An Agent for Phoebe Read online

  “Because I don’t train agents anymore, male or female. And no,” he said, as she opened her mouth to ask why, “I’m not going to tell you the reason.”

  Now she wanted to know even more. All right, so maybe she did want to get to know him a little bit. Just to satisfy her natural curiosity, of course.

  “Just so long as you train me anyway.”

  “I will. You can count on that.”

  She nodded and returned her attention to the window. That was what she really needed. She didn’t need to know about Mr. Jonah Hays.

  “So why do you want to be a Pinkerton agent?” he asked.

  One corner of her mouth hitched up in an almost-smile. “You have your secrets; I have mine.”

  If the price of knowing his was revealing hers, she could stay in the dark.

  ~ ~ ~

  Following lunch, they headed for the Black Hawk marshal’s office.

  “It’ll be best if you let me do the talking,” Jonah told Phoebe as they walked.

  She glanced up at him. “Will it?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, “it will.”

  “Would this be one of those times when you expect me to do as you say?”

  “Yes, this would be one of those times. I’ve been in plenty of these situations. I know how to handle it.”

  “If you say so.”

  He didn’t have to be a detective to know she wasn’t convinced. “If the marshal thinks we’re going to mess up his investigation, he can make life very difficult for us. He could even run us out of town.”

  “Happen to you a lot, does that? Getting run out of town?”

  “It happened once. And if you say you’re surprised it’s only been once, I’m sending you back to the boarding house. He was a particularly belligerent sheriff.”

  She did a very bad job at hiding her smile. “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  They reached the marshal’s office and Jonah held the door open for her. He was mildly surprised when she let him.

  They entered an open room containing two desks and a range of cupboards and chairs. As far as marshals’ offices went, it was fairly standard. A door in the back wall probably led to the cells.

  A man sat behind one of the desks, writing. In front of him on the desk a sign read MARSHAL T. L. SANDERSON.

  “Good afternoon, Marshal Sanderson.” Jonah strolled up to the desk with an amiable smile and an outstretched hand. Always start with a friendly gesture.

  Of course, that hadn’t worked that one time, but in general it was a solid rule.

  The marshal had a firm grip. In Jonah’s experience, that was a good sign. “What can I do for you, Mr…?”

  “Hays. Jonah Hays. And this is my wife.”

  It still felt odd to refer to her that way, but at least he’d managed to stop flinching when he said it.

  She offered the marshal her hand. “Marshal Sanderson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, ma’am. Are the two of you new in town?”

  Jonah had no doubt he knew that they were. “Actually, we’re here on a case.”

  A crease appeared at Marshal Sanderson’s brow, the usual reaction from lawmen at the mention of why Jonah was in their town. The next few seconds were always the most crucial in any ongoing professional relationship. First impressions mattered. Either they’d end up tolerating him or hating him. For some reason, there never seemed to be any in between.

  “Case?” the marshal asked.

  Jonah opened his mouth to show Phoebe how it was done. He didn’t get the chance.

  “We’re Pinkerton agents,” she said, following her statement with a vivacious laugh. “Well, Mr. Hays is a Pinkerton agent. I’m still learning. Perhaps you’ve heard of Mr. Pinkerton’s new initiative to recruit female agents?”

  Marshal Sanderson’s frown disappeared. “I’ve heard something of it. Interesting idea.”

  She pressed one palm to her chest. “Now that is a very enlightened view. Not everyone feels the same way, sadly. I’m glad you’re the marshal here, for my first case. I’ll feel so much better being able to count on your help. May I sit?” She indicated a chair in front of his desk.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Of course. Please forgive my lack of manners. What does your case involve?”

  “We’re looking for a man named Ralph Baker.”

  Jonah remained where he stood. Things seemed to be going surprisingly well so far. He’d step into the conversation if that changed, but for now he found himself interested in seeing how Phoebe did.

  The marshal retook his seat. “I’m guessing his mother hired you.”

  “She did,” she replied. “You’ve spoken to her?”

  “Not in person, but I’ve received more than a dozen telegrams and a very long, detailed letter.”

  “And do you have any idea what happened to him?”

  The marshal blew out a breath. “None, I’m afraid. I’ve questioned everyone he was in contact with while here, went up to the mine more than once, even organized search parties to sweep the immediate area, and then further out. Didn’t find so much as a footprint. I’m still working on it, but without any evidence it’s looking less and less likely we’ll find him after so long.”

  Phoebe chewed her lip. “I know this is a terrible imposition, but would you mind if I looked over your notes on the case? It would be so helpful to see how a professional deals with something such as this.”

  Jonah got the feeling he was being insulted, but since the marshal wasn’t yet telling them to get out, he let it go.

  Marshal Sanderson smiled. “I don’t see why not. Maybe new eyes are just what this case needs. Who knows, you might see something I’ve missed.”

  She gave him another effervescent laugh. “I doubt that. And this is so very kind of you.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Hays. I’ll get you those files.”

  As he rose and turned away, she glanced back at Jonah, her lips turned up in a smirk.

  He just knew she was going to be insufferable after this.

  ~ ~ ~

  Phoebe’s smirk was back as they walked away from the marshal’s office.

  “That went rather well, I think,” she said breezily. “I don’t know why you’ve had such trouble with local police. Marshal Sanderson seemed very reasonable.”

  Jonah didn’t reply. Yes, it had gone remarkably well. In fact, it was the first time any marshal had ever willingly offered to share his notes on an investigation. Secretly, he was impressed with how she’d handled the meeting. Not that he was going to say so.

  “He was really very helpful.” The smugness rolled off her in waves. “It was so nice of him to share his notes with me. I mean us.”

  “Stop it.”

  “But I’m sure it wasn’t only because of me.”

  “The outcome probably wouldn’t have been any different if it had just been me in there.” Jonah didn’t believe that for one second.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  Marshal Sanderson had recommended a nearby livery and Jonah hired a buggy to take them the two miles up to the Deep Rift Mine, where Ralph Baker had last been seen.

  “Where are all the trees?” Phoebe asked as they drove up the track leading to the mine. “I haven’t seen a single tree since we got here.”

  Jonah followed her gaze to the rocky, desolate peaks around them. Patchy, dry grass and the occasional small shrub broke up the monotone vista, but other than that, there was nothing but gray soil and rocks. “Probably all cut down to shore up the mine tunnels and feed the fires that run the mills.”

  A frown marred her brow. “I wonder what it looked like before they discovered gold here.”

  “Greener, I should think.” He had to agree, the area surrounding Black Hawk and the neighboring Central City, although magnificent with its mountains and gulches, was somewhat bleak.

  She shook her head sadly. “The things people do for money.”


  “I’m guessing you’ve never been poor. When folks are desperate, they’ll do anything.”

  “I know, but I wonder how many of those people got rich from the gold here. I’ll bet it was the people who were already rich who benefitted the most.”

  She was a smart woman, although he’d already guessed that. “I reckon you’re right about that.”

  Her gaze drifted to the surrounding slopes again. “It’s true I’ve never wanted for money. I’m lucky that my parents are reasonably well off.”

  “What about your husband?”

  She moved her eyes from the rugged scenery to the back of the horse pulling the buggy. “He had a good job. We were comfortable.”

  She seemed to be in a pensive mood.

  He decided to take advantage of it, while it lasted. “So I guess he left you enough to live on when he passed.”

  She looked at him, her brows raised. He should have known she wouldn’t fall for his subtle probing.

  “I’m just wondering why you would want to become a Pinkerton agent if it wasn’t for the money,” he replied to her unspoken question.

  “If you must know, I didn’t get anything from him. But my parents provided for me, and would have continued to do so until I found another husband.”

  He couldn’t imagine a woman who looked like Phoebe would have any trouble attracting suitors. “So what happened?”

  “I decided I didn’t ever want to marry again.”

  He had to smile at the irony. “No wonder you were so against marrying me.”

  “You have no idea. If I hadn’t been so determined to become an agent, I would have left on the spot.”

  “If Archie hadn’t threatened to fire me, I would have done the same.”

  Her smile was disconcertingly genuine, and it lit up her face. “And I thought we had nothing in common.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t look away. Never before had he seen eyes quite such a beautiful shade of green, flecked with gold.

  Clearing his throat, he returned his attention to the road ahead.

  There was no call for him to be noticing her eyes, no matter what color they were.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jonah brought the buggy to a halt and took a moment to absorb the sights and sounds of the Deep Rift Gold Mine.

  He wasn’t a stranger to mines, of course. Living in Denver for over seven years, a city that grew out of the Pikes Peak gold rush like Black Hawk had, mines were hard to avoid. But he’d never been to one of the larger-sized mines before. The first thing that struck him was how big it was.

  His previous experiences of streams with a few men using rocker boxes or short sluices to extract the gold, a tunnel bored into the mountain that they had to duck to enter, and a few basic wooden buildings, didn’t compare with the scale of what surrounded him now.

  The Deep Rift Mine was huge. There was a stream, but it had been diverted to run through a series of wooden troughs into which at least twenty men were shoveling dirt. No pans or rocker boxes here. On the far side of the wide, flat yard in which the buggy stood was a tunnel entrance, but it was eight feet high and ten feet wide and a rail track disappeared into the darkness inside. The buildings were indeed constructed of wood, but there were a lot of them and they were very far from basic. The biggest of all was a stamp mill, its various levels running up the steep slope to Jonah’s left. A grinding whump whump filled the air, just as it did down in Black Hawk, only here it was even louder. Heaps of tailings surrounded it with a miniature mountain range of dark gray, conical peaks.

  And there were men everywhere, most of them covered in dust and dirt.

  Jonah jumped down from the buggy and spoke to the first one who passed. “We’re looking for Mr. Brewer.”

  The man waved a hand at a long, single-story building to their left. “He’s probably in his office.” Seeing Phoebe, he touched the brim of his cap and said, “Ma’am,” before continuing on his way.

  She climbed to the ground and followed Jonah to the building the man had indicated.

  Grasping the handle, he paused to look at her.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “Let you do all the talking.”

  “Actually, I was going to say feel free to speak up.” He raised one eyebrow. “But if you’d prefer me to show you how it’s done…”

  “Like you did with the marshal?”

  “You didn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I’m sure he would have been just as helpful to me.”

  “If you say so.”

  Suppressing an unexpected urge to smile, he opened the door.

  They entered a room filled with shelves and cupboards. There were two tables, neither of which looked like a desk. One held an array of rocks; over the other was spread a detailed map of the surrounding area. Pinned on the wall behind it was another map, of what appeared to be a network of tunnels.

  On the far side of the room was another door beside which a man lounged in a chair, his arms folded and his chin resting above them. From the slow rise and fall of his chest, he appeared to be asleep, although how he remained upright in the chair was a mystery.

  Jonah cleared his throat.

  The man jerked awake. “What?”

  “We’re here to see Mr. Brewer.”

  Not moving from his seat, the man thumped his fist on the door beside him. “Boss, someone’s here to see you.”

  “Who is it?” a voice called from beyond the door.

  The man looked at them for an answer.

  “We’re from the Pinkerton Detective Agency,” Jonah supplied. “We’re investigating the disappearance of Ralph Baker.”

  The man’s left eye twitched, which may or may not have meant something. “Says they’re Pinkerton agents looking for that accountant.”

  There was a pause before the voice answered. “Send them in.”

  The man waved a hand, still not getting up. “You heard him. Go on in.”

  Jonah opened the door for Phoebe, feeling a sudden need to demonstrate that he, at least, had some manners.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said as she passed the man. “It’s been such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  A smile tugged at Jonah’s lips as he followed her in.

  The room they entered was more obviously an office, with a desk behind which sat the cleanest man Jonah had seen at the mine so far.

  He regarded them with a faint, wholly insincere, smile. “Good afternoon. I’m Edmund Brewer, manager of the Deep Rift Mine. How may I help you, Mr…?”

  “Hays.” Jonah walked forward and held out his hand. “Agent Jonah Hays, from the Denver Pinkerton office. And this is my wife.”

  Mr. Brewer rose to take the proffered hand, wincing a little when Jonah gave it an extra firm shake. He nodded to Phoebe. “Mrs. Hays.”

  She inclined her head. “Mr. Brewer.”

  Jonah glanced at her, expecting her to start asking questions. She didn’t.

  Mentally shrugging, he turned back to Brewer. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of Ralph Baker. We understand he was performing an audit on your mine when he went missing.”

  Brewer waved them into two seats opposite him. “He was.”

  “You told Marshal Sanderson that Mr. Baker had been drinking in the saloon here the night he disappeared.”

  Mr. Brewer leaned back in his chair. “That’s right. At least, that’s what I was told. I wasn’t there, but a few of my most trusted employees saw him.”

  “Did he drink there often?” Phoebe asked.

  Jonah stifled a smile. He knew she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.

  “I really couldn’t tell you,” Brewer replied. “He was only here for a few days. Other than when he was here in the office, I don’t know where he went.”

  “So he spent most of his time with you, in this office?”

  “When he was going over the books, yes. That’s mostly what he did. He was an accountant.”

  “Is an accountant,” Jonah corrected.

 
Brewer frowned at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “Mr. Baker is an accountant. You said was. We don’t know he’s dead.”

  Brewer gave him a humorless smile. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “Did he have any problems with anyone?” Phoebe asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “And did anyone have any reason to dislike him? Had he uncovered anything during the audit?”

  “No, not that I know of.” Brewer leaned forward. “I’ve been over all this with the marshal. I don’t see the point of rehashing it all. I am a very busy man. I have a very large mine to run.” His flat smile reappeared for a moment and then vanished.

  There was something about him that Jonah didn’t like, although he wasn’t sure what it was. That didn’t make him guilty of anything, other than being unlikeable, but his instincts were usually pretty good.

  “Would you mind showing us the saloon where he was last seen,” he said, making it clear in his tone that it wasn’t a request. “We’d also like to speak to the ‘trusted employees’ you said saw him there.”

  Brewer opened his mouth and then closed it again. Finally, he said, “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

  The first person who’d seen Ralph Baker in the saloon that night turned out to be the man outside Brewer’s office.

  He didn’t get up when they questioned him. “Yeah, I saw him.”

  “Was he drunk?” Jonah asked.

  “Reckon so.”

  “What time did he leave?”

  “Round about midnight.”

  “Did he usually drink in the saloon?”

  “No idea.”

  “Did you see where he went?”

  “Nope.”

  And those were the same answers, with a slight variation in wording, they received from the three other men they questioned.

  That could have meant they were all telling the truth, or that they’d all got their stories straight. Jonah didn’t know which.

  “Notice how none of them are miners?” Phoebe whispered to him as they followed after Brewer to the saloon itself.

  “Yup.” It was too obvious not to. They were almost the only men with relatively clean clothing and skin in the whole place.