“We will not have the privilege of such separation while working a case. You do realize that, right?”
“We will share accommodations?”
“I’m afraid so. But I will remain forever the gentleman that I promised.” Trace walked down a small hallway and opened a door. “Not too fancy, but serviceable.”
Gen peeked inside. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She glanced across the narrow hallway and noticed a second door.
“My room,” he answered her unasked question. “Stay out. I appreciate my privacy.”
She floundered in her understanding of the man then noticed the corner of his lips upturning. “How will I know when you tell the truth? Your words say one thing, but your mouth and eyes speak a different message.”
“Displayed only for your benefit, my dear. But don’t worry. My face won’t betray us while working cases.” He chuckled. “I’ll bring in your belongings so you can start to unpack. Keep a carpetbag fully stocked and ready to go at all times. Our assignments often require immediate departure.”
The rest of the afternoon, Gen, leisurely hung her clothes in the wardrobe, packed the emergency suitcase, and set up her toiletries on the dressing table. She glanced in the full-length standing mirror and groaned. The day’s turmoil showed on her face.
“What’s the matter?” came a voice from the door.
She twirled around. “What are you doing? I thought you’d gone out.”
“I did – three hours ago.”
She turned back to the mirror. “This day has been exhausting, and unfortunately, it shows on my face.”
“You never struck me to be one to worry about such nonsense.”
“A girl likes to look good. Youth only lasts so long, sir. One day you shall wake up and find yourself married to a middle-aged, sour-faced woman.”
“You think we will last that long?”
“I need to make a living, and I’m excited about doing it with the agency for as long as my legs will get me from place to place.”
“Not interested in a real marriage; the kind with kids and romancing around the fireplace?” he asked.
As much as she did not want to admit it, the dream of her own family persisted. But not with a business partner. “I’ve learned to take one day at a time.”
“Good. We have a case to discuss and I thought we might do it over our wedding supper at the Diner. I reserved us a window seat facing the Rockies. I love to keep the great outdoors in sight at all times. I feel confined inside.”
“We have that in common, Mr. Stapleton. And I am starving.” Gen picked up her handbag. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 3
The next morning Trace sipped on his coffee while watching Gen busy herself at the cookstove. The last wife refused to set foot in what she’d referred to as a sorry excuse for a working kitchen. But wife number three appeared to be making herself at home. Her presence proved to be a challenge for Trace. Remaining detached was near impossible while watching Gen’s expert hands knead the dough and listen to her hum uplifting hymns. He wondered about the depth of her faith and if she’d hate that he’d walked away from the truth when Sarah died. It was his fault she was six feet under. He’d turned his back for one single minute, and the brute they were chasing gunned her down in cold blood.
Gen interrupted his reminiscing by plunking a plate of eggs, strips of bacon, and fried potatoes in front of him. The smell wafted up to his nostrils and brought him back to the present.
“Good morning, Mr. Stapleton. Did you not sleep well last night?”
He’d like to shout no! Lying under his cold sheets, all he could think of was the woman in the room across the hall who shared his surname. She was downright distracting, especially when aiming those gorgeous, mysterious eyes his way. It always kept him guessing as to what was going on inside her pretty little head. She’d learned the talent of hiding beneath a mask when it suited her. Trace couldn’t recall the last time he had trouble reading a person.
Yet, it was fear that plagued him now. He had not anticipated the night terrors returning with such force. Sarah had died because of his failure to protect her. Now his heart cringed at the possibility of doubling the guilt that already troubled his soul. He’d need to keep a lid on his emotions with Gen. Perhaps he should have stuck with devil-wife number two. At least he could remain focused on the job.
Trace switched his thoughts back to Gen. Recalling their dinner last night brought a smile to his face. Never once did the subject of work interrupt the conversation. They’d talked of life’s experiences, family traditions, and confessed secretive rebellious antics of long ago. Trace had laughed until he thought his sides would burst. His new wife was both entertaining and beautiful when she let down her guard and relaxed. Trace hoped to see that side of her character often, but at the same time, feared he’d not be able to resist the growing attraction.
“Just a bit restless,” he mumbled in answer to her question. “Probably should have refused that rich-tasting dessert so late in the evening.” She nodded but did not harp on the fact that she’d warned him. When she returned to the kitchen counter, he asked, “Are you not joining me for the morning meal?”
“I nibbled on some bacon and have downed two cups of coffee. I’d rather finish the chores so that we can begin investigating our case.”
“Ah, yes, back to business.” He’d do well to follow her lead. “And what would the new apprentice suggest we do?”
“I figured we should call in at the Friskin Estate.”
Trace laughed. “Archie said they didn’t want to be interrogated. We could find all the necessary details from the sheriff’s report included in our folder.”
“Nonsense,” Gen said. “I want to see the whites of their eyes when they tell us their daughter has gone missing.”
“Is that disbelief I hear in your voice?”
“Possibly. The wealthy have been known to do strange things for the love of money.”
“They are paying the Agency for us to locate their daughter. That does not sound like underlying deceit at play. Sounds more like a simple case for the newbie apprentice. Don’t overthink it.”
“You asked my opinion, and I gave it,” Gen said. “Seems to me, it’s our job to consider all possibilities.”
“And how do you suggest we get close enough for you to see the whites of their eyes?” Trace asked.
“Leave that to me, husband. Finish your breakfast. I’m eager to start. The estate is in the ritzy-district.” Gen left the kitchen and hurried toward her bedroom.
Trace shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth and brought his dishes to the sink. He pumped water into the pan and added some hot from the reservoir. Before she emerged from her room, he had the dishes washed and put away. He turned to see her standing at the door with her hands on her hips, looking stately and stunning.
“Mr. Stapleton. You have a wife now to do kitchen chores. Do you not have a cow to milk or something?”
Trace laughed. “I live in town. No cows or chickens. We’re partners, remember. We can work in the house together, the same as the jobs the Pinkerton Agency throws our way.”
“I’ve never had a man in my kitchen,” said Gen. “I suspect you’ll soon tire of the newlywed niceties and treat me the same as my brothers.”
“Did you feel mistreated at the farm?”
“No. It was my duty to care for the family after my parents died. Same goes for my obligation to care for a husband now.”
“Duty,” he sighed. “I was hoping we’d moved beyond that.”
“After one evening?” she asked, a grin igniting her rosy cheekbones.
“But it was a good evening.”
“Agreed,” she said, squirming under his watchful eye. “But it doesn’t change the boundaries of our relationship. Are you ready to hit the road?”
“I need to go to the livery and hitch the team to the wagon.” He started for the door then turned when she called him back.
“The wag
on goes back to the farm later today. I think you need to rent a carriage to call on the Friskin family. The Agency did give you money, right?”
“They always pay for expenses.”
“Half the money is mine, isn’t it?”
“So, you want to play it that way. Don’t you think I will provide for us equally?”
“I’d rather have some control over my half of the finances, Mr. Stapleton.”
“I’ll give it to you promptly upon our return home. Does that satisfy you?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve never received a wage and am excited to hold it in my hands. Now hurry. You should put on your suit when you get back with the carriage. I want to time our arrival when the couple is together.” When Trace attempted to speak, she waved him away. “Never mind how I know. Let’s just get started.”
Once outside, he marched down the walkway, swung the gate open, and headed for the livery. He could feel the anger rising within him. Gen was getting the same results as the wicked witch-wife number two had, but using sugar to coat her tactics. He’d been wrong to let her past his defenses. He was the agent and she was the trainee. He’d have a straight talk with her later tonight, right after he handed her half the money in the envelope. She’d be in a much better frame of mind, and setting her straight on who was running the show might prove more productive.
Thirty minutes later, an elegant carriage with the newlyweds aboard headed down the main road and beyond town. The morning sun was warm, and Gen opened her parasol to shield her from the sun.
“Do you like summer?” Trace asked.
She stared at him, and he noted the switch in her demeanor. “Mr. Stapleton. It is not necessary to entertain me with small talk. If you have anything to share about the case, I’ll be more than pleased to converse.”
If Trace didn’t know it before, he knew it now. Gen drew the boundary lines clearly. Last night’s friendliness had been a trick to nab his interest, for the sole purpose of suffocating him with it the next day. Regardless, she’d managed to wiggle under his skin, and for better or worse, she’d successfully captured his attention. But freedom to demand her independence in his workplace carried it too far. If she expected he’d dance to her tune, she’d better think again. He wore the pants in the family, and he’d not bow to the whims of a woman.
When he pulled up to the estate, she smiled. “Wish me luck.”
He grabbed her arm. “You’re not going in there alone.”
“But they know me, not you.”
“I’m your husband, remember. Good opportunity to introduce me to your upper-crust friends.”
“Oh, not friends in that sense. We are acquainted.”
The butler interrupted by opening the door and stepping onto the stone covered verandah. “May I help you?”
Gen elbowed Trace, and he scrambled out of the driver’s seat and hurried to her side to help her down. She beamed her approval sweetly then immediately headed for the entrance.
“George, wasn’t it?” she said with a huge smile that relaxed the man.
“Yes, ma’am. You have me at a loss. Your name is?”
“Genevieve Trafton. My sister and I have visited the estate in the past. Is Mr. or Mrs. Friskin available to meet with me?”
“They are in the parlor having tea as their usual custom mid-morning.” Gen offered George that wrap-me-around-the-finger smile and the hired man turned to open the door. “Please, come inside. I will announce your arrival.”
Trace moved in behind her. “Pretty smooth, Mrs. Stapleton. Now what?”
“Just a visit that might provide additional clues. Why did Andrea leave home at the onset of her coming out, for a starter?”
Trace scanned the grand entrance and whistled low. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business. Should be looking to court one of the fair maidens that live in this neighborhood.”
“You are a married man and should not entertain such thoughts, let alone voice them.”
He bent in closer. “Excuse me if I forgot. I’m not feeling like the man of our relationship at this moment.”
“We are a working team that share the same last name. I seem to recall you taking your vows the same as me.”
Trace might have considered inviting this new wife deeper into his heart. She possessed all the qualities of a strong woman with whom he could love and appreciate. But her continual cold shoulder indicated that was not going to happen.
George promptly returned and ushered them into the parlor. “May I present Genevieve, and her husband, Trace Stapleton.”
Mrs. Friskin was on her feet immediately. “Genevieve, my dear. We never heard of a wedding?”
Gen approached the woman towing Trace behind. “My husband and I did not want to intrude on Jethro’s special day. He is marrying your daughter’s friend, Sandy St. Clair.”
“Oh, yes. Quite the upheaval was created in society. Poor Mrs. St. Clair is beside herself. They had such high expectations for their daughter.”
Gen bit her lip and did not react to the off-handed insult aimed toward her family. It was then Trace understood why he’d never searched for a wife in high society. For a man to live suppressed under the weight of such a pompous attitude would surely kill any marriage given time. The sad part was that Mrs. Friskin did not once consider her remark toward the sister of the groom as insolent. Or perhaps she did, and that’s what made her kind vain and unapproachable. Not yet finished, their hostess hammered in another nail.
“Your family must be pleased to have such a prominent name redeem your ranks.”
Gen swallowed her pride and tried to steer the conversation. “And is your daughter Andrea standing up with her?”
The woman became noticeably uncomfortable and began to fan her face. She took Gen by the arm and led her toward the settee. “Please, come and rest a moment. Would you care for tea?”
Mr. Friskin approached Trace and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stapleton. What line of work are you in?”
The question all wealthy men asked of another, or so Trace determined. As if one’s occupation gave a person value.
“I’m between jobs at the moment, sir. I do freelance work.” Trace glanced at the ladies. “Shall we join the women?”
The men sat across from the ladies, and Gen continued with her interrogation that she’d labeled as a visit. A sacrificial slaughter was more his definition. He witnessed her strength of character displayed clearly in her relaxed expression and the secure set jaw. This farm girl had more class in her baby finger than the self-righteous Friskin’s she entertained.
Yet, it didn’t sit well with him that every excellent attribute of his new wife was weaving its way into his heart. How could he portray a happily married man to the world and know she was not the least bit interested in making it a fact? This façade was proving harder than any criminal case the Pinkerton Agency could send his way. And Trace silently realized she’d be far better at managing it than he.
“One reason I dropped by was on behalf of Grace. I know she has sewn clothes for your family. With Andrea soon to come out in society, we knew she’d want to look her best in all the latest fashions.”
Mr. Friskin chose to respond. “My daughter shows no interest in wooing the men of my choosing. Why poor Stanley waits in the shadows patiently for her birthday! She cast an honorable gentleman aside, and for what? We haven’t heard a word from her. He is crushed by the news.”
Trace studied Mrs. Friskin, who’d gone beet-red. Gen overplayed the sympathy act toward the distraught mother. “Oh, dear. Andrea is not going the same route as our Sandy St. Clair, is she?”
The woman squirmed. “We’re not sure, but it does appear to be the case. She packed her things and left home in the middle of the night.”
Gen provided the appropriate shocking gasp and rested a consoling hand over Mrs. Friskin’s. Trace could barely hold back the grin, determining his wife should be on a stage somewhere instead of wasting her talents on dangerous detective work.
&nb
sp; “You poor dear. To have such high expectations crumble at your feet. What can I do to help?”
“Why nothing that I know of,” said Mrs. Friskin. “Obviously, Andrea will not need a new wardrobe. Unless of course, she returns. We are hopeful for that outcome.”
“We would appreciate you keeping her disappearance quiet,” said Mr. Friskin realizing they’d said more than he planned. He cast a warning glance in his wife’s direction.
“Certainly, sir,” said Trace. “My wife does not tolerate or involve herself in feeding Denver’s gossip grapevine.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Friskin whose smile became suddenly genuine.
Gen was making progress, earning their trust. Trace surmised dealing with people would not be something he’d need to teach his apprentice.
“Did she take personal things that might suggest she did not plan on returning?” asked Gen.
“Oh, yes. Andrea took her grandmothers emerald ring from the safe. It belonged to her, so it’s not like she stole it, but it does make me wonder if she will return.” The woman pulled an embroidered hankie from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
Gen inched closer and the action seemed to entice the woman to new levels of intimacy. A flood of tears erupted and she willingly collapsed into the arms Gen offered. The sobs grew louder and Mr. Friskin rose to his feet unappreciative of her uncontrollable display.
“Mr. Stapleton. Would you care to join me in the library?”
And that’s how the Pinkerton forces divided and both agents departed the house forty minutes later armed with fresh clues to help them in their search.
Chapter 4
“Do you mind taking the wagon to the farm alone? I have a clue I want to follow up on,” said Trace when they reached the livery.
“I wish I could argue but I promised to help my sisters. They will feel I’ve abandoned them by leaving home on the eve of Jethro’s wedding. There is so much food to prepare for the guests. Sandy appears satisfied to downsize the affair. The couple decided on a quaint service by the lake under a tree where Jethro proposed and refreshments afterward. Of course, her family is appalled at such simplicity and are not co-operating. None of society’s crowd will be there, except her parents and siblings, which I’m sure will be bowing their heads in shame at the disgrace their daughter has brought on the St. Clair family name.”
An Agent for Genevieve Page 3