That was certainly odd, but she didn’t dwell on the strangeness of it. Instead, she chose to think about his kind eyes, even though she wasn’t interested in him at all, and he did pop into her mind from time to time the rest of the day.
***
Lucy slid the inventory list into the folder on the desk and took a deep breath. There—every last thing was catalogued, complete with an item number and a quantity. It had taken three weeks for all their Chinese goods to be organized and shelved, and now the most complicated part of the process was complete. She’d feel just a bit more satisfied with all her hard work if she felt confident that they’d always be able to obtain these exact items, but in reality, there would be a lot of variation in the different patterns of silks and types of tapestries they would be sent, and she’d have to stay on her toes to keep track of everything.
Her father came into the office holding a telegram, a furrow in his brow.
“What’s the matter, Father?” she asked, feeling her chest tighten with alarm. She’d been keeping a close eye on her father since they arrived back in Denver, giving him space to settle back in, but ever ready to step in and tell him to rest. They had hired a housekeeper to maintain their home while they were gone, and they found everything in excellent condition. That had helped the transition, but it was true that memories of her mother were everywhere, and the grief had a way of creeping up when she least expected it.
“I just received this telegram from Abner Collins.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been wondering when they planned to come home.”
Her father shook his head. “He’s not sure yet when that will be. Delphine has apparently fallen in love with San Francisco, and he can’t get her rooted out of it.”
Lucy laughed. “I wondered if that would be the case. She always has liked the bigger cities and the brighter colors.”
Edwin Haskell folded up the telegram and put it in his pocket. “Well, perhaps it’s for the best. I might ask Abner to scout around for a San Francisco office and see about the logistics of our relocating.”
Lucy tried to hide her smile. She’d promised not to pressure her father about the move, and she’d kept that promise well. It was quite gratifying that he was thinking along those lines himself now without her prodding. “Of course, you would have to say that on the day I finally got the inventory arranged,” she said teasingly.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I know I’m a trial sometimes. If it soothes you at all, we couldn’t undertake such a move for several months at least.”
“That definitely soothes me. It would be dreadful to see my hard work undone so quickly, and after I did it so perfectly, too.” She pulled out a desk chair and sat down, taking another deep breath, this one of satisfaction. “We should celebrate somehow. Maybe go to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s for dinner.”
“You want to celebrate with me?” Edwin raised an eyebrow. “Not with a young man?”
Lucy’s mood sobered, but she kept a smile on her face. “You’re the best date I’ve ever had, Father. You know that.”
He chuckled. “That’s a rather sad statement, my dear.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, but I suppose it is.” She swiveled around in her chair and looked out the window. “I’m just too old to be fashionable, Father. All the friends I had before we left are married now, some with two children, and the girls who are still courting are so much younger than I am. The widows in town cluck their tongues when they see me coming, and they give me such sympathetic looks, you’d think my cat died or something.” She swiveled back around. “It’s a good thing you’ve given me a job to keep me useful.”
“We’re a pair, you and I,” Edwin said. “Perhaps San Francisco is our best chance after all—a fresh start for both of us. Come along, then. I’ll buy you dinner out, and when the Collins finally get here, we’ll discuss the move.”
***
Jed grabbed a pencil from the desk and slid it down his cast, trying to reach the itch that had been driving him nuts all day. He didn’t know what had been distracting him from his work more—the itch, or thinking about the pretty blond he’d met at the bookstore. Lucy Haskell, if he recalled correctly. As soon as he was finished with this case, he’d look up her father’s business and pay her a visit. Chatting with her while looking at items from the Orient would make for a very pleasant afternoon. He felt guilty for lying to her about his line of work, but if everyone knew he was an agent, that would make his job more difficult.
“I could fetch you a knitting needle,” Marianne said, looking at him from across the room. She and Pearl had taken it upon themselves to nurse him back to health, and Archie’s younger sister, Victoria, had contributed gifts of little cakes from the pastry shop downtown. He appreciated their solicitude, but he wished he didn’t merit it.
“I’ve got it, but thanks.” He tossed the pencil on the desk. “Do you know where Archie is?”
“I think he went with Wyatt to talk to the newest witness in his case,” Marianne said. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” Jed rolled his chair back and turned to face her. “Have we started any sort of file on Scarlett LeVeau? Has she been investigated for anything personally?”
Marianne frowned. “I’m not sure. I know she’s been at the heart of a few of our infidelity cases, but I don’t know if we’ve ever looked into anything beyond that. Do you suspect her of prostitution?”
“I do, considering how many husbands have been caught with her.”
“But they’ve all denied that accusation.”
Jed shook his head. “Of course they deny it. They’d say anything to avoid getting arrested. I’m not sure that’s the end of the story, though.”
“If there is something else going on, what do you think it is?”
Jed pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to ease the headache there. He wanted to grab his head in a vise grip, but that was rather difficult with only one hand. “I think I’m going to take a walk and see what else I can find out,” he said at last.
“That’s a good idea. You’ve been cooped up for quite a while now. Get some fresh air.”
He nodded. “See you in a while.”
Chapter Four
Ducking into alleyways had proven to be a mistake, so Jed took a seat near the window in a small restaurant across the street from Scarlett LeVeau’s. He still didn’t know where Gerald Fields was—he only knew that he’d been spotted in this location before, and he was hoping the man would show up again so he could actually find out where he was staying. His report was incomplete without that information, and he disliked incomplete reports.
Jed sipped a cup of tea while he watched people mill along on the sidewalk. It was getting near suppertime and the restaurant was filling up, but he didn’t relinquish his seat. He finally ordered some pot roast to justify the fact that he was still there, and at least for the next fifteen minutes, the waitress stopped glaring at him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young blond woman and an older man take seats at the table next to his. He didn’t pay them much heed, though, concentrating on watching the apartment building across the way instead. He pretended to study his newspaper—he’d all but memorized the first article, and still, nothing of note had happened across the street.
Until now.
He watched with curiosity as a gentleman in a black hat exited the building, stumbling a bit as he came down the stairs. That of itself wasn’t terribly odd, but the man continued to weave as he made his way down the street, and Jed realized the man was drunk. It was a little early yet for drinking, but it was hardly illegal. But just a few minutes later, he saw another man exit in much the same condition, and then another. Had they been having some sort of drinking party?
He stood up quickly and tossed some money on the table. When he turned to leave the restaurant, he ran full tilt into the blond across the aisle, who had also risen.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “I’m not very good wi
th my feet—I’ve only had them for twenty years.” She paused. “Oh, Mr. Green! Hello.”
“Miss Haskell.” He’d wanted to see her again, but now was not the best time. “No, it’s my fault entirely. Please excuse me—I need to go.”
“Of course.” She took another step back, and he slipped past her and outside. He was being rude and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He’d try to find her again later and make it up to her. He’d apologize profusely at the very least.
He was afraid that he’d missed the men he was looking for, but as he scanned the sidewalk, he saw one of them up ahead, leaning against a tree alongside the road.
“Hello there,” he called out as he approached. “How are you this evening?”
The man turned and gave him a vacant stare. Jed noticed that his pupils were half their usual size. “Fine,” he said. “Just fine.”
Jed took another step closer and caught a scent that he identified immediately. Opium. This man wasn’t drunk—he’d been smoking opium. That explained so very much, but he hadn’t expected to find opium outside Denver’s Chinatown. He’d thought the problem was contained to that area. “Have a good night,” he said, giving the man a nod and then continuing down the street. He hoped Archie was back by now—they had a lot to discuss.
***
“And there you have it,” Archie said, pacing back and forth as he addressed the assembled agents. “Thanks to Agent Green, a small opium den operating here in Denver and run by Miss Scarlett LeVeau has just been shut down.” He nodded at Jed in appreciation.
“An opium den that wasn’t on Wazee Street?” Maverick Jones asked.
“That’s right,” Archie replied. “The problem isn’t as contained as we thought.”
“How many of these dens are going to pop up in other places around the city?” Maverick asked. “And what are the police going to do about it? They’re having a hard enough time trying to keep things under control as it is.”
“That’s what they’re trying to figure out right now.” Archie sat down behind his desk again, but stood right back up. It was easy for Jed to see how agitated the lead agent was. “We all need to be keeping our eyes open for suspicious activity. We need to do our part to stop the spread.”
All the agents nodded.
“So, that’s why Jed ended up with a broken arm?” Bronco asked. “He got a little too close to the den?”
“That’s what we believe,” Archie replied. “And, of course, Mrs. Fields has been alerted as to the true nature of her husband’s activities.”
“From her reaction, I’d think she’d rather learn that he’d been unfaithful,” Jed added. “Opium addiction is a life-threatening thing.”
The agents asked a few follow-up questions, which Archie and Jed did their best to answer, and when they were dismissed, Jed stayed behind to talk to Archie. “I get my cast off tomorrow,” he said. “When can I have my next case?”
Archie scrutinized him. “You feel well enough to get back to regular work?”
“I’ve felt ready for weeks. It’s just been this holding me back.” Jed nodded at his arm. “Come on, Archie—what have you got? Something good. If I can locate an opium den with a broken arm, imagine what I could do once I’m back in perfect health.”
Archie chuckled. “A broken arm certainly didn’t slow you down. Let me look through our current cases and choose something out for you, all right? Nothing that’s going to require you to swing from any vines, though—your arm will still be tender for a while yet.”
“Understood. Thank you.” Jed gave a nod, then left the office and walked out back to the dormitory where he roomed with the other agents. He couldn’t wait to be back on regular duty—he didn’t think he’d take it for granted ever again.
***
Lucy shook her head as she set the table. She’d been looking forward to seeing Mr. Green again—she’d been daydreaming about it, actually—but now for the second time in a row, he’d darted off, leaving her standing there like a foolish girl. Well, she was a foolish girl if she was setting her cap for him after just one meeting in a bookstore and one collision at a restaurant. And he obviously didn’t care for her one bit—that much was obvious from the infuriating way he kept running away from her. She’d put him out of her mind entirely. That was the only thing to be done about it.
She took the skillet of fried potatoes off the stove and set it on the trivet in the center of the table. Now that she was working in her father’s warehouse, it was probably time for them to hire a cook—it was becoming more and more difficult for her to keep up at home and at the office both. The realization made her appreciate her mother even more. Claire wasn’t perfect—sometimes the laundry would fall behind or the dusting wouldn’t be done for a few days—but dinner was always ready when her husband walked in the door, and that was no mean feat.
“It smells delicious,” Edwin said as he took a seat. “Thank you, my dear.”
“You’re welcome.” She sat as well, then glanced up and noticed the look on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“I received this today.” Edwin passed a letter across the table, and Lucy took it.
It was from Abner Collins.
My dear friend,
I’m writing to you in a state of agitation. My dear Delphine, as you know, took quite a shine to San Francisco, particularly Chinatown, and she made friends with some of the immigrant ladies who run the various different shops there. I humored her in allowing to wander the area at will while I visited museums and whatnot, believing that she would tire of it soon, considering that we had just come from China and she must have had her fill. I was wrong. During the course of our visit, she spent more and more of her time there, and last Thursday night, she never came back to the hotel.
Lucy glanced up at her father, shock hammering through her body. He motioned for her to keep reading.
I went out in search of her, but could find nothing. I couldn’t even locate the new friends she’d made—it was as though everyone had disappeared to be replaced by strangers. I contacted the police the next day, and they were most unhelpful. It seems they don’t have the best of luck in Chinatown, and their attitude seems to be one of looking the other way. In the meantime, my own investigations have shown me that Delphine took all her jewelry with her, along with the money she’d been tucking away to redecorate our house when we got back. My imagination has run wild with me these past days.
Lucy skimmed the rest of the letter. Abner had walked the streets of Chinatown ever since, looking for any indication of his wife, and he was writing to apologize—he would not be returning to Denver until Delphine had been found.
“He’s apologizing for his misfortune?” Lucy shook her head in disbelief. “He has nothing to apologize for!”
“He’s always been that way,” her father said. “Even back in college—as long as I’ve known him. No matter what the cause of the problem, he would apologize for it.”
“Well, he should stop it.” Lucy folded up the letter. “It makes me angry, and I don’t like being angry.”
“I shall tell him to stop it at once,” Edwin replied with a smile that quickly disappeared. “I wish there was something we could do to help, but if the police won’t even get involved . . .”
“I think the police are being cowardly,” Lucy said. She had been struggling for the last full minute to keep her tears at bay, but she knew it was just a matter of time before she lost that battle. Poor Mrs. Collins! Where was she, and what was she suffering?
“It’s likely they’re overwhelmed,” her father replied. “They may not know what to do or where to look. And it’s very likely that they don’t speak the language, so they can’t ask the right questions.”
“Whereas I do speak the language, but I’m not a police officer.” Lucy slumped down in her chair. “We can’t just leave Mr. Collins to go through this himself, Father. We need to help him.”
“I agree, but what do you suggest?�
��
“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to figure something out. Just be prepared because when I do, you’ll most likely disapprove.”
Her father met her eye. “If you’re doing it for the good of our dear friends, chances are, I will not disapprove. Your kindness does you credit.”
“I don’t feel very kind—I feel angry.” Lucy allowed that anger to well up inside her. She would stay focused on it—that’s how she would keep from dissolving into a puddle of tears.
Chapter Five
Lucy spent the next three days trying to come up with a sensible, logical plan to find Mrs. Collins and bring her back to her husband, but in those three days, nothing came to mind that didn’t involve breaking even more laws and getting everyone into even more trouble. She continued to go through the motions of her job at the warehouse and her duties at home, but her mind was occupied somewhere else, so much so that when she first read the newspaper advertisement, she thought she was imagining it because she wanted it to be true so badly.
She was waiting by the front door when her father came home that night, and she thrust the newspaper into his hands before he’d even taken off his coat.
“What’s this?” he asked, scanning the page.
“The Pinkerton office is looking for female agents,” she said, jabbing the paper with her finger. “Isn’t this incredible?”
He looked up with a frown. “I’m not sure what you’re showing me.”
“Don’t you see? I could apply to be a Pinkerton, go to San Francisco, and find Mrs. Collins. I’d have a badge or something—actually, I’m not sure if I’d have a badge. But I’d be a lot more official than I am now, and I could do some real good, Father. I could actually help.”
Edwin pressed his lips together as he looked over the advertisement another time. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “This seems incredibly risky.”
“It’s risky, but if no one else will take that risk, what will poor Mr. Collins do? He can’t spend the rest of his days looking for his wife—she could be anywhere by now.” Lucy touched her father’s arm. “You said you wouldn’t disapprove.”
An Agent for Lucy Page 3
