by Lynn Donovan
He cleared his throat, suppressing the inappropriate physical reactions. This was a marriage in name only, he reminded himself. A convenient arrangement to protect her reputation. Nothing more. If only he could make his body understand.
Clearing his throat a second time, he stepped around the divan. “Ah, there you are.” He did his best to sound casual. “I won’t be long, just a quick change of clothes and a wet comb through my hair.”
And some cold water on my face! He thought.
Serafina frowned. “Of course. I’ll stand in here while you change. The less sitting the better before we get to the Secretary’s dinner. This gown wrinkles easily.”
He hesitated, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her ruby red lips. Wrinkles in gown be damned, he wanted her. But instead, he nodded and entered the bed chamber.
Rose scented moisture lingered in the room. Todd glanced at the source, the soaker tub. How he wished he could caress her body the way these rose petals had. He hurried to the bowl and pitcher with cold water, splashing it desperately on his face. Would he ever gain control of these amorous sensations for this woman? It was not meant to be, nor would it ever be. She was on loan, so to speak, from her Mexican Secret Service.
But what if he claimed the marriage as reason to demand she had to stay… in America… with him? No. He couldn’t do that. He had given Archie his word. He had given Serafina his word that this marriage was solely to protect her reputation and an annulment would be forthcoming when they solved this case. No questions asked… or demands made.
He breathed deeply, focusing on the last bloody scene where he and Mav had shot their way out of a bad situation. Dead bodies lay in the hot sun, blood and guts were splattered all over the dirt street, gun powder and death tainted the air. It smelled horrible.
That helped. Some.
Quickly, he ran a comb through his hair, and disrobed, hanging the traveling suit, although he would hand both it and this dinner suit to the chambermaid when this evening drew to a close. He always carried three suits and he would need fresh clothes tomorrow.
A quick look in the long oval mirror— he tugged at his jacket to affirm he looked like a rich man from New York. Their client with whom they were having dinner knew their true identity, however, should anyone else see them walking in the halls, he wanted to appear to be who and what he claimed to be.
“Are you ready, Mrs. Green?” Smith smiled and held out his elbow.
Serafina wrinkled her nose and squeezed her eyes closed as if she’d smelled something foul. “That sounds so weird.”
“Well, get used to it quickly. Being incognito and not responding to your undercover name is a dead giveaway.”
She frowned. “Of course. I won’t let you down, Sam. Why do you always assume the worst of me?”
Smith cocked his head aside. “What? I don’t— I never— Oh! I see what you’re doing. Alright, let’s go to dinner, Sarah.”
Serafina slowly lifted her eyes to his with a smug smile blooming on her lips. “Now who’s slipping out of their undercover character?”
“Touché.” he lifted a brow.
“Oui, je vous ai battu, monsieur.”
Smith’s mouth dropped open. “Yes, I reckon you did best me.” He stammered. “You speak French, too?”
She tilted her head, shamelessly. “Oui. Born in Louisiana. Nous parlons tous français.”
“Yes, I suppose you would.” He patted her hand at his elbow and began walking toward their door. The Secretary of the Treasury’s private suite was up one more flight of stairs. “This could come in handy.”
She smiled. “Why do you think I was so readily accepted into el Agente del Servicio Secreto?”
“Good point. Three languages…” He considered what he was saying. “You speak any other language?”
She shook her head.
“Well, three languages fluently spoken would make you a huge asset on either side of the border.”
She lifted her chin slightly and closed her eyes. “Keep that in mind next time you consider reminding me of basic rules for undercover work, Mr. Smith.”
Smith stopped walking. He turned to her and took her hands into his, pressing them against his fiercely pounding heart. “I would like to think, since we are partners… and married, that you’d call me Todd… when we are not in character, of course.”
“Yes. Of course…” A serious expression settled on her lovely face. “I am not a new recruit, Todd. Please stop treating me like one.”
He released her hands and bowed deeply “My most humble pardon, madame.”
Serafina’s lip quivered. Amusement twinkled in her uniquely hued eyes. “You are pardoned.” The smile she had been suppressing curled at her ruby red lips. “And you may call me Fina.”
“Fina?”
“Yes. Those who are more… familiar with me, call me Fina. It began when I was very young.” She blinked, clearing away sudden tears, and swallowed. “Now, come. Bristow is waiting for us.”
Smith longed to know more about what caused that sudden eruption of emotions but opted for humor instead. “Don’t worry. I’ll simply blame you and your vanity for our tardiness.”
“What?” Serafina slapped his arm. But amusement twinkled in her violet eyes that he loved looking into. He could really get used to her being his partner. Perhaps there would be time after this case to explore those deeper secrets she kept locked up so tightly.
He escorted her upstairs to dinner, enjoying her hand at his elbow. He could really get used to her by his side.
A doorman opened Secretary Bristow’s door and bowed to Todd and Serafina. “The Secretary is waiting for you in the parlor, Agent Smith, Ma’am.”
Todd stiffened. The fewer people who knew his true identify the better. This opened up the possibility of a loose end. “Thank you.”
He shot a glance at Serafina. Her expression revealed she had the same concerns. Good girl! Continuing into the penthouse suite, he guided Serafina into the parlor where Benjamin Bristow leaned on a mantle with a cigar between his fingers and a whiskey in his other hand. He looked deep in thought.
“Agent Smith and his… partner, Sir.” The man announced them.
Bristow jumped. “Oh! Agents! So good to see you. Uh, that’ll be all, Raymond.”
The man nodded his head curtly and turned like a soldier, on his heels and left the room. Bristow put both vises down and rushed to them.
“What a marvelous age we live in.” He sputtered while shaking the dickens out of Todd and then Serafina’s hands. “A female detective! What a marvelous age!”
She looked rattled, but recomposed herself quickly. “Secretary Bristow, Kate Warne demonstrated women were very effective detectives nearly twenty years ago.”
“Yes, yes. Of course, my dear. Forgive me. This is the first time I’ve been fortunate enough to get to work closely with the gentler sex in such a dastardly investigation.”
Serafina frowned at Todd, but turned a gracious smile on the Secretary. “It’s my pleasure to help you find your culprit. Tax evasion is a serious and potentially deadly business. I’m sure the Treasury will be much more adequately supplied once the thief or thieves are uncovered.”
Bristow hesitated, as if he were shocked that Serafina knew so much about the case. “Yes. I- uh, have to agree with you, Miss…”
Serafina lowered her eyelids slightly, presenting an air of offense. “It’s Missus.” She paused. “Missus Todd Smith.”
Todd felt his chest swell with pride. He wanted to slap his knee and yell, “That’s my wife, right there! That’s her!” But he maintained his composure and took her hand, placing it at his elbow. “Are we early for dinner, Secretary?”
“No, no. Come with me. My staff serve dinner when I say.” He bustled toward another room. The Smiths followed. His wait staff, in black tailcoats, leapt into action, seating the lady first and then Smith. Another seated Mr. Bristow. Linen napkins were flamboyantly snapped in the air and placed in their laps. P
lates were carried from a swinging door and placed before each of the diners.
First, second, third, and fourth courses were brought and removed. Finally, dessert was placed on the table. Round balls of sherbet and raspberries were brought. Smith forced himself to eat the cold treat. He felt quite full. How had Serafina managed to clean each of her plates and dig into this final course? He smiled at her inquisitively.
She smiled in reply. He never ceased being surprised at her abilities.
During the meal, Bristow laid out what his operatives had discovered so far.
There were clean tax collectors and dirty ones. When the clean ones set out to collect the revenue from distilleries, the volume of whiskey production was at a profitable amount but when other collectors reported their collections, it seemed the distillers were not doing so well. Their production was less than half as much. It was an impossibility that distillers would make so much more in one month and so much less another.
One thing he knew for sure was that when his “clean” tax collectors came to call, someone alerted the distillers. Taxes were then collected at the rate anticipated during regular production.
“Now, you tell me?” Bristow leaned on his elbow toward Smith. “Someone has to be inside this operation, skimming taxes by reporting a smaller production, only we can’t catch them.”
Smith nodded agreement. This much he already knew from the dossier, but there was nothing wrong with hearing it from the client’s own mouth. “Alright. So, we are thinking if we go in as a new distributing company who wants to get established with the ‘reduced tax plan,’ we may be able to find out who’s at the head of this scam. My wife will pose as the one with the purse, having come from a wealthy family back in Paris, France.”
Serafina lifted her brow.
“I will pose as the husband who is negotiating her deal. Since it is more common for men to do such things.” He darted a hesitant glance toward Fina. She didn’t exhibit a reaction, but he sensed she was maintaining a stoic appearance for the client’s sake.
“Yes. That might work. I’ve only been able to send my own collectors to try to catch them. I’ve varied the days they go to collect taxes, and I’ve varied the men who went in, so they were not aware of who they were ’til they showed up. But so far, we just cannot get in there ahead of the squealers who let the distilleries know we are coming.”
Smith smiled. “Ah, this is why Serafina is a valuable agent. She is actually from the Mexican Secret Service. No one here in America has ever seen her before. And she speaks French fluently. The diversion of her being from France, plus she’s an unknown operative, we believe we will have success infiltrating the Whiskey Ring and locate the leading man for this crime.” Smith inhaled. “Plus, she plans to join the Woman’s Political Alliance to learn who in the political realm might be wealthier than they ought to be.”
Bristow grinned, sending ripples across his plump cheeks. “Excellent!” His eyes swiped a trail down Serafina, from her head to her lap. “What a marvelous age.”
Smith eyed Serafina as well. His heart sped up slightly. “Yes, isn’t it though?”
CHAPTER SIX
Smith yawned and stretched as he walked to the divan in their hotel suite. “Oh my, I’m so tired, how about you?”
Fina glared at him. “I suppose.”
“Well, you take the big bed and I’ll make do out here on the divan.”
“You seem to be— what are you up to?”
“Nothing!” He chuckled. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, and I just thought we should get as much rest as possible before we begin our case-solving tomorrow.”
Fina crossed her arms over her waist and tapped her toe. “Why are you acting like you’ve got some… other plans?”
“Other plans? P-shaw! Let’s go to bed. I’ve asked room service to deliver coffee and sweet muffins before daybreak. That’ll be our wake-up.”
She eyed him for a long while. “Alright. But I want to leave the door to the bedchamber open.”
“Fine. Sure. Whatever makes you feel safe—”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. “I just mean whatever you want.”
She sighed heavily and pursed her lips. “Fine!”
Smith watched her enter the chambers and removed his dinner jacket and shoes. Pulling an extra blanket from the cabinet, he quickly stretched out on the divan and waited.
And waited.
Serafina seemed restless behind that partially closed door. Smith remained as still as he could to convey he had fallen asleep. Finally, she settled down. Smith listened for signs that she was deep asleep, and then he waited a little bit longer. The last thing he wanted was to wake her and have to explain where he was going.
At last he rose silently and put on his shoes and jacket. Tip-toeing, he slipped out the door and down the servants’ stairs. The wet cobblestone streets glistened in the moonlight. A brief evening rain had passed quickly but left behind a sultry, sticky feeling in the air. He lifted his nose and inhaled the city’s aromas. He knew how to find what he was looking for.
Walking with purpose toward the waterfront, he sought a drinking establishment. The closer he got to the Mississippi River docking district, the louder the night sounds became. Men, lewd women, laughter, and piano playing filled the boardwalks. Led by his gut instincts, Smith stood flat-footed and peered over the batwing doors of one saloon. This establishment would have his answers. He entered and ordered a whiskey at the bar.
“Sure thing, friend.” The bartender tossed a white towel over his broad shoulder and turned to retrieve a clean glass. The man obviously filled two roles: Bartender and bouncer. Plopping the glass in front of Smith, the bartender leaned on the counter as he poured from a bottle with a black label.
“Is this from a local distillery?” Smith asked before he tossed the dark amber liquid down his throat. It burned all the way down, but he did his best not to show any discomfort.
“You bet, friend. This is Saint Louie, we got some of the finest whiskey distillers in the country.”
Smith nodded, thoughtful of the bartender’s words.
“So I hear. That’s why I’m here, actually. I’m looking to distribute some of this fine whiskey out west.” He held up his empty glass to demonstrate what he referred to and set it down closer to the server.
The man refilled his glass. “You can’t get better cooperage than what we got here, my friend.”
A man with a leather-string necktie laid a heavy hand on Smith’s shoulder. “Pardon me, mister. But I couldn’t help overhearing you are looking to distribute whiskey out west?”
Smith turned to address the man. “That’s right. You know who I could speak to about that?”
“I might.” He smiled and motioned for the bartender to hand him a bottle. “This here is only one of our finest examples of the whiskey” —he patted the bottle— “we make here in Saint Louie. It originated in Kentucky, but I brung it out here to Missouri. Ain’t that right, Rusty?”
The bartender nodded and returned to wiping out glasses with his white towel although they looked completely dry to Smith.
“Come on. Let me introduce you to the boys.” The man led Smith to a table where cards were spread out in a game of poker.
“Fellas, this here is…” He turned to Smith. “Who are you, anyways?”
Smith grinned and stuck his hand out to the man. “Green, Samuel Green.” He shook the man’s hand vigorously.
“I’m Jasper Daniels.”
Smith released Daniels’s hand and turned to the table of men. “My wife and I own a distribution company from back east, and we’ve recently acquired several establishments from Colorado to California. We’re looking for distillers who can deliver the volume we need to keep those businesses amply supplied.”
The men laughed.
“What kind of volume you talking about?” The one with a handlebar mustache and no front teeth asked.
Smith maintained a solid gla
re at the man. “How much can you provide?”
The group laughed again. An older, scruffy looking fellow waved Smith to join them. “I like ‘em, boys. Let’s play a hand of poker.”
Smith gave the men a half grin. “I’m sorry, I can’t gentlemen. You see it’s the missus who holds all the purse strings.” He chuckled.
They looked confused.
“I hate to admit it, but it’s true. Married into money, I did. My belle fille is from France and her family is from an established nobility of sixteen quarterings. A matriarchal line of extremely well-to-do people. We in America don’t quite understand, but my wife has an extremely sharp mind for business and manages our financial influx extremely well. I’m afraid gambling does not fall in the category of a good business venture.”
He drew in a quick breath. “It was her idea, in fact, to purchase a distribution company in New York and then travel west in search of congruent business opportunities.”
“Oh!” Mustache broke in. “That explains why you disembarked from the north bound train this morning. You be coming from your adventures out west?”
Smith paused with a swallow. So, they had been noticed. “Yes. And you know, we found that it’s not the gold or silver that can make an eastern investor a lot of money. It’s whiskey. Those miners and panners are a thirsty band of men, especially for whiskey. Ma chérie purchased as many saloons as she could charm the owners into selling…” His laughter serpentined his words as he continued. “And then arranged for said owners to stay there and manage what had been their establishments, while we go back to our comfortable estate in New York.”
The men chuckled, clearly amused by this anecdote.
Smith shook his head. “Gentlemen, I’m telling you, if you should meet my wife, you would understand. She could convince a rabbit he needed a fur coat, if she wanted to distribute fur coats.”
