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Back at the Denver Pinkerton office
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Mark and Felicia walked into Archie’s office two days after they were assigned to find Mrs. Fremont’s cat, Hessy. According to the old woman, Hessy was named after her husband’s pair of Hessian boots. Mrs. Fremont always seemed to find her napping in one of the boots—that is, until she got too big. The last time Hessy had tried to go into the boot, she’d gotten herself stuck and had meowed rather urgently until Mrs. Fremont rescued her. When her husband died, she sorrowfully gave his boots away. “But I’ll always have a reminder of him in dear Hessy,” she’d told Mark. “Well, that and the way they both slurped at their milk like a dog. She followed this declaration with a tittering laugh. Odd name . . . odd owner.
In trying to deduce where Hessy could have gotten off to, he and Felicia had butted heads at least a dozen times, but now they were friends. He’d learned that she was the daughter of the famous hustler, Grady Sandler, and had acted as a lovely distraction for the other gamblers at their table. She and her father had made a killing at cards—until the day he was shot in the heart by an angry opponent in Boulder. The man had then fled the scene.
“Despite marrying the marshal there, who wanted to protect me, I never saw the man again,” Felicia told him after they’d found Hessy and returned the feline to her grateful owner. “Too bad my husband didn’t last long, either. Got caught in the middle of a bank robbery and was shot dead on the spot.”
Mark wasn’t sure he believed all that, but it made a good story. And Felicia was pretty enough, with her brown hair and big brown eyes, that she could’ve reasonably provided the distraction her father needed to swindle people. He’d heard plenty of such lore about the Wild West back home but hadn’t really known if it was true or not. He still didn’t.
“Oh, you will,” Felicia said when he’d expressed his doubts. “You just wait and see. Some folks out here are about as uncivilized as a person can get. Stab you in the back just as soon as they’d look at you.”
Comforting thought.
As they’d left Mrs. Fremont’s home, Mark had noticed another large mansion on a little rise off in the distance. Heavens! He’d thought the houses here on Snob Hill were huge. That one was easily twice as large. “Who lives there?” he’d asked Felicia.
Glancing at the mansion, she’d answered, “Oh, that’s the Baldwin mansion. Belongs to Big Boss Baldwin.”
“Big Boss Baldwin?” he echoed.
“Yeah. That’s what people call Thaddeus Baldwin, who owns the silver mine up near Egret Creek. Made a fortune and isn’t shy about flaunting it. Also owns a dude ranch out by Aurora and half the shops around Denver. Now I hear he’s trying to put up telephone lines in some of those places. Wasn’t quick enough to put ’em up here ’fore his competitor, Harold Bloomfield, did, though,” she added with a guffaw. “He’s got his hand in so many pies, there’s hardly enough eatin’ for everyone else.”
“Really?” Mark’s thoughts were spinning. “As in Tad Baldwin? Married to Hazel?”
Felicia had lifted her brows in surprise. “You know them?”
“Yeah. My—uh, friend, Sarah, is set to marry their son, Derrick.”
“Oh.”
That one word, spoken in a low, throaty tone, said volumes. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Mark’s stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Felicia had said quickly.
Mark didn’t believe her. If something wasn’t right with the Baldwins, he needed to know about it. For Sarah’s sake. “It’s not nothing. Tell me,” he insisted.
Felicia had hesitated a moment before replying, “Well, I don’t know the Baldwins personally, but I’ve heard plenty about them. How Mr. Baldwin thinks because he’s so well-to-do and that he’s been so helpful to the community that he should be president of the bank and the school board and just about every other institution, not only in Denver, but in the entire state of Colorado. May as well run for governor if that’s his way of thinking. Rumor has it if you don’t agree with him, your business might be bought out whether you want it to be or not. And Mrs. Baldwin is just as bad. I hear the seamstresses and milliners in town tremble when she walks through their doors. The way the Baldwins throw their weight around, I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere near ’em for any length of time.”
Mark had remained silent all the way back to the Pinkerton office, wondering if he should try to get ahold of Sarah’s parents. Nah. Surely they knew what she was getting into. After all, the Packards were smart. In their business dealings, they’d learned to watch out for crooks. He doubted they would appreciate his interference after he’d essentially abandoned them, anyway.
Mark wasn’t proud of the way he’d slunk away even when it was obvious that Sarah was grieving over the loss of her beloved horse. But being on a tight schedule, he hadn’t been able to do much more than give her a brief hug, patting her awkwardly on the back, and reassure her that everything would be all right. “I’ll always cherish the times we had together, Sarah. I hope you’ll remember me fondly as well.”
That was as close as he’d been willing to come to confessing his love.
“Well,” Archie boomed as soon as the two of them entered his office, “where did Hessy go this time?”
“She was at Mrs. Cantor’s house. Mrs. Fremont forgot that she left Hessy with her friend when she went out of town to visit her son, Horace.”
While Felicia reported on the case, Mark stood still, recounting Felicia’s description of the Baldwins. He couldn’t get them out of his mind.
He was brought out of his reverie with a pointed question. “Isn’t that right, Agent Wilson?”
Embarrassed to be caught woolgathering, he stammered, “Uh, could you repeat the question, sir?”
“Are you an agent or not, Wilson?” Archie said sharply. “Look here. If you’re not paying attention, you might miss something important. In fact, it could cost you your life.”
Justly reprimanded, Mark gave a short nod. “Noted, sir. I apologize.”
Archie’s expression softened and he said, “All right. I asked if you and your partner would be willing to take on a new case, one that’s a little more involved.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Archie,” the head agent reminded him.
First he wanted Mark to call him by his first name, then he was reprimanding him like a sergeant in the army, and then asking him to use his first name again. Archie Gordon was an enigma. “Archie.”
“Good,” he said briskly, once again turning businesslike. “There’s been a theft—a diamond necklace belonging to Mrs. Hazel Baldwin.”
“Baldwin?” Mark’s brows rose. “We were just—”
“A theft, Archie?” Felicia narrowed her eyes at Mark and, after a miniscule shake of her head, addressed their boss again. “Is that the only thing that was taken? Why didn’t the Baldwins just go to the police instead?”
Archie steepled his fingers and leaned forward to peer at them more closely. “They did. But since then, other hoaxes have been played on them, and now they’re wondering if those incidents are somehow related to the stolen necklace or if some other mischief is at play.”
“What other incidents?” Mark asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Before I answer that question, let me bring in our clients and they can explain.” Walking to the door, Archie pulled it open and called out, “Marianne, would you please send our clients in?”
“Yes, dear.”
Mark expected to see Thaddeus and Hazel Baldwin walk into Archie’s office. When Lyle and Deidre Packard walked in instead, he almost fell out of his chair.
“Mr. and Mrs. Packard!”
Their eyes widened when they saw him standing beside Felicia. “Mark?”
A gleam in Archie’s eyes told Mark that he had already made the connection between Mark and the Packards. “I believe you know each other.”
“Yes, sir . . . Archie.”
Mark stood and offered his chair to Mrs. Packard.
“Thank you, Mark,” she said with a grateful smile. “How are you?”
“Fine, Mrs. Packard. And you?”
Her worried expression belied her reply. “Fine, I suppose.”
“Now,” Archie said as he came around his desk and faced them all. “Felicia, before I explain yours and Agent Wilson’s assignment, let me catch you up on a few things. First, meet Mr. and Mrs. Lyle and Deidre Packard. They were clients of the Pinkerton Agency before you started working for us.” He went on to explain the Packards’ earlier connection to Mark and Chas and Jessica. “Now they are here in Denver for their daughter’s wedding to Derrick Baldwin, and it seems the Baldwins are having a little trouble.” Turning to Lyle Packard, he asked, “Care to explain?”
Lyle Packard nodded. “Thank you, sir. You see, our daughter Sarah and her friend, Amy, were unpacking their clothing after we arrived at the Baldwins’ home when they found a dead mouse in the armoire. This mouse didn’t simply find its way inside and get stuck or anything of that nature. It had obviously been used as a scare tactic, it being hung by its tail on a clothes hanger.”
Felicia’s brows crinkled and she said, “Sounds like a prank from a typical boy. I understand the Baldwins have several boys. One of them probably did it.”
“Before you say that, Agent Lambert, there’s more to the story,” Archie interjected.
“Yes,” Mr. Packard agreed. “Even the maid thought it was a prank of that nature, but Sarah, unnerved, told us about it later that day after Mr. Baldwin came home from work. You should have seen Mrs. Baldwin’s face when she did. It turned white as a sheet. Later, when Deidre and I were alone with them, I asked frankly if there had been other incidents. I could tell they didn’t want to discuss the topic, but finally, they admitted there had been two more. Two days ago, when Mr. Baldwin asked his carriage driver to ready his horse and buggy, the driver didn’t come back after a sufficient amount of time, so Mr. Baldwin went out to the carriage house to see what the problem was. Two of the wheels had been removed from the carriage and the driver was trying to put them back on.”
“My, my, imagine that,” said Felicia dryly. Mark gave her a sharp look.
Archie ignored her, probably because he was used to Felicia’s sardonic nature. “What was the other incident?”
“That one actually occurred here in Denver when Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin were in Virginia, and is a little more alarming,” Lyle continued. “While the Baldwins’ son, Michael, was driving himself to work one day—their driver having been called away on an urgent matter—he was passing an alley that he passes every day. Someone threw a rock from the alley and spooked the horses. Several people were in the street when it happened and could have been seriously injured or killed had it not been for Michael’s adept handling of the team. Even so, the horses ran for miles out of town with Michael barely hanging on to the reins. By the time he got them to stop, his hands were raw and bleeding where the reins had sliced into the flesh. The doctor smeared salve over the burns and wrapped up his hands. He switched the dressings out as directed and the wounds healed nicely—but it’s a sobering thought to realize that one of your children could have been killed due to someone’s hate or carelessness.”
Mrs. Packard tilted her head back to look up at her husband, who was standing behind her. “Lyle, tell them what happened at the train station.”
“I don’t see how that incident could be related to all of this, Deidre. The Baldwins had been out of town all that time. Who, besides their children and their driver, would know when they were coming back?”
“What happened when they were traveling back?” Felicia asked.
Mrs. Packard straightened her neck and looked at Felicia. “Thaddeus and Hazel had barely stepped off the train amid a throng of other passengers when a boy of about ten came barreling through the crowd, jostling several people. He grabbed at one lady’s reticule and would have snatched it away had she not clutched it with her other hand. They fought over it for a few more seconds while the crowd watched in utter shock. Then, the woman yanked it back so hard, it actually tore, and she was left with scraps of fabric while the boy got the bulk of it. He might have gotten away with it, too, but he landed right up against Mrs. Baldwin and she stumbled backward into Mr. Baldwin, who was bending over to retrieve something on the ground. They all went down like dominoes. Mrs. Baldwin twisted her ankle, but nothing more, thank goodness. As for Mr. Baldwin, well, I think his pride was hurt more than his body. To hear Mr. Baldwin tell it, the place was a maelstrom afterward with people in the crowd scolding the child and him apologizing to the woman and the Baldwins.”
“I’m sure it was,” Archie said, his arms crossed. His shrewd gaze took in each person in the room before adding, “Sounds like the other woman was the target.”
“Yes, but the boy was not a simple street urchin,” Mr. Packard rebutted. “He was dressed quite dashingly in a linen waistcoat, pair of clean knickerbockers, and derby hat perching artfully on his cap of hair. According to Mrs. Baldwin, his hat came off when he flew into her. I would suppose that he didn’t need money or food. So why was he intent on taking the woman’s reticule?”
“Do they know who the woman was?”
“No.”
“The boy?”
“They didn’t recognize him, either.”
Archie harrumphed. “Denver’s getting too big for its britches. Not that I can blame outsiders for wanting to move here. The climate’s just about perfect in the summer, and the winters, while cold, offer comfort and security as long as one is prepared. And it’s just about the prettiest state in the Union. Perfect for hunting and fishing and the like. It used to be the western United States’ best-kept secret, but now . . .” He gave a one-armed shrug. “With those telephone lines going up, both from Baldwin and his competitor, Mr. Harold Bloomfield, Denver and the surrounding areas won’t be small for much longer.”
“This being our first visit to this state, we have to agree with your assessment. Still, I’m partial to the rolling hills back home,” Mr. Packard said.
Flashing a brief smile, Archie then got back to the point. “For now, let’s treat the train incident as a coincidence. Mr. Packard, you said earlier that neither Mr. Baldwin nor Mrs. Baldwin noticed anything or anyone unusual right before the boy suddenly appeared?”
“That’s correct,” Lyle said.
“Still, we’ll keep it in the back of our minds as we investigate further.” Archie then turned to Felicia. “That will be your job, Agents Lambert and Wilson. Wilson, since you’re a friend of the Packard family, I want you and Felicia to go stay with the Baldwins as wedding guests. We may need to clear this with Mr. Baldwin, who might wonder why the Packards have invited more of their friends to stay with them, but I’ll work that part out.”
A deep V formed between Felicia’s brows. “Stay with them?”
“Yes.”
“In their home?” Felicia’s incredulous tone matched her enormous eyes.
“Yes. And go on outings with the ladies. Shopping trips, meeting friends and chatting them up, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Archie,” Felicia moaned. She looked like she’d rather scoop up a dog’s waste. “You know I don’t do chatty. I’m not some empty-headed female.” Then, noticing Mr. Packard’s scowl, she backtracked. “No offense, either to your wife or daughter.”
“Sarah’s not empty-headed,” Mark blurted. “She’s smart. Much smarter than most young women I know.”
It was then that he noticed the speculative look in Mr. Packard’s eyes and decided to shut his trap before he said something really stupid—like how in love he was with their daughter.
Archie’s discerning eyes were also upon him, but he mercifully let Mark off the hook and turned back to Felicia. “You can do it, Agent Lambert. You’ve played this kind of role before.”
“And I’ve told you before that I don’t like it. Had to do it for my daddy from the time I was thirteen.”
“And yet you’re so good at it. You have never failed to uncover a case,” he countered smoothly. “I’m counting on you to come through for me again.”
“You know I’m not a fancy girl. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“No, you won’t. Marianne can set you up with some fancy dresses, parasols, and the like,” Archie said easily. Yet by the way he picked up a pencil on his desk and began thumping it against the wood, Mark knew it was a façade. “There’s, uh, one more thing you ought to know.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll be Agent Wilson’s, uh, lady friend.”
