Undercover Bride (9781634094573)

by Brownley, Margaret

  Clutching his nose, Rikker picked up a chair with one hand and flung it at his opponent. Wiry ducked just in time, and the chair hit one of the matronly chaperons on the leg. That’s all it took for spectators to jump into the fray. Fists flew in every direction, followed by grunts and groans as men doubled over or landed on their backs.

  One man slid across the floor like an oversized lizard and crashed into the refreshment table. Dishes fell to the floor with a loud clatter. A woman screamed and people stampeded from the dance hall.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Garrett shouted, grabbing Maggie’s hand. She didn’t want to leave. Her coworker might need help, but Garrett’s firm grip left no room for argument.

  A blast of cold air greeted them as they joined the throng rushing outside. He helped her onto the buckboard before running around Patches and scrambling into the driver’s seat. Grabbing the reins he released the brake and clicked his tongue.

  The brawl had spilled outside, and Garrett was forced to steer the wagon around a knot of men rolling on the ground.

  Holding on for dear life as they raced out of town, Maggie glanced back, but there was no sign of Rikker.

  Chapter 24

  Maggie hardly slept that night. She twisted and turned until her bedding ended up in a heap on the floor. Not only was she worried about Rikker, but something else kept her awake—something over which she had no control. It filled her with guilt as well as pain.

  She couldn’t shake the memory of dancing with Garrett. Even staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling couldn’t keep her from reliving every moment spent in his arms.

  She finally gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed. Not wanting to wake Elise, she quietly paced the floor.

  The first light of dawn crept into her room, and she heard Garrett’s door open. Sensing him pause outside her room, she held her breath. A moment passed. Two. He finally moved away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. She gasped for air, but nothing could be done for her pounding heart.

  She rubbed her finger, surprised to find how much she missed the ring. Not that it meant anything, of course. It was just a prop—part of her disguise.

  Still, questions remained. Rikker had taken her ring, but why? He never did anything without good reason. Pressing her hands against her temples she tried to concentrate, and finally the answer came. Of course!

  She pounded her forehead with the palm of her hand. What took her so long to figure it out? With no time to lose, she quickly dressed.

  Garrett had an early morning delivery and was already gone by the time she walked into the kitchen. Fortunately he’d made the coffee, and she gratefully poured herself a cup.

  The coffee helped settle her nerves, and so did the children. It was hard not to laugh at their antics. While Aunt Hetty took care of them the night before, she had engaged them with a lesson on human anatomy and all the things that could go wrong.

  “What’s a fibula?” Elise asked.

  “It’s a person who tells a lie,” Toby said.

  Elise thought about this for a moment. “Did you know that Aunt Hetty’s legs tell lies?”

  Maggie laughed. “Actually, a fibula is a bone, pumpkin, and we all have fibulas in our legs. We wouldn’t be able to walk without them.”

  After fixing breakfast and driving the children to school, she waited for them to enter the adobe schoolhouse. A movement in the distance caught her eye. Someone else was watching, too. A man on a brown and white horse was half hidden behind the school privy.

  He was too far away to identify, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. Was he watching the schoolhouse? Or watching her?

  Only one way to find out. Grabbing hold of Patches’s reins, she gave them a good shake. No sooner had the wagon rolled forward than the man swung his horse around and took off in the opposite direction, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

  Frowning, she watched him ride away, not knowing what to think. His presence at the school could have been entirely innocent, but by the time she reached town, she was fairly convinced otherwise. The presumption of innocence was all well and good in the courtroom, but experience taught her that everyone was guilty of something, and most of her suspicions had proven true in the past.

  There was no sign of a brown and white horse in town, so she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She parked the buckboard in front of the hotel, which was as far away from her destination as possible. She glanced down the street to where Garrett’s horse and wagon was tethered in front of his shop. If by chance she bumped into him or his aunt, she would have a hard time explaining her business with the sheriff.

  It was early and most of the shops were still closed. The street was deserted, except for the mule-drawn sprinkler wagon, allowing her to duck into the sheriff’s office without being seen.

  The sheriff looked up from his desk as she entered. A small sign stated his name as Sheriff L. C. Summerhay. He peered at her from beneath bushy black eyebrows that rose and fell like two caterpillars doing push-ups.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  She glanced at Rikker behind bars. The poor man had two black eyes and a swollen lip. The sleeve of his shirt was torn and his bow tie missing. He probably could use a bit of sympathy, but that would have to wait.

  His cell mate was hunched over on the bunk, head in his hands. Unable to get a look at his face she turned to the sheriff. Though the Arizona sun had baked his skin to a dark leather color and carved deep lines into his forehead and around his eyes, she guessed Summerhay was only in his late thirties.

  “My name is Maggie Taylor,” she said.

  “I know who you are. You’re Garrett’s woman.”

  “Actually, I’m his fiancée,” she replied. So this was the lawman who steadfastly refused to work with Pinkerton detectives. What would he say if he knew her true identity?

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  She pointed at Rikker. “That man has my engagement ring.”

  Summerhay’s eyebrows did a couple more push-ups before he rose to his feet. “That true?” he called over to Rikker.

  Rikker shrugged and tossed the ring on the floor just outside his cell. She walked over to retrieve it. The vagrant lifted his head, and she got a good look at his face. He didn’t seem to recognize her, but she sure did recognize him. It was the pickpocket she’d encountered at the train station the day she arrived in town.

  She slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand and turned. The sheriff watched her with narrowed eyes. “Do you wish to file a complaint?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said, giving him her most brilliant smile. “I dropped the ring last night at the dance and that gentleman was kind enough to fetch it for me. But before he could return it, a fight broke out.”

  “It didn’t just break out. He started it,” the sheriff said, indicating Rikker.

  “Ha!” She gave her head an indignant toss. “Whoever told you that, told you wrong. It was the other man who started the fight. A short man wearing glasses. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

  “Is that so?” The sheriff looked dubious as he took his seat.

  “Yes, that’s so. As for your other prisoner… He stole from a man and a boy at the train station. I saw him do it.”

  The sheriff rubbed his chin. “You’re just all over the place, aren’t you? Well, rest assured. Crankshaw won’t be causing any more trouble for a while.”

  “His name sounds familiar,” she said. “Would that be Joseph Crankshaw?” Since the pickpocket had purchased tobacco with stolen money, he was a suspect in the Whistle-Stop robbery, however unlikely.

  “Harry,” Summerhay said. “Harry Crankshaw.”

  She smiled. No need to spend the night in jail with the man to learn the basics about him. “My mistake.” She made a mental note of Crankshaw’s height, weight, and possible age, more out of habit than need. It was always hard to estimate a beggar’s age. Most looked older than they actually were, espec
ially the ones who had lived on the street for any length of time.

  Rikker would surely include a full description of him in his report to headquarters, but she was trained to pay close attention to details.

  “Will that be all?” the sheriff asked. He looked anxious to get back to the paperwork piled on his desk.

  “There is one other matter,” she said and looked the sheriff square in the face. “I would like to post bail for the man who was kind enough to return my ring.”

  The sheriff sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Why would you do that?”

  “It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation.”

  Summerhay cast a glance at the jail cell. Rikker shrugged, though it seemed to pain him to do so, and the sheriff turned back to her.

  “Bail is five dollars.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “That much?” Since the sheriff didn’t look like he was in the mood to bargain, she reached into her purse, counted out the exact amount, and handed it to him. She could well imagine what the Pinkerton accountant would have to say about this additional expense. She and Rikker were already over budget.

  The sheriff placed the money in a desk drawer. He then stood, reached for the keys hanging from a hook on the wall behind his desk, and unlocked the cell.

  “You’re in luck. This little lady just bailed you out.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” Rikker pressed a bowler on his head and hobbled out of the cell, rubbing his chin. Whether he was really hurt or putting on an act was anyone’s guess.

  “I wonder if you’d be so kind as to keep this little transaction between us,” she asked the sheriff. The last thing she needed was for Garrett to find out she was bailing prisoners out of jail.

  Summerhay slammed the cell door shut. “Why is that?”

  “You know what gossips some people are.” She put on her best damsel in distress look. “Someone could jump to all the wrong conclusions, and with the wedding so close…”

  “Don’t you worry none, ma’am. No one will hear a thing from me.” He replaced the keys on the hook and glanced at Rikker. “And you! Stay out of trouble, you hear?”

  Maggie left the jailhouse first, and Rikker walked several steps behind her. “It took you long enough,” he groused.

  She stopped to look at a display of brooms and shovels in the hardware window and waited for him to pass. Apparently his limp wasn’t an act.

  “I got here as fast as I could. I had to take the children to school. Learn anything?”

  His answer came moments later as he stood by a lamppost lighting a pipe. Her eyes focused straight ahead, she slowed her pace and pretended to look in the window of the barbershop.

  “Claims he was at the train station panhandling,” Rikker said. “A number of people tossed money into his hat. Said he paid no attention and didn’t know who did the tossing.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. Pickpockets were experts at targeting potential victims. A stranger tossed a bill into a hat or cup, and the thief immediately knew where the contributor kept his money. He would also have a pretty good idea how much money was his for the taking. It seemed unlikely that Crankshaw hadn’t taken careful note of his generous donor.

  At the corner, they stood side by side waiting for a wagon to move out of the way. She opened her drawstring handbag and pretended to look for something.

  “Certainly you don’t believe him,” she said.

  “As a matter of fact I do,” Rikker replied and stepped off the boardwalk ahead of her.

  She thought about this as she followed Rikker across the street. In any crowd a pickpocket had a choice of ideal targets. A distracted mother; a man carelessly carrying his coat over his shoulder; an enamored couple or trusting youth were all easy pickings.

  It didn’t seem likely that he would target Garrett, a man with a military bearing and purposeful walk. Perhaps Crankshaw was watching someone else when Garrett dropped the banknote in his hat. It was a possibility, however slight.

  “Did you find out who Garrett is corresponding with?” he asked as she passed him moments later.

  He caught up to her in front of the mercantile store where she stopped to pet a black and white terrier tied up in front.

  “Not yet.” She’d considered asking Garrett outright but decided against it. If it was addressed to the second Whistle-Stop bandit, chances are he would only lie. “We’ll have to intercept his letters at the post office.”

  A half block away he stopped to read a handbill in the window of the assay company. “You know we can’t do that. Can’t mess with the US mail.”

  No, they couldn’t. The Pinkerton General Order Book was clear about that; operatives had to adhere to the letter of the law—no exceptions. Rather than tie a detective’s hands, however, abiding by the law inspired the most creative crime-solving methods ever devised by humankind. She and Rikker would just have to come up with a lawful way of breaking into the post office and stealing the mail.

  “There’s something else,” she said. “His brother-in-law’s still in town, and there’s bad blood between them. I’m more than certain I saw him at the school this morning.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “That’s what I want you to find out. While you’re doing that, I’ll work on the letter angle.”

  “Make it fast,” Rikker said. “The longer this case drags on, the less I like it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’m the one under pressure. You’re a free man.”

  An all too familiar voice from behind made her freeze momentarily before swinging around. Garrett stood only a few feet away, an inquiring look on his handsome square face. He had just stepped out of the bank. Behind him, Rikker quickly dodged into the confectioners.

  “You were saying something about a free man?” he prompted.

  She was momentarily stymied as to how to explain herself when a hand-drawn sign in the window gave her an idea. “Fre… mont,” she stammered.

  The sign was one of many posted in shop windows criticizing the governor for hardly ever setting foot in the Territory. Some citizens were demanding his resignation.

  “Are you referring to Governor Fremont?”

  She gave a determined nod. “He should either resume his duties or resign.”

  Garrett regarded her with a tilted head. “I quite agree.”

  She eyed him warily. The principal had warned her against expressing views on politics and other male-oriented subjects as she was prone to do.

  “I fear you must think poorly of me for saying as much.”

  “Actually, I like a woman interested in public affairs.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Do you do that often? Talk to yourself I mean?”

  “Only when I want to make sure someone’s listening,” she said.

  His appreciative chuckle made her smile in response. She couldn’t help it. She glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Rikker.

  He stood grinning at her, and it was startling to find she was grinning back. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Though he was dressed in his work clothes and wore a wide-brimmed hat, he looked every bit as handsome today as he’d looked the night before.

  “I really enjoyed the dance,” she said to cover her embarrassment.

  His eyes flared with warmth. “I did, too. Aunt Hetty was disappointed that we didn’t properly announce our engagement. I’m afraid she’s a bit old-fashioned in that regard.”

  “I’m sure that by now our betrothal is common knowledge,” she said. Even the sheriff knew who she was.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” As if catching himself staring, he looked away and rubbed the back of his neck before turning back to her. “I’d like to stay, but I have an appointment.” He splayed his hand in an apologetic gesture.

  “And I have errands to run.”

  He hesitated. “I apologize for last night.” He hadn’t said much on the way home from the dance, and by the time he
returned from taking his aunt home, Maggie had retired.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know, but I don’t want you thinking ill of the town. Our dances aren’t normally so rowdy.”

  “I like your dances just fine,” she said.

  He studied her for a moment as if judging her sincerity. Seeming to find his answer, he tipped his hat. “I better go. See you tonight.”

  He turned and walked away with his usual purposeful strides. Shading her eyes against the morning sun, she watched him.

  So where was he going in such a hurry? She waited until he was a distance away before following him. Shadowing criminals was a big part of her job, but it was far easier to do in a large eastern city than in a small western town. During her training as an operative she had been given the task of shadowing one of the other detectives through the streets of Chicago. All went well until he suddenly halted and turned. She stopped, too—a dead giveaway, and she flunked her first test. Never again did she make that same mistake.

  Garrett didn’t stop. Instead, he turned down a side street, but by the time she reached the corner, he had vanished.

  Only a few businesses occupied this part of town: an undertaker, the newspaper office, a lawyer. She eyed each business in turn before settling on the lawyer’s office.

  Not only did it appear that Garrett might want to get caught, but now he was seeing a lawyer. Rikker had suggested that Garrett might be planning to leave the country, but what if he was getting ready to turn himself in? Was that why he sent away for a mail-order bride? To care for his children after he’d been hauled off to jail?

  Chapter 25

  Maggie hadn’t expected Garrett to remember his promise to accompany them to church on Sunday, especially after Elise’s illness made them miss a week.

  She was more than a little surprised when he announced that he had already hitched the wagon and if they didn’t hurry they would be late.

  He wore his usual work pants, vest, and shirt, for it was too hot in Arizona to dress up like folks did back East. Though women did their best to dress with reasonable regard for the Lord’s house, none of the men wore suits or jackets.