Undercover Bride (22 page)

Maggie had already guessed as much. Not only did Aunt Hetty address him in a louder than normal voice, he inclined his right ear to the person speaking.

“Yes,” he said, “and you won’t believe what the constant change of temperature and drafts can do to a body, and…”

Fortunately, before he could finish describing the entire scope of physical dangers of riding the rails, one of the other church members called to him.

“You ladies will have to excuse me. It’s my turn to usher today.” With a tip of his hat, he ambled away.

Aunt Hetty watched him go with wistful eyes. “Such a dear man.”

“Yes… he seems very nice.” Maggie hoped for Aunt Hetty’s sake that he was exactly what he seemed. “What did you say his last name was?”

“Dinwiddie. Oswald Dinwiddie. I was so hoping that Garrett could meet him. Why do you suppose he was in such a hurry to grab a seat? The service doesn’t start for another ten minutes.”

“Perhaps he’s just a bit anxious. His first time in church in how many years?”

“He hasn’t been to church since his wedding day.” Aunt Hetty sighed. “And then it was only under protest. He wouldn’t even come for his children’s baptisms.” She lowered her voice. “How did you manage it? How did you convince him to come?”

Maggie wrapped her arm around Aunt Hetty’s, and together they walked into the church. “Let’s just say it was a miracle.”

Maggie dropped Toby and Elise off at school on Tuesday and drove into town. She and Rikker had planned to meet before the post office opened at nine.

Spotting his snake oil wagon across the street from the post office on the corner of Main and Grand, she parked. Careful to make sure no one was around, she walked to the wagon and handed Rikker her report to headquarters.

“Did he mail the letter?” she asked.

“About an hour ago. And I mailed mine.” He tossed her envelope into the truck and dug into his vest pocket for his watch. “But you better hurry.” He flipped the case open with his thumb. “You have only a few minutes left.”

“Wish me luck.” She crossed the street to the post office and waited by the night box. Less than ten minutes later the postmaster stepped outside the adobe post office, keys rattling.

Fortunately he was a middle-aged man; old enough to want to look good in a young woman’s eye and young enough to consider bending a rule or two. Beneath a beaked cap, his peppery sideburns hugged a round red face.

After a quick assessment, Maggie greeted him with a worried frown. “I wonder if you could help me, sir.”

The postmaster pushed back the beak of his cap. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

He gave no indication of knowing she was Garrett’s fiancée.

“I mailed a letter and changed my mind.” She looked at him through lowered lashes. “I should never have written in… anger.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed the corner of her eye. Sniffling, she added, “I shouldn’t bother you with my problems.”

He looked flustered, and his face grew a shade redder. “That’s quite all right, ma’am. Don’t cry now, you hear?” He glanced around as if to check that no one was watching. He regarded Rikker’s wagon across the street before turning back to her.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

Squatting down on his haunches, he opened the box with a twist of the key and pulled out the stack of letters. “Let me know which one is yours.”

Thanks to Rikker, she had no problem identifying Garrett’s letter. Rikker had dropped a yellow envelope into the mailbox, timing it precisely so that Garrett’s letter was directly beneath his.

“It’s that one there,” she said.

“Ah, well there you are.” The postmaster handed over Garrett’s letter. Thankfully he didn’t bother looking at the return address. “Mum’s the word,” he said.

She afforded him a brilliant smile. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just remember, the next time you write a letter in haste, wait a day or two before mailing it. It’ll save you a lot of trouble.”

“Thank you. That’s very good advice.”

Tucking the letter into her purse, she hastened away in the opposite direction of Rikker’s wagon. She would circle a block or two before doubling back.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she and Rikker stood behind the painted wagon and examined the envelope. While Rikker kept watch from behind the wagon, Maggie studied the address. It was addressed to a Paul Whittaker in Massachusetts.

“You do realize we’re tampering with the US mail, right?” he grumbled. Rikker wasn’t against breaking the law on occasion to get his man, but he considered such tactics beneath him. He much preferred the challenge of working around any legal obstacles that stood between him and justice. He would have made a fine lawyer.

“Naughty us,” she said. She held the envelope up to the sun and smiled. “We’re in luck. There’s no need to tamper.” The envelope was constructed of paper thin enough to see through in the bright light.

She couldn’t read all of it. “It says ‘Nxe5 Q’ something.” She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rikker laughed. “It’s a chess move.”

“What?”

“Chess. You know king, queen, checkmate.”

The mention of chess brought back a myriad of memories, and her mouth ran dry. “
Did you know that chess was once a game of courtship?
”

Fortunately Rikker didn’t notice her momentary lapse. “Mr. Whittaker is evidently Thomas’s corresponding chess partner.”

“You mean people actually play chess through the mail?” She often saw Garrett studying the chessboard, but never had it occurred to her that he was playing an actual game with someone a distance away.

“All the time,” he said. “Judging from the number of letters Thomas mails, I’d say he has several mail partners.”

She thought about this. “He said he learned to play in prison. Do you think that’s where he met these people?”

“Possibly.” He reached into the wagon for a pencil and writing tablet and jotted down the address on the envelope. It would be up to Pinkerton headquarters to check if Whittaker had a criminal record or was in Arizona during the robbery.

“What have you found out about Dinwiddie?”

“Not a whole lot. He lives at a boardinghouse outside of town. Pays his rent on time and had to quit his job with the railroad because of his health. He is currently a trusted bank employee.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “He works for the bank?” He talked about his job as a train engineer but never mentioned his current employment.

“Yes, and he’s also a terrible faro player. Almost as bad as what’s his name—Panhandle.” Rikker had no patience for a man who couldn’t hold his own with liquor or cards. “Dinwiddie blames losing on his sacroiliac. Though what that’s got to do with the price of eggs is anyone’s guess.” When she made no comment, he tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”

“Katherine’s brother Cotton returned to town shortly after the school fund-raiser. Not many people knew about the five large bills that showed up there.”

“But a bank employee would know,” he said, finishing her thought.

“A bank employee who just happened to be a former train engineer,” she amended.

He pulled out his pipe and a package of tobacco. “So you think Thomas and Dinwiddie could be in cahoots?”

She frowned. That wasn’t at all what she was thinking. “Or Dinwiddie and Cotton.”

“Maybe Dinwiddie, Cotton, and
Thomas
were all involved in the Whistle-Stop robbery.”

“There were only two robbers,” she said.

“That we know of,” Rikker said with quiet emphasis.

Early train robberies almost always required five or more men. In recent years, successful robberies had been committed with fewer men and, in a few cases, lone individuals.

“There’s nothing to indicate that there were
three
men,” she insisted.

“No, but we can’t overlook the possibility.” Thinking out loud, he continued. “Suppose the money disappeared following the robbery and no one admitted to having it.”

She frowned. “Go on.”

“Suppose the thief among thieves was Thomas. That would explain why no one saw hide or hair of the money for two years. Thomas wasn’t worried about the authorities finding out he had the money. He was worried about his partner or partners finding out. So after holding on to it all that time, he decided to distribute a couple of bills to see what happened.”

“There’s one problem with your little theory,” she said. “His donation to rebuild the school brought Cotton back to town. Why would Garrett take a chance on releasing more?”

Rikker shrugged. “I’m rather curious about that, myself. That’s a question we’ll have to ask him when the time is right.” He looked at her askance. “You have to admit, my theory does explain Dinwiddie’s sudden interest in Garrett’s aunt. Maybe he thinks she knows where Thomas is hiding the money.”

That’s what she was afraid of—that, and the possibility Rikker’s theory could have a semblance of truth.

Rikker tossed a nod at the hotel. “There’s Cotton now.”

Maggie rose on tiptoes to look over his shoulder. Cotton purchased a paper from Linc and walked into the hotel. She couldn’t be certain, but it sure did look like the same man on the brown and white horse she had seen outside the schoolhouse.

“He’s staying at the hotel. Room five,” Rikker said. “Nothing incriminating in his room, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Have you also checked Dinwiddie’s place?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing?”

“Not a diddly.” He took Garrett’s envelope out of her hand and slid it into his coat pocket. “Cheer up, Duffy. Unless I miss my guess, Cotton is now sitting at a corner table in the hotel restaurant and is about to order his usual flapjacks and coffee. I also happen to know he enjoys the company of a pretty woman. I’ll mail Thomas’s letter”—he patted his pocket—“and you go and see what you can pull out of Mr. Cotton.”

Moments later, Maggie stood at the entrance of the hotel dining room. As usual, Rikker’s information was accurate. Charlie Cotton sat at a corner table reading a newspaper.

Having made the decision to take the direct approach, she walked over to his table and pulled out a chair. “Do you mind?” she asked.

He looked up, but before giving him a chance to speak she sat. “Maggie Taylor,” she said and offered her hand across the table.

He folded his newspaper and set it next to his plate. “I know who you are.”

Since he ignored her hand, she drew it away and pulled off her gloves. “I thought we should get to know each other,” she said.

He gave her a squinty-eyed stare. “Why?”

“I’m about to marry your brother-in-law.”

“
Former
brother-in-law.” He leaned on the table, and his eyes glittered. “You should know I blame him for my sister’s death.”

Recalling Katherine’s letter, she studied him. What had he done to cause his sister such distress? “I’m sorry for your loss. It was a terrible thing that happened.”

“Is that why you’re here? To express condolences?”

“Partly. But I must admit I’m a bit curious. Your sister died two years ago. Why come back to Furnace Creek now?”

“Maybe I like it here.”

Or maybe he was lying. He arrived in town exactly two weeks after the school fund-raising event. That seemed like an awfully big coincidence.