a bad idea.” He grinned. “What’s a black eye among friends?”

“If poor dancing was a crime, you wouldn’t have to start a fight,” she said.