Undercover Bride (21 page)

“Bail is five dollars.”

She arched an eyebrow. “That much?” Since the sheriff didn’t look like he was in the mood to bargain, she reached into her purse, counted out the exact amount, and handed it to him. She could well imagine what the Pinkerton accountant would have to say about this additional expense. She and Rikker were already over budget.

The sheriff placed the money in a desk drawer. He then stood, reached for the keys hanging from a hook on the wall behind his desk, and unlocked the cell.

“You’re in luck. This little lady just bailed you out.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” Rikker pressed a bowler on his head and hobbled out of the cell, rubbing his chin. Whether he was really hurt or putting on an act was anyone’s guess.

“I wonder if you’d be so kind as to keep this little transaction between us,” she asked the sheriff. The last thing she needed was for Garrett to find out she was bailing prisoners out of jail.

Summerhay slammed the cell door shut. “Why is that?”

“You know what gossips some people are.” She put on her best damsel in distress look. “Someone could jump to all the wrong conclusions, and with the wedding so close…”

“Don’t you worry none, ma’am. No one will hear a thing from me.” He replaced the keys on the hook and glanced at Rikker. “And you! Stay out of trouble, you hear?”

Maggie left the jailhouse first, and Rikker walked several steps behind her. “It took you long enough,” he groused.

She stopped to look at a display of brooms and shovels in the hardware window and waited for him to pass. Apparently his limp wasn’t an act.

“I got here as fast as I could. I had to take the children to school. Learn anything?”

His answer came moments later as he stood by a lamppost lighting a pipe. Her eyes focused straight ahead, she slowed her pace and pretended to look in the window of the barbershop.

“Claims he was at the train station panhandling,” Rikker said. “A number of people tossed money into his hat. Said he paid no attention and didn’t know who did the tossing.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. Pickpockets were experts at targeting potential victims. A stranger tossed a bill into a hat or cup, and the thief immediately knew where the contributor kept his money. He would also have a pretty good idea how much money was his for the taking. It seemed unlikely that Crankshaw hadn’t taken careful note of his generous donor.

At the corner, they stood side by side waiting for a wagon to move out of the way. She opened her drawstring handbag and pretended to look for something.

“Certainly you don’t believe him,” she said.

“As a matter of fact I do,” Rikker replied and stepped off the boardwalk ahead of her.

She thought about this as she followed Rikker across the street. In any crowd a pickpocket had a choice of ideal targets. A distracted mother; a man carelessly carrying his coat over his shoulder; an enamored couple or trusting youth were all easy pickings.

It didn’t seem likely that he would target Garrett, a man with a military bearing and purposeful walk. Perhaps Crankshaw was watching someone else when Garrett dropped the banknote in his hat. It was a possibility, however slight.

“Did you find out who Garrett is corresponding with?” he asked as she passed him moments later.

He caught up to her in front of the mercantile store where she stopped to pet a black and white terrier tied up in front.

“Not yet.” She’d considered asking Garrett outright but decided against it. If it was addressed to the second Whistle-Stop bandit, chances are he would only lie. “We’ll have to intercept his letters at the post office.”

A half block away he stopped to read a handbill in the window of the assay company. “You know we can’t do that. Can’t mess with the US mail.”

No, they couldn’t. The Pinkerton General Order Book was clear about that; operatives had to adhere to the letter of the law—no exceptions. Rather than tie a detective’s hands, however, abiding by the law inspired the most creative crime-solving methods ever devised by humankind. She and Rikker would just have to come up with a lawful way of breaking into the post office and stealing the mail.

“There’s something else,” she said. “His brother-in-law’s still in town, and there’s bad blood between them. I’m more than certain I saw him at the school this morning.”

“What was he doing there?”

“That’s what I want you to find out. While you’re doing that, I’ll work on the letter angle.”

“Make it fast,” Rikker said. “The longer this case drags on, the less I like it.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’m the one under pressure. You’re a free man.”

An all too familiar voice from behind made her freeze momentarily before swinging around. Garrett stood only a few feet away, an inquiring look on his handsome square face. He had just stepped out of the bank. Behind him, Rikker quickly dodged into the confectioners.

“You were saying something about a free man?” he prompted.

She was momentarily stymied as to how to explain herself when a hand-drawn sign in the window gave her an idea. “Fre… mont,” she stammered.

The sign was one of many posted in shop windows criticizing the governor for hardly ever setting foot in the Territory. Some citizens were demanding his resignation.

“Are you referring to
Governor
Fremont?”

She gave a determined nod. “He should either resume his duties or resign.”

Garrett regarded her with a tilted head. “I quite agree.”

She eyed him warily. The principal had warned her against expressing views on politics and other male-oriented subjects as she was prone to do.

“I fear you must think poorly of me for saying as much.”

“Actually, I like a woman interested in public affairs.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Do you do that often? Talk to yourself I mean?”

“Only when I want to make sure someone’s listening,” she said.

His appreciative chuckle made her smile in response. She couldn’t help it. She glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Rikker.

He stood grinning at her, and it was startling to find she was grinning back. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Though he was dressed in his work clothes and wore a wide-brimmed hat, he looked every bit as handsome today as he’d looked the night before.

“I really enjoyed the dance,” she said to cover her embarrassment.

His eyes flared with warmth. “I did, too. Aunt Hetty was disappointed that we didn’t properly announce our engagement. I’m afraid she’s a bit old-fashioned in that regard.”

“I’m sure that by now our betrothal is common knowledge,” she said. Even the sheriff knew who she was.

“I’m sure you’re right.” As if catching himself staring, he looked away and rubbed the back of his neck before turning back to her. “I’d like to stay, but I have an appointment.” He splayed his hand in an apologetic gesture.

“And I have errands to run.”

He hesitated. “I apologize for last night.” He hadn’t said much on the way home from the dance, and by the time he returned from taking his aunt home, Maggie had retired.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but I don’t want you thinking ill of the town. Our dances aren’t normally so rowdy.”

“I like your dances just fine,” she said.

He studied her for a moment as if judging her sincerity. Seeming to find his answer, he tipped his hat. “I better go. See you tonight.”

He turned and walked away with his usual purposeful strides. Shading her eyes against the morning sun, she watched him.

So where was he going in such a hurry? She waited until he was a distance away before following him. Shadowing criminals was a big part of her job, but it was far easier to do in a large eastern city than in a small western town. During her training as an operative she had been given the task of shadowing one of the other detectives through the streets of Chicago. All went well until he suddenly halted and turned. She stopped, too—a dead giveaway, and she flunked her first test. Never again did she make that same mistake.

Garrett didn’t stop. Instead, he turned down a side street, but by the time she reached the corner, he had vanished.

Only a few businesses occupied this part of town: an undertaker, the newspaper office, a lawyer. She eyed each business in turn before settling on the lawyer’s office.

Not only did it appear that Garrett might want to get caught, but now he was seeing a lawyer. Rikker had suggested that Garrett might be planning to leave the country, but what if he was getting ready to turn himself in? Was that why he sent away for a mail-order bride? To care for his children after he’d been hauled off to jail?

M
aggie hadn’t expected Garrett to remember his promise to accompany them to church on Sunday, especially after Elise’s illness made them miss a week.

She was more than a little surprised when he announced that he had already hitched the wagon and if they didn’t hurry they would be late.

He wore his usual work pants, vest, and shirt, for it was too hot in Arizona to dress up like folks did back East. Though women did their best to dress with reasonable regard for the Lord’s house, none of the men wore suits or jackets.

Garrett didn’t say much during the thirty-minute drive, except to warn Toby to behave himself.

Aunt Hetty greeted them in front of the church and could hardly contain her delight at seeing Garrett. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “First God moves the cross, and now this!”

Elise giggled and looked about to tattle on her brother. Alarmed, Maggie glanced at Garrett. As if reading her mind, he quickly pulled Elise to his side.

“Let’s go in and get a seat,” he said, but his way was blocked by a tall man with a goatee.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to honor us with his presence.”

Anger flared in Garrett’s eyes, but before he could say anything, Aunt Hetty stepped in. “Maggie, this is Wayne Peterson. He and Garrett practically grew up together.”

“How do you do,” Maggie said.

Peterson gave a curt nod and moved away.

Garrett hustled both children toward the church. Before entering the carved oak doors, he met Maggie’s worried frown and winked as if to relieve her concerns.

Heat rushed to her face, and she quickly turned her attention back to his aunt. Distracted by another church member, a matronly woman, Aunt Hetty hadn’t seemed to notice the conspiratorial message Garrett sent—a message that seemed every bit as personal and intimate as a kiss.

The other woman moved away, and Aunt Hetty turned to Maggie. “What’s so funny?”

“What?”

“Just wondering what brought such a pretty smile to your face.”

Maggie quickly covered her mouth with her fingertips. She was smiling? “Just… something the children said earlier.”

Certainly it had nothing to do with Garrett or his wink. At least she hoped it didn’t. True, they tended to act like an old married couple at times. Oddly enough, they had even started finishing each other’s sentences.

Either she was a better actress than she thought or something else was going on, and she didn’t want to consider the implications.

Aunt Hetty gave her a funny look, and Maggie quickly changed the subject. “I take it there’s bad blood between Mr. Peterson and Garrett.”

“I’m afraid so. It goes back to their teens when they both took a fancy to the same girl. She chose Garrett. It didn’t help that Garrett came back from the war a hero.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Yes, it was. But some things don’t ever go away. Take Garrett and the church—” Before she completed her thought, an older man walked up to her and greeted her with a peck on the cheek.

“Morning, Hetty.”

Looking flustered, Aunt Hetty blushed like a schoolgirl. “Maggie, this is Oswald. He’s the one I was telling you about. He kindly agreed to sing at your wedding.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Maggie said.

Oswald took her offered hand in both of his. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Oswald used to work for the railroad,” Aunt Hetty said. “He was an engineer.”

The offhanded information made Maggie give Dinwiddie her full attention. One of the Whistle-Stop robbers knew how to drive a train, so Oswald’s profession was something to consider.

“You must tell me more,” Maggie said.

“Not much to tell.” If he was surprised by her interest, he didn’t let on. “Had to quit when my back starting acting up. You won’t believe the havoc engine vibrations can do to one’s body.”

While he explained in excruciating detail the discomforts of an engineer’s life, including the dangers of shaking bones and rattling teeth, she made a mental note of his height and weight. He was in his early fifties—a plus in his favor. Most criminals were under thirty. Older men preferred what Allan Pinkerton called “gentlemen crimes,” which included forgery, fraud, and other nonviolent transgressions. Still, it was possible that a former engineer would agree to drive a train while a younger partner committed the actual crime.

“And the burning coal bothered his lungs,” Aunt Hetty was saying. “It’s a wonder he still has a voice left. And don’t forget to tell her about the noise.” As an aside, she whispered, “He’s almost deaf in one ear.”