Drew’s eyes, puzzled, flicked over to Nolan’s limp chef’s hat and apron on the back of a stool.
“Oh that,” Nolan said. “When Jillian’s mother died, I had to learn to cook so my child didn’t starve to death. A little help getting in character is not a bad thing.”
“No, sir.”
“I have a few things going on at the moment.”
“I see that.” Drew’s eyes pinched together. “It’s just the two of you living here, right?”
“That’s right.”
Drew gestured to the heaping produce Nolan had assembled earlier.
“There’s the small matter of a dinner party on Saturday night,” Nolan explained.
“I’ve seen restaurant kitchens that look less frenetic than this.”
Nolan wiggled an eyebrow. “Have you seen a lot of restaurant kitchens?”
“A fair number.” Drew’s gaze strayed to the counter where Nolan had laid out the final recipes, though he had not yet rewritten them for the quantities involved. “I’d say you’re expecting some pretty brisk business.”
“All prepaid.” Nolan ducked into the cabinet under the breakfast bar for his two largest colanders. “I can’t disappoint.”
“There’s enough food here for, what, a hundred and fifty?” Drew said.
Nolan panicked and popped his head up to stare at Drew. “You don’t think it will feed two hundred? Maybe I need to go shopping again.”
Drew laughed. “It’s hard to tell with the way things are piled. And I’d have to see the whole menu without all the scribbles.”
“How do you feel about peeling carrots?”
“I’ve peeled a few in my day.”
“I’ll clean. You peel.” Nolan set a colander in the sink and laid a large group of fresh carrots in it. “Wait a minute. You said you wanted to talk to Jillian.”
“Right.”
“She’s in her office. Let me check if she’s free.” Nolan stepped across the short chunk of hall that separated the kitchen and Jillian’s office and quietly turned the doorknob. Immediately he saw she was on the phone with her back to the door, so he withdrew. “On the phone. I’ll check again in a few minutes.”
“Then let’s have at those carrots. Glazing them?”
“Honey butter, I thought,” Nolan said.
“Try some rosemary with that. Halve the carrots lengthwise, add the glaze and roast them. Much tastier than boiling.”
“I might not have the oven space for that,” Nolan said, “but I have another proposition.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I need help putting this dinner together. Can you stick around town between now and Saturday?”
“Depends. Do I get to wear the hat?”
Nolan snatched it off his stool and tossed it to Drew, and they started in on scrubbing and peeling what Nolan estimated to be six hundred full-size carrots. He started humming again, the same melody from earlier in the day. The words returned to his mind as well. None shall sleep.
Drew picked up the tune and started singing—with the sort of tenor mastery Nolan envied but had never achieved no matter how many compliments he received on his voice.
“Nessun dorma. Nessun dorma. Tu pure, oh Principessa. Nella tue freddo stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d’amore e di speranza.”
Nolan couldn’t help but join. “Ma il mid mistero è chiuso in me il nome mid nessun saprà. No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò quando la luce splenderà ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio che ti fa mia.”
They finished with their arms around one another’s shoulders, heads tilted together. “Vanish, oh night. Set, stars! At dawn I will win!”
“Wow!”
Nolan turned to see Jillian standing at the kitchen entrance. “I’m sorry, Silly Jilly. I forgot about the noise.”
She laughed. “There are two of you! He’s wearing your cooking hat and singing opera!”
Nolan beamed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You wanted me to find help, and I have.”
“I think maybe help found you.”
“Only because you were on the phone.”
Beneath the chef’s hat, Drew grinned. “Aunt Min needs more help than she likes to admit, so I moved to the ranch. It makes everybody feel better about her staying on there, since she refuses to leave. But I’ve had some pretty good stretches cooking in upscale places. Not everybody in Pueblo is a cowboy.”
“You looked like a pretty convincing cowboy yourself,” Jillian said, “that day we first met. Riding a horse. Living in the cabin and all.”
Drew cocked his head to one side. “Most of my things are in storage. No one has lived permanently in the little red house in a long time.”
“So it’s temporary?” she said.
“To be determined. A lot of people have lived there over the years. Some staff, some family. But these days, it’s a place to stay for the short term and not mess with the way Aunt Min leaves things. It’s my turn right now.”
“We bumped into each other at the grocery store,” Nolan said, “and had a nice chat on the glacier. Now it’s time to do something about all this.” He gestured expansively.
“I don’t know what to say,” Jillian said, “except thank you, if you’re really going to help my dad, who also is somebody who needs more help than he likes to admit on this particular occasion.”
“I’d love to help.”
Drew’s eyes were fixed on Jillian now—and even Nolan could tell the interest was not strictly professional. He was curious. Friendly. Talented. Jillian had tried to tell Nolan that Drew’s personality had morphed in the presence of his overbearing great-aunt, and Nolan could see for himself now what she was talking about. And he was not so doddering that he couldn’t see how Jillian perked up when Drew was in the room.
Nolan said, “Actually, Drew was looking for you.”
“Yes,” Drew said quickly. “I wondered if you had a chance to look at my DNA results. Should I believe I have distant relatives in Ohio?”
“Absolutely,” Jillian said. “You’re related to those people. I see no reason not to think so.”
“There are no Bendeures in the family tree,” Drew said. “Isn’t that the name you were trying to connect to my family?”
“Yes, but names change for all sorts of reasons. Lack of registration of a birth. Adoption after remarriage. A simple lack of a male offspring in a generation can change everything.”
“Right!” Drew said. “I’m the only male cousin in my generation. Not that I have the same last name as the great-great-grandparents who settled the ranch in the first place anyway.”
“I saw that your family tree only went back as far as your grandmother and Min,” Jillian said.
“That’s right. Farther back, things get sketchy. I do know my great-grandmother had a sister who died in childhood and a couple of brothers. We never hear from those branches of the family. It was so long ago. But I imagine some of the distant cousins that turned up in my results could be from those brothers. I don’t even know if they had kids.”
“Your family is a perfect example of how easily a surname can just drop away even when there are lots of descendants,” Jillian said, “but give me a little more time. I might still find the connection.”
Nolan transferred his weight at the sink, where he had quietly returned to cleaning carrots, and searched for Jillian’s eyes. She did not yield them. She wasn’t telling Drew everything she already knew, which might be for the best, but Nolan hoped she would respect the shifting balance for how hard to probe for what she did not yet know.
“I’m still not clear how you got from that trunk to our ranch,” Drew said.
Jillian shrugged. “A hunch. Playing around with the way names change and checking marriage and property records.”
“I’ve been thinking about that photo you showed me. I still can’t be sure it’s anyone in my family. Aunt Min would be the one to ask, if she was ever in the right mood. But I remember my grandmother used to say that
her grandpa and his sister used to borrow each other’s names like a game all their lives.”
Now Nolan turned off the water running from the faucet. He wanted to hear this. “What do you think she meant?”
“I’m not sure. Just that her grandpa liked it a lot. That’s how Aunt Willie got her name.”
“Aunt Willie?” Jillian asked. “Your genealogy didn’t include anything that far back.”
“It was sort of a family name. For most of the world she used Helmi. Short for Wilhelmina.”
“Willie?” Jillian said again. “Willie Kyp?”
“I guess. Kyp was her maiden name. But I don’t think anyone ever called her Willie Kyp. Willie was just a family nickname because her brother called her that sometimes.”
“Kip Carey? William Kip? Liam Meade?” Jillian threw out some of the names from her somewhat research.
Drew shook his head. “I’ve never heard those names, but I never really kept up with the family tree that much. Are they distant cousins?”
“Did your grandmother ever say how her grandfather and his sister traded names?”
“Maybe. I didn’t pay the best attention. It was just a game.”
“What was your grandmother’s grandfather’s first name?”
Drew shrugged. “I’m terrible, aren’t I? I should know. The ranch has been in the Kyp family all this time.”
“It’s all right,” Jillian said. “You’re pretty typical, actually. Does C. M. Kyp sound familiar?”
Drew nodded. “I know that’s right. My grandmother said that’s how he got his nickname—‘See ’em Kyp.’ The joke was when he went hunting, he could see the deer before anyone else. So they called him See ’em Kyp, because of his initials and his talent. Pretty soon, no one used his name.”
Nolan laughed. “I can see how something like that would stick, and people wouldn’t care what your name was anymore.”
“Right,” Drew said. “Tiger Woods. Not his name.”
“Bing Crosby,” Nolan said. “Totally a nickname.”
“Red Skelton,” Drew bantered.
“Babe Ruth.”
“Sundance Kid.”
“Scarface Capone.”
“Some dudes were way more famous for their nicknames than their real names,” Drew said. “Why not See ’em Kyp? Especially back in those days.”
“Exactly,” Nolan said.
“Can I ask one more question?” Jillian said, her tone departing from the playfulness.
“Of course.” Drew turned from Nolan to Jillian.
“Did you ever hear any family stories about your grandmother’s grandparents being involved with Pinkerton’s detectives?”
Drew scrunched up his face. “Involved how? Working for them? Hiring them?”
Jillian finally glanced at Nolan. He shook his head half an inch. The line was bold and wide, and she was about to step over it with insufficient information. She looked away. Oh Jillian.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Caught by Pinkerton’s, perhaps. Or almost.”
“No!” Drew said. “What are you getting at? Illegal activity in my family history?”
“Unquestionably there’s foul play involved in the story of that trunk in the other room,” Jillian said. “That’s why it was separated from its rightful owner. I’m still working on how it all fits together.”
“And you think my family is incriminated.”
And bam.
“I’m just trying to find the truth,” Jillian said.
“You’re the one related to the Mafia.”
Crimson rolled through Jillian’s features before her face blanched.
“You said I was related to the people in Ohio. If anything, doesn’t that mean that trunk might belong to my family? Why the accusations?”
“I’m not making accusations!” Jillian recovered her voice.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Nolan said. “The curator of the museum where the trunk surfaced asked us to look into a few things, and that’s all we’re doing. When Jillian has solid answers, you’ll be the first to know. Let’s all take a breath. In the meantime, we have a lot of work to do with all this food and at least two dozen operas to sing.”
“This isn’t what I was expecting.” Drew removed the chef’s hat from his dark head and set it, listless, on the counter. “I’ll have to think about this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Denver, Colorado
May 13, 1909
Dear Miss Bendeure,
Our frequent courier correspondence allows us to be fully prepared for the greatest benefit from your presence in Denver. With the imminent date of your departure from Cleveland, it will not be possible to apprise you of every operation between now and then. At this stage, new information arises daily. I have put into motion several provisional scenarios in order to be confident that we not miss any key opportunity not only to bring this matter to a satisfactory result for Bendeure & Company but to uncover other related activities of which the authorities will be pleased to be fully informed.
Yours sincerely,
James McParland
Manager, Western Division
Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency
Monday, May 24, 1909
Denver, Colorado
Lynnelle accepted Geppetto’s Italian food, even expressing gratitude. Her excursion would require fortification, after all. She ate in her room, which clearly was Carey’s plan, and surveyed the view from her fourth-floor window. With no familiarity of Denver other than photographs she’d seen in the newspapers over the years, Lynnelle had little to go on. She’d expected to be in a downtown hotel with a concierge, only blocks from Mr. McParland’s office. Instead, she couldn’t even see the landmark Welcome Arch of Union Station that the city prided itself on.
But she could see streetcars. And they seemed to go everywhere.
Geppetto couldn’t remain at the front desk every single minute. The Meades had been gone hours now, and there was no telling when they would be back. If they would be back. Or what would be the state of her father’s assets if they did return? Lynnelle freshened up and put on the shoes Willie had left behind. They were larger than her own—how did Willie pinch her feet into Lynnelle’s Oxfords without complaint?—but she tied them snugly and slipped some folded bills from the pocket of the wicker case in alongside one heel. A hat or a handbag would look suspicious for just a walk to the lobby. Instead, she picked up the remains of her lunch, arranged them on the tray, and carried it down three flights of stairs to the lobby.
Geppetto hopped off his stool. “I would come for the things.”
“It’s no trouble.” Lynnelle smiled. “I’m here now.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll take them.” Geppetto came around the desk to relieve Lynnelle of the tray.
“Perhaps I could have a cup of coffee.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll bring it to your room.”
“I don’t mind waiting. I could do with a change of scenery.” Lynnelle smiled again. “I could use something to read. Anything will do.”
“Yes, yes. Magazine. I’ll bring it. To your room.” Geppetto’s tone stiffened under his steely geniality.
Lynnelle chose the least offensive of the settees in the dilapidated lobby, sat down, and crossed her legs. “This seems quite comfortable.” A spring jabbed into one hip.
“Mr. Meade said you should rest.”
“Perhaps Mr. Meade is more tired than I am.” Another vacuous smile.
Somewhere deep behind the desk, beyond a closed door, a telephone rang.
Lynnelle’s politeness evaporated. “I see your telephone is working. You probably ought to answer that. It might be Mr. Meade with more instructions.”
Only Geppetto’s eyes scowled above his plastered upturned lips. The telephone stopped ringing, the door behind the desk opened, and a young boy, also Italian in Lynnelle’s assessment, signaled to him.
Geppetto hesitated. “Please. Wait here. I will return with your coffee.”
Only then did she unfold a map to study where she was headed.
She needed a telephone. A larger hotel. A department store. A police station. A pharmacy. A newspaper office. In other words, she needed to be closer to downtown Denver than the miles away that Carey and Willie had dragged her in the seclusion of the carriage. The print on the map was small, but Lynnelle looked up at passing streets as the car stopped intermittently, and gradually got her bearings. If she transferred twice, she could even be back at Union Station. She groaned. She hadn’t thought to bring the claim ticket for her trunk when she left the room. In fact, she was fairly certain Willie had surreptitiously retained possession of it.
The car stopped again. Four passengers got off and two got on. Friendly dark eyes caught Lynnelle’s glance, and a couple who might have been approaching forty years of age sat in the seat in front of her.
The woman twisted around, her hat sliding loose. She caught it with one hand. “You are visiting Denver, yes?”
Lynnelle nodded. Did she stick out so badly?
The woman reached over the bench and tapped Lynnelle’s map, open in her lap. “Streetcars very good, but still confusing. Where you stay?”
It was a reasonable question to ask a visitor, so Lynnelle answered with the name of the hotel.
The couple grinned at each other. “Our nephew Geppetto works there! You know him?”
Lynnelle nodded. “The front desk.”
“Manager! And our son Aldo helps him. He will learn good profession this way,” the woman said. “I am Annamarie Parisi. This is my husband, Salvatore.”
When I Meet You Page 20