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  An Agent for Dixie

  The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series Book #73

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  An Agent for Dixie

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  The Pinkerton Matchmaker

  ©2020 Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt, www.virginiamckevitt.com

  Editing by Shenoa, Lustre Editing

  IBSN: 978-1-940546-34-6

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks go to Christine Sterling and Marianne Spitzer for inviting me to write for this wonderful and fun series.

  Dedication

  To my much-loved husband, Randy, who helps out with the stuff of daily living so I can live in my head during my creative spells.

  Table of Contents

  The Denver Tribune Editorials

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  The Denver Tribune Editorials

  Sat. April 22, 1871

  Female Agents to join National Detective Agency.

  Seven years ago, the National Detective Agency moved into the new office location at 427 Chain Bridge Road. Since then stories have swirled of brave men solving crimes and fighting for justice.

  But a new time has evolved, and the Agency is now seeking able-bodied women to join the ranks of their private investigators.

  Daring women who seek adventure and are of sound mind and body. You will help the criminal elements answer for their crimes and secure safety for their victims.

  You will train with an existing agent and after your first case you earn the rank of Private Detective. Paid training, transportation, uniforms and accommodations provided. You will become a part of a noble profession and pave the way into the future.

  This editorial has been placed in newspapers throughout the nation, so the quickest responses are appreciated.

  Please send inquiries and a list of skills to A. Gordon, at the above noted address. Interviews will occur on the premises the week of May 16, 1871.

  Ed.

  Chapter 1

  May 1872, Denver, Colorado Territory

  The day she dreaded for six weeks finally arrived. Dixie LaFontaine lifted a dress sleeve of rose-colored cotton and stuck the silver needle into the lace edging, taking tiny stitches. In less than an hour, she would have to endure an interview for a job she was not qualified for. Worse, she was too cowed by her demanding sister to relate her misgivings about becoming a lady Pinkerton detective.

  “I so wish to make my impression the best ever. How is this angle, Dixie?” Liana turned away from the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

  Why is she so obsessed with her looks? From the armchair positioned across the room, Dixie frowned and lowered the item she sewed. She glanced at her older sister as Liana adjusted the angle of a navy velvet hat, dipped her chin, and smiled. “I do not know, Liana. What did you change?” As always, Liana looked lovely in the matching dress with deep swags at the hips that drew up to meet under the small bustle. Dixie might share the same shade of brunette hair with her sister, but the physical similarities ended there.

  Liana sighed before turning again toward the mirror, her silver ball earrings bobbing. “Is the plume too much?” She reached for the hat’s wide satin ribbons and crossed them under her chin then tilted her head from one side to the other. “I do not want Messieur Gordon to think I am not taking this opportunity seriously. Est-ce que tu comprends?”

  “I understand, but, Liana, speak only English.” Dixie set the garment on a side table and walked past the bed’s footboard to a shelf. She gazed at the supply of hats resting on stands. “Of the hats you own, this black one with the single silk rose and the crimped ribbon flowing off the back is the most business-like.” After lifting it, she moved to stand next to her sister and extended the accessory.

  To Dixie’s way of thinking, a job interview was not the place to worry about fashion. She was glad to have talked Liana out of wearing one of her usual outfits with bright colors and vivid patterns. With this interview, logic dictated she would not need to make the same impression as in a setting where she might meet her future husband. Dixie preferred solids in neutral shades, choosing accent pieces like jewelry or scarves to add color. A glance at the outfit she wore verified the dark taupe gown with the beige ruffle at the hem looked proper and professional. If she wanted to be taken seriously for the job of a lady Pinkerton detective, looking business-like should count for something.

  “I cannot help if I lapse into my native language when I am nervous.” Liana switched hats and stared at her reflection, repeating her previous motions. “You are right, Dixie. Of course, this design is more fitting.” She collected a long hat pin from the vanity table and inserted it. “Which one will you wear?”

  Nibbling her lower lip, Dixie inched down the line of choices. “I do not know.” At the end of the shelf, she stopped and rested a hand on the top. Although she had broached this topic before, she was not successful in making Liana understand. “I doubt I have the right skills to become a Pinkerton agent.” Working in such an active job was Liana’s preference, not hers. She would be just as happy staying in the role she performed for the past year—sewing the wardrobes for the Pinkerton agents stationed here in Denver.

  Gasping, a wide-eyed Liana rushed across the room and grabbed Dixie’s hand. “Oh, do not say that.”

  As expected, Liana would not listen—like she had not since first coming up with the idea to apply. Dixie had been so surprised when their written applications, submitted to the manager of the Denver Pinkerton National Detective Agency office, were accepted. Feeling inadequate, Dixie could not hold her sister’s direct gaze.

  “You most certainly have skills. You are smart and talented, and you have a quiet nature that draws in people, like Maman has.”

  A tug on her hand dropped Dixie to the mattress next to Liana. As much as she loved her sister, she never willingly put herself at Liana’s side, knowing the inevitable comparisons included Liana’s more symmetrical features and genuine smile. So aware of her overbite, Dixie adopted what Maman called a demure smile that hid her too-prominent front teeth. The intensity in Liana’s voice drew her back to the present conversation.

  “Remember Wilhemina and the insurance fraud, or Victoria and the smugglers, or Lydia and the bank robbers?” Liana bounced on the mattress. “How we thought those cases sounded so exciting?”

  “I was not the one who mentioned excitement. You were.” Not wanting to be swayed by Liana’s enthusiasm, she pulled free her hand and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I am more bothered by how those women from all over America answered a newspaper ad and ended up married to complete strangers before having an adventure of any type.” She scooted away from Liana’s navy velvet dress with the light blue pleated underskirt. The color aided her skin in looking rosy, which made Dixie’s pale complexion look even waner. “What if I just stayed here and maintained my job as th
e agency seamstress?” Because she knew what the response would be, she faked a listening expression of angled head and arched eyebrow.

  “Dixie, we have been through all this before. You already said you did not want to live alone. Once I leave, you will be in that very situation.” She walked to the shelf, chose a hat accented with matching cinnamon bow and ribbons, and approached. “Besides, we just about promised the seamstress job to Miss Thornton after she interviewed.”

  Why did I ever agree to that decision? Frowning, Dixie clamped a hand on top of the hat. Then she rose and stood in front of the mirror. They were headed to a business meeting, so no flirtatious angle would do. She set the hat straight atop her head and jabbed the hat pin into her coiled hairstyle. “I always do better when we are together because you take the lead in conversations so well.” She spun, pulse racing at her sudden indecision over how to survive the upcoming ordeal. They must go through the process as a unit. They applied for the seamstress job as a team, so why not for the agent job? At her sister’s side, Dixie was stronger. “Do you think Mister Gordon will let us interview together?”

  “Probably not.” Liana walked to the armoire and opened the right-side door. “Jacket or shawl?”

  Dixie leaned toward the second-story window and viewed the bright blue sky over brown rooftops. “The sky looks clear. The beige shawl, please.” She held out a hand.

  Liana slung a black lacy shawl over her shoulders before carrying the beige one to her sister. “If asked who wants to go first, I will volunteer. You can settle your thoughts and review the details you wrote on the application. Ready?”

  “Hardly.” After draping the shawl over her shoulders, Dixie breathed out a long sigh. “But I will not disappear before completing the interview.” Surely, Mister Gordon would speak with her for only a few minutes before he determined, and rightly so, she belonged at a sewing machine, rather than carrying out subterfuge or hijinks as Liana anticipated.

  Her biggest problem surfaced and overrode her other concerns. In the six years since leaving France after the collapse of their father’s business, Liana had always guided their decisions. She’d been the one to determine when the time was right to leave Aunt Annette’s home and venture out on their own. Dixie was not sure she was ready to do so for herself. With a sigh, she started down the stairs to the first floor that was their apparel shop.

  On the boardwalk outside the seamstress shop, Liana breathed deep and glanced around. She pulled a pair of black lace gloves from her reticule and eased them onto her hands before snapping open a silk parasol.

  Dixie locked the shop door, stepped close, and deposited the key into her reticule. She copied her sister’s movements by donning her gloves and opening a parasol. “Look, the green grocer has a special on mushrooms and carrots. What about coq au vin for supper tonight?”

  Liana waved a hand then turned to walk up the block. “Whatever you want to cook is fine with me. Like always.”

  The Apparel and Millinery Shop, where they both worked, stood less than a block from the agency. When sewing for the new agents, she appreciated the close proximity. Now that the agency’s initial demand for the lady agents’ standard wardrobe waned, the shop also served Denver residents. “Of course, I know that. You never complain about the menu.” Dixie shook her head and laughed. “I am just nervous.” Her chest constricted.

  Liana gave a broad smile as she walked. “But you should not be. You have spoken with Mister Gordon before.”

  “Only a few times.” She thought of the occasions when she had spent any time in the big mansion on the corner. Normally, the conversations were short, and she chose not to linger long in the imposing Scotsman’s company. “We usually deal with the agency’s secretary, Marianne.” A step or so behind, Dixie followed in Liana’s wake.

  Up ahead, Mister Manning swept the boardwalk running the length of his haberdashery shop. He stopped to let them pass, tapping a finger on the brim of his hat. “G’morning, ladies.”

  “’Morning, Mister Manning. Lovely day.” As she passed by, Liana smiled.

  “How is Missus Manning’s arthritis?” Dixie stopped walking and faced the man with the gray-whiskered cheeks. A black derby with a gray ribbon accenting the brim sat on his head at a jaunty angle. Like she and Liana, the Mannings lived above their shop, but she had not seen Missus Manning out and about in a week. When the woman was downstairs and helping her husband in the shop, she always moved at a slow pace.

  Leaning on his broom, he nodded. “Doing better, now that the rains have stopped. Thank you for asking, Miss Dixie.”

  Liana flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Give her our best, Mister Manning.” Then she narrowed her gaze toward her sister and jerked her head.

  Recognizing the unspoken signal, Dixie murmured a goodbye before hurrying along the boardwalk. At Chain Bridge Road, the Denver Pinkerton office, a three-story, Gothic-like mansion on the huge corner lot, lay across the street. Inside the wrought-iron fence, a multitude of trees and flowers accented the grounds. Once she stood on the walkway, other details became visible. Five solid pillars held up the edges of the steep-pitched roof. Large windows fronted the structure. The mansion hid the agents’ dormitory capable of sleeping sixteen men in the two-story house that stood on the far side of the two-acre lot. Dixie had never seen the inside but imagined the furnishings were more subdued than the rich ones in the main house.

  Near the stairs, Liana paused and looked upward. She reached out to link an elbow with Dixie’s. “Onward, to our future.”

  Dixie glanced at the steps leading to the wraparound front porch. “If you say so.” Their linked elbows brought her a bit of comfort. But the carved wooden door loomed ahead—a forbidding barrier that she must breach.

  After charging up the steps, Liana knocked twice then opened the door and slipped into the foyer. She shrugged out of her shawl and hung it on the nearby brass coatrack.

  Once inside, Dixie glanced around, always feeling that such an entrance, without waiting for someone to open the door, was an intrusion. Then she followed her sister’s action of hanging up her shawl.

  Liana leaned close. “Bonne chance, soeur douce.”

  Hearing Liana wishing her good luck in their native language boosted Dixie’s spirits. The knot in her chest loosened a bit. Maybe she could handle the interview without stammering or making a mockery of the application approval.

  A dark-haired woman hurried down the hallway. “Ladies, welcome. I see you’re right on time.” She flashed a smile that plumped her cheeks.

  “Oui, I mean yes, Miss Marianne.” Liana bobbed a curtsey.

  Smiling, Dixie nodded at the woman with the lovely peaches-and-cream complexion. For the better part of a year, Marianne, who had been the Denver office’s only secretary since its opening eight years earlier, relocated to the Chicago headquarters and only recently returned. The efficient woman with the pleasant manner kept matters well organized and was missed during her months away.

  “Mister Gordon is still recuperating from his recent injury. But I can’t convince him to stay away from the office.” Her hands clasped at her waist, and she flicked her brown-eyed gaze between them. Auburn brows furrowed before she gestured with a wave. “The one not being interviewed can wait in the library.”

  Just the opportunity she needed. “I will go second.” Dixie lifted the hem of her skirt and scurried across the foyer to the open library door. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she blew out a breath. Although she never spread gossip, she could not help but overhear when customers in their shop discussed how Mister Gordon, an experienced Pinkerton, came to the rescue of his cook, Pearl. He had grown worried because suddenly, she started acting out of character. He visited the Bolton home, hoping to figure out the problem, and was shot in the back by criminals holed up in the house who kept the family hostage. After spending weeks recovering, Mister Gordon had just returned to the office.

  Three faint knocks sounded, followed by Marianne’s announcement. “Mi
ster Gordon, Misses Liana and Dixie LaFontaine are here for their interviews. Miss Liana is first.”

  Dixie walked deeper into the library and claimed an upholstered armchair near a window overlooking the adjacent yard. On the far side of the garden, a wooden bench circling the base of an oak tree provided a shady spot to sit and perhaps read or do stitchery. Beautiful purple and white columbines bloomed in a tended area that also boasted blue flax and wild verbena. Their shop stood on a narrow city lot backed by a service alley, lacking any sort of outdoor sanctuary, and she missed trees and plants. Truly, she had not appreciated enough the luxurious landscaping at the family’s home in Paris before the tragedy.

  Moments later, Marianne stopped at the library’s threshold. “Shall I have Pearl prepare tea, Dixie?”

  Forcing a smile, Dixie nodded. “I would love a cup. Thank you.” Maybe something to occupy her hands would help calm her nerves. While she waited, she stood and moved to the far wall, perusing the shelves holding a wide variety of titles including authors like Wilkie Collins and Edgar Allan Poe, Shakespeare and Philip Massinger, Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.

  Footsteps sounded in the hardwood foyer then hushed as Marianne crossed the carpet. “Pearl will deliver tea in a few moments.”

  “This collection is quite extensive.” She turned and smiled at the secretary, who she’d learned was a newlywed herself after marrying her boss, Archie. Today, Marianne wore a mint green gown that complimented her auburn hair and minimized her curves.

  Resting a hand on a nearby shelf, Marianne laughed. “I’ve lost count of how many agents have contributed mysteries to the shelves, which is understandable due to their professions.”

  “Ah, their professions.” Her throat tightened. Dixie moved and dropped into a chair. “I have to admit, Marianne, I fear I am not suited to be an agent.”