Petticoat Detective (28 page)

Weariness and a sense of hopelessness washed over her. Never had an assignment affected her on so many different levels. She felt emotionally, physically, and even spiritually drained. Why was God making it so difficult for her? Why did He keep throwing all these challenges in her path?

She wanted to help the boy, but even if by some miracle she was able to talk Miss Lillian into banning Cunningham from the parlor house, what good would that do? He would probably take his business elsewhere.

God, there has to be a way
.

She straightened her hat and was just about to head to town when she realized she was standing on the corner of Madison Street. Nothing could be done for Scott, but maybe she could do a little something for Georgia.

She checked inside the cloth purse still dangling from her wrist. She could spare a few coins—enough to purchase a meal or two for Georgia’s family. While in town she planned to wire headquarters for reimbursement of expenses before the case was officially closed. No doubt Robert Pinkerton would hassle her about the added expense of a hotel room, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

A lively game of catch was in progress in front of Georgia’s house. Georgia tossed a red rubber ball to her son and laughed when he caught it. She looked nothing like the woman of old. It wasn’t just the plain gingham dress that made the difference. It was the way she moved, like a ballet dancer gliding across a stage.

“There you go!” she called cheerfully.

The little boy fumbled the ball and dropped it, and his sister chased after it. Both children had their mother’s raven hair.

Georgia looked up just as Amy reached the gate, and her laughter died. A look of panic crossed her face. “Billy, Mary-Sue, inside. Now!”

Georgia’s sudden change of mood seemed to confuse her children, but they obediently followed her to the porch.

“Can we play a game?” Mary-Sue asked.

“Yes, inside.” She hustled both children into the house with loving pats on their little behinds.

She then hurried down the porch steps and along the walkway to the fence.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “I shouldn’t have come.” How thoughtless of her to approach the house dressed like a harlot in front of Georgia’s children.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you did.”

Seeing how happy Georgia looked lifted Amy’s spirits. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Georgia nodded. “I’m more than all right.” Her eyes shone. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Amy held out her hand. “Take this.”

Georgia shook her head. “Keep it. You’ve done enough already. Mrs. Givings has been a big help, and several church members have signed up for singing lessons.”

Amy withdrew her hand. “Oh Georgia, that’s wonderful news. I’m so happy for you. For your children.”

Georgia hesitated. “Mrs. Givings will help you, too.”

Amy inhaled. “I can’t talk about this right now.” She pulled away from the gate.

“Please, Amy, promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ve got to go,” Amy said, backing away.

“God forgave me, and He’ll forgive you, too,” Georgia called after her. “I’ll pray for you.”

Amy hurried away, but she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Georgia had found her way back to God—hallelujah!

How she longed to celebrate with Georgia like a real friend would. That, of course, was out of the question. Friendships required honesty, trust, and transparency—all the things her clandestine activities prevented.

It never really bothered her before, but it bothered her now. It bothered her that she couldn’t rejoice with Georgia. It bothered her even more that she couldn’t act on her feelings for Tom.

Love—and yes, even friendship—if it was ever to be hers, would have to wait.

A
fter leaving Georgia’s house, Amy found a thick envelope waiting for her at the post office. She didn’t open it until reaching the privacy of her hotel room.

As usual, the letter was written in cipher. The first sentence made her sink onto the edge of the bed. “
We have determined with just cause that David Colton was the Gunnysack Bandit
.” The letter went on in great detail describing the evidence against him. Not only did the banknotes found on the body prove to be part of the money stolen from the Hampton town bank, but the hotel registry also proved he was in town during the robbery.

The letter went on to declare the case officially closed. The information wasn’t all that unexpected, but it was still disheartening. Tom would be devastated.

The letter ended with these worrisome words: “
Wait for further correspondence
.”

As if she didn’t feel bad enough already, the last sentence hit her like a punch to the stomach. After completing one assignment, she was normally dispatched to another, but not this time. It wasn’t just a lack of assignment that worried her. Nothing would please the Pinkerton brothers more than to do away with the Pinkerton Female Detective Bureau altogether.

They claimed that women cost more to maintain than males, but Amy suspected a deeper, more personal reason. According to rumors, the first female detective, Kate Warne, had been Allan’s mistress up to the day she died, which was probably why Robert thought women were more of a hindrance and distraction than a help.

No doubt about it, Amy’s future looked questionable. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She had far more pressing concerns—mainly Tom.

She tossed the file onto the desk and her Pinkerton badge fell to the floor. She picked up the tin shield and slid it underneath the file.

She then quickly changed into a dark blue skirt and eyelet shirtwaist. Free of constraining underwear, she took several deep breaths before scrubbing her face clean and brushing her hair into a sedate bun at the nape of her neck.

Feeling more like herself, she gathered the discarded garments and put them into a carpetbag. Now all she had to do was return the clothes and tell Miss Lillian she would no longer be staying at the parlor house. Her job was done.

The hall was empty when she let herself out of her room. No sooner had she turned her back to lock the door than a voice sounded behind her.

“Amy?”

Glancing over her shoulder, her gaze clashed with Tom’s. She fumbled with the key and her door flew open again. She was quick, but he was quicker.

He pushed his way into the room after her and slammed the door shut. “Whose lock did you pick this time?” he demanded.

She lifted her chin. “For your information, I paid for this room.”

Seeming to fill the space with his presence, he gazed at her intently. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. Now if you would kindly leave.” She started for the door, but he stopped her with his hand on her arm.

“Why are you staying here?”

She pulled her arm away. “I’m leaving town.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“I decided I don’t want to work for Miss Lillian any longer.”

Something flickered in the depth of his eyes. “I never did think you belonged there. So what do you plan to do?”

“I—I don’t know yet.”

He tossed his hat on the desk and the file fell to the floor along with her Pinkerton badge. Before she could react, he bent to pick up the metal shield. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he stared at it for several seconds before lifting his head.

“What are you doing with this?”

“I—”

His gaze sharpened, and his square jaw tensed visibly. “Go on.”

She hesitated. If she hadn’t made a big enough mess of this whole investigation, she was about to put her career in even greater jeopardy than it already was. She just didn’t have it in her to tell him yet another lie.

“I’m not who you think I am.”

His eyebrows slanted in a frown. “What does that mean?”

“What it means is …” She moistened her lips. “My real name is Jennifer Layne, and I work for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.” Or at least she did. There was no way of telling what awaited her back at the home office now.

He reared back, a dumbfounded look on his face. “That means that you’re—”

She nodded. “A Pinkerton operative. And if you say, ‘But you’re a woman,’ I’ll slug you.”

To his credit, he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her in total disbelief.

She frowned. “Say something.”

He set the badge on the desk. “I don’t know what to say. So … all that business at Miss Lillian’s was just an act?”

“Not a very good one, I’m afraid.”

“I always thought that something wasn’t right, but I never suspected this.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“I was dispatched here to work on the Gunnysack Bandit case. Rose deposited stolen banknotes tied to one of his robberies into her personal account.”

“That’s a mighty big case for a … uh …” She challenged him to continue with an arched brow, but he wisely changed course. “How long have you worked for Pinkerton?”

“Five years. And for your information, I’ve been instrumental in catching some well-known criminals.” She named the most infamous outlaws she’d helped put behind bars, not to impress him—okay, maybe a little—but mostly to postpone having to tell him about the Pinkerton report.

His eyebrows inched upward as she spoke, and when she finished, he let out a low whistle. “That’s some record. Those outlaws would have given the Rangers a run for their money.”

“Tell that to the Pinkerton brothers.”

He studied her as if trying to reach into her thoughts. “I’ve worked with a lot of private detectives, and I can usually spot them. But you …” He shook his head. “Does the marshal know?” He frowned. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

“I told him.”

He hung his thumbs from his holster. “What did he say?”

“Pretty much what everyone says, and it all comes down to anatomy.”

His eyes blazed with sudden anger. “All that business about wanting to help me … That was a lie.”

“It wasn’t a lie. I really did want to help you.”

“What about the story that you’re leaving town?” His face grew hard, as did his voice. “Is that a lie, too?”

“No, that’s true. The agency is no longer working the case.”

His gaze sharpened. “Why not?”

She hesitated.

“Why not?” he repeated, louder this time.

She flinched at the tone of his voice. “Your brother was in Hampton when the bank was robbed and the guard shot.” Biting her lip, she looked away. “The case is officially closed.”

“Is that it?” he asked, his voice cold and exact. “Is that all they have?”

She shook her head. “The banknotes found on his body”—her voice wavered—“they matched the ones stolen from the Hampton bank.”

“That proves nothing. They could have been planted.”

She drew in her breath. “Also, the handwriting on the note to the teller was similar to your brother’s signature on the hotel register.”

“Similar? Not a match?”

“A person’s handwriting changes under duress. Signing a guest register is less stressful than writing a holdup note. That could account for any inconsistencies.”

A muscle quivered at his jaw. “Or someone could have forged Dave’s handwriting.”

She’d considered that possibility, but there was no way of proving it. Allan Pinkerton believed that handwriting and even the skin furrows of the fingers would eventually identify criminals, but right now graphology was still an imperfect art.

“It’s not just the handwriting.” She weighed his reaction before continuing. “The agency believes Rose may have gotten the stolen notes from your brother.”

“What about the rest?” he demanded, his face dark.

“The rest?”

“Somebody killed Dave. I’ll bet my boots it’s the same person who killed Rose.”

“I’ve seen the report on your brother’s death. There’re no similarities. There’s no proof that the two deaths are even related. Rose’s death could have been a robbery.”

“And Dave’s? Was that a robbery, too? Is that why they found banknotes on his body?”

“I wish I had more answers for you, but it was never my job to investigate his death or Rose’s. I was assigned to track down the Gunnysack Bandit and turn him over to the marshal. That’s all.”

He breathed through gritted teeth. “And all this time you let me think you were helping me.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could have refused my offer to spy. Instead, you led me on.”

If his anger wasn’t hard enough to bear, the hurt in his eyes was like a knife to her heart. “I really did want to help you.”

“By using me?”

“It wasn’t like that.” She reached for his arm, but he pulled away. “Please, you must believe me.”

“Believe you? After all the lies?” He grabbed his hat and turned to the door.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “Don’t go.” She hated to leave things so strained between them.

He stilled, his back toward her. Did he hate her so much that he couldn’t even look at her? “There’s nothing more to be said.”

She clasped her hands together to steady herself. “I’m not the enemy here, Tom. I was only doing my job.”

He stared at her over his shoulder, his expression remote. “You should be happy, then.” He reached into his pocket for Rose’s journal and tossed it onto the bed. “Your job is done.”