An Agent for Marianne (The Pinkerton Matchmaker Book 49) Page 6

“Find out who is delivering the whiskey to the saloon. And see if they also deliver coal.”

  Archie arrived back at the office. He tilted his head listening for anyone. He was met with silence. Normally there would be some noise. It was after lunchtime, so the agents would be working on their cases or paperwork. Perhaps they were in the dormitory.

  He was almost at his office when he heard the front door open. Even though he knew it was one of the agents, his heart secretly hoped that it was Marianne coming through the door. Why did he keep wishing for things that would never be?

  Zeke and Jacqueline walked into the office. “Where did you come from?” he barked at them. His patience was thinning.

  “We were just…”

  “It doesn’t matter. Zeke, I need you in here. Jacqueline, you go do… whatever it is that you do.”

  Jacqueline looked at Zeke. She shoved a bunch of papers in his chest and ran up the stairs towards the third-floor apartment.

  Archie walked to his desk and sat down. He didn’t even notice if Zeke had followed him. When Zeke closed the door, Archie motioned for him to sit down.

  Zeke dropped a pile of envelopes on the desk. “We were getting the mail,” he said, taking a seat across from him.

  “It took both of you?”

  Zeke leaned forward and gave Archie an icy stare. “No. It took one. That one was Jacqueline. I went to the gunsmith to have my revolver looked at because the hammer was sticking. I just happened to see her as she was walking home.”

  Archie thought about it for a moment. “I apologize then.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one who ran upstairs crying. I don’t know what is going on, here, but it is impacting every agent, every case, every person in this house.” Zeke sat back crossing his arms over his chest.

  Archie scratched his chin. “It takes quite a bit of gumption to tell me off like that.” Archie watched Zeke shift uncomfortably in his seat. “It isn’t anything any other agent hasn’t told me. Perhaps it is time I listen.” He picked up some papers on his desk and shuffled them into an orderly pile. “I need to assign you to a case.”

  Archie saw Zeke sit up in the chair. The young man was training with the agency to learn investigative techniques that he could take back to the Rangers, where he belonged. Archie guessed something happened back in Texas, but Zeke didn’t make mention of it and Archie didn’t ask.

  “I wasn’t aware of any new cases that came in.”

  “There isn’t. This is for me. You are going to learn the fine art of surveillance.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need you to tail Pearl.”

  “Pearl? The Ghost?”

  Archie put his papers down. “I will not have you or anyone else refer to Miss Bolton as the ghost. Do I make myself clear?”

  Zeke looked a little sheepish. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I need to find out if anyone comes to the house, if anyone goes. If she meets with anyone.”

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. And Zeke, do not say anything to her about this. Once she arrives here in the morning, you can go back and watch the house.”

  “How should I…”

  “Just make it happen. I have to get back to work.”

  Zeke got up and walked towards the door. “I look forward to Marianne returning,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “Me too,” Archie said. “Close the door on your way out.”

  Chapter 8

  Chicago

  “I think that is the last of them,” Marianne said, placing a box on top of the handcart. She looked at Janet who had been instrumental in helping Marianne move operations back to the brand-new brick building in the center of Chicago.

  For the past six months they had been working out of a farmhouse that the Agency rented outside of Chicago.

  “I can’t believe we are finally able to get back into the office,” Janet said.

  “It is my understanding that the city is restoring the town with more fire-resistant materials.” After trying to rebuild, and suffering a second fire four months later, a portion of the city had been rebuilt a second time, this time using bricks and mortar.

  “Let’s get out of here, Annie.”

  Marianne tried not to wince when she heard the nickname that had stuck over the past year. At first, she thought it was charming. Funny, even. But soon it became more annoying and anytime she tried to correct people regarding her name, they laughed her off.

  Guy Winston stood at the door. He was an older man, probably in his late fifties. Guy had retired from being an agent when a bullet shattered his knee, and now he helped wherever was needed in the office.

  Today they were moving the boxes to the new office.

  “Almost set. This is the last of the boxes.”

  “Well, let’s get ‘em in the wagon.”

  “Can you and Janet do that? I’m going to take one quick walk-through before I return the key to the landlord.”

  Guy nodded and helped Janet pull the handcart towards the wagon.

  Marianne quickly walked through the house. Rooms that served as offices filled with multiple desks and several chairs were now empty. The room that contained all their files that they reconstructed over the past year echoed with silence.

  She placed her hand in the pocket of her apron. Even though she knew it was still there, she had to reassure herself. When the smoke from the fire woke everyone in the dormitory, Marianne grabbed what few items meant the most to her: a small book of poetry that Archie gave her and his picture. The book still smelled like smoke.

  She patted her pocket and wiped away a tear before shutting the door and continuing her inspection of the house.

  When she felt that everything was as it should be, she pulled the front door shut and locked it before slipping the key in the pocket with the picture.

  She climbed in the wagon seat with Janet and Guy and adjusted the wrap around her shoulders.

  “We need to stop by the farm next door so I can return the key.”

  “Shor thing, Annie.”

  It was a short ride up the lane to the farm next to the one the agency rented. Marianne hopped down from the wagon and walked up to the door, knocking sharply on the door frame.

  “Miss Marianne,” the woman who opened the door said. “Are you done already?”

  “Yes. We just got the last of the boxes out. I swept the office.”

  “You didn’t need to do that. There are several ladies coming by later to clean the houses.”

  “They shouldn’t need to do that.”

  “But they were hired when the house was rented. As part of the service.”

  “Service?”

  “Yes. setting up the main house for you. Then the other agents arrived. But it was really for you.”

  “I don’t understand. I can’t imagine Allan renting a house….”

  “It wasn’t Mr. Pinkerton.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “Why Mr. Gordon, of course. Stopped by here on his way back to Denver.”

  Marianne opened and shut her mouth several times. Thoughts were racing through her mind. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for that information.” She handed the key back to the landlord’s wife and walked back to the wagon.

  As she climbed in the wagon seat, Janet put her hand on Marianne’s arm. “Are you alright? You look a little pale. Are you ill?”

  Marianne took a deep breath and turned to her friend. “I’m quite alright. Just a bit of news I wasn’t expecting.” She leaned around Janet. “Guy, do you know the name of the family that owns these farms?”

  “Yeah… Hotchkiss.”

  Marianne didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The wagon moved slowly towards town, allowing Marianne a moment with her thoughts.

  When they arrived, Werner was waiting at the door to help carry the boxes in. Marianne hopped from the wagon and picked up one of the boxes to carry into the office.

  Fo
r a moment she stopped.

  “You alright, Annie?” Werner asked.

  Marianne pursed her lips. She remembered the last time she was carrying boxes into a Pinkerton Office. It was the day she met … him.

  She could almost imagine him outside the door barking orders to the agents and the movers. She took a deep breath to stop the tears from falling. She was a mess.

  Werner nudged her with the box. Marianne turned and looked at the young agent. His hair was falling in front of his eyes, causing him to look much younger than his nineteen years of age.

  Werner was one year older than Marianne when she first started working for the Pinkertons. Had she really been that young? For the first time she felt her age; twenty-six wasn’t old; but it was when you weren’t married and had no prospects.

  Marianne let out a slight gasp.

  “Marianne?” he prodded.

  Marianne shook herself from her thoughts. “I was just woolgathering, Werner. I’m fine. Let’s go in, shall we?”

  She carried the box of files into the brick building and entered the room which was to be her office. She placed the box on a chair next to a filing drawer. Werner followed and put his box on the desk.

  “A message came for you over the wire,” Werner said. “Connor was taking it down.”

  “Hmmm. I’m not expecting anything.” Sometimes the agents would send messages back to the office, but they were general in nature. Occasionally they would address it directly to her attention as the matter needed to be documented in a report. However, the agents were very good at letting her to know to expect a communication.

  “Would you like me to get it?”

  “That’s alright,” she said, removing her wrap and placing it on the chair. “I’ll go see Connor. If you can get the rest of the boxes where they need to go.”

  She walked to the second floor where the telegraph was connected to a wire outside the window. Honestly, she was surprised that the town had managed to get the wires up and running so quickly. But when there were large sums of money involved, she imagined everything moved quicker.

  “Connor?” she called.

  “In here,” he replied from behind the door.

  Marianne pushed the door open slightly. Connor was sitting at the table listening to the chatter of the telegraph and quickly writing down what he heard.

  Suddenly the tapping stopped and Connor swung around in his chair. “Glad to see you back at the office, Annie.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  He gave her a wink. “Too late, it has stuck.”

  Marianne groaned. “I know. No matter how hard I try to get you to stop calling me Annie, it just doesn’t work.”

  “You know we only do it as a form of affection.”

  “I know.”

  “You are like everyone’s sister.”

  “Or mother,” she laughed. “Werner said that a message came in for me?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t make any sense though.”

  “Hmmm.” She took the piece of paper and scanned the note. “It’s from Penelope. I wonder why she would be sending me a note.”

  “I don’t recall an agent named Penelope.”

  “She’s my sister. Married one of the agents in the Denver office.” Marianne waved her hand in the air dismissing the line of questioning.

  “The message didn’t appear in English.”

  “That’s because it isn’t. It is a language we made up when we were kids. We drove our parents crazy speaking in a tongue no one could understand.” She gave a sniffle. “Funny, I forgot about it all these years.” She looked back at Connor. “Do you have a pencil?”

  Connor handed her a pencil and Marianne went to sit at the table next to him. She started deciphering the code Penelope had sent. As the words started appearing on the page, they made no sense.

  “She has asked me to return to Denver immediately. She mentions Hotchkiss, but then it is like the message is incomplete.”

  Connor looked worried. “Who is Hotchkiss?”

  Marianne rubbed above her eyebrow. “He’s a local judge and a good friend of the agents in Denver.”

  “Do you want to send her a response?”

  “Not right now. I’ll need to craft my response before I send it.” She slid the tape inside her pocket and thanked Connor for his help.

  “Marianne?” He looked at her with hopeful eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you were free for dinner?”

  “I think so. When are you thinking?”

  “You’ve been here for a few months now…”

  “And I’ve greatly enjoyed your company,” Marianne interrupted. A feeling of dread pooled in her belly. She knew Connor was going to ask about properly courting her. She didn’t want to hurt the young man, but she also was sensible enough to realize that her prospects were dim…. In fact, they were null.

  If Archie cared for her enough to arrange a house, why didn’t he say something? Anything? Marianne knew it was because he would do the same for any other employee in the Denver office. That was it, nothing more. Marianne thought she needed to stop trying to read into everything.

  Taking the next step with Connor made perfect sense.

  “The Chop House has reopened, and I made reservations for Saturday night.” That was three nights from now.

  “That would be lovely, I look forward to it.” Marianne returned to her office; the telegram forgotten as she organized the files into the shelving unit.

  Chapter 9

  Denver

  Archie showed up the next morning at the Bolton’s before the sun came up. He waited on the corner until he saw Pearl leave the house and start her walk towards the Pinkerton Office.

  She glanced over her shoulder as she walked and ran smack-dab into Archie. He steadied her with his hands.

  Surprise displayed on her face. “Mr. Gordon, what are you doing here?”

  “I mentioned I was coming to see your father. Is he awake?”

  Pearl shook her head. “No. You’ll need to come back later.”

  Archie knew she was lying, and she knew that he knew. “I have a feeling I will never be able to see him. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Answer me this, Miss Bolton. Is your father still alive?”

  Pearl gave a little gasp. “I have to get to the agency. The men will be waiting for their breakfast.”

  He grabbed her arm as she tried to move past. “Answer my question first.” Pearl gave a single nod. “Thank you. I’ll see you at the office shortly.”

  He went up the stairs and knocked on the door.

  “Did you forget your key, Pearl?” Mrs. Bolton called as she opened the door. When she spied Archie standing on the step, she tried to close the door, using her body to block his view inside.

  “I know he is awake. I need to see him.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why for heaven’s sake not, woman.” He took off his hat and pushed his fingers through his hair.

  Mrs. Bolton’s eyes darted left and right as if she was seeing who might be around. Her eyes paused in the same direction which Pearl was looking over her shoulder.

  “I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I can and I will. If you don’t let me in, I’ll have no choice but to break down the door.”

  Mrs. Bolton dropped her head in resignation. “Give me one moment to make sure he’s dressed.” She shut the door leaving Archie standing outside in the early morning hour.

  Archie looked around. He spied Zeke standing on the corner talking to Pearl.

  He watched as Zeke took Pearl by the elbow and led her towards the office. Archie knew that once Pearl was at the office, Zeke would return and take up station at one of the corners. He checked his watch. Mrs. Bolton should have been back by now.

  He lifted his hand to knock again when the door opened, and Mrs. Bolton motioned fo
r him to enter. He walked by her, taking off his hat and hanging it on one finger.

  “He’s right in the kitchen,” she pointed.

  Archie nodded and walked down past the sitting room and into the kitchen. He hadn’t seen James in nearly four years and was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

  James Bolton was sitting in a wheelchair. His arms were secured to the arms of the chair by cloth strips.

  “Is this necessary?” Archie asked.

  “It’s so he doesn’t hurt himself. Sometimes he’ll thrash and I can’t control him. Nerves from the beating, the doctor said.”

  Archie sat down in the chair directly next to James. He gently patted the disabled man on his arm.

  “James. It’s me, Archie.”

  James turned his head towards Archie, but his eyes were staring off in the distance and drool collected at the corner of his mouth. When had it become this bad?

  “Does he understand me?”

  Mrs. Bolton nodded. “He will blink once for yes, two for no,” she whispered as if she expected someone to overhear.

  “James, do you remember me?”

  The man stared vacantly at the area behind Archie. Then he closed his eyes and held them for a minute before opening them again.

  “Good. Good. Do you remember George?”

  It took a moment, but James closed his eyes once more, held them and then opened them.

  “Was George here?” One blink. Yes.

  “Did he come back?” One blink. Yes.

  “Do you know where he went?” Two blinks.

  “Did something happen to him?”

  James stared vacantly at the wall. Suddenly he lifted his fingers as high as he could in the restraints and tapped Archie’s hand.

  And gave Archie one long blink. Archie followed as James’s eyes scanned the room and rested on a door, then he gave Archie another long blink.

  “I think he is too tired to continue,” Mrs. Bolton said hurriedly. “You really need to leave so he can get some rest.”

  Archie looked back to James. Eyes that held so much clarity for a moment were vacant once more.

  Archie stood and patted James on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll see myself out.” As he walked by the door that James stared at, he turned and placed his hand against the door.