“If ye hear any different, let me know immediately.” Daniel left the room and walked down a quiet corridor away from the lobby to gather his thoughts. What exactly had Olivia said about the sheriff: Masterson and his sixty hardcases from Dodge are hoping to cow your men. Why would she have said that if the sheriff was playing poker in Caǹon City?
Then there was the matter of the ordnance. She had specifically mentioned a Mountain Howitzer, not a cannon. Why the specificity if the damn thing didn’t even exist? He reached the end of the corridor where a small window with heavy dark curtains pulled back an arm’s width shed a ray of afternoon light into the doorless hall. But it did nothing to shed light on the mystery perplexing him. The tangle of his thinking might never unknot itself.
Did Olivia work for Santa Fe? Was she sent to infiltrate Rio Grande’s headquarters and spread false information about the size and preparedness of Santa Fe’s forces? Was it her assignment to cow Rio Grande, not Masterson’s?
Daniel scratched his head and continued to mull over the bits and pieces, hoping his thoughts would settle into a discernible rhythm. He had met female spies during the war, but Olivia wasn’t a spy, only ill-informed. If she worked for Santa Fe, she would have encouraged the general to sign the lease, not the reverse.
He made a U-turn and retraced his steps. The Kelly sisters were a mystery. His job was to advise and assist Weitbrec, but what could he say about Olivia’s recommendations? That she had been given an advanced plan that was altered prior to execution and her crystal ball failed to advise her?
His life had been out of kilter since he first met Amber in Leadville. It was as if at the end of each day a cup was emptied only to be refilled overnight, which emptied again, much like the cycle of an hour-glass where the level of sand drops, the glass is turned, and the level drops once again, never revealing its truth.
He clenched his teeth against his rising frustration.
After one last steadied march to the end of the corridor and back, Daniel returned to the dining room. He looked at Olivia, and her large hazel-brown eyes, identical to Amber’s, sparkled in the light gleaming in through the window.
So much damn light, but so little illumination.
He reclaimed his seat, aslant from the table, crossed his legs, folded his hands on his knee, and tapped his top fingers against his bottom hand. He let tension build in the moment before he said, “Sheriff Masterson is in Caǹon City playing poker. And no one has stolen or borrowed”—he lifted his brow—“the cannon because…” He let the word hang in the air for a beat before adding, “one doesn’t exist.” The tone of his pronouncements came across cold, pointed, dangerous, just as he’d intended.
Her hands jumped a bit, sending her cup splashing. She looked down at the spilled coffee on the tablecloth, then glanced up at him, eyes no longer sparkling, as if he were a disembodied spirit that had crept out of the shadow world of dreams and threatened her with his ghostly appearance.
She attempted a smile, but it quickly faded. “You’ve been misinformed. He’s here.” Confusion replaced the smile, followed by a wary cautiousness.
“What made ye believe there was a cannon at the armory?”
Rather than answer right away, she sipped her coffee, letting her own uncomfortable silence stretch between them. Finally, she softened the sharpness of his question with a smile and said, “Colorado has only been a state for two years. It needed a well-armed militia. I made an assumption.”
Abruptly, Weitbrec pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with my staff.”
Daniel stood, too, intending to leave with Weitbrec to join the meeting.
Connor extended his hand to both Weitbrec and Daniel. “Good luck to both of you.”
After Weitbrec departed, Daniel said, “I’d like to have a man like ye covering my back. If ye’re interested in joining the Pinkertons, I can deputize ye right now.”
“That’s tempting,” Connor said glancing at Olivia, “but I already have a full-time job, and we need to return to Denver.”
“If ye change yer mind…” What could Daniel say? What could he offer Connor and Rick that would keep them in Colorado, that would keep Amber and Olivia here, too? Nothing. “As soon as the situation is resolved here, I’ll return to Denver. I hope ye will still be in town.”
“We can stay in Pueblo until this evening, but then we have to return to Denver. Amber has to go home to see our family doctor. She’s not well, Daniel.”
“I have encouraged her to see Alec’s physician, but she refuses. I’ll send a wire and ask him to stop by the house later today. Maybe she’ll agree.”
“I wish she wasn’t so set against the medical profession, but she’s feeling bad enough right now, she might relent,” Olivia said.
“Then I’ll send a wire. Now, if ye’re staying, ye’re welcome to use my second-floor suite. It has a view of the street.” Daniel wanted to keep her in town for now and assign one of his agents to watch her. He didn’t believe she was a spy, but the circumstances were suspicious enough to keep him alert to any possibility. And their sudden arrival with the McBains still had him racking his brain.
“That might be safer than going back to our private car parked at the depot.” Olivia glanced at Connor, then said to Daniel, “Excuse us a minute.”
She came up out of the chair with a lift of her slight square shoulders and pulled Connor aside. They spoke privately. She glanced at Daniel then she returned her gaze to Connor. They were speaking quietly enough that he couldn’t hear a word they said. They weren’t arguing, but Olivia was asserting a position. Connor finally nodded, sighed deeply, and she mouthed Thank you.
They stepped back over to the table. “Deputize me,” Connor said.
Disbelief rolled over Daniel and he gave Connor a level stare. “Are ye sure?”
Connor looked away, deep in thought. The gas-fed flame inside the wall sconce’s glass lampshade hissed and flared and highlighted the stress lines at the sides of his mouth. “If I don’t go with you, Olivia will.”
The waiter returned with their belongings from the cloak room. “Put the charge on my account,” Daniel said.
“Mr. Weitbrec has already taken care of the bill,” the waiter said.
“I need to stop at the desk and claim the room key. I’ll meet ye at the staircase.”
They parted at the entrance to the dining room and Daniel returned to the reception desk where a different hotel employee, one with a longhorn mustache, was arguing with a man wearing a Van Dyke beard.
“I hurried out of Morrison to get to Caǹon City.” The man’s face reddened, and his voice rose in pitch. “Now the railroad has delayed all departures. I’m stuck here until morning and I need a room.”
When Daniel heard Morrison mentioned, he leaned over the counter to eavesdrop on the discussion. Noah and Amber were there, and if trouble had found its way to Morrison, too, he needed to know.
“I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced, Mr. Hendrix. Pueblo is thronged constantly with miners and gamblers. The city’s hotels are overflowing, and many of our visitors are forced to seek accommodations in private homes. Here at the St. James, we have no rooms available. You’ll have to check other establishments,” the clerk said.
“I refuse to stay in one of those fleabag hovels. I’ll pay twice the room rate.”
“The St. James is fully booked,” the clerk insisted.
“Excuse me,” Daniel said.
The man glared at Daniel with a face full of thunder. “Can’t you see I’m talking to the clerk? You’ll have to wait your turn.”
The man had eyes cold as a winter sky. If Daniel had his druthers, he’d haul the man’s ass off to jail just for irritating the hardworking clerk. Daniel made a point of turning so the man could see the tin star winking on his vest.
Hendrix stepped aside with growing unease. “If the Pinkertons are in town, then this mess should be cleared up and service restored within a few hours. Don’t let me in
terfere with your business, sir.”
“Would ye hand me my room key?” Daniel asked.
“Certainly, Major.” The desk clerk removed a key with a leather fob from the keyboard. “Is there anything else?”
Daniel was about to advise the clerk that Olivia would, in his absence, be spending the afternoon in his room resting, but decided against it. It could easily be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to tarnish her reputation. Then he almost groaned, remembering in whose bed he’d spent most of last night.
Daniel lightly tossed the key in his hand, wondering if he should mention the rude traveler to Connor, but decided against that, too. There was no indication of trouble in Morrison, only an inconvenienced traveler, and alarming Connor was unnecessary.
Connor and Olivia were waiting by the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. She was gazing up at Connor, and although he was glancing down at her, he was watching the comings and goings in the lobby. It was a talent developed through years of training and surveilling criminals. There was more to the O’Grady brothers than they wanted Daniel to know.
He pitched the numbered key to Connor. “The room is on the second floor, front corner. I’ll be in the men’s smoking room, which is now Weitbrec’s command center. After Olivia is settled, meet me there and we’ll take care of business. Welcome to the Pinkertons.” Daniel slowly walked away, but stopped and watched them, imagining Amber looking at him with the same adoring eyes; imagining her with an outstretched hand beckoning him to share her bed; imagining her with his bairn at her breast.
“Pops, JL, and my brothers will never believe this,” he overheard Connor say.
“I’m not sure I do either, but it’s the right thing to do. Amber will be pleased to know you’re working with Daniel and watching his back.”
“But who’s going to watch mine?”
She patted his chest, and her mouth, usually so quick to smile, curved downward. “Mr. Vest, I guess.”
Who is Mr. Vest?
Daniel puzzled through that one as he watched Connor escort her up to the second-floor landing. Jealousy stabbed him through and through, sharper than any saber could. If he couldn’t keep the green stab at bay, it would easily develop into a mortal wound.
“Major Grant.”
A voice calling his name disquieted his enviousness, and he turned to see the young dispatcher from the Rio Grande telegraph office. He held out his hand to accept the envelope.
“It’s for Mr. Weitbrec.” He leaned in toward Daniel and whispered. “It’s the telegram he’s been expecting.”
“I’ll see that he gets it.” Daniel tipped the young man then opened the envelope. As was the practice with all Rio Grande and Santa Fe communications—since they were connected into the same telegraphic system and shared wires—messages were written in code. Daniel quickly deciphered the message to confirm what he’d been told.
Court ruled in Denver & Rio Grande’s favor. Sheriffs serving writ.
Daniel marched into the command center, the telegram clenched in his hand.
And so it begins…
47
The Present, Richmond, Virginia—Rick
An hour after leaving the hospital, Rick and Braham walked along the James River on a path that wound its way through Mallory Plantation. The estate, settled in 1613, held the distinction of being Virginia’s first plantation.
The homeplace, built in the early 1800s, was home to Charlotte’s brother Jack, his bride-to-be, and their adopted son Patrick. Charlotte and Braham lived on the grounds, too, but in a separate residence Braham designed and had built when he married Charlotte. It was a Greek Revival-style mansion with a quarter mile avenue of twenty-eight live oaks leading up to an estate house with gleaming hardwood floors, shimmering chandeliers, and twenty-five rooms. Its magnificence and allure represented a bygone era.
As he and Braham strolled along the James River, Braham handed Rick a frosted glass tube. “Have ye ever smoked a Gurkha Black Dragon?”
Rick studied the tube. “Nope. But I’ve heard of your constant quest for the perfect cigar. Is this your Rolls-Royce?”
Braham gave him an appraising look. “This week, it is.” Braham peeled back the tab on the waxed end of the glass tube, opened it, extracted the cigar, and held it to his nose for a moment.
Matching Braham’s step-by-step dance, Rick opened his case and sniffed, sighing sweetly. “Rolls-Royce, huh? We should be celebrating something.”
Braham struck a wooden match with his thumb nail, a trick Rick had tried dozens of times but failed to match Braham’s finesse. Braham rotated the cigar while he toasted it in the flame then put it in his mouth and drew on it, keeping the cigar just above the flame as he drew and twisted to get the entire foot lit. He easily slid into a rhythm of puff turn, puff turn until it was evenly lit. It was like watching an orchestra director—a true aficionado. To Braham, smoking a cigar was an art form.
“This is a special edition, rare, ultra-premium, possibly the hardest to find Gurkha,” Braham said between puffs with pleasure in his voice. “The blend is made of an aged Connecticut broadleaf binder with a delicate five-year Cameroon binder and five-year Dominican tobaccos in the filler. The flavor, ye’ll notice, is complex and ranges from a strong buttery toast flavor in the first third, complemented by a lightly sour peppery finish. The sour finish will fade in the second third and be replaced with a sweet honey finish.” Sounding like an ad for the company, he continued, “The peppery finish will increase dramatically toward the end of the smoke.” He puffed again. “That was my review of the first one I smoked. I’ve had a dozen since, and my opinion hasn’t changed. So I bought the company.”
“I hope you get a good return on your investment.” Rick lit his and drew a short draw, then removed the cigar from his mouth and studied it, blowing out puffs, as if the luxury cigar held all the answers. “There is no crisis a good cigar can’t cure.”
“That’s what they say. So what are ye going to do about yers?”
“Sounds like the preliminaries are over, and it’s time to get down to the purpose of this smoking stroll. Okay, this is what I’m planning to do. I’m going to close my eyes and think of nothing but smoking this,” Rick mused.
“That’ll give ye a forty-five-minute reprieve. Then what?”
“I guess a thousand-dollar cigar entitles you to bug the hell out of me and spoil my pleasure.”
Braham’s lips twitched, begging to pour into a smile. “Eleven hundred and fifty.”
Shaking his head at Braham’s extravagance that extended to wine, whisky, cigars, and Thoroughbreds, Rick puffed, sending the rich tobacco’s scent into the air between them. “I’m going back to get Daniel and Olivia, so they’ll be here for Amber’s surgery.”
“Plans for Noah are up in the air.” The lilt at the end of Braham’s statement meant he was really asking a question.
“Noah would be traumatized if he had to leave Amber and his dog. I can’t do that to him. I don’t know what or how I’m going to tell Daniel.”
“Noah can send his dad a video message like the one ye and Amber sent her sister.”
“Daniel won’t understand, and he’ll probably just shoot me.”
Braham parked the cigar in the corner of his mouth. “I know a way to make it easier for him.”
Rick found Braham’s sudden buoyant mood disconcerting and gave him a sideways glance, as if looking at him head-on would fail to protect him from incoming fire. He finally gave Braham a so-spill-it gesture.
“Charlotte won’t like this idea, but it’s the right thing to do. I’m going with ye.”
“You can’t do that. You’d be stepping back into your former life. You know people. They know you.”
Braham nodded, and they continued walking, keeping their thoughts to themselves while enjoying their Gurkhas. A slight breeze kicked up, enough to make the tops of the trees sound like they were whispering secrets. Whirls of wind touched down in the piles of gold and red leaves and they flitted
around in upward spirals.
“Daniel was sent to Caǹon City to work for General Palmer. You know him, don’t you?”
“The general and I share the dubious honor of having been prisoners of Castle Thunder. He got out during a prisoner exchange. I got out the night Richmond burned.” Braham shivered. “The only good thing to come out of that war, at least for me, was meeting Charlotte.”
“It must have been horrendous. I’ve heard David talk about what happened, but I have a feeling he just skimmed the surface.”
“What’s Palmer doing in Caǹon City?”
“His railroad, the Denver & Rio Grande, is in a war with the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe over a right-of-way to lay track through the ten-mile-long Royal Gorge canyon. The case is tied up in the Supreme Court. Olivia was invited to meet with the general to talk about the case. From what I understand, the general’s railroad is losing a pile of money, so they’re considering leasing its track to Santa Fe.”
“I thought she was a real estate agent.”
“She’s a lawyer, too. She knows that if Santa Fe leases Rio Grande’s track, Santa Fe will manipulate freight rates south of Denver in favor of shippers from Kansas City. The Rio Grande will ultimately lose more money. It’s a bad deal and will string the litigation out several years. Olivia is hoping to talk the general out of signing a lease.”
“If it’s a legal war going on in Caǹon City, why send Pinkertons?”
“To protect Rio Grande’s crews from sabotage. Both sides have hired armed guards. Now rifles and pistols accompany picks and shovels. And,” Rick paused, “I have to tell you…Bat Masterson and Doc Holliday work for Santa Fe.”
The look on Braham’s face said a serious question hovered in the air between them. “Ye’re telling me”—He balanced his cigar between two fingers—“we’re walking into a war with infamous gunslingers.”
Rick tilted his head in a yes-and-no gesture. “If it’s any relief, and if reports can be believed, only a couple of people get killed.”
“I’m relieved.” The tone in Braham’s voice said he wasn’t at all relieved and was probably trying to figure out how he could rescind his offer. But instead he said, “Let’s get in, get out, and leave it to the courts to do the rest. If we leave this afternoon, when will we return?”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 57
