Love in Disguise (17 page)

Steven turned his attention back to Ellie. “Are you any nearer to making a decision about your investment?” He cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to pressure you. I’m only asking so I’ll have a better idea of how to plan for the future.”

“It’s all right. I quite understand.” Ellie injected all the calm she could into her statement while her mind groped for words a real investor might say. What would Lavinia’s mythical late husband have advised?

An idea flashed into her mind. “Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to take a look at your mine. Would you be willing to give me a tour?” The words slipped from her mouth without careful thought, but she warmed to the notion as soon as she uttered them. What better way to gain an understanding of what went on in a mine than by actually seeing it herself? The insights gained there might help move her investigation forward.

Steven stared at her. “You want to go down into the mine?”

“Yes! I think that would be a splendid idea, don’t you?”

Doubt couldn’t have been written more clearly on Steven’s face. “It really isn’t set up for casual visitors.”

Ellie drew herself up and peered at him over the top of her spectacles. “But I’m hardly a casual visitor, am I, Mr. Pierce? After all, if I do decide to invest in the Redemption, we’re going to be partners.”

“It’s rougher than you probably imagine. It isn’t any place for a lady.”

Ellie pushed the spectacles up higher on her nose and looked Steven squarely in the eye. “Don’t think ‘lady’—think ‘business associate.’ ”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she could tell he was weakening.

“It would be impossible for you to be down there while the mine is in operation. We might be able to arrange something next Sunday, while it’s shut down. That is, if you’re certain you want to do this.”

Ellie glanced away to hide her sense of triumph. Looking back at him, she said, “That would be lovely. We can go there after church. Why don’t we stop at the Beck House on the way and have lunch? It’ll be my treat.”

She imagined Gates grumbling over this expenditure. But surely the Pinkertons would see this as a wise investment in the investigation.

And she certainly wouldn’t object to the chance of spending thirty minutes sitting across the table from Steven Pierce and looking into those gorgeous coffee-colored eyes.

Stepping out of the mercantile, Ellie had to halt abruptly in order to avoid a collision with a man in a black slouch hat. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized the unpleasant fellow she’d encountered during her first visit to the hotel. Moving out onto the boardwalk after he passed, she strolled along in the same direction, careful to keep her distance.

The man stopped a little past Fourth Street, where an alleyway opened up next to the Pickford Bakery, and glanced over his shoulder with an air that gave Ellie pause. The action looked positively furtive. What could he be up to? When he ducked into the alley, her curiosity rose another notch.

She moved ahead, chafing at Lavinia’s slow pace and hoping she didn’t lose sight of her quarry. The corner of the bakery offered a measure of protection as she peeked cautiously into the alley in time to see the man pull what looked to be a slip of paper from a crack in the bakery’s wall and bend his head to examine it.

Could this secretive behavior have anything to do with the robberies? Excitement rippled through Ellie.

She watched as he slid his hand into his coat pocket as if tucking the paper away. Excitement turned to elation when she saw the paper flutter to the ground unnoticed.

She waited while he exited the other end of the alley that opened onto Douglas Street. Then she scuttled along the narrow passage to retrieve the paper and read the words printed on one side:

Meet me tonight. Usual place. Nine o’clock.

Aha!
Hadn’t she felt there was something sinister about that man the first time she’d laid eyes on him? Her instincts had been right on target. He was obviously up to no good.

But while she had just discovered her first clue, the information itself didn’t do her a bit of good. Without any idea where the “usual place” might be, she couldn’t very well set up any sort of surveillance. Besides, nine o’clock at night was far too late for either Lavinia or Jessie to be walking around town alone.

Ellie stared at the scrap of paper in her hand. A clue at last, but what was she supposed to do with it? She sighed and tucked the note into her reticule, then squared her shoulders. Maybe she couldn’t spy on his meeting this time, but she would keep a sharp lookout for him in the future.

Somehow she would manage to find out what he was up to.

13

D
usk settled over Pickford, casting deep pockets of shadow across the richly appointed living room. The master of the house picked up a box of matches and selected one from within, flicking its tip against the phosphorus strip. A flare of light danced on the end of the wooden matchstick.

With a quick movement, he lit the wick of the oil lamp on the carved mahogany desk and shook the match out. Turning the wick down to nothing more than a soft glow, he seated himself on the leather chair behind the desk and waited. Listening intently, he heard nothing save for the steady click of the mantel clock. His impatience mounted with every tick.

Finally, the sound he’d been waiting for—a soft scuffle of footsteps on the back porch. He moved toward the door even before the muffled knock sounded and opened it just wide enough to admit his visitor.

“It took you long enough.” Peering outside to make certain they hadn’t been observed, he closed the door and led the way back to the living room.

“Too many people out and about. I had to wait until it was clear before I could get here without being seen . . .
boss
.”

The inflection on the last word made his hackles rise, but he chose to ignore the man’s insolence. It wouldn’t do to overreact, not when he was so close to reaching his goal. He turned up the lamp, illuminating the other man’s stony expression. “Did you find out where Owens is hiding his silver?”

The downturned lips gave answer even before his visitor spoke. “No, he’s cagier than I expected. Try as I might, I haven’t been able to get a thing out of him or his foreman.”

“Keep working on it. We don’t have much time. With the Pinkertons likely to show up any day and that Stewart woman snooping around, we may need to move the schedule up a bit.”

“I don’t know that we have anything to worry about.” His quick shrug dismissed the comment as an unnecessary concern. “The Pinkertons haven’t shown up yet. Maybe they’re spread too thin to spare a man right now. They might not come for a while, maybe not at all. As for the woman . . .” He gave a bark of laughter. “I think you’re losing your nerve. Why are you worried about an old biddy like her?”

“She isn’t just an old lady, she’s a
nosy
old lady. That can mean trouble.”

His minion scoffed, ignoring the steely glare that usually brought men into immediate submission. “So she’s nosy. What harm can she do?”

“She’s been poking into things all over town. Those questions of hers might start people thinking. If they start putting pieces together, someone could figure out what we’ve been doing.”

The other man’s smile evaporated. “So what do we do about it?”

Feeling more at ease with his leadership reestablished, he drummed his fingers along the edge of the desk. “She needs to be discouraged from investing in Pierce’s mine. Then she’ll have no reason to stay here stirring things up.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“I already have an idea or two along that line. A good scare ought to go a long way toward convincing her to leave town.”

“That might work,” his visitor conceded. “On the other hand, it took a lot of nerve for her to come out west in the first place. What if she has more gumption than you give her credit for?”

“In that case, I may do a little snooping of my own.” He reached into the center desk drawer and brought out a brass key, dangling it from his fingertips. “I own the house she’s living in. The bank handles the rental transactions for me, but I retain a set of keys. I can get in there to look around anytime I like.”

“I don’t get it. What good will that do?”

He slipped the key into his vest pocket and patted it gently. “Knowledge is power, my friend. She wants to know about mines and robberies. I want to know about her. Everybody has secrets, even snoopy old ladies. I may come across something she doesn’t want anyone else to know about.”

The taller man raised his eyebrows. “Something that might convince her to leave town before it gets out?”

“Exactly.”

“Why go to all that trouble? If you want her to disappear, we can make that happen easy enough. Then there’s nothing to worry about unless the Pinkertons show up.”

One more reason why he was in charge. He’d always had the ability to think several steps ahead. “That would be the easiest way, but it may not be the best. There’s that niece of hers to consider, for one thing. Having her family raise the alarm if she goes missing would only create more problems. We’ll try this way first.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

A stillness settled over his features. “We’ve come too far to let one old woman interfere with our plan. If we can’t scare her off or persuade her to leave on her own, we’ll take whatever measures are necessary.”

14

S
teven wrote the final figure in the column in his ledger and shook his head. His operating costs were eating away what remained of his nest egg with a speed that left his head spinning. He pushed the cloth-bound book away and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. If nothing changed, he could hang on a little longer, but just by the skin of his teeth. He felt like someone dangling over a cliff, clinging to the end of a rope and watching it fray before his eyes.

He flipped the cover of the ledger, closing it with a thump. Something had to change, and soon. When he came out west to seek his fortune, he looked on it as a grand adventure. He never expected the weight of responsibility that came along with knowing the livelihood of a dozen men rested squarely on his shoulders.

It looked so promising when I came into this, Lord. Did I misread your leading and get myself into something you never wanted me to be a part of?

Memories of his father’s dire predictions of certain failure rose to haunt him, and he wished he could rid himself of those as easily as he had pushed the ledger aside.

He shoved his chair back and walked to the small window overlooking the mine entrance some fifty feet away. Lavinia Stewart’s providential interest in investing in the Redemption had seemed like manna from heaven when she’d first arrived, but she didn’t appear to be in any rush to loosen her purse strings and write him a draft.

Steven tried to tamp down the desire to hurry things along in that department, or at least find out where he stood. After all, he only had the promise of her interest. He didn’t know the full extent of her financial standing, and he could hardly ask her to sink all her inheritance into his venture.

Maybe touring his mine on Sunday would be just the thing to help them come to some sort of understanding. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the windowpane, still wondering why he’d been foolish enough to acquiesce to her suggestion. A mine was no place for a woman, let alone one well past her youth. He would have to tell his foreman to be sure the workers cleared the debris off the stope when the last shift ended on Saturday. Having her slip on some loose rubble and twist an ankle—or worse, fall and break a limb—was hardly the way to gain the infusion of cash he needed if the mine was going to survive.

Would the tour be enough? Was there anything else he could do that might help move things along? His gaze fell on the ledger, and he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Would she want to examine the books, as well? Probably so, since she’d made it plain she wanted to know as much as possible about the mine.

Steven groaned and rubbed his forehead. If Mrs. Stewart had any head for business at all, one look at his current status and remaining assets would be enough to send her packing. He walked back to the desk and opened the ledger again, hoping that by some miracle the figures there would paint a rosier picture than they had when he’d closed it.

They didn’t.

If only he could show her last year’s figures, before the thefts began, when the income from the ore was increasing his bottom line every week. Those would convince anyone they’d be getting a substantial return on money invested.

He ran his finger along the cloth cover, and his gaze shifted over to the shelf on the opposite wall, where last year’s ledger stood tilted against the bookend. A thought stirred within him.
What if . . .

He crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled the account book down. Returning to his desk, he opened the book and leaned over it, scrutinizing the figures. Yes, they were every bit as promising as he remembered.

What if . . .