An Agent for Laurel

by Lynn Donovan

  She leaned back heavily against her seat. Maybe her father did know she and Williams had been given the Ghost Thief as their first case? How could he possibly? But then again, this was her father, and he had an ear to so many private conversations. “So, you’re saying I should use my influence as a Pinkerton agent to convince Mr. Tabor to expose his artifact… so the police can bait us—I mean you—” She shook her head. “—The Ghost Thief out into the open.”

  “Not a bad idea, huh?” His glee faded into concern. He leaned toward her. “Be honest with me, why did you order the veal. You hate beef.”

  “A lot of things have to change in order for me to accomplish what you’ve sent me to do. Now, go away.”

  “Fine. I’ll go. But come to me the min—”

  “I will! Go!”

  He slid back into his booth and waved for the waiter. Laurel listened as her father spoke pleasantly. “I’ve changed my mind, my fine fellow. Here, let me compensate you for your time and efforts.”

  The waiter stood a moment longer, and as he walked away, Laurel observed him stuffing something rather bulky in his trouser pocket. She also observed another fact that caused her back to stiffen, he was the same waiter that had collided with her and Mr. Williams’s waiter. Had her father paid him to crash into the other waiter, causing Mr. Williams to have to leave her table? He wouldn’t!

  She hung her head, knowing he would, and did. This was going to be harder than she first imagined. Instead of figuring a plan with duplicity, it seemed she now had a tertiary plan to devise.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ransom toted the box of goods from the mercantile and set it heavily on his small table. Laurel followed him into the apartment, immediately gathering the items she needed. She scooped aromatic beans from the burlap sack into the new grinder and began turning the handle. Ransom took the enameled coffee pot she had placed on the counter and a large jar fitted with a wire handle for easy carrying and left the apartment to get fresh water from the pump. He marveled at the fact that he and Laurel were moving in a synchronized fashion as if they had come home to make coffee a hundred times.

  He pumped the water until it flowed from the spigot, held the new coffee pot under the running water to rinse it of its shelf dust, and then let it fill to the spout holes. Setting it aside, he filled the large jar and sealed it with the large cork stopper. Hefting both on opposite sides of his body for optimal balance, he returned down the hall to his unit. How lucky he was to have such a modern convenience of a water pump available inside the building and on each floor. How strange that he just now appreciated the convenience. Other than splashing his face or brushing his teeth and hair, he’d never needed much more than a bowl full.

  A pungent but pleasant aroma of fresh ground coffee beans filled the apartment as he entered. Laurel turned from the counter, ready to pour the dark brown grounds. For the slightest of moments, his heart stopped. Something about her being there, waiting for him, felt right. She had also started a fine fire in the stove. He was impressed. Setting the coffee pot near her on the counter, he placed the jar on the floor beside it and stood to reach for two mugs. As his arms lowered with the mugs in hand, his elbow struck Laurel on the shoulder. She flinched.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” He jerked aside.

  “It’s alright.” She rubbed her shoulder but continued with moving the pot to the stove. “So, while that brews, can we go over our case?”

  “Sure.” Ransom walked to a small writing desk and pulled out the center drawer, lifted the dossier, and brought it to the table along with the chair from the desk. They sat at the same time and he opened the file. “The Ghost Thief has been appropriately labeled because he seems to spirit into and out of residential homes without a single trace of evidence he was ever there, except for the obvious missing article. So far he has stolen over fifty-thousand, six-hundred-and-seventy dollars’ worth of precious jewels, rare artifacts, and what-not. Funny thing is…”

  Ransom glanced up from the paperwork to read Laurel’s expression. Was she paying attention? He didn’t know any other way to teach her other than to go through the case as he would for himself. Show her how he deciphered the information and devised a plan of action to solve it. Her lips were tightly pursed and in her eyes he read a placid expression he couldn’t interpret. “You alright?”

  She jerked with a heavy blink as if she had been entranced. “I’m fine. Go on.”

  He glanced toward the paperwork and then back to her. “I’m just showing you how I determine—”

  “Yes, I understand. Keep reading.” Her hand came up to her mouth, while the other crossed in front of her waist, bracing her elbow on her hand, she covered her mouth and moved her gaze to the groaning coffee pot.

  Ransom watched her for a moment. Was this how she concentrated? A weird sensation blossomed in his chest. He found this act of focusing herself oddly attractive. Forcing his eyes back to the dossier, he continued to read the information, what little there was, and the statement that gave them the official assignment, “To discover the identity of the Ghost Thief and apprehend him for the authorities.”

  “So,” Ransom dared look at her again. “Now all we’ve got to do is come up with a very clever plan to catch this Ghost Thief and take him to the police.”

  “Right.” She seemed to bring her eyes back to focus with his. “What’s the funny thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “A minute ago, you said, ‘the funny thing is…’”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Ransom dropped his eyes to the description. What had he singled out as odd? He scanned the words. “Oh, the funny thing is, the articles that the Ghost Thief has taken end up mysteriously being found. Usually such a high dollar item is forever lost to the underground black markets or sequestered away in a foreign country. But the Ghost Thief somehow, without any trace leading back to himself, manages to let the items be found in second-hand charity shops or other unusual locations, whereby a hefty reward is paid. It’s almost as if this Ghost Thief is—” Should he express these ridiculous thoughts?

  She leaned toward him. “What? As if the Ghost Thief is only stealing those things as a game of cat and mouse?”

  A glimmer in her eyes gave him pause. His brow furrowed. Had she determined that from what he had read or did she know something about the Ghost Thief already. The civilians had their own gossip mills. Of course she’d have some knowledge or speculation about the Ghost Thief. It was a favored topic of conversation among the people. But she had said she didn’t attend such gatherings. “Yes. There does seem to be some element of cat-and-mouse to his thievery. What is his gain? Is he somehow collecting the reward money? Or is there some other means of benefit to his crime? I wonder…?”

  “What?” She lifted her eyes to meet his.

  Something pleasant but uncomfortable stirred in his chest. She was so beautiful. Her level of concentration was admirable. He’d worked with agents and lawmen who weren’t as astute as she seemed to be. Maybe Archie and Marianne were right, women could make excellent detectives. He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak. “Seems to me he’d want the huge profits from an underground sale of the item. How else could he have something to gain from such a spirited speculation? And how does he manage to go completely undetected?”

  “Or… maybe—” Laurel’s chin rose just slightly. She sniffed. “Coffee’s ready.”

  He gawked at her as she floated to the stove and filled the two mugs he had retrieved. Bringing them to the table, she eased into the chair. “Maybe there’s a reward secretly given that no one knows about.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m just speculating. It only makes sense. A minuscule finder’s fee wouldn’t entice a professional thief, such as the Ghost Thief, unless there was a great deal of money exchanged by, oh say, the museum or an archeological society who valued such a lost item more than the law.” She brought the coffee to her lips. Williams stared at those luscious lips as she sipped the steaming
black liquid. She lowered her cup. “So, does it say what the police are planning?”

  Ransom lifted the cup to his lips but didn’t take a sip. “I beg pardon?”

  She blew across the steaming liquid in her mug. The pucker of her lips drew his eyes once again to her mouth. How he wanted to kiss that cupid’s bow at the top of her lips, but he’d promised to never do that again. He mentally shook his head. “How did you know the police had already planned something?”

  Her eyes widened. “The Pinkerton Agency has been called in to solve this case, one would only presume the police would have some plan for solving it too. Doesn’t your agency work hand-in-hand with the local authorities?”

  She knew a lot more about the Pinkerton Agency’s functions than he could have imagined. “Sometimes we work a case in spite of the local authorities, but you’re right, in this case we will be aiding the police in their investigation. This Ghost Thief has been frustratingly elusive. It might take the combined efforts of… us and the police to figure out how to catch him.”

  She nodded and sipped her coffee. “So, what do they have in mind? Convince some rich fool to expose something of great value to bait the thief?”

  It was Ransom whose eyes widened with shock. How did she figure all this out? He hadn’t even begun to teach her the way of a Pinkerton’s method to devise a plan of action. Yet, she spoke of the exact thing he had skimmed over in the dossier. The police were planning to ask the wealthy members of their community to offer something that would entice the Ghost Thief. It didn’t say who would participate or what would be used.

  Ransom leaned back against his chair. His wife was a very clever woman. Not for the first time, he regretted the idea that their partnership could end when they solved this case. “Let’s talk about that. You know these wealthy people. Who do you think might have just the right bait for our Ghost Thief?”

  “I know of them. But I don’t know them. I stay to myself and study. Perhaps we should call upon each head of house individually, and ask them who might be willing to sacrifice their possession.”

  He tightened his brow in a question.

  She continued. “Something that would bring out the Ghost Thief would probably implicate the owner for possessing… an illegally obtained item. They will more-than-likely need amnesty before they will reveal they have the thing. Can we guarantee—?”

  “You’re very astute, Mrs. Williams. Just what have you been studying—alone in your father’s library?”

  She tilted her head. Caution filled her eyes. “I-I study many things of my interest. Dime novels are among my guilty pleasures.” A beautiful pink hue filled her cheeks. She lifted her coffee mug to her lips and sipped slowly, carefully, as if she were hiding behind the speckled enamel cup.

  “Yes. We can bargain for amnesty if needed. The Police want this thief caught. They have called upon the Pinkerton Agency to help. That reveals to me the lengths to which they are willing to go. I’ll contact the Police Chief and schedule some visitations this evening.” He studied her eyes. “Do you have any speculations as to who will be forthcoming with the perfect item for bait?”

  He knew it in his gut, she had knowledge she wasn’t sharing, yet she denied knowing anything. His wife was an enigma. He liked solving puzzles, but with a partner, it wasn’t ideal to have to unravel the partner’s thoughts along with the case. A partner needed to be forthright. This was why women could not make good agents. They were too complicated, too perplexing—

  “Oh, no…” Her voice cut into his thoughts. “We’ll just have to see who responds. But I do know this—”

  A smile crept across Ransom’s face. “What’s that?”

  “It’s going to have to be something very extraordinary to bait a thief as clever as the Ghost Thief.”

  “Yes.” He perused her fully. “And you have nothing in mind for what that might be?”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” She seemed denigrated. “I told you, I do not socialize. But I know there is a certain prideful competition among the elite to ‘collect’ rare and unusual relics. It’s almost a silent war to best the other with the discreet competition. It’s silly, really. They go to such great lengths and exorbitant investments to acquire such possessions, only to lock them away in dark vaults. Such treasures are meant to be displayed and viewed by people—”

  “What are you going on about?” Ransom glar````ed at Laurel.

  She started. Blinked. “I-I, I’m sorry. It’s a bit of a pet peeve of mine. Anthropology, history, artifacts from ancient times, they fascinate me and I just… such things belong in a museum where the public can learn and appreciate their meaning, what they represent. Personally, I have an appreciation for what the Ghost Thief accomplishes when such a treasure is brought out of hiding and placed in the appropriate caretakers’ hands. Whatever gain he may receive is between the payer and the payee… and God—”

  Ransom’s brows furrowed. “You sympathize with a criminal?”

  “No, I—”

  “See! I knew this was a bad idea!” He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed with her beauty and intrigue. But this knowledge of her sympathy for the criminal broke the spell. Now he knew why having a female partner would never work for him. He needed to end this ridiculous charade tonight. “You can never become a Pinkerton agent if you sympathize with the criminal. The law is what you should appreciate. We need to go back to the office. Archie has got to understand this will never work!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Laurel clamped her mouth shut. What had she done? She’d said too much. How could she allow herself to carry on so? Never in her life had she been so out of control of her wits. Why did this Ransom Williams have such an effect on her? She meant to simply lead Mr. Williams toward the idea of convincing Tabor to expose his artifact. But she’d said too much, too soon.

  Her father had the plan all mapped out. It was clear to her what needed to be done. But she couldn’t just reveal it to Mr. Williams. Not blatantly. She had to guide him so that he would think the idea came from his own devising and then she could agree. She then would let her father know where Tabor had it hidden and how he could get to it. Sure, it would be tricky to put the artifact up for bait and have her father steal it without actually getting caught in the trap she, herself, was helping to set, but that was all part of the duplicity she had to work out.

  Unfortunately she had already exposed too much, and Mr. Williams would be a short distance from figuring out her biggest secret. She had to fix this immediately. Perhaps she could use his obvious weaknesses toward her to scramble out of this mess she had let herself fall into.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Williams.” She laid her hand on his arm and closed her eyes, focused on her breath and heart. Bringing both back to a calm level, she opened her eyes and looked directly into his. The tension she saw there told her she was right. She had an effect on him just like he did on her, and she could use it to her advantage right now.

  “Forgive me. I do have prejudices against precious artifacts being used by the wealthy as pawns for who-has-the-best-treasure. It’s childish really. But I’m no sympathizer for criminals. I simply mean it makes me happy to see a gift from the past placed in a museum where the public can enjoy it. As opposed to some selfish ingrate hiding it away for their own narcissistic pleasure of ownership or some financial gain in some back-room underhanded exchange.”

  Ransom tilted his head back as if to nod, but never brought it forward. “I see.”

  “No. I don’t think you do.” Laurel jumped to her feet and paced behind her chair. She squeezed her eyes closed and mustered tears for effect. “I need you to understand. I love history and the things that tell us how a society lived. They are precious and important.”

  He leapt to his feet and caught up with her frantic pacing, stopping her mid-step, gathering her by the shoulders, he looked deeply into her tear-soaked eyes. Serious concern radiated from his. She suppressed the smile that willed itself to her lips. “Laurel. It’s alri
ght. I understand what you’re saying. Perhaps I misunderstood before. I’m sorry I said you sympathized with criminals. I see that your passions lie in righting the wrongs. And perhaps I misjudged you too. I’m sorry.”

  He held her in his gaze. The heat between them seared her face and scorched her skin beneath her blouse where his hands held her shoulders. Had she taken this too far?

  She searched between his eyes. Or was her mistake corrected? Would he trust her again? “No, I’m sorry. I sometimes speak my mind without thought for how it might be perceived. Perhaps in our training, you can help me learn to think a thought through, you know, thoroughly… before expressing it.” She pressed a smile while suppressing an eye roll.

  He continued to stare at her. “Yes.” Stumbling back from her, he released her shoulders and shook his head slightly. “Yes, of course. That’s my job, to-to teach you how to be an agent. You are very smart, Laurel. You already have a lot of skill working through a problem. But you’re right, as a Pinkerton, you have to have a very good command of what you say and when you say it. I think, for now… try not to share what you’re thinking unless we’ve had a chance to discuss what you will say. Perhaps by us talking it through first, you will become aware of the consequences of what you are saying.”

  She stiffened. “Consequenc—” She swallowed the word. She was back in his good graces. She couldn’t ruin it by letting her pride clutter the accomplishment. “Yes. We will discuss what I should say and when. That will work.” She lowered her eyes humbly. “Can we continue?”

  He glanced at the chairs they had abandoned. “Yes, of course. Here, let me refill our mugs. And one other thing—”

  She cut her eyes to meet his but said nothing.

  “You need to call me Ransom.”

  With that, she smiled and nodded.

  “Now, let’s talk about the police chief’s plan to meet with the elitists.”