Iron and Blood (30 page)

“I
S HE STILL
out there?” Cady McDaniel asked as Nicki peered at the street from behind the velvet curtain in the parlor. “If we open the window, I can get him with the rifle.”

“Pish posh,” Nicki said. “If he were a little closer, I could probably get him with my derringer.”

“No one is ‘getting’ anyone out my parlor window,” Catherine Desmet said archly, although the hint of a smile softened her remonstrance.

“How about out of one of the bedroom windows, Aunt Catherine? The angle would be better from up there.”

“Nicki—”

“You never let me have any fun!” Nicki said, stamping her foot.

“What if we sent one of the servants out with cookies—made with castor oil,” Cady suggested.

“Heavens, no!” Catherine objected. “I won’t have our cook’s baking maligned.”

“It was just an idea,” Cady replied.

“Who do you think he is?” Nicki asked.

“A spy?” Cady suggested. “Sent here from a secretive foreign power—”

“I’d believe that, if he were dressed better,” Nicki said, still hiding behind the curtain. “The overcoat doesn’t fit well, and the hat is too big.”

“What’s the point of a disguise if you still look natty?” Cady asked, looking up from her stack of shipping rosters.

“I always look natty when I’m disguised,” Nicki sniffed.

“Girls! A bit more attention to the matter at hand, please!” Catherine reproved, although her eyes were livelier than they had been since Thomas’s death. Nicki smiled to herself, glad to have lightened Catherine’s grief, if only for a moment or two.

Catherine sat with a stack of Thomas Desmet’s journals and a well-used linen handkerchief. As she worked her way through her husband’s day books, she alternated between sad smiles and dabbing tears from her eyes.

Cady applied her organizational skills to the records of Brand and Desmet’s recent orders—both the ones on the official books, and the ones on the ‘private’ roster. Rick and George had already narrowed down the shipping receipts, manifests, and other paperwork, then turned the shortlist of missing or unusual shipments over to Cady for a second look, and to cross-check against the list Jake had found in Thomas’s airship cabin. Her code-breaking talents came in handy as well, deciphering some of the cryptic notations. Meanwhile, Nicki put her knowledge of languages to good use working through correspondence, since Thomas Desmet’s clientele came from all around the world.

Hours had passed, and they had found nothing to reveal a clue to Thomas’s murder.

Just then, there was a sharp rap on the front door. The three women exchanged glances. Cady’s hand strayed toward the Winchester rifle beneath the desk.

“I’ll get the door,” Nicki volunteered. “Keep an eye on our gentleman out front,” she instructed Cady.

The housekeeper went to the door with a silver tray to receive calling cards. “Desmet residence, whom may I say is calling?” she asked archly. Nicki lurked in the shadows at the entrance to the hallway.

“I’m here to give my condolences to Mrs. Desmet,” a man said. “I was an associate of her late husband’s.”

“I’ll handle this,” Nicki said, with a half-smile and a nod to the housekeeper. Nicki bustled up the hallway, drawing herself up to her full height, and affected the fragile, grief-stricken demeanor she had practiced in the mirror that morning.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Desmet isn’t receiving callers at the moment,” Nicki said. “I’m her niece, Veronique LeClercq. May I help you?”

The man who stood on the doorstep had the haircut of a soldier and the cocksure grin of one of the wastrel noble boys Nicki had left behind on the Continent. He had dark hair and a five o’clock shadow despite being clean shaven, with brown eyes and a solid, toned build that was attractive even beneath his off-the-rack suit.

“May I come in?” the stranger asked with a smile that was used to getting its way.

Nicki went for her best impression of an ill-tempered poodle and gave a withering stare. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

The look in the stranger’s eyes said he knew a test of wills when he saw one. “Captain Mitch Storm.
Agent
Storm. Perhaps we should have this discussion somewhere more private?”

Nicki grabbed his arm and yanked him inside so quickly that Mitch stumbled on the carpet as she slammed the door behind him. “Let me see your badge,
Agent
Storm,” she said.

Cady had come to the parlor doorway, Winchester rifle raised and ready. “Prove you’re who you say you are,” she demanded.

Mitch’s eyes widened at the sight of the rifle. No one who saw Cady wield it would question whether or not she knew how to shoot. He stiffened when he heard Nicki pull back the hammer on her derringer behind him.

“Ladies. Please.” He swallowed. “I swear, I mean you no harm.”

“Is he the man you shot?” Cady asked. Nicki kept her derringer trained on Storm, and moved to the side enough to look at his feet.

“Don’t think so. The other man was taller, heavier. And he’d never get those shoes on over the bandages.”

“Hold out your badge,” Cady demanded. “Or whatever papers you have.” She looked at Nicki. “I’ll cover you while you take them.” She fixed her gaze on Mitch. “Don’t try to grab her gun. Nicki’s high-strung. It could go off. The last fellow who tried joined the women’s choir.”

Mitch swallowed hard, reached carefully into his jacket pocket with one hand while keeping the other well away from his body, and withdrew a leather flip-wallet. Nicki moved around to the side, remaining out of reach, her derringer pointed not at his face but at his groin.

“Throw the wallet over there,” she said, indicating a spot on the carpet.

“Do you ladies do this a lot?” Mitch asked, his devil-may-care attitude severely crimped.

“More than you’d think,” Nicki muttered. Cady covered her as she retrieved the wallet, and stepped back, still holding the derringer. With a flip of her wrist, she opened and studied the document.

“Agent Mitch Storm, Department of Supernatural Investigations.” Nicki gave Storm the once-over. “If you’re a government agent, why didn’t you do something about the man outside? He’s been watching the house for hours.”

Storm met her gaze. “That’s my partner. Agent Drangosavich.”

Cady and Nicki exchanged glances. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t shoot him,” Cady said, as if the topic came up every day.

“If you would please stop pointing your guns at me, I won’t mention that it’s a federal crime to shoot a government agent,” Mitch said politely.

Nicki sniffed. “Only if they find the body.”

“Do you ladies always greet visitors with loaded guns? Or have you been feeling threatened a lot lately?”

“If his credentials check out, please lower your guns and show him in.” Catherine Desmet stood in the hallway, wearing a mourning cap and a heavy black veil that obscured her face.

Reluctantly, Cady and Nicki stepped back and allowed Mitch to pass, no longer keeping their guns leveled on him, but not putting them away, either. Mitch tried to look blasé as he walked ahead of them into the parlor.

“Mrs. Desmet. Please accept my apologies for bothering you at such a time,” Mitch said.

Catherine eyed him stonily. “That depends, Mr. Storm, on why you’ve come.” She gestured toward a chair. “Please. Sit.” It was more imperative than request.

“Now,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “What can possibly be so important that you’ve come to pay a business call, and placed a government agent outside my
house
, while we are in mourning?”

Mitch fidgeted in his chair. “Mrs. Desmet. I don’t want to cause you further distress, but we are concerned that—”

“I’m not a shrinking violet, Agent Storm. If you’re here to say something, say it plainly or leave.”

Mitch took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well. We have reason to believe that your husband’s death was not from natural causes.”

“Ha,” Nicki said with an unladylike snort of derision. “We’d already figured that out. Is that the best you can do?”

“How much did you know about your husband’s business dealings, Mrs. Desmet?”

“I often helped him with his accounts. I would say that I was well-informed.”

“We know that Brand and Desmet handled acquisitions for private clients. We think it might be possible that his death was related to one of these private deals.”

Catherine drew herself up, sitting ram-rod straight. “Are you suggesting that there was anything improper about my husband’s business dealings?”

Mitch held up his hands. “Of course not. But perhaps he was engaged to acquire an artifact of such interest to others that someone might be willing to kill in order to take possession of it—or stop someone else from possessing it.”

“Once again, Mr. Storm, I must ask you to speak your mind or leave,” Catherine said irritably. “I find myself quite tired these days. Do you mean to place me under arrest?

“Certainly not!” Mitch said, eyes widening. “We want to keep you safe.”

“You’re not doing such a good job,” Cady drawled, and fixed Mitch with a look that made him shift in his seat.

“Mrs. Desmet,” Mitch said. “Did your husband believe in the supernatural?”

“He was a life-long Presbyterian,” Catherine replied.

Mitch cleared his throat. “That… wasn’t exactly what I was referring to. I meant, did your husband believe in the occult?”

“Just what are you implying?” Catherine demanded. Right on cue, Wilfred the butler stepped into the parlor doorway.

“Is there a problem, madam?” he asked, with a pointed look in Mitch’s direction.

“That’s yet to be determined, Wilfred,” Catherine replied.

“Ah, well then. I’ll have the sharpshooters stand down then, ma’am.” Wilfred gave a shallow bow and retreated.

“Are you always quite so… armed?” Mitch asked, alarmed.

“Only in response to a crisis or when people threaten my family,” Catherine answered. “Now you were saying?”

Mitch looked as if he desperately wished he had sent his partner in to do the questioning and remained outside himself. Nicki concealed her glee.

“It’s not my intention to imply anything at all, Mrs. Desmet,” Mitch said in a placating tone. “But we think that items may have been brought to this country by Brand and Desmet that some believe have significant supernatural power.”

“Relics?”

Mitch looked uncomfortable. “Ah, no. Something on the other side of the spectrum, actually.”

“
Magique
,” Nicki said, looking down her nose at Mitch. Her French accent was almost impenetrable now. She forced a derisive chuckle, and silently congratulated herself on her acting skills. “He thinks Uncle Thomas got a bad magical item.”

Mitch reddened, both in embarrassment, Nicki bet, and in frustration. “There are forces at work beyond what most people care to notice,” he said. “And people who take those forces seriously can be dangerous if they believe they have been crossed.”

“I’m not aware of any ‘magical’ items among the last acquisitions my husband sought,” Catherine replied. “But should I become aware of any, if you leave your calling card, I will let you know immediately.”

Nicki was willing to bet Mitch knew he was being played. She saw a glint of stubbornness in his dark eyes. “Here’s something you need to know, before you throw me out,” he said. “The Department is looking into two other deaths similar to that of Thomas Desmet. Both men had recently done business with Brand and Desmet, with shipments from Eastern Europe. Pawel Kozlowski and Eljasz Bajek.” Both names were on the list Rick had given Nicki.

“Both men died suddenly, when they hadn’t been known to be sick,” Mitch continued. “In both cases, witnesses remembered a new object showing up right before the death, and vanishing afterwards. And both times, the men’s place of business—and homes—were ransacked.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I want to know why.”

Wilfred returned to the doorway as if summoned telepathically and Mitch realized that he was being dismissed.

“Sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Desmet, ladies,” Mitch said with a nod. “I’ve left you my card. The reverse side has a special telegraph exchange. If you do hear—”

“This way, sir,” Wilfred said with polite firmness. He escorted Mitch to the door. Nicki moved to her spot by the window.

“He’s having a word with the dowdy one outside,” Nicki reported a moment later. “It’s a shame Agent Storm’s with the government. He is rather dashing, don’t you think?”

Cady sniffed. “Not really my type.”

“Why do you think a government agent is involved?” Nicki mused, giving up watching the surveillance man and leaning back against the wall. “And do you think he really believes in magic?”

Catherine put the journal she had been reading back in her lap. “We should assume that he does believe. Thomas had encounters with the Department in the past. I don’t know whether or not it was with the same agents… but if they’re involved, this situation is bigger than we thought.”

“It doesn’t look like either Storm or his partner are leaving,” Nicki reported, watching the street.

“Let them stay,” Cady said. “Kovach has his men watching the agents while the agents watch you. The more the merrier.”