An Agent for Audrey

by Laura Beers

  “Inconsiderate criminals,” she mumbled to herself.

  She waited until she heard the man stomp out of the room and close the door behind him. She wiggled her left hand to reach into the hidden pocket of her dress and pulled out the small, sheathed dagger. After a few moments of maneuvering, she managed to remove the cover with one hand. She twisted the dagger to slide between her dress and the rope, then started cutting. Finally, the rope frayed, freeing her arms.

  After removing the bag from over her head, she jumped up and ran toward the window. She unlatched it and peered out. She groaned. It was too high to scale down the building’s exterior walls. Looking around the room, she tried to find anything that might assist her in her escape, but it was just a typical guest bedchamber.

  A bed sat against the opposite wall, making her slightly angry. Why did the man drop her on the ground when he could have dropped her on the soft bed? Well, it was a good thing that he hadn’t searched her, because she had her derringer in the other hidden pocket.

  She stepped quietly to the door, placed her hand on the handle and carefully turned it. It was unlocked. She was almost insulted at how little they perceived her as a threat, but she was also grateful. Cautiously, she opened the door and peered out. The hallway was empty, but she could hear the students walking on the floor below. She slipped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. She tip-toed along the edge of the hall, hoping to avoid creaky floorboards.

  How was she going to get out of this predicament? She had no doubt that Warren would come looking for her when she didn’t return to the hotel, but it might be too late by then. Then, a sound caught her attention. Listening carefully, she heard someone down the hall humming. Walking toward the noise, she noticed a door slightly ajar and peered in.

  Scanning the room, she saw Phoebe sitting in a chair, hunched over a desk, with a color palette next to her. Old, stained paper was stacked neatly on the desk, and she was using a camel brush to paint a small portrait. Creeping further into the room, Audrey saw a fifty-dollar note and realized Phoebe was replicating the note.

  Bringing a hand up to her mouth, Audrey couldn’t believe that not only were they counterfeiting small greenbacks on the printing press, but they were counterfeiting large bills, as well. As she started to back out, she placed her foot down. The floor creaked.

  Phoebe’s head shot up, and she turned in her seat. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Audrey standing there. She ran and closed the door. “What are you doing here?” she said in a hushed voice. “My sister will fire you if she knew you were snooping around.”

  Audrey slid her hand inside the pocket of her dress and gripped the dagger, hoping she wouldn’t be required to use it. “She already fired me.”

  Returning to her seat, Phoebe asked, “Then why are you still here?”

  Walking closer to the desk, she was amazed by the detailed work on the counterfeit note. It appeared to be an exact replica. “Are you aware that counterfeiting greenbacks is illegal?”

  “You must not tell anyone,” Phoebe insisted, a frown forming on her lips. “These bills are sent back home to our friends in Columbia, South Carolina.”

  Curiosity won out, and Audrey asked, “Why Columbia?”

  A defiant look shone in Phoebe’s eyes. “Almost six years ago, General Sherman’s army marched into Columbia, ransacking it, and leaving a charred city in his wake.” Her chin dipped as her lips pressed tightly together. “My husband had been injured fighting in the war and came home to recover. The Yankees marched into our town, and we didn’t resist them… we had no fight left in us.”

  Phoebe swiped her hand at the tears rolling down her cheek. “That night, a drunken Yankee broke a window pane, lit a match and tossed it into the window of our small home. We managed to escape with our lives, but my husband went to help stop the fire that was spreading to our neighbor’s home. He died when he tried to save their child from the fire and the roof collapsed.”

  Her lower lip started to tremble as her eyes turned downcast. “The Yankees burned the whole town, killing randomly, abusing women at their leisure, and taking away any hope of us having a livelihood after the war. They left me with nothing,” she added in a whisper.

  Compassion swelled in Audrey’s heart as she listened to Phoebe’s story. “I am sorry for what you had to endure and for losing your husband so horrifically.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe replied with a shaky breath. “It was hard to come back from that but being surrounded by all these girls has brought me some peace.”

  Audrey sat on the edge of the desk. “How many bills have you created?”

  “Each bill now takes me about three weeks to reproduce. However, when I started four years ago, it took me about six weeks,” Phoebe explained. “It’s taken some time for me to become proficient at tracing the bill. Also, I had to match the dyes perfectly, imitate the silk threads with red and blue inks, and to suggest rather than duplicate the geometric lattice work.”

  Picking up the fifty-dollar note, Audrey noted the aged appearance and saw that the replicated bill had a similar look. “How are you able to recreate it so precisely?”

  “I order special bond paper from a company in Massachusetts,” Phoebe started to explain, “cut it to the same size as the fifty-dollar note, then soak the paper in a diluted coffee solution, thus giving it a worn appearance.”

  “Your counterfeit bill even credits the Bureau of Engraving and Printing and has the counterfeit warning painted on.” Audrey smiled. “That is bold.”

  Phoebe looked over her work with pride in her eyes. “The only way that someone could detect my bill was fake is if they spilled water on it.”

  “Are the smaller bills sent off to South Carolina to help with the rebuilding efforts as well?” she asked, placing the fifty-dollar bill back onto the table.

  “What smaller bills?” Phoebe asked as she extended her the piece of aged paper.

  Running her fingers over the paper, she noticed that the texture was very similar to the greenback. “The dollar notes.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I only recreate the fifty-dollar note. It would not be worth the time for me to counterfeit a dollar bill.”

  “Isn’t that why you have a printing press?”

  Looking surprised, Phoebe stated, “We don’t have a printing press at our school.”

  Proceeding cautiously, Audrey pressed, “You do. I have seen it. It is in the structure by the large oak tree.”

  Phoebe looked blank for a moment, but then realization dawned on her face. “You mean Matilda’s husband’s old hand-cranking printing press?” She gave a slight shake of her head. “It was broken before we even left South Carolina, but Matilda insisted we bring it along for sentiment’s sake.”

  Hoping that Phoebe could be her ally instead of her enemy, Audrey ventured, “I need your help. Is there any way I can slip out of the school undetected?”

  “Just go out the main door,” Phoebe said, looking puzzled. “It is not like we are holding you prisoner.”

  “That is precisely what your sister is doing to me.” She walked over to a door leading onto a small balcony. She opened the door and stepped outside, hoping for another escape route. But there wasn’t one there either.

  Phoebe rose and stepped closer to her. “Why would my sister hold you captive?”

  Either Phoebe was a proficient actress, or she really didn’t know about her sister’s crimes. “Last night, I snuck onto your property, and I saw the printing press.” She sighed, deciding to tell the truth, hoping there was good in Phoebe. “I am a Pinkerton agent, and I have been assigned to find a counterfeiter that has created thousands of counterfeit greenbacks.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened as she whipped her head toward her own counterfeit note. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Honestly, no,” Audrey replied. “None of your fifty-dollar bills have been discovered, and I applaud your efforts to send them to the South to help with the rebuilding. However, if you contin
ue creating counterfeits, they will be discovered, and you will be arrested.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I will stop. I hate to think what would happen to this school if I was arrested.”

  “Whether you want to admit it or not, your sister is involved with counterfeiting, and I suspect she might have killed the teacher I’m replacing.”

  Looking relieved, Phoebe told her, “Miss Waxson ran off to get married.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Matilda, but… she couldn’t possibly…” Her voice trailed off as her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know anymore. The war changed my sister. She became hateful and bitter toward the Union.”

  “Then why did you move to Wyoming?”

  “That was my idea. Matilda’s husband left her a sizable sum, so we left shortly after Columbia was burned to the ground. We saw that an old hotel was for sale in these parts, and we decided to turn it into a finishing school,” she said, beaming with pride. “Shortly after announcing our school, we had almost a full enrollment. We had such big dreams, but then Matilda started changing. She became resentful of her lot in life and started isolating herself.”

  Audrey walked to the door and peered out into the hallway. Turning back around, she admonished, “You are in danger here. We need to get to town and alert Sheriff Walker.”

  “My sister won’t hurt me.”

  Audrey gave her a pleading look. “If I don’t leave, then your sister will kill me. I will ride to town and get help.”

  Phoebe let out a disbelieving huff. “Don’t you think you are being a tad overdramatic? My sister won’t kill you.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Phoebe.” The door swung open to reveal Matilda, holding a revolver in her right hand, and a sneering Mr. Johnson behind her. “I have every intention of killing her.”

  Chapter 11

  Warren reined in his horse and dismounted before he secured the reins to a fallen log. Sheriff Walker and Deputy Harper came up from the rear and dismounted. Peering through the trees, he saw a guard sitting on the front porch of the school.

  “This is a good vantage point to monitor the school.”

  The sheriff nodded his agreement. “Remember, there are children present. I do not want this to turn into a bloodbath.”

  Deputy Harper removed his Stenson hat and took a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “I am still unclear why we are going into a finishing school with guns blazing.”

  “Mrs. Tucker is counterfeiting bills and using her brothel and saloon to swap them out,” Warren reminded him. “And there is reason to assume that she may have killed a Pinkerton agent.”

  Deputy Harper put his Stetson back onto his head. “I think we should approach Mrs. Tucker and give her a chance to explain herself. After all, she has never been in trouble with the law before.”

  “I’m afraid I must side with Agent Rockwell on this one,” Sheriff Walker said, placing his thumbs into his belt. “The printing press is suspicious in and of itself, but now we can explain how she is putting the counterfeit bills into circulation. The evidence is stacking up against her.”

  “And if we are wrong?” Deputy Harper pressed with an uplifted brow.

  “Then we will ask for forgiveness,” Sheriff Walker replied. He shifted his hard gaze toward Warren. “No killing. We go in, retrieve your wife, and bring in Mrs. Tucker for questioning.”

  “Understood,” Warren stated. “Do you want me to take the lead on this?”

  “No. This is my jurisdiction,” Sheriff Walker declared firmly, removing the pistol from its holster and inspecting it. “Harper and I will take out any guards along the back. You subdue the guards in the front.” He replaced his gun and looked at Warren again. “I mean it, Rockwell. No killing. We have children on the premises.”

  Deputy Harper looked amused. “I doubt that a Pinkerton agent could even make a kill shot.”

  Sheriff Walker huffed. “There is a lot you don’t know about Rockwell, Harper. Just stay out of his way.”

  “I will meet you on the front porch,” Warren said, before disappearing into the woods.

  Keeping his eyes trained on the school, he saw a guard on the far east corner, leaning his back against the fence. Warren crouched low. He silently moved through the trees, being careful not to step on any dry foliage that might alert someone to his location.

  He stopped at the trees lining the road leading to the finishing school. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to cross the road, he knew it was risky. If he was spotted, then he might have to resort to his gun.

  After a moment, the guard shifted in his stance and turned his gaze away from the road. Warren ran across, maneuvering through the trees until he came up behind the man. He gripped his pistol and hit the man’s head with the butt of his gun. After he pulled out the rope that he brought with him, he tied the man’s hands together, then tied them to the fence. One guard down. One more left.

  Moving back into the cover of the trees, Warren saw the second guard still sitting on the porch with a rifle in his lap. The guard’s eyes scanned the property every few minutes before bringing his gaze back down to the ground in front of him where he drew in the dirt with a stick.

  Keeping low, Warren ran toward the school and pressed his body against the brick wall on the side. He crept along the wrap-around porch until he was at the front. It would take him only a moment to close the distance to the guard. He tightened his hold on the pistol in his hand, knowing he had one chance to bring the man down. If not, it would cause a ruckus and bring more guards to the front.

  With a clenched jaw, Warren waited for the guard to return to his doodling in the dirt. With a burst of speed, he ran and hit him on the side of the head before the man even turned around. Warrin slid his pistol to the holster, grabbed the rifle and flung it into the woods. Later, he would return to collect the rifle, but right now he wanted it far away from the guard. Quickly, he tied the man up to the front porch post with the rope.

  Now that his job was done, waiting was excruciating. Should he go inside and retrieve Audrey himself? No, this was Sheriff Walker’s jurisdiction, and Pinkerton agents worked with the law, not against it. However, this was his wife. He stilled at that thought. Audrey was his wife, and he wanted to keep it that way. Not only did they get along well, but he really enjoyed kissing her. That sounded like the start of a great marriage to him.

  Before he could formulate any more thoughts on the matter, Deputy Harper came around the corner of the porch with a pistol pointing at him. “You just couldn’t let it be, could you, Rockwell?” the deputy drawled. “You had to ruin a good thing.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, facing Harper.

  “For these past two years, Matilda and I ran this town. She printed the counterfeit bills, and I swapped out the bills at the saloon and Ruby’s Theatre. It was a good racket.”

  “You got greedy,” Warren suggested, hoping to keep him talking. As a seasoned lawman, very few things surprised him, including a crooked deputy. He knew there was a reason he hadn’t liked Harper from the moment he laid eyes on him, but he had misconstrued his distrust as jealousy.

  “No, everything was perfect until that stupid Pinkerton agent showed up,” Harper spat. “Lucky for me, Sheriff Walker went home early the day Mr. Meyer approached me in the sheriff’s office. He asked for my cooperation in searching the finishing school.” Harper laughed cruelly. “I helped him, all right.”

  “Did you kill him?” Warren’s hands balled into tight fists.

  The deputy waved his gun around in front of Warren, looking smug and defiant. “Don’t worry. He never saw it coming.”

  “And Sheriff Walker? Did you kill him, too?”

  Deputy Harper shook his head. “No, I just knocked him out cold. After I kill you, I am going to ensure that the printing press is moved, and all the evidence is relocated. Once I prove that there was no printing press on the school’s grounds, Sheriff Walker will drop the matter.”

  “You have it all figured out
, don’t you?” Warren’s voice was cold with a hard edge.

  Deputy Harper looked smug. “I do.”

  Taking a step to the side, Warren asked, “You were supposed to uphold the law. Why would you resort to counterfeiting and murder?”

  Harper humphed. “Do you know how little I make as a deputy? If I hadn’t started accepting bribes, I wouldn’t have even been able to afford my rent.”

  “Ah, greed,” Warren sighed, dramatically. “One of the standard culprits.”

  A slow, cruel smile formed on Harper’s lips. “Killing that other Pinkerton agent was just business, but I am going to take pleasure in killing you.” His sneer grew. “And then I am going to spend some time with your wife before I have to kill her.”

  Warren felt his blood starting to boil as he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. This wasn’t the first time that he had stared down the barrel of a gun. However, for the first time in years, he had something to live for. He had to protect Audrey. Her life meant more to him than this own.

  “I never took you for a coward,” he declared.

  Deputy Harper glared at him. “I am no coward.”

  “Prove it,” he shouted. “Put your gun in its holster, and let’s see who’s the quickest draw.”

  Laughing, Harper replied, “I am a seasoned gunfighter, and you are a Pinkerton agent. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

  “I disagree. I once worked security for a cattle rancher.” Warren decided to play to this man’s already inflated ego.

  “Fine,” the deputy replied, smirking. He placed his revolver back into its holster, leaving his right hand hovering over his pistol. “This will be more entertaining than just shooting you in the chest.”

  Squaring off, Warren rested his right hand over his revolver and stood waiting, watching for Harper to make a move. He waggled his fingers, but his body was tense. Once the deputy moved to draw his pistol, it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

  In a swift motion, Harper’s hand went for his revolver.