Marianne took the cup and blew on the dark coffee. She rolled the cup slightly trying to use its warmth to heat her hands. “Thank you,” she replied softly.
“Was it good news?”
Marianne took a sip of the coffee. It was bitter. She would find a bit of sugar to sweeten it. “Good news?”
“You went running out of here once the post was delivered. I was hoping it was good news.”
“Oh,” Marianne gave an awkward laugh. “It was just a letter from my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
Marianne nodded. “Penny is my twin. She’s married to Angus Hightower.”
“The boxer?”
“How did you know that?”
“My Da would take me to see the fights when I was younger. I remember him well. Big burly guy with red hair?”
“That is Angus.”
“Do you like having him as a brother-in-law?”
“I’ve known Angus for years. If he keeps making my sister happy, I’ll keep liking him.”
Connor laughed. “Do you have any other siblings?”
“Why all these questions?”
He gazed at her; his light blue eyes in contrast with his black hair. “Just curious. I want to know everything about you, Marianne.”
Marianne gave another laugh. “There isn’t much to know.”
“I think there is.” He leaned down towards her. Marianne could smell his cologne. She took a deep breath – it was spicy and woodsy; not at all the type of cologne that Archie…
Stop that! she admonished herself.
Connor flicked one of the curls that was hanging past her chin. “In fact, I think there is much more to you than meets the eye.”
“Secrets, Mr. Boyle,” she replied saucily. “The entire agency is built on secrets.” Marianne took another sip of the bitter brew. This time she did grimace. “I’m sure you have things that you don’t want anyone to know.”
Connor raised a dark eyebrow. “Hmmm. I never thought about secrets.” He gave a little laugh. “How about we have dinner tomorrow night and you can convince me that there aren’t any secrets to tell.”
Marianne looked at the young agent. He towered over her. He was lean with muscular arms. He had large hands with long fingers. Marianne could see the callouses on his hands. That told her he wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Connor was what she heard locals refer to as Black Irish – Celtic good looks with dark, almost-black hair and eyes that looked like ice. Right now those eyes were crinkled at the corner, as if he was trying to suppress a laugh.
She enjoyed being with Connor – he made her laugh, so what harm would it do to have dinner alone with him? In fact, it might just be what she needed to take her mind off Archie.
“I would love to, Connor. I can’t guarantee you’ll get any secrets from me, but we can keep each other company.”
“Six o’clock. Right after we close the office. I look forward to it.” He gave her little wink. “Go get some sugar for your coffee.” With a turn on his heel he jogged up the steps to the second level where the office he shared with several other agents was located.
Chapter 5
April 1872, Denver
“So, you have no intention of going after her, again?”
Archie looked at his good friend sitting across the desk. George Hotchkiss was the most powerful judge in Denver. He and Archie became friends during Archie’s first case in Denver.
“She made her feelings perfectly clear.”
“Which were?”
Archie picked up the knife that Bronco had left in his office the last time he visited. The agent and his expecting wife stayed in Denver and were planning on moving after the baby was born. Archie appreciated having him close since the agents coming through the office were fewer and fewer.
Even Angus and Penelope had rented a row home near the office.
Archie unsheathed the knife and tried twirling it on his finger the way he had seen Bronco do many times. The sharp tip of the blade cut through the skin on his fingertip.
“Haggis, that hurts!” he cried, dropping the knife and sticking his finger in his mouth tasting the metallic taste of the blood on his fingertip.
George laughed. “It’s a knife, Gordon. It is bound to hurt.”
“I don’t know how that crazy Indian can play with that all day long.”
“Probably learned at a very young age. I’m sure he had his fair share of cut fingers. Now, back to my question.”
“Which was?”
“Marianne’s feelings.”
“She told me to come back to Denver and not return.”
“Hmmm,” George said.
He was saved from responding when Pearl came into the office with a tray of coffee and cookies and placed it on the corner of Archie’s desk.
“Judge,” she said, handing him a cup.
“Miss Pearl, you are looking as lovely as ever,” he said, taking the cup and giving her hand an exaggerated kiss. Pearl laughed and pulled her hand away. “How is your father, child?”
Pearl’s father was part of the Vigilance Committee that worked for the judge. Since there wasn’t a law and order system, the people created one consisting of a judge and six to twelve members of the community. They ensured that justice was served, they kept the peace and, unfortunately, carried out punishments when required.
It was during one of the trials of a young man accused of murder, that Pearls’ father was injured. He had been beaten until he was unrecognizable.
He could no longer support his family, and as such, Pearl worked to support her family and returned home every evening, to help care for him.
“Winter is always the harshest season. There isn’t much we can do about the cold.”
“That’s true. Tell your mother I’ll stop by on Sunday after church.”
“I will.” She gave a little curtsey and backed from the room, closing the door behind her.
“She’s a good woman, Archie,” George said, stuffing a cookie in his mouth.
“Pearl? Yes, there is something going in that brain of hers…”
“I mean Marianne.” George poured a bit of coffee on his saucer before slurping it up.
Archie blinked. “Of course. Marianne,” he said softly. “My mistake.”
“Has the office been rebuilt?”
“Not yet. I know they are working on it.”
“How’s the farm working out?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
Archie knew George’s family had a farm outside of Chicago. Belonged to an uncle… or a cousin, or some distant relative. A few discreet inquiries and he was able to find the sprawling potato farm.
It only took about an hour of convincing the owners to allow Archie to lease the farmhouse for Marianne. Granted, there was the matter of a large sum of money that helped persuade the owners to allow the use of house servants, and access to the care keepers’ cottage and another house on the property that would serve as the men’s dormitory.
As soon as the property was secured, Archie contacted Robert to insist that Marianne be taken to the farm immediately to rest. He made sure that everything was there to make her comfortable that night.
He took a hackney to the first available town and found a dry goods store.
He purchased everything he could from the mercantile that he thought Marianne might need for the upcoming weeks. He knew how cold the Chicago winters were, so when he saw a pair of rabbit-lined mittens, he couldn’t help but add them to the growing pile.
He directed the shop keeper to deliver the items as quickly as possible and then he headed back to Denver.
When he arrived back home, he stayed in his office for weeks, avoiding everyone. Thank goodness Bronco and Angus were around to keep things running.
Archie returned the knife to the sheath and pushed it aside. “It might be time for me to retire, George,” he said.
George paused with his cup halfway to his lips. “What was that?”
Archie ran a hand down his face. “I think it might be time for me to retire. Find a nice place in the country. Become a gentleman farmer.”
George let out such a boisterous laugh, that coffee spilled from his cup onto his rotund belly. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“What’s so funny about it?”
“First, I don’t see you growing anything. You can’t even grow out a proper set of whiskers on your face.” Archie ran his hand along his chin. Granted he normally kept a tight beard, but lately he didn’t feel like trimming it. He even had to go to the shop in town to get his hair trimmed.
Another reason to miss Marianne.
“… I don’t think retired Pinkertons become gentlemen farmers. It seems everyone who tried to leave gets caught up in some scrappy situation. Nope, my boy, I don’t see your retiring to the countryside. It wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Maybe I’ll go back to Scotland.”
George took a slurp of his coffee. “You don’t know anyone in Scotland anymore.”
“I’m sure I could make contacts.”
“What would you do, Gordon? You’d be daft within a month. You’d be begging to come back here and be involved in something or another.”
Perhaps George was right. It appeared like a perfect solution in his mind; but sounded silly once he said it out loud.
“Have you heard any news lately?”
“Rufus Boggs is back in town.”
Archie’s ears immediately perked up. “Interesting. What does he want?” He’d seen the Boggs Gang on wanted posters far and wide. However, Rufus was never mentioned in any of the gang activity. The gang of brothers went to great lengths to protect the youngest member of their family.
Archie knew that if all the other brothers were involved in illegal activity, then it was a great possibility that fifteen-year old Rufus was involved as well.
“Probably to exact revenge on his brother’s death.” George finished his coffee and placed his cup down. “Your coffee is getting cold,” he said, pointing at Archie’s cup with a cookie.
Archie picked up his cup and took a sip. He grimaced. George was right. The coffee had turned cold.
“Isn’t he the good son?” Archie asked.
“So, it appears. But I know he lost all semblance of reality after his brothers were swinging by their necks.”
“You weren’t the judge on that case, were you?”
“No. We held the trial at my office, but it was actually Fairmount who oversaw the proceedings.”
“Do you want us to keep an eye on him?”
“If you have an agent with some free time, I’d just be interested in why he is in town.”
Archie nodded. “Did you hear Angus and Penelope were married in San Francisco.”
George nodded. “I heard something to the like. Got married on their own, did they?”
“Yes. She went to find Alice Chapman and ran into Angus in San Francisco. He was working on those murders in the underground fighting ring.”
“Never expected to see Angus get married.” George gave a little laugh. “Almost feels like there is hope for you, Gordon.”
Archie growled under his breath, ignoring the jab. Instead he pulled his calendar forward. “Lunch on Tuesday?”
“Can I interest you in coming to the club?” George often referred to the saloon as his club.
“Unless you are talking the sporting club, and I don’t think there are horse races this time of year, then no.” It was common knowledge that Hotchkiss was a silent investor in a local saloon. Archie had never stepped foot inside nor would he.
“Where are you thinking?”
“Let’s go to that place that makes those delicious steaks.”
“Shanahan’s?”
“Yes. That one.”
“Tuesday it is.” George got up to leave. Archie heard his voice talking low to someone in the hallway.
Archie didn’t want to be bothered to get up to look, so instead he picked up Bronco’s knife once more and continued to work balancing it on his finger.
Chapter 6
Archie took his gold watch from the pocket of his vest and popped it open. It was half past noon. He snapped the watch closed and shoved it back in the pocket.
George had never missed one of their lunch engagements in the eight years Archie had known the man. Also, he had never been this late before. They were to meet at eleven-thirty at the restaurant, but George never arrived.
Archie paid the waiter for his cup of coffee and headed towards the judge’s home. George’s housekeeper hadn’t seen him all morning. All she knew is that he had left for an errand around ten o’clock and hadn’t been seen since.
Archie wondered if perhaps he forgot and was down at the saloon. Giving a groan, Archie decided that he should at least stop by to see if George was there. He would stop through on his way back to the office. George had been acting peculiar lately. All this talk of marriage and whatnot.
As he walked towards the establishment he thought about his friend’s reputation. Judge Hotchkiss had received the nickname of “the Hanging Judge.” Most criminals knew they didn’t want to be caught by the Vigilance Committee, because Hotchkiss had no hesitation in dispensing out his own brand of justice.
But lately, it appeared, his friend was going soft. Archie wondered what happened to him. He turned the corner at the park and could see the building in the distance.
Archie never understood why George had invested in the run-down establishment. The clientele was less than desirable and there was always some sort of trouble involving one of the ladies there.
But the establishment had made George a wealthy man. Not only from the sales of liquor and women, but also from his fees as a judge. The saloon was an excellent way to find many persons on those wanted posters outside the building.
Sometimes Archie thought his friend would make an excellent detective. George knew everyone, could weasel information out of people with just an intimidating glare and he never forgot anything.
He pushed open the doors to the establishment and grimaced. The smell of cheap whiskey and unwashed bodies hung in the air. Grizzly old men, who were once prosperous miners in the now defunct silver mine, sat nursing their drinks and telling stories.
Women dressed inappropriately for the weather sidled up to them, sipping from the men’s drinks and pretending to hang on every word.
Once they caught sight of Archie, everything went quiet. Archie walked over to the bar.
The man behind the counter stopped drying glasses and walked over. When he arrived in front of Archie, he leaned on his hands, against the bar counter.
“What’ll it be, friend?” he asked loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I don’t want anything, friend,” Archie replied.
The man frowned. He leaned over and whispered to Archie, “You need to have a drink, if you catch my drift.”
“I don’t think I do,” Archie whispered back.
“Is there a problem?” A tall, bulky man asked. The man moved behind Archie and was standing so close, Archie could feel the man’s breath on his neck.
Archie turned to face the man. “No problem at all. I was just looking for someone.”
“You don’t look like you belong here, with that fancy get up.” The man motioned to Archie’s clothes. “I doubt your friend would be here either.”
“Who are you lookin’ for?” the bartender asked.
“George Hotchkiss.”
Murmurs started from the old-timers sitting at the tables. Archie didn’t miss the glance from the man standing next to him sent to the far corner of the bar. Two men, in their late teens got up and left, leaving their drinks on the table.
The man tapped Archie on the shoulder. “Your friend ain’t here. No one has seen him.” He gestured around the bar. “Right?” he said a little too loudly.
Murmurs of agreement went through the men. Archie glanced around the room, his eyes darting across the
sea of faces. Something was amiss.
There!
Against the far wall sat a man alone. He was probably in his sixties, but he looked much older. His skin was leathery, and his thinning gray hair fell to his shoulders. Dirty fingers clutched the glass in front of him.
Archie could see the slump of his shoulders and the rounding of his back through the thin canvas coat he wore. It was much too thin to fight against the brutal winters.
What caught Archie’s attention was the fact that this man didn’t agree with the murmurs going around the room. In fact, once Archie made eye contact with him, the man quickly dropped his head and pulled his drink closer. Archie could see the man’s lips moving as he talked to himself.
Looking back at the tall man in front of him, Archie sized him up. The man had a scar on his face, signaling that he wasn’t afraid to fight. The last thing Archie wanted was a confrontation. He would bide his time and see if he could talk to the older man alone.
“I guess I was mistaken,” he said. He looked around the room once more before returning a cool stare at the man trying to intimidate him. “It appears he wasn’t here.” Without breaking eye contact, Archie called to the bartender. “I’ll have that drink now.”
The tall man backed away and opened his arms, giving a slight bow. “Enjoy your drink.” The man turned on his heel and returned to the table with three other shifty-eyed men.
Archie turned around to the bartender and placed his elbows on the bar. “I guess I’ll have that drink.”
“Let’s move over to the other side of the bar. I got something I think you’d like.”
Archie gave the room one more glance and nodded. He followed the bar keep to the far side of the dirty counter.
Archie grimaced as his fingers touched the tacky counter. “Do you have a cloth or something to wipe this?”
The man glared at Archie as he whipped the towel from his shoulder and cleaned the countertop. “Better?”
Archie nodded. The man leaned under the counter and pulled out a rifle. Archie backed up a little. The man slammed the rifle down hard enough to cause everyone in the bar to jump.
Archie looked around as the patrons returned to their whiskey and stories. Archie returned his gaze to the man behind the counter. The man’s hand was on the rifle. There was no doubt in Archie’s mind that he intended to use it if necessary.
An Agent for Marianne Page 4
