by Laura Beers
Pulling back on the reins, Darcy stopped the team of horses in the middle of the road. “Excuse me. I need a moment alone,” she murmured, extending him the reins. She didn’t say another word as she hopped off the carriage.
Porter watched her walk swiftly towards the cover of the trees. It was evident that Josh had not been a devoted husband, and it would take more than one conversation for Darcy to open up. As much as he wanted her to confide in him, they didn’t have time to lollygag. They needed to arrive at the cattle ranch and discover why men were disappearing. That was his job. That was their job. Learning Darcy’s secret was secondary to the case.
He was a Pinkerton agent, first, and foremost.
Chapter 3
Darcy smelled and heard the cows before she saw them in the distance. She breathed in the familiar scent.
Porter huffed in amusement. “Did you just smile when you took in a deep breath?”
“I have always associated this smell with happiness,” she admitted, not even remotely embarrassed by her reaction.
He gave her a look of disbelief. “You associate manure with happiness?”
“Don’t you?” she challenged.
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “It does remind me of a happier time, as well.”
Her eyes roamed the ranch as she continued to drive the wagon down the dirt road. Fenced pastures lined both sides of the road leading up to a large, white house with a wrap-around porch and a red barn off to the side. As they approached the house, Darcy saw wilted flowers in the flowerbed.
Darcy pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the home. Once she set the brake, Porter hopped down and walked over to her side. “Remember to be cautious of your surroundings at all times.” He gave her a private smile. “It is time to play the role of a happily married couple.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to assist her down. “Don’t worry about me. I have learned to play that role quite well.”
The door to the house opened with a creak. An attractive man, not much older than she, walked out to the porch, drying his hands with a white cloth. His shirt and dark trousers fit tightly against his body, highlighting his muscular frame. His blonde hair and square jaw accented his commanding presence.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Porter stood next to her. “We are looking for Mr. McCoy.”
The man tossed the cloth onto his right shoulder. “You found him, but I prefer to be called Adam.” With a charming smile, he directed his next question towards her. “And who might you be?”
Darcy found herself smiling back at Mr. McCoy. “My name is…”
She heard a low growl before Porter cut her off. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Bailey.” He placed his right hand on the small of her back and ushered her closer to the porch. “We are your new housekeeper and cowhand.”
“Ah, I should have known.” Adam’s eyes flashed with disappointment. “Please come inside.”
Porter escorted her into the home and asked in a hushed voice, “Did you forget the part where we are happily married?”
“I remember,” she assured him as her eyes roamed the house. It wasn’t overly dirty, but a fine coat of dust covered all the furniture.
She could feel Porter’s warm breath on her ear. “Then will you refrain from flirting with our client.”
Darcy stopped in the hall and glared up at him. “I did no such thing. How dare you accuse me of that!” She felt a need to defend herself but kept her voice low.
“I know what I saw,” he insisted.
Her eyes narrowed at her infuriating partner, but she did not feel the need to dignify his words with a response. She huffed and started walking towards the back of the home. However, before she could take her second step, Porter’s hand grabbed her arm from behind. “You must remember that you are a Pinkerton agent, first and foremost.”
“Thank you for that sound advice,” she replied dryly. “Will you kindly release my arm?”
When Porter removed his hand, Darcy squared her shoulders and walked into the kitchen. Her steps faltered at the sight in front of her. Plates, dishes, and utensils covered the length of the counterspace. More dirty dishes were stacked on the ground near the sink and next to the door sat an enormous pile of laundry.
Adam was leaning up against the wall near the table and offered her an apologetic smile. “I am not sure which I need more… a housekeeper or a Pinkerton agent.”
“Good thing you have both,” Porter said as he brushed past her into the room, completely oblivious to her outrage.
Darcy’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t been hired on to be a Pinkerton agent. She had been hired to clean while Porter handled the investigation. Of all the cruel tricks that had befallen her, this was the one that hurt the most. The agency had deceived her. What was worse, her brother had been right. She’d been duped.
In a relatively calm voice, she spoke up. “I apologize Mr. McCoy, but I am afraid there has been a big misunderstanding. I have decided not to accept this case.”
Porter pivoted towards her with a look of confusion. “Can you repeat that, wife?”
“I will drive into town and acquire a hotel room for the night,” Darcy explained. “After that, I will see myself back to Denver and stay until you complete the assignment.” She tilted her head towards Adam. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. McCoy.”
Without saying a word, Porter grabbed her arm and led her towards a room off the kitchen. Once inside, he let go, turned to face her, and demanded, “Do you want to explain what you think you are doing?”
“I thought it was fairly obvious,” she responded. “I am quitting.”
“Why? We just got here,” he said through gritted teeth.
She clasped her hands in front of her, not even remotely deterred by Porter’s anger directed at her. “The agency didn’t hire me to be an agent.”
Porter gave her a baffled look. “Of course they did! My job is to train you.”
She stepped closer to him, and she was now toe-to-toe with him. “No. I was hired to clean and cook. Not to be an agent. I was duped, again.”
Now, Porter’s jaw dropped. “Is that what the issue is? There are too many dishes for you to clean?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. “I knew hiring women was a mistake.”
Pointing towards the kitchen, she explained, “It will take me at least two days to clean all those dishes, and another day to do the laundry. How am I supposed to work as an agent if my hands are literally covered with soapy water?”
Porter placed his hands on her shoulders. “Have you considered that you are inside the house to protect Mr. McCoy? He might be a target, as well.”
“Do not attempt to pacify me, Mr. Shaw,” she asserted, shaking off his hands. “I feel foolish enough as it is.”
His brows furrowed. “Why would you feel foolish?”
“I spoke to you of destiny, but obviously, I was only hired to be a servant.” As hard as she tried, she couldn’t prevent her voice from hitching with emotion.
Immediately, Porter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “You were hired because of your knowledge of a working cattle ranch. It could prove vital to our investigation.”
“How does cleaning help our case?”
“Being an agent requires us to go undercover from time to time,” he pointed out. “While you are posing as a housekeeper, I will be outside with the other cowhands doing back-breaking work.”
She tilted her head up to look at him. “Can we switch roles? I would much rather work as a cowhand than clean all those dishes.”
“Why am I not surprised by that question?” Porter grinned, tightening his hold on her.
Darcy closed her eyes as she rested her head against his chest. It felt so natural to be in his arms, to be comforted. Perhaps she was being foolhardy in her assessment. Suddenly, her heart dropped, and she stiffened in his arms. She was the same foolish woman, lowering her inhibitions because a man charmed her. Taking a step back, she said
, “I still…”
Porter cut her off as he started to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt. “To prove to you that you have come to the wrong conclusion about only being hired to keep house, I will help you clean the kitchen.”
“You?”
He gave her an impish grin. “I do know how to clean, Mrs. Shaw.”
“You would do that?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “For me?”
He shoved the sleeves above his elbows before asking, “If I help you clean the kitchen, will you stay on as my partner?” His eyes held vulnerability.
Touched beyond words by his kind gesture, she found herself nodding. “I will.”
“Well, wife… let’s get to work.”
The sun was setting when Mr. McCoy walked back into the kitchen holding two bowls. “I figured you both could use some supper,” he paused with a knowing look, “and a break.” He looked down at the contents in the bowls. “It looks inedible, but the cook does make a good chili.”
Porter straightened up and placed his hand on his back. After stretching for a few moments, he accepted the bowls from Adam. “Thank you,” he said. “Darcy, come and eat.”
Darcy lifted her head up from the pan she had been scrubbing. She wiped her forearm across her forehead. “Why do you have so many blasted dishes, Mr. McCoy?”
Surprised by Darcy’s abrupt question, Porter couldn’t control the laugh that escaped his lips.
“I do apologize, and please call me Adam,” Mr. McCoy said as he sat down. “My wife died two weeks ago, and I haven’t touched the dishes since then.”
Darcy’s hand stilled on the pan as her eyes grew compassionate. “I am sorry for your loss.” She placed the pan into the hot water. “What did she die from?”
“We don’t rightly know,” Adam replied. “Two weeks ago, I took a group of the cowhands to the eastern tip of my property to search for missing cattle, and it took longer than intended. I returned home the following morning, and found Amanda lying dead on the floor in the kitchen, surrounded by,” he hesitated, looking uncomfortable, “bodily fluids.”
“Like diarrhea and vomiting?” Darcy asked without a hint of embarrassment.
Adam frowned as he added, “And blood. Lots of blood.”
“What did the doctor rule as her cause of death?” Darcy pressed.
Adam dropped his right forearm onto the table. “He said she died of cholera.”
“Cholera?” Porter repeated in surprise.
Adam nodded. “A large group of Russian emigrants came to Aurora’s Creek to settle temporarily in unoccupied buildings throughout the town. Dr. Wilcox has been overwhelmed by the number of deaths among the emigrants. It has been widely assumed that they brought the cholera with them.”
Darcy bit her lower lip. “How did your wife have contact with these Russian emigrants?”
“Amanda had gone into town a few days prior to buy some items at the mercantile. Perhaps she had contact with them then,” Adam suggested.
Darcy looked closely at all the plates that contained scraps of food and tea cups. “Did you notice whether Amanda’s breath smelled like garlic or bitter almonds?”
“No,” Adam replied. “Why?”
Picking up a glass, Darcy held it up to the candle, squinting her eyes as she analyzed the contents. “Had she complained of abdominal cramps before you left?” she asked, returning the glass to the counter.
Adam sat straight up in his seat with a perplexed expression on his face. “Not that I recall.”
“You don’t think…” Porter asked, putting his spoon down.
“It would make sense.” Darcy picked up a teacup that lay near the back of the counter and reached for a spoon. She stirred the tea for a moment, her eyes fixated on the liquid. “Was this your wife’s tea?”
“It was. That was her grandmother’s teacup,” Adam confirmed. “Amanda abhorred coffee.”
A deep frown came to Darcy’s lips. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Adam, but your wife was murdered.”
“No! I don’t believe it!” Adam shouted. “Who would want to kill my wife?”
Holding the teacup in her hand, Darcy walked over and placed it on the table next to Porter. “White arsenic powder has no taste and is odorless,” she hesitated, “but, it isn’t soluble. It must be dissolved in tea or something hot. When the liquid starts to cool, some will precipitate out, and you might see or even taste strange particles.”
She took the spoon and placed it into the tea. Lifting the spoon, there were floating particles in the liquid. “In our medical books, it says that if these gritty particles are eaten, they will taste like sand.”
Adam cast her a questioning look. “How do you know so much about arsenic?”
“My wife is a nurse,” Porter announced proudly.
“A nurse?” Adam repeated in confusion. “Then, why are you a Pinkerton agent?”
“That is a story for another day,” Darcy replied. “Stomach cramps, diarrhea, and vomiting are all classic signs of arsenic poisoning. If you would allow me to exhume the body, then I could confirm my diagnosis.”
“Absolutely not!” Adam exclaimed.
Porter pushed aside his bowl, suddenly losing his appetite. “Who benefits from your wife’s death?”
Adam looked stunned. “No one,” he stated firmly.
“Think,” Porter urged. “Why would someone want to kill your wife and four of your cowhands?”
“I don’t know!” Adam jumped up from his seat. “How do we even know Amanda’s death is connected to the cowhands’ disappearances?”
“They are related, because I don’t believe in coincidences,” Porter declared.
“Who gets the ranch if you die?” Darcy pressed.
“My brother, Ralph,” Adam revealed, “but he loved Amanda. He wouldn’t have harmed her. Why would he?”
“Was Ralph with you when you went to search for the missing cattle?” Darcy asked.
Adam shook his head. “No, he stayed behind,” he put his hands up in front of him, “but that’s not unusual. He was branding the calves that weekend.”
“Did you tell anyone that you hired Pinkerton agents to investigate the missing cowhands?” Porter asked.
“Per Mr. Gordon’s instructions, I only informed my staff that I hired a new cowhand and a housekeeper,” Adam stated, running his fingers through his hair.
“That’s good,” Porter said. “From now on, you do not eat or drink anything that someone offers you, even if they take a bite or sip first. People have been known to build up an immunity to arsenic powder.”
Darcy came to stand next to him, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, but her comments were directed towards Adam. “If you exhibit any signs of arsenic poisoning, then please, seek me out immediately.”
Adam turned away from them and clasped his hands around the back of his head. “I can’t believe this. Someone murdered my wife. I suspected something happened to my ranch hands, but Amanda…” He broke off as a large sob overtook him. After a moment, he turned back to face them. “Who would do such a thing?”
“That is what we are going to find out,” Porter assured him. “We won’t rest until we discover who is behind this and why.”
Darcy stepped over to Adam and asked, “May I see your hands?” He extended them with his palms down. She examined his fingernails. “Good. You don’t appear to be suffering from long term exposure to arsenic.”
Adam stepped back, the anguish clearly on his features. “Excuse me… I… uh… need some time alone,” he stammered, turning and walking away from them. Reaching the door, he spun back around. “You are staying in the foreman’s cottage just down the road. It is painted brown. You can’t miss it.”
“We don’t mean to intrude on your foreman’s home,” Darcy said.
Adam frowned. “He was one of the first men who went missing. I don’t think he will mind.”
After Adam left, Darcy sat down next to Porter. “We will need to preserve this evidence for when we
involve the sheriff.”
Porter looked at the teacup, noting the floating particles. “Are you sure?” he asked in a hesitant tone.
“I am,” Darcy confirmed. “White arsenic powder has been an effective way to kill for centuries. In medical school, we were trained to look for the signs of arsenic poisoning, because it’s so easily mistaken for food poisoning, dysentery, or cholera. The earlier you catch it, the greater the chance of survival.”
“Do you believe him?” Porter’s eyes focused on the door that Adam just walked through.
Darcy looked puzzled. “You don’t?”
“I didn’t say that,” Porter replied, “but you must always stay objective. Adam could have easily killed his wife and tried to pass it off as a natural death.”
“He seemed genuinely heartbroken. I can’t imagine he had anything to do with his wife’s murder.”
“I agree.” Porter gave a decisive head bob. “However, as a Pinkerton agent, you will discover that people will kill for the most asinine reasons. There are the usual motives: greed, betrayal, and secrets, not to mention crimes of passion and circumstance.”
Darcy looked at him with tender green eyes, and he detected a glimpse of pity. “Does that not weigh heavily on your conscience, investigating all those crimes?”
“I have learned to distance myself from the victims,” Porter explained.
“That sounds lonely.”
Porter rose from his chair and placed his bowl in the sink. “It’s practical. You must learn how to separate your personal life from your life as an agent. If they ever merge, it would be too much for even the most seasoned agent to cope with.” After cleaning the bowl, he turned around and leaned back against the counter. “We should head down to the cottage and get some rest. It will be a long day tomorrow for both of us.”
“I think that’s wise,” she agreed.
“Are you hungry?”
Darcy looked longingly at the bowl of chili still on the table. “I am, but I don’t dare eat it.”
That didn’t surprise him. “Stay there. I will find something to cook for you.” She started to rise, but stopped when he insisted, “Allow me to take care of you, Mrs. Shaw.”
