Undercover Bride (35 page)

Aunt Hetty planned a supper party that night to celebrate Garrett’s release. Maggie had two reasons for wanting to be there—or at least two that she would admit. One, it would give her an opportunity to observe Dinwiddie up close. Two, it would probably be the last time she would see the children. She wasn’t even sure Garrett would allow her to write to them.

Finagling an invitation from Aunt Hetty for her and Rikker was the easy part. Much harder was ignoring the less-than-welcoming look on Garrett’s face as he opened the door to their knock.

“Come in, come in,” Aunt Hetty said, pushing her nephew out of the way.

She’d gone all out to prepare Garrett’s favorite roast beef. The table was set with her best dishes, and a delicious smell wafted from the kitchen.

Elise sat on the floor watching Panhandle draw funny animals. Even in the house he wore his strange cap. “Howdy, Miss Taylor.”

“Hello, Panhandle.”

Elise looked up and squealed with delight. Jumping to her feet, she ran into Maggie’s arms.

“Hello, pumpkin.” Aware of Garrett watching, she gave Elise only a quick hug, though she longed to hold the little girl in her arms and tell her how much she was missed.

“My braids are crooked,” Elise whispered.

“They’re fine,” Maggie whispered back, pushing a strand of hair away from her face and retying one of the blue ribbons. “You look so pretty tonight.” She wore her favorite floral print dress and black patent shoes.

Toby looked happy to see her, too, but he wasn’t about to embarrass himself with a hug. Instead he gave her a quick smile.

“It smells good in here,” Maggie said.

Aunt Hetty looked pleased and assured her that cooking the meal had sapped her energy. “Probably took weeks off my life.”

Dinwiddie gave her a fond look. “Never has there been a more worthy sacrifice.”

Rikker rolled his eyes, and Maggie nudged him with her elbow.

“Dinner’s ready,” Aunt Hetty said, and everyone streamed into the dining room.

There were eight of them around the table in all. Maggie did her best to ignore Garrett, purposely taking her place between Elise and Dinwiddie, making sure to sit on the side of his good ear. Whether by choice or accident, Garrett sat directly opposite her, which made it hard, if not altogether impossible, to ignore him.

“Garrett, would you be kind enough to give the blessing?” Aunt Hetty said. She looked small, almost demure as she sat at the head of the table, but Maggie didn’t doubt for a moment that the woman, with her real and imagined ailments, was very much in charge.

Maggie expected Garrett to turn down the request, but he surprised her by lowering his head and giving thanks to God for the good food and company.

“Amen,” he said, and his gaze lit on Maggie for an instant before he reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes.

“So, Mr. Dinwiddie, how long have you worked at the bank?” she asked, keeping her tone casual.

“In July it will be three years,” he said.

She spread butter on her roll. The Whistle-Stop bandits obviously knew about the bank shipment, so his answer worked in with her theory.

“Working at the bank is better for the bones but does nothing for my gout,” he added, helping himself to a generous serving of gravy.

Toby and Panhandle were discussing outer space. “When is the moon the heaviest?” Toby asked.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Panhandle said.

“When it’s full,” Toby said and laughed.

Maggie laughed, too. Garrett watched her, but his thoughts remained hidden behind a stoic mask. It wasn’t the only time she caught him staring at her. Sometimes he looked away first; sometimes she did, but each visual encounter left her shaken.

He looked especially handsome tonight. The more she had come to know him, the less visible his scar became until she hardly noticed it at all. The only remaining sign of his recent ordeal were the shadows beneath his eyes.

Aunt Hetty was in high spirits, and Maggie tried her best not to put a damper on the party. She smiled at all the right times and even contributed to the light banter.

But her heart ached for Garrett to look at her the way he had the night they’d danced.

At least he looked at her. That’s more than he did earlier when she stood with him before the judge waiting for charges against him to be dropped. The easy rapport they once shared had been replaced by the politeness of strangers.

He’d even reverted back to calling her Miss Taylor, though he now knew it was an assumed name. It was as if he didn’t want her to forget the lies that stood between them.

The newspaper account declared Toby a hero, and he wore his new status with a wide grin. He even insisted upon being called Detective Toby.

“Mr. Baker is paying me to find out who is absconding with his chickens,” he announced with button-bursting pride.

Rikker chuckled. “It looks like my partner and I have some competition.”

Her laughter sounded forced even to her own ears, but her feelings for Toby were genuine. He didn’t do anything without putting his whole heart and soul into it.

Dinwiddie was the first to bring up the subject that everyone else skirted around. “I still don’t understand why Cotton broke you out of jail.”

He was looking at Garrett all funny-like, and Maggie exchanged a glance with Rikker. Was it simply curiosity on Dinwiddie’s part? Or was he worried about what Cotton might have said?

Garrett stared down at his plate as he cut his meat. “He thought I knew where the rest of the money was.” He shrugged. “I had no idea what he was talking about. But I played along. I figured if I didn’t, he’d”—he slanted his head toward his young daughter—“well, you know.”

“He thought Uncle Charlie would kill him,” Toby said in the matter-of-fact way that only an eight-year-old could muster.

Elise looked about to burst into tears. “I don’t want anyone to kill Papa.”

Maggie squeezed Elise’s hand. “It’s okay, pumpkin. No one is going to hurt your father. Or anyone else for that matter. Detective Toby will see to that.”

Aunt Hetty tapped her drinking glass with a spoon. “Enough of such talk. We need to discuss something more pleasant. Like the wedding.”

Garrett looked up from his plate and drew a napkin to his mouth. “There isn’t going to be a wedding, Aunt Hetty.”

“No wedding?” Aunt Hetty’s glance settled on Maggie before returning to her nephew. “But the invitations… the dress… the church…”

“Sorry.” Garrett tossed his napkin onto the table and stood. “Miss Taylor and I will not be getting married.”

“That was certainly an ordeal,” Rikker grumbled as he and Maggie walked the short distance from Aunt Hetty’s house to the hotel.

“What are you talking about?” Maggie asked. “You were having a grand old time.”

“I’ve had a better time sitting in a war zone. I don’t know what’s worse, watching you and Thomas clash or crossing over enemy lines.”

Surprised, she glanced at Rikker. In all the years she’d known him, this was the first time he’d mentioned his wartime experiences. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Garrett and I hardly said a word to each other.”

“Nevertheless, your message came through loud and clear.”

She sighed. “If that’s true, then you know he hates me for what I did to him.”

“It sure didn’t look like that to me. But then, I never was much good at subtleties. At least that’s what my first wife used to say.”

“Nothing subtle about it,” she said miserably.

He stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I don’t like seeing you suffer like this, Duffy.”

She patted his hand. “I’ll be okay.”

They started walking again. The orange gas streetlights blurred, and Maggie blinked away the moisture in her eyes. She had no intention of giving in to tears. Nope, wasn’t going to happen. After sobbing her heart out at the foot of her father’s swinging body, she’d vowed never again to cry over a man. That promise had served her well over the years with only a few lapses, and she saw no reason to change at this late date.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Rikker said.

“I did talk to him, but we didn’t get much past his gout,” she said.

“Thomas has gout?”

“I’m talking about Dinwiddie.”

He gave her an arched look. “Still suspicious of him, are we?”

“He was employed by the bank at the time of the robbery and was an engineer. I can’t think of a better suspect.”

Rikker laughed out loud. “Ah! Now that’s more like the woman I know and admire.”

They crossed Main. “You admire me?”

He cupped her elbow as they walked up the steps to the boardwalk. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.” He released her and pulled the hotel door open. “Let’s have some hotel pie.”

“You just ate.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got to do something while you try to persuade me not to leave town on tomorrow’s train.”

For once her persuasion skills failed. Rikker was leaving on the morning train, and there wasn’t a thing Maggie could do about it. She didn’t want to see him go. As she sat in her hotel room later that night, loneliness closed in on her like a shroud.

Rikker was being dispatched to New Orleans, but she had yet to get her next assignment. That’s because she had not turned in her final report. She was usually much more efficient, but something held her back. Questions plagued her. Unfinished business kept her twisting and turning at night. One of the Whistle-Stop bandits was still on the loose, and she didn’t feel right about leaving town until he was caught.

Was it Dinwiddie? She hated to think that it was, for Aunt Hetty’s sake. But who else worked at the bank and knew how to drive a train?

She went over her notes again, searching for that one thing she might have disregarded or thought insignificant. Even the best of detectives missed vital clues on occasion.

She once overlooked a woman’s dress hanging in a suspect’s closet. That was important because they later learned that after each crime the man had made his escape dressed as a woman. Another time she failed to take note of a spiderweb outside a jeweler’s window. Had she done so, she would have known immediately that the theft was an inside job and saved herself weeks of work.

Now she studied her notes line by line. Each time she read through the pages, the word
boogeyman
stopped her. It was a word she never expected to show up in any of her reports.

Was the boogeyman real? Toby and Elise certainly thought so. If they were right, that could explain the overturned soil. She never did believe that Whitewash was responsible for all those holes.

Strangers didn’t usually dig uninvited on someone else’s property unless burying a body or looking for buried treasure. That would eliminate Cotton as the boogeyman. With all that digging, he would have known the money wasn’t there.

She stared at her notes again. Elise described the boogeyman as being tall with big feet and wearing his hair like Aunt Hetty’s. Maggie dipped her pen into the inkwell and underlined the hair part.

Finding nothing of any help in her notes, her thoughts soon turned to Garrett.

Dear God, how he must hate her for what she had put him through. The lies and deceit were the least of it. She could still remember the disbelief on his face the day he was arrested. The look of despair at being locked behind bars… What terrible memories that must have brought back.

She longed to make it up to him, but how? The emotional distance between them was ocean-wide and sky-high.

Shaking the thought away, she checked her notes again and after a while gave up. Investigations needed a clear head, and hers was too full of painful memories to do her any good.

She gripped the pen tighter and pulled out a piece of paper. Sometimes it helped to write things down, especially her prayers. Her daily reports to heaven were just as precise as her reports to the Pinkerton principal.

Halfway down the page, she blinked. She’d meant to start her report with the familiar words
Dear God.
Instead her pen seemed to have a mind of its own and the salutation read
Dear Garrett
instead.

G
arrett opened the door to Maggie’s knock and seemed surprised to see her. Never had she seen him look so tired and disheveled. His hair was mussed and he hadn’t shaved.