“Other than having aged ten years in thirty seconds, I’m fine.” Mrs. Bracegirdle glanced at Branch before turning her attention back to Katie. “So what are you two doing here?”
“I thought I saw a light up here the other night,” Katie explained, “and we were just checking it out.”
The widow gave a self-righteous shake of her head. “It’s about time someone took me seriously.”
“I do take you seriously.” Branch felt bad for scaring her. “But you still haven’t told us what you’re doing here.”
“I heard someone coming up the stairs earlier. I decided to take matters into my own hands and find out once and for all what’s going on here.”
“All you heard was Katie and me.”
Mrs. Bracegirdle shifted her gaze from him to Katie and back again. “You mean all this time the noise I heard was just the two of you making like a married couple?”
Katie’s mouth dropped open. “No, no!” she hastened to explain. “Just tonight. I mean—” She looked to Branch for help, but something made him angle his head to the side.
“Branch? What is it?”
“Shh,” he cautioned, finger to his mouth. He pressed his ear to the door. A footfall was followed by the sound of a key entering the lock.
He jerked back. “Quick!” he whispered. “In the bedroom.”
The three of them barely had time to reach the next room when someone entered the apartment. Senses on high alert, Katie held her breath. Whoever entered the apartment had a key. The question was, why would anyone come here so late at night?
Branch held the bedroom door open a crack and peered out with one eye.
“Can you tell who it is?” Katie whispered.
“Too dark.”
“Man or woman?” Mrs. Bracegirdle asked.
“Can’t tell that, either.”
For several moments no one spoke. Creaking boards were followed by an odd thumping sound.
Puzzled, Katie strained her ears. “It sounds like he’s moving furniture,” she said, her voice low.
“In an empty room? That would be a trick,” Branch whispered back.
The intruder sneezed, and Katie grabbed hold of Branch’s arm. She would recognize that sneeze anywhere.
Branch’s hand rested on hers. “What is it?”
“Culpepper,” she whispered.
He glanced back at her. “What?”
“That’s Stanley Culpepper. The restaurant’s accountant.”
“Are you sure?”
For answer Katie nodded. The three of them didn’t move for several moments. The strange thumping sounds continued.
“What in the name of Sam Hill is he—”
A high screech cut him off, and Mrs. Bracegirdle tugged on Katie’s sleeve. “That’s the cat I told you about. The one who sings opera.” She turned her ear to the door. “Il Trovatore, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I don’t think it’s a cat,” Katie said. Neither was it opera. The high-pitched grinding noise sounded like metal grinding against metal.
Branch whispered, “How would your Pinkerton boss proceed at this point?”
“He would caution us to wait and observe.” With that Katie pulled out her pistol and darted out of the room.
Chapter 45
A flickering light greeted Katie. Culpepper was facedown on the floor, head and shoulders in a hole. Wooden boards and the carpet had kept the hole hidden, and both had been moved aside.
She exchanged a glance with Branch before stepping over what looked like a log but was really the rolled-back carpet.
Branch followed and nudged the man’s leg with the toe of his boot. The grinding sound stopped, and Culpepper’s head popped out of the hole. “It’s about time you—”
Seeing Katie, he reached for his hammer. She pointed her gun at him and kicked the hammer aside. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Culpepper stared at the gun, and panic crossed his face. “You! But you’re nothing but a Harvey girl.”
“And you’re nothing but a thief and a killer.”
Branch grabbed Culpepper’s hands and pulled them behind his back. “And I’m the sheriff.”
After Branch snapped the handcuffs around Culpepper’s wrists, Katie called to Mrs. Bracegirdle. “It’s safe to come out now.”
Mrs. Bracegirdle entered the room cautiously, stabbing the floor with her cane. “Would you folks mind telling me what’s going on? What is Mr. Culpepper doing here?”
Branch nudged a chisel and hammer with his foot. “I’d say by the look of things, he was trying to work his way to the bank vault below.” Mrs. Bracegirdle inched forward and stared down the hole in disbelief. “You mean that’s what’s been keeping me awake all this time?”
“You try grinding through two feet of reinforced concrete,” Culpepper said and then sneezed.
Katie waved a hand in front of her nose. “Maybe you don’t have hay fever after all. Maybe it’s all this dust.” It also explained his battered hands and dirty nails. “What I don’t understand is why? You have a good job.”
“You call working at the Harvey House a good job?” Culpepper’s eyes took on a feverish glow. “Do you know how much money is down there? It would have made me a rich man and I’d never have to work again.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Branch said. “You won’t have to work in jail, either.”
Culpepper sneezed again but said nothing.
“So why’d you do it?” Katie asked. “Why’d you kill Ginger and Priscilla?”
Mrs. Bracegirdle gasped. “He killed the Harvey girls?”
“I didn’t do it.” Sweat beaded Culpepper’s forehead. “You can’t pin their deaths on me.”
Katie studied the tools Culpepper had dropped. “He’s right-handed,” she said. But that wasn’t all. There were two sets of tools. Two hammers, two chisels.
“So who’s your partner?” Branch asked.
“Who says I have one?”
“You better have one,” Katie said. “Otherwise you and you alone will be charged with a lot more than trying to rob a bank.”
Culpepper suddenly seemed to have trouble breathing. “I didn’t kill nobody,” he said between gasps. “You can’t prove that I did.”
“I think we can make a pretty good case,” Branch said. “Ginger found out what you were up to and you couldn’t let her get away.”
“So you chased her,” Katie added. “All the way back to the Harvey House where you killed her.”
“You don’t know nothing from Adam,” Culpepper groused and sneezed.
“If you didn’t do it, then your partner did.” The edge to Branch’s voice matched the dark look on his face.
“I told you. I don’t have a partner.”
Culpepper stuck to his guns and no amount of questioning made him change his tune.
“I think I’ve heard enough for tonight,” Branch said. He pushed Culpepper across the room and out the door.
Katie let out a sigh and closed her eyes. Thank You, God. She’d prayed for a clue but never expected it to come in the form of a cup handle.
A movement reminded her she wasn’t alone. She opened her eyes and slipped her arm around the old lady’s stooped back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“Does this mean I’m no longer off my rocker?” Mrs. Bracegirdle asked.
Katie laughed. “I never thought you were.”
Chapter 46
Pickens called everyone into the dining room following the morning rush, and all stood in a straight line, equal inches apart as customary.
Katie had gone to the restaurant manager with her plan, and now she said a silent prayer that it worked. Was Pickens up to the task? She would know soon enough.
Hands behind his back, he paced before them with an air of such unbearable importance it was a wonder that the buttons didn’t pop off his overworked shirt.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.”
“Maybe he’s quitting,” Mary-Lo
u whispered to Katie.
Katie shook her head. “Don’t hold your breath.” Though Pickens insisted that the line be perfectly straight, she inched forward where she could observe the others. Nothing was more revealing than an unguarded look.
Pickens cleared his throat. She had told him exactly what to say, but his arrogant bearing was clearly his own.
“Thanks to Katie here, the killer of our Harvey girls has been caught and is now behind bars.”
His announcement drew gasps of surprise and appreciative applause.
“Praise God.” Mary-Lou clutched her hands to her chest, and her eyes glistened with tears.
“Now we can all rest easy,” Abigail said, her voice choked with emotion.
Tully, as usual, looked more suspicious than pleased. “What did Katie have to do with it?”
“Katie,” Pickens began, “is actually a Pinkerton operative.”
A stunned silence followed his announcement, and all eyes turned to her. Chef Gassy’s mouth dropped open, and Howie Howard’s peepers nearly popped out of his head. Miss Thatcher’s hand flew to her mouth, and Buzz did a double take. The Mexican cooks looked at each other and shrugged.
“No entiendo,” one murmured.
Cissy did understand but showed no surprise. Instead she kept her head lowered, as if the floor was of prime interest.
Tully rolled her eyes. “I always knew there was something strange about you.”
Mary-Lou shook her head in disbelief. “You mean I’ve been rooming with a real live detective?” She glanced around as if seeking confirmation from the others.
“But who was it?” Abigail asked, rubbing her bare ring finger as she tended to whenever she was nervous, upset, or anxious. “Who was the killer?”
Though she asked the question of Katie, Pickens answered. “Why, Mr. Culpepper, of course,” he said, as if he’d known it all along.
“Culpepper?” Chef Gassy slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “But he vas one of us.”
Pickens shook his head, and his jowls wobbled. “Not anymore.”
Abigail glanced from left to right. “Personally, I never cared much for the man,”
Miss Thatcher nodded in agreement. “He was an odd one, all right.”
“Look who’s calling the kettle black,” Tully said under her breath.
“How did you know it was Culpepper?” Buzz asked.
Katie quickly explained how she and Branch found him in the apartment over the bank.
“You mean he planned to rob it?” Buzz shook his head. “Incredible.”
Everyone started talking at once. Pickens silenced them. “Quiet! Katie has something she wants to say.”
Katie stepped forward. “It’s important that no one reveals who I am.” Asking a room full of people to keep a secret was like trying to sneak daylight past a rooster, but she had to try.
“What difference does it make?” Tully asked. “The killer’s been caught.”
“An undercover agent mustn’t reveal his or her identity,” Katie explained. Given the number of people passing through the restaurant daily, she could easily bump into someone who recognized her in the future. More than one agent’s cover had been blown by some well-meaning acquaintance. “Pinkerton rules.”
She hoped the detective agency’s rules commanded as much respect as Harvey’s.
Pickens looked at his watch. “The train’s due in fifteen minutes.”
“What about our checks?” Tully asked. “I mean now that Culpepper’s gone.”
“Your paychecks will be issued on Friday as usual,” Pickens assured them. Noticing Katie out of line, he paused and glared at her until she stepped back. “Buzz, you can handle the money at the door until we find a replacement for Culpepper.” He clapped his hands, signaling the end of the meeting. “Now back to work, all of you.”
Katie made a beeline for her station, and Mary-Lou hurried to catch up to her. “You, too?”
Katie shrugged. “The restaurant’s understaffed. May as well make myself useful while I’m waiting for my next assignment.”
Mary-Lou’s face softened into a wistful smile. “A Pinkerton detective. Wow. If I were you I’d never serve another meal.”
“I thought you liked it here.”
“I do. It’s just that your life is so much more exciting.”
Katie smiled. She really liked Mary-Lou and would miss her. Miss all of them—even Pickens. And the regulars—she would miss them, too. Mrs. Bracegirdle, Okie-Sam, Long-Shot, the railroad workers and cattlemen.
Mostly she would miss Branch. Her heart felt heavy as a lead balloon. “Trust me,” she said. “A detective’s work is dull and tedious.”
A dubious look crossed Mary-Lou’s face. “If you say so.” With a wave of her hand, she hastened away, and Katie strode to her own station.
The tables were set with every plate and piece of silverware in perfect alignment. What would her sisters say if they could see her now? Plain, undomesticated Katie now knew how to set a table that would put a Boston socialite to shame.
Oddly enough, her station behind the counter seemed as comfortable and familiar to her as an old pair of shoes, and her spirits dropped even more.
Her job was complete except for writing the final report. Once she turned it in, she would be assigned to another case. The paperwork should have been completed by now.
But something held her back. True, she felt sorry for the other girls who were already overworked and would have to take up the slack when she left, but that wasn’t the only reason she procrastinated. There were simply too many loose ends and unanswered questions for her peace of mind.
Culpepper refused to implicate anyone else, but it was hard to believe he worked alone. Not only did the double set of tools suggest a partner, but Culpepper hardly seemed physically capable of pulling off such a labor-intensive job by himself. Not with his breathing problems.
It seemed that arresting Culpepper had raised more questions than it answered.
Branch walked through the door, and her thoughts scattered like little mice. Even the sun streaming through the windows appeared brighter with his presence.
He strolled across the room toward her with purposeful strides. Mouth drawn in a straight line, his eyes narrowed as if guarding a secret.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She thought she had memorized his every expression, but this one was new. “Everything okay?” she asked.
He slid onto a stool. “I just wired the circuit judge. Hope to have the trial as soon as next week.”
“That’s good,” she said and tried not to think of how close they had come to kissing yet a second time. Feeling warmth climb up her neck, she looked away. “I—I think I figured out why Ginger asked to change places with Abigail.”
“Oh?”
She met his gaze, determined to think about the case. Nothing else. “Something must have made her suspicious of Culpepper. Maybe she suspected he had something to do with Priscilla’s death and decided to watch him. She could only do that from Abigail’s station.”
Branch rubbed the back of his neck. “If that’s true, I wish she had come to me and not acted alone.”
“Maybe she felt she needed proof or something.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
“Guess not.” She studied him, still puzzled by his serious expression. “Were you able to get any more out of Culpepper?”
He shook his head. “He still maintains he worked alone. I checked his room at the boardinghouse but couldn’t find a knife. Nothing there to indicate a partner, either.”
“Such loyalty between criminals is rare,” she said. No one liked taking a rap by himself, not if someone else could be implicated.
“Give him a couple of days. He’ll sing.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll cross that bridge.” He hesitated. “How long do you plan on sticking around?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat before meeting his gaze. Sh
e’d spent a restless night trying to convince herself that his kisses and near kisses meant nothing—that he meant nothing. But in the light of day she saw her lies for what they were.
“A day or two. I’m waiting for my next assignment.” Her voice drifted off.
A muscle at his jaw quivered, but he said nothing. For the longest moment they locked eyes. Don’t look at me like that, she wanted to scream. Don’t make me want you more than I already do. Mercifully, their gazes slid away to the counter, the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Safer ground.
She cleared her voice. “Anything else?”
He drew in his breath. “I decided to tell Andy tonight about his mother. Father, too, if he asks.”
That wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, but it was foolish to think that the worry on his face was about her. About her leaving. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Just hope I know what to say when the time comes.”
“Knowing you, you’ll do just fine.” Never had she known a more caring or loving father.
He gave her a sheepish smile. “If that business with Clayborn taught me anything, I have to put my trust in God. Right now I’m trusting that He’ll put the right words in my mouth.”
“I’ll pray for you,” she said softly.
He nodded. “I’m counting on it.” He slanted his head, and a double line formed between his eyebrows. “Did you ever have to tell someone something you dreaded?” His voice was so low she had to lean forward to catch his words.
“No,” she said softly. “I never did.” But that was about to change. For the one thing she dreaded more than anything in the world was telling Branch good-bye.
He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then the train pulled into the station and the tension between them snapped. Rising, he tapped the counter with his knuckle and left. But upon reaching the door, he took a long, hard look at her before ducking out through the crowd of newly arriving passengers.
Chapter 47
Once upon a time,” Branch began as Andy nestled by his side, “there was this lady about to give birth.” They sat in the parlor in front of a slow-burning fire, and his words were punctuated by crackling logs.
Calico Spy Page 24
