To Love a Scoundrel Page 2

  "I don't know, either. I just hate to come up empty- handed."

  "Umm, my sentiments exactly." Allan started to stuff the papers back into the folder but stopped at the last moment. His brows drew together above kind, intelligent blue eyes. Then he glanced up. "Is this all you found out about the fellow who confronted you in Scotty's room? Just his name?"

  Jewel rolled her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a frown. The gambler. She suddenly remembered the mirth in his golden brown eyes and the perpetual grin he seemed to be shielding beneath his thick mustache. She thought of his warm breath and deep melodic voice, his firm muscular thighs—and the little reminder she must have left behind with the tip of her knife. She recalled his expression when he realized a stiletto was within an inch of his precious manhood, and nearly laughed at the sudden image of his sweaty brow and silly smile as he tried to regain the upper hand. He'd looked as if he had a chicken feather stuck inside his drawers.

  The frown vanished, and Jewel swallowed her laughter. "Up and disappeared without a trace," she said crisply. "All he left me was that lousy excuse for a name—B. S. Connors. Rather says it all, doesn't it?"

  The two detectives shared a hearty chuckle, and then Allan tossed the folder on a pile at the edge of his desk. He folded his hands, his expression growing serious. "Let's close the book on this one, then. Ready for your next assignment, my shining Jewel of many colors?"

  There was a warning in his words and manner, but she couldn't be sure what he signaled. She proceeded with caution. "Maybe... maybe not. I've been thinking I could use a little time off. What's up?"

  "You're a hard one to corner, Miss Flannery." He laughed. "I've got a special little job for you in Kansas. Topeka, to be exact."

  Jewel draped her elbows across the arms of the chair and collapsed against the cushion, bustle be damned. "Oh, Allan," she groaned, "I don't want to go west to the land of dust storms and failed crops. I want to go east. Can't you find an assignment for me in New York? I hear the town is jumping with parties and celebrations for the centennial."

  "I can certainly understand that, but I've received word that Jesse James may be back in business. He's been spotted all through Missouri and Tennessee. In fact"—Allan straightened in his chair, and his color rose—"in Nashville the scoundrel had the guts to enter his horse in the state fair. He rode the beast himself and won first prize."

  "Then why wasn't he arrested?"

  "Because," Allan grumbled, his rosy cheeks darkening, "the sheriff was the idiot who awarded him the prize. It wasn't until later, as he sat staring at a wanted poster, that he realized what he'd done. I tell you, Jesse's flaunting his lawlessness, and I'm going to get him if it's the last thing I do."

  Jewel flinched as her boss's fist slammed down on the desk. Then she shook her head. "If you don't calm down, it very well may be the last thing you do."

  Allan's smile returned, and his eyes sparkled. "I like to get my man, that's all."

  "Me, too." She laughed. "But why can't I look for him in New York?''

  Relaxed again, his color back to normal, he said, "Tell you what. You take this job in Kansas just long enough to find out if James has really been spotted in the area and I'll make sure you're in Philadelphia in time for the opening of the Centennial Exhibition on May tenth. What do you say?"

  "But that's only a few weeks away."

  Allan shrugged. "Shouldn't take a sharp operator like you more than a few days to sniff out a skunk like Jesse James."

  Frowning, Jewel avoided looking across the desk. As usual, Allan Pinkerton knew her answer would be yes, but she kept her silence, too stubborn to admit it just yet.

  Allan decided to help her verbalize her decision. "While you're thinking about taking the assignment, add this to the pile of kindling—I have it on good word that Handsome Harry Benton may show up in the same general region."

  "What?" Jewel sprang out of her chair. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? You could have saved us both some time." She pressed her palms against the glass-topped desk and leaned over. "Spill it—all of it. Where's he been seen? What game is he up to? Is he working alone or is—''

  "Hold it." Allan laughed, his hands stretched out in front of him. "Now who needs to calm down?''

  "I'm calm," she murmured, self-conscious. Jewel straightened her spine and centered the brown velvet hat in her thick auburn curls before she trusted herself to speak further. "Fairly calm, anyway. I don't know what came over me, sir."

  "Oh, I think I do." Allan squinted one blue eye at her. "Same thing that comes over you any time Handsome Harry is part of the conversation. He's getting to be an obsession with you, Jewel," he said, more seriously. "Better watch it before it gets you in the kind of trouble you can't get out of."

  "Thanks for your concern, Allan, but it's really not necessary. I can take care of myself, and the day I can't, I won't be taken down by a lop-eared mongrel named Harry Benton."

  "Make that Handsome Harry."

  "Says he." She sniffed. Says he and any widow or spinster over her own twenty-five years, she grudgingly acknowledged to herself.

  Allan shrugged. "Whatever. I just thought his name would sweeten the pot. If that's still not enough to send you packing, I've also got reason to believe you couldn't find those certificates because Benton was Scotty's partner on this little venture. Apparently Harry double-crossed him and made off with the goods before Scottson even knew what had happened."

  Jewel frowned. "What would Harry be doing with a counterfeiter? His specialty is helpless women and their money."

  Propping his fingers tent-style, Allan offered a theory. "Maybe he's just trying to throw us off the track."

  "I don't know. It seems to me that I would have noticed someone of Harry's caliber no matter what he was up to. I would have felt his presence."

  "Could be his disguises are getting to be as good as yours."

  "That does it. Harry is not going to slip through my fingers again." Her mind filling with questions, she circled the chair. "What's the attraction in Kansas? Why is Harry back in the States, and why in God's name would he go to Topeka?''

  "First off, the centennial. Folks from all over the world will be converging—"

  "Never mind," she said, holding up her hand. "Everyone who is anyone will be in Philadelphia next month. Stupid of me not to have thought of that myself. But Topeka? People there don't exactly shake diamonds off their fingers."

  Allan laughed. "No, but he may want a little warm-up before he heads to the big city. An important poker tournament will get under way next week at the Golden Dove Hotel. If he's operating as usual, Harry's going to become best friends with the most likely winners."

  "Then I expect he and I are going to become very close." Jewel spread her arms and twirled in a lazy circle, the pleated flounces of her polonaise following the movement like the last skater in a whip. "Do you think I'll pass for a winner?''

  "As always, your dress is as lovely as you are, Jewel, but I'm afraid that's not what I have in mind."

  "It's not?" She dropped her arms to her sides. "What's wrong with it? This is my best dress, save for the ball gowns. Am I supposed to be a Vanderbilt? If so, you'd better raise my salary."

  "That's not it at all." He laughed. "You look much too rich and successful. For this assignment, you'll have to become a bit... plainer."

  "Oh?" Jewel cocked a suspicious eyebrow. She returned to her chair and perched on its edge again. "Just how plain, Mr. Pinkerton?"

  Allan began to examine his immaculate fingernails. "I have to admit it's not going to be as glamorous a job as some. Not like dressing up in fancy dance hall costumes or high-society ball gowns. Not like that at all."

  "Like what, then?"

  He tossed a newspaper across the desk and pointed to an advertisement he'd circled in bright blue ink. "You'll be dressing according to the whims of an Englishman named Fred Harvey."

  Puzzled, she glanced at Allan, then read the help wanted ad: "Young woman 18 to 30 y
ears of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent, as waitresses in Harvey Eating Houses in the West. Good wages with room and meals furnished."

  Jewel wrinkled her nose. "I've never heard of this Harvey or his restaurants. Why can't I be a lady gambler or keep my dance hall girl disguise? It will put me in touch with more of Harry's cohorts than serving meals in some pie and coffee hole-in-the-wall."

  "It would also put you in a position of attracting too much attention. For this—these," he corrected,"criminals, I think we should try a fresh approach." Allan leaned back in his chair and linked his hands across his remarkably youthful waistline. "I have a good friend named Mclntyre over at the Kansas First National Bank. He says the restaurant in Topeka is the first of several Harvey plans to open along the railroad lines. It was finished just a month or so ago. Best of all, Mclntyre tells me Harvey's credentials are impeccable."

  "So?"

  "So, missy, you'll blend in with the woodwork, so to speak. This ad only tells the half of it, from what Mclntyre says. Harvey's restaurant is a remodeled train depot, and it's serving gourmet meals prepared by French chefs. He also said"—Allan leaned forward shaking his head as if he didn't believe it himself—"that one of those French chefs makes more money than he does, and Mclntyre is the president of the bank."

  Jewel issued a long low whistle. "I'm starting to get impressed, but why would I have to be plain if the food is fancy? Wouldn't I be more apt to get the job dressed like this?" She spread her arms, and then another thought occurred to her. "Or have you already arranged with this Harvey fellow to hire me?"

  "I'll answer your last question first. While I trust Mclntyre's judgment, I haven't had the opportunity to meet or assess this Fred Harvey for myself. I think it would be wiser in this case if you get the job yourself. You'll also have the responsibility," he added with a wink, "of finding a way to keep it."

  Flashing her employer an injured expression, Jewel lifted her chin and said, "Are you suggesting I'm not capable of serving a few plates of fried ham and eggs?"

  "Not at all, dear girl. What I am suggesting is that you may have a bit of difficulty abiding by Harvey's strict rules."

  Her chin snapped down and her eyes flew open. "Rules? What kind of rules?"

  Allan pushed out of his chair and lumbered over to the door, half dragging his game leg, and called to his secretary, "Maggie? Would you please ask Mac to step in here for a minute?'' With a short nod into the other room, he turned and made his way back to his desk.

  "Harvey has rules the likes of which you've never seen," he finally answered with a chuckle. "That's why I want you as plain as you can get. Harvey's been losing his pretty waitresses in record numbers to the lonesome cattlemen who hang around the depot. He's beginning to hire plain girls instead of pretty ones. We can't have that beautiful face of yours messing up your chances of landing this job."

  "You'd flatter your own mother if you thought you could get her to go under cover for one of your escapades."

  Laughing, Allan rested his hip against the edge of his desk. "Once Harvey's hired you," he continued, "you're only halfway there. He'll tell you how to dress, when to talk, and most difficult to accept, where to live."

  "But how can I—"

  "That's one reason I've decided to send MacMillan along with you on this job. We'll try to get around that little rule with his help. Besides, it can't hurt to have two of my finest people chasing after two of the best criminal minds we've ever run across."

  But she knew him too well for that, understood that he was somehow concerned for her safety as well. Jewel stood up. "This is going to be tougher than I first thought, isn't it?"

  Allan averted his gaze and stared down at the floor before he finally said, "It could get real tough—real nasty, too. Harry Benton is a swindler, pure and simple. He doesn't concern me, but Jesse James does. To my knowledge, Jesse's never shot a woman, but then, he's never been the object of such an intense manhunt before, either. I'll understand if you don't want to accept this assignment."

  With a barely perceptible nod she informed him she did understand, then strolled over to the window. The sun had fought its way through the fog and split the horizon. Gripping the windowsill, Jewel leaned forward and closed her eyes. She'd been in danger before. Even the report she'd just turned in related the incident with the Connors fellow and his gun at her throat. Danger was part of the job.

  Was it really Jesse James and his ruthless disregard for the lives of others that concerned Allan so? Or was he closing in on the truth about her insatiable thirst for information on Harry Benton—her obsession, as he'd said—to track the man down?

  Jewel took several mind-clearing breaths. The soft, comforting aroma of fresh-baked bread called to her, mingled with the sharp, fresh scent of cedar permeating Allan's office. The combination was as reassuring as it was intriguing, made her feel anxious and comforted at the same time. Then Archie MacMillan burst into the room.

  "Looking for me, boss?" he said through a sparkling grin.

  "The one and only." Allan gripped his hand and called to his thoughtful operative. "Jewel? Have you made a decision?"

  She turned until she was facing the desk. Mac, a scant inch taller than her own five feet four inches, stood level with his employer. Although at fifty-two he was four years younger than Allan, nature had rescinded its loan and snatched back most of his pure white hair, leaving Mac with a ring of short, sparse stubble. This connected with an elongated mustache and oversized sideburns, circling his bald head like a silver moat. His eyes, a pale dove gray, held none of Pinkerton's intensity but more than made up for that with a glimmer of his sheer joy for living. There was no question in her mind as to what her decision would be.

  Jewel marched across the room with her hand extended. "I'm looking forward to working with you again, partner."

  "Ah, Jewel, I just knew you couldn't resist, even if you do have to dress like a homely old spinster."

  "Humph," she muttered, shaking his hand. "There are those who already call me a spinster. I don't think I'll be changing that much."

  "Don't worry about what others have to say about you." Mac grinned, sure his next comments would cheer her up. "Why, one look at you ought to tell those folks you're a spinster by choice, not by circumstance."

  Jewel gave him a sideways look. "Thanks... I think."

  "All right, you two." Allan pushed himself away from the desk and walked back to his chair. "Both of you, have a seat and let's get down to business. We have a lot of plans to make and not too much time in which to make them."

  * * *

  Ten days later Jewel and Mac sat in the austere but very efficient office of Fred Harvey and waited for his decision.

  "Highly irregular. Tsk, tsk. Very irregular." The Englishman thumbed through Jewel's documents, then glanced up at the couple. With a wave of one thoroughly scrubbed hand, he said in a thick British accent, "Would you stand, please?"

  Wearing the most demure expression she could muster, Jewel delicately stood up and clasped her hands together.

  "Whirl around, if you please." Fred Harvey made a circle with his index finger.

  Slowly, fighting a scowl, Jewel spun around like a ballerina on a music box. She was dressed in a drab traveling suit of taupe trimmed with deep blue braid. Her glorious auburn hair was parted in the middle and tucked into a severe bun at the back of her neck, but most of its lush texture was covered by a large dark blue bonnet. She wore no makeup, not even a dab of powder to cover the dusting of freckles on her cheeks. She had most definitely achieved the status of a mousy spinster—even before she'd added the octagonal spectacles that made her eyes look like a pair of spoiled eggs.

  "Hmm. You may sit." Harvey turned his attention to Mac. "Everything seems to be in order except your request to house your daughter in the Golden Dove Hotel with you. That's a highly irregular request, sir, one that I'm not sure I should even consider. I have a reputation to uphold. I'll not have it tampered with."

 
; "Meaning no disrespect," Mac explained, spinning his bowler hat in his lap, "but I have these terrible spells. If my girl's not close by, I fear one day I may not make it through a rough one. Surely you can understand that. If you'll let her stay in my suite with me, I guarantee on her dear departed mother's grave she'll be confined each evening to her room by... ah, by what time?"

  "Ten-thirty sharp, sir. Eleven-thirty on weekends, though I'm not sure even that is really within proper bounds."

  "Ten-thirty it is, Mr. Harvey, even on the weekends." Out of the corner of his eye, Mac could see Jewel stiffen, but he went on. "If you'll just give her a chance, I know you'll be pleased with her work and her attitude."

  "Well..." Fred Harvey raked his gaze over Jewel one more time, then shrugged. "All right, Mr. MacMillan. I'll give her a try, but just once. Let her slip up one time, and—"

  "It's done. I know the rules, and so does she." He rose and slipped his hand under Jewel's elbow. "Come, daughter. Let's not waste any more of Mr. Harvey's valuable time."

  ''I'll be delighted to see you to the door." Harvey slid out from behind his dark walnut desk and strolled over to the door. After ushering them into the reception area of the Santa Fe depot, he said by way of farewell, "It's been a pleasure to meet you both. Miss MacMillan, I'll see you at seven in the morning. Sharp."

  "Oh, thank you, Mr. Harvey," Jewel managed in her best innocent-little-girl voice. "My father and I will be eternally grateful for this opportunity."

  Fred Harvey had closed the door to his office before the last syllable was out. As she turned to Mac to comment about the man's hasty dismissal, Jewel noticed an abrupt movement from one of the people reclining in the waiting room.

  Turning her head toward the source, she was suddenly gripped by a sense of doom. Then her gaze connected with a pair of golden brown eyes. The owner of those eyes studied her over the top of a crumpled newspaper, his expression inquisitive.

  The gambler!

  Jewel's eyes darted back and forth as she looked for an avenue of escape.