by P. Creeden
“Here you go,” Caleb said as he sat down in the seat across from her and occupied the empty space once more. He handed her a biscuit with cheese on it. He also had one for himself. “I stopped in the diner car and got us something to eat.”
She frowned at it but accepted it. Since the journey started, she’d eaten better than she had in months. Three meals every day. Caleb assured her that the money he was using was an allowance given him by Mr. Gordon for use of their daily living while on this case, but she couldn’t help but feel that they were squandering it and should have been saving. “I’m fine with skipping breakfast in the mornings, Mr. Wade. If we need to save the stipend for other purposes...”
He lifted a brow at her. “I’m not fine with skipping breakfast. We need to take in meals when we can, Mrs. Wade, since once we get started on the case we don’t know when a meal might get skipped. It’s best that we start out with as much meat on our bones as possible.”
She shivered when he’d called her Mrs. Wade. Although it annoyed her mostly, there was a part of her that liked it. But he’d been doing it as a sort of punishment for her when she slipped up and called him Mr. Wade instead of just Caleb.
After she tore off a piece of biscuit and popped it into her mouth, he smiled and offered her his metal canteen. He refilled it in the diner car regularly, too, with black coffee. Although she wasn’t accustomed to drinking much of the stuff, and the sour tang made her scrunch up her nose, she was slowly getting used to it, as it seemed the only thing that Caleb drank. Occasionally, he’d bring her a cup of water, too, but usually not in the mornings.
The conductor announced that their next stop was Springfield, Ohio.
“We’ll be getting off the train here,” Caleb said as he shoved the last bit of his cheese biscuit into his mouth and took the canteen from her to wash it back.
She frowned. “I thought we were going to Dayton.”
“We are,” he said, putting the cap back on the canteen. “But the train doesn’t go directly to that city. Springfield is the closest. We’ll have to catch a stagecoach the rest of the way. I believe it will be about two hours from Springfield to Dayton.
She blinked at him. “I’ve never ridden a stagecoach before.”
“Really?” His brow furrowed.
“I walked everywhere I needed to go, except when I rode the train from Richmond to Atlantic City with my cousin and then from there to Denver... and now here.” She felt foolish as she said it. Would he think her uncultured and backward?
Instead he smiled wide. “Then it will be one of the first new experiences of many you’ll gain as a Pinkerton. I’m proud to be a part of it.”
She beamed. He basically inferred that she’d remain a Pinkerton for a long while. It seemed as though Caleb believed in her and supported her. Those were feelings she was unused to. Dudley had always told her what she couldn’t do. Her other cousins pressured her to know her place. Their attitudes were one of the reasons she’d enjoyed reading so much. If she couldn’t have the freedom to travel and have adventures in real life, then she’d have them in her imagination. Then she gasped as she suddenly remembered something.
He frowned. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “I just realized that I didn’t read my novel the whole time we were on the train. It’s been nearly two days. I can’t remember when I’ve spent two days without reading a book.”
He smiled wide. “Then it seems, Opal Wade, that your life has become enough of an adventure that you don’t need a book to enjoy it.”
She laughed. He was right. For most of the trip, they’d talked and gotten to know one another. He’d told her about places he’d been and cases he’d solved as a Pinkerton. When they grew quiet, she’d either watch the scenery out the window or fall asleep. Reading couldn’t have been further from her mind. It still made her blink and shake her head. Then the Springfield station came into view and the train brakes squealed as it pulled to a stop.
Everything that had happened to her so far on the journey had been preparation for this moment. When she got of the train, she’d need to put on her new role as Pinkerton agent. She’d have to become aware of all her surroundings, the way Caleb was. She’d noticed that even on the train, he’d made sure his back was secured against the side of the car so he could view the whole interior at any time. And often he surveyed it as though looking for any possible dangers. Even then, he was peering out the window and looking up and down the station loading area. Once the train came to a full stop, he offered her an elbow. “Are you ready, Mrs. Wade?”
She stood and took his arm. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Eight
Caleb
When they reached the theater, Opal’s face had paled, and she was desperate to get out of the stagecoach. Caleb paid the driver and then stepped over to her side while she stood, bent over with her hands on her knees. He patted her back lightly. “It’s just stagecoach sickness. It will pass momentarily.”
She stood straight again and frowned at him. “I didn’t know the ride would jostle so much.”
He nodded. “It takes some getting used to.”
She ran a hand through her soft brown curls, trying to flatten it closer to her head. Then she fanned herself with her hand. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather walk if we’re able.”
There were two things that Caleb had made note of about Opal, she was often too proud to admit when she needed something, particularly help, and she was stubborn when she believed she was right. “There is a hotel less than a half-mile away. We’ll make arrangements to stay there so that we can stay on foot.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, though her features remained ashen. It would take several moments for her to get past the feeling. He’d had the same feeling the first few times he’d ridden a stagecoach, so he understood the threat that she might see her breakfast again, if she exerted herself too much. After closing her eyes, she fanned herself with her empty hand again. “I just need a moment.”
He removed his hat and used it to help fan her some more. Part of him expected her to push him away and keep him from helping, but instead, she stopped fanning herself and leaned toward the air pushed by his hat. She really must not have been feeling well for her to accept his help. He smiled at the way her face still had that innocent softness even though it had paled. Her long lashes rested against her cheek and her skin glowed in the late morning sun. Her lips were pursed, and looking at her like this, up close, his heart began racing. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss her. But it wasn’t the right time. He peered around. What was he thinking? The right time? Did that mean he expected to kiss her later? Heat rose to his cheeks and prickled across the skin of his arms. He let out a slow breath and then stepped back and stopped fanning her to replace his hat on his head. “We should probably head on in. Mr. Turner has been waiting nearly two days for our arrival.”
After she nodded, she opened her eyes. “You’re right. And I do feel a little better, thank you. Let’s head inside.”
The Turner Theater and Opera House was a great, white stone building set in the middle of bustling Main Street. Ornate architectural design points decorated each corner and sharp point of the building, and the over-sized entrance was tall enough and wide enough to make the person entering feel as though a giant lived within. They entered the foyer which expressed yet another level of opulence with its checker patterned marble floors and crystal hanging down from the chandelier overhead. A double, curved stair case went to both sides of the foyer rounding up to a balcony on the second floor that overlooked the first, giving it a ballroom feel. Heavy red drapes edged with gold tassels covered every doorway and some of the walls. Caleb couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. “This is a bit extravagant, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought some of the hotels I’ve been to in Atlantic City were fancy, but this is even more incredible. Is this what all theaters are like?” Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack as she
took everything in.
“I’ve only been to two other theaters, and they were nothing like this. Where those had wooden... everything, this place has stone and marble.”
A man with a deep baritone cleared his throat above them in the balcony. “Actually, the building used to have quite a lot of wood, but the only portions of the building that remained after the fire were the stone ones. When we rebuilt this structure, we decided it would be best to replace as much as we could with stone. It took the donations of several fine patrons of the arts to rebuild it with the grandeur you now see before you.” The man spread his arms out with a great flourish and then bowed deeply before starting down the staircase. “I am Elias Turner. You two must have been sent by my wonderful friend, Archie Gordon.”
Opal nodded. “Yes, sir, we’re with the Pin—”
He put a finger to his lips and shushed her. Caleb’s eyes went wide, and he couldn’t help but glance toward his partner to gauge her reaction, but the only thing that Opal did was bite down on her lips as she pulled them into her mouth.
Mr. Turner kept his finger to his lips until he reached them. Then he leaned in toward them but remained at a comfortable distance. “The walls have ears. Everything in this building echos so that the smallest sound can be heard from the greatest distance. It’s not just in the auditorium, but even here in the foyer, sound carries well.” He offered them a wide smile. “My troop of actors do not know where you are from, nor do any of my other employees. We must keep everything in the strictest confidence. Archie says that it’s a part of the way your Agency does things—that you keep your secrets close?”
Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir. We are accustomed to being in the confidence of those who employ the Agency.”
“Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands twice and then gesturing toward one of the curtain-covered doorways. When he reached it, he took one of the sconces from the wall and pulled the curtain aside and opened the door to a modest-sized office space. For all the flourish in the wide-open space of the grand foyer, it was rather surprising that the office space barely had room for the desk, three chairs and the three people in it. Once the door was closed behind him, Mr. Turner said, “Here you can speak freely. The walls to my office are doubled to dampen sound so that I can work no matter what might be going on outside.”
He turned up the burner on the oil sconce and then set it in the middle of the desk. After gesturing toward the two chairs, he took a seat behind the desk.
“Mr. Gordon said that the fire you suffered last year was arson,” Caleb said while he sat in the chair offered him.
The moment she sat down, Opal pulled out a small notebook and fountain pen from her bag and prepared to take notes. Caleb couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d always just memorized as many details as possible so he wouldn’t have to, but it would probably be smarter to catch everything by taking notes.
Mr. Turner sighed. “Three days before the fire, we received a note saying to shut down the theater or we’d regret it. The note was vague, so I didn’t think much of it. I threw it out and ignored it. Then, of course, regretted that action later.”
“The Pinkertons are happy to work with local law enforcement. Have you’ve contacted them?” Opal asked.
With a frown, Mr. Turner shook his head. “We can’t take the bad publicity right now. Actors are a superstitious lot. It’s hard enough to find ones who are willing to work in a rebuilt theater where a fire had occurred; if they find out there have been more threats against the establishment, we’ll have to shut down simply because there is no show to put on. Additionally, we don’t want the local society to feel we’re a bad investment. Several financial backers stepped forward when they thought the fire was an accident. If they discover that it was arson, they’ll want their money returned to them sooner. If they fear that their money will go up in smoke all over again, my job would become much more difficult.”
“So, that’s the reason for all the secrecy?” she asked, making notes and barely looking up to ask the next question.
“What makes you believe there are further threats against the theater?” Caleb asked, taking Mr. Turner’s attention from trying to spot what Opal was writing on her paper. “Did you receive another letter?”
Mr. Turner nodded and pulled open his top desk drawer. He retrieved a piece of paper from the drawer and set it atop of the desk. “We received it the the day that I telegraphed Archie. If the man behind all this keeps the same timeline, he might try to harm the theater as soon as tomorrow. We are having a special pre-opening night showing the day before we open to the public, specifically for our financial backers and their guests on Thursday. I can’t take the risk that something might happen before then. It would be a disaster.”
Opal drew the paper closer to the edge of the desk where both she and Caleb could examine it. Caleb nodded to her and then read aloud, “How many times does lightning strike the same location until one decides not to rebuild there? Close down the theater or you may find out.”
“There was a thunderstorm that passed through the night of the fire. We perpetuated the rumor that it had caused the incident. The local papers printed that as the reason for the fire, and it’s what our financial backers believe.”
Caleb frowned. “This threat seems as vague as your first one.”
“That’s what makes me believe that it came from the same person. The handwriting is also similar, and the paper is the same quality.”
Opal lifted the paper and turned it over. She looked at both sides and the held it in front of the lantern. “It’s washed newspaper. You can still see some of the patterns where the ink wasn’t completely removed.”
Caleb furrowed his brow at her. “How did you know that?”
She lifted her small notebook. “It’s how I made this. When I was young, my father spilled some whisky on the newspaper and the ink dissolved overnight. I found out that the stronger the proof of whisky, the more ink it could remove from the paper. You’re still left with fairly dirty paper, but it’s easy to write on and reuse. Later, I discovered it was a ‘poor man’s trick’ to getting paper to use.”
He blinked at her and then back toward Mr. Turner. “I believe we can rule out your financial backers, then, for certain. Not only would it make no sense that they would continue to put money into keeping the theater open, only to want it closed down, but this ‘poor man’s trick’ isn’t likely to be something one of them would use, don’t you agree?”
“She’s like Kate Warne,” Mr. Turner said with a wide smile. “Amazing. I didn’t realize that you both were detectives.”
Caleb blinked. “I’m sorry, Mr. Turner. I only just realized that we’d failed to introduce ourselves earlier. I am Caleb Wade, and this is Opal. We are a husband and wife team.”
Chapter Nine
Opal’s heart skipped a beat. It was the first time that Caleb had referred to them as a team... or as husband and wife. She swallowed down her surprise and returned her gaze to Mr. Turner. “Thank you for the compliment, sir, but I’m no Kate Warne. She was an exceptional woman and agent.”
Mr. Turner smiled. “Well, now that I’ve seen what the two of you are capable of, I’m looking forward to seeing what you both can do to solve this case. What is the plan?”
Caleb frowned. “Before the fire, did you receive any additional threats, by paper or verbally? Do you have any idea who would want this theater closed?”
The man leaned back in his chair and rested a hand on his chin. “Theaters make enemies faster than just about anyone else. When we hold auditions, we reject thirty actors for each one we accept. Actors are notoriously unreliable, so when one falls into vice or untimeliness, we might be forced to replace him. But if we put the actors aside, there are also the neighbors to the theater.”
“The neighbors?” Opal asked with a frown.
He nodded. “Although this office has double walls to block sound, the outer walls to the building are not. This is done on purpose, because we want the g
eneral public to hear the joy and fun that goes on inside the building in the hopes that they might be tempted to buy a ticket for our next event. Unfortunately for our neighbors, the raucous fun may go on well into the night; there are times when our shows barely close before midnight.”
For a moment, Opal put herself in the shoes of a neighbor to the theater. It would be difficult to get good sleep. If there was a family with young children nearby, difficulties would multiply.
“Do you often get complaints from the neighbors?” Caleb asked.
“There are times we do. Particularly when we have those late-night events.”
Caleb nodded. “And did you host any late-night events immediately preceding the first threat to the theater?”
Mr. Turner frowned. “I honestly don’t recall, and my notes and calendar were all destroyed in the fire. The fire happened in May last year. We had an Easter pageant in the middle of April, but that would have been over by ten that night, and also two full weeks before the fire. I can’t imagine that was the reason for it.”
Opal nodded. “It’s possible the person needed time to prepare their revenge, but it would take someone with the ability to hold a grudge for a long period of time to still be making threats over a year later.”
“Right,” Caleb said, scooting forward to the edge of his seat. “It seems we have no viable suspects at this time. If the culprit sticks to the same time line he used last year, the theater will suffer damage or loss as soon as tomorrow. In the meantime, I think it’s best that you tell your staff that there has been some kind of threat to the theater so they can keep an eye out for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. I’ll leave that up to you to decide the nature of the threat. Also Mrs. Wade and I will remain at the theater from morning until evening and do night checks as we’re staying at a hotel nearby. Acting as guards for the theater will help us discover any sudden changes to the environment, as well.”