An Agent for Liana Read online

  An Agent for Liana

  The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series Book #63

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  An Agent for LIANA

  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 of http://lustreediting.com

  ISBN: 978-1-940546-33-9

  Acknowledgments

  I appreciate the expertise of the developers of this wonderful series, Christine Sterling and Marianne Spitzer, and for allowing me to join in the fun of creating a story within the world.

  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

  Other Historical Titles

  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

  “I so wish to make my impression the best ever.” Liana La Fontaine moved the navy velvet hat an inch to the right and a little toward the front. The narrow brim tipped forward but not enough to look flirtatious. “How is this angle, Dixie?” After another glance at her matching dress with deep swags along the hips ending at the bustle, she turned away from the full-length mirror in her bedroom and faced her younger sister.

  From an armchair across the room, Dixie glanced up from the lace she stitched onto a sleeve cuff then frowned. “I do not know, Liana. What did you change?”

  A sigh escaped before she turned back toward the mirror, her silver ball earrings bobbing. “Is the plume too much?” She reached for the 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 aside her sewing and walked across the floor to a shelf holding several hat 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 the accessory, she extended it.

  “I cannot help if I lapse into my native language when I am nervous.” Liana switched the hats and stared at her reflection. Black did nothing to enhance her brunette hair or brown eyes, and the understated design only screamed staid and boring. She glanced at the navy one with the delicious ostrich plume discarded on the quilt-covered bed. The ribbons looked better dangling behind her ears because they drew attention to her slender neck. Maman always said it was one of her best features. Pain grabbed her chest at the thought of her family left behind in France. She rubbed three fingers against her sternum.

  No time to wallow. In less than thirty minutes, she would face the most important interview of her life. “You are right, Dixie. Of course, this design is more fitting.” She reached toward the vanity table for a long hat pin. “Which one will you wear?” Being almost the same size expanded their wardrobe selections, except their favorite colors were so different. Liana loved bright colors and vivid patterns, and Dixie preferred solids in neutral shades, choosing accent pieces like jewelry or scarves to add color.

  Working her lower lip with her upper teeth, Dixie moved slowly down the line of choices. “I do not know.” At the end of the shelf, she stopped and rested a hand on top. “I doubt I have the right skills to become a Pinkerton agent.”

  Gasping, Liana rushed across the room and grabbed Dixie’s hand. “Oh, do not say that.” Her sister could not back out of their plan now. Not when they were so close. Their initial applications, submitted to the manager of the Denver Pinkerton National Detective Agency office, had been accepted. “You most certainly do. You are smart and talented, and you have a quiet nature that draws in people, like Maman.”

  She tugged Dixie down to the mattress so they could sit side by side. The pleated light blue underskirt twisted, and she smoothed it with an impatient hand. “I am more like Papa who can talk anyone into a purchase.” Turning, she watched her sister’s face. When Dixie worried, her overbite was more pronounced. I want this new job…this new life. “For the past year, we have sewed the uniforms and traveling outfits for the women agents. We heard stories about the adventures they had. Remember Wilhemina and the insurance fraud, or Victoria and the smugglers, or Lydia and the bank robbers? How we thought those cases sounded so exciting?”

  “I was not the one who mentioned excitement. You were.” She pulled away 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 a complete stranger before having an adventure of any type.”

  To Liana’s mind, that aspect of becoming an agent introduced a dangerous element. And the exact one that thrilled her the most. Liana felt the time ticking away. She glanced at Dixie’s outfit—a simple shirtwaist in dark taupe with only a ruffled hem. No displayed underskirt and no side swags. She restrained a shudder.

  “What if I just stayed here and maintained my job as the agency seamstress?”

  “Dixie, we have been through all this. 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 and lifted down the brown, pressed-felt hat with a sloping brim accented by a cinnamon bow and matching ribbons. After fitting it on her sister’s head at just the right angle, she rested her hands on Dixie’s shoulders and leaned down to look into her hazel eyes. “Besides, we just about promised the seamstress job to Miss Thornton after she interviewed.”

  Frowning, Dixie clamped a hand on top of the hat. Then she rose and stood in front of t
he mirror. She set the hat straight atop her head and jabbed in the hat pin. “I always do better when you are there because you take the lead in conversations so well. Do you think Mister Gordon will let us interview together?”

  “Probably not.” Good, she’s on her feet again. Liana walked to the armoire and opened the right-side door. “Jacket or shawl?”

  Dixie leaned toward the second-story window. “The sky looks clear. The beige shawl, please.”

  That choice left the black lacy shawl. Liana slung it over her shoulders before carrying the beige one to her sister. Excitement raised chill bumps along her skin, and she shivered. “If asked who wants to go first, I will volunteer. You can settle your thoughts and review the details you wrote on the application.” After grabbing her reticule, she gave her outfit one last appraisal in the mirror then turned toward the door. “Ready?”

  “Hardly.” Dixie breathed out a long sigh. “But I will not disappear before completing the interview.”

  This next part of their lives would be the best ever. Although she and Dixie had been together constantly in the six years since leaving France, Liana was ready for a bit of freedom. She no longer wanted to worry about making all the decisions to keep them both employed and with a roof over their heads. On the boardwalk outside the seamstress shop, Liana took a deep breath of the mountain air 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. “Look, the green grocer has a special on mushrooms and carrots. What about coq au vin for supper tonight?”

  Liana waved a dismissive 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 only a few buildings down from the agency. When doing fittings for new agents, they appreciated the close proximity. Since the sisters started working here, sewing for the agency comprised the bulk of their work. But after the flurry of new agents a year ago, agency orders came in at a slower pace. Now, she and Dixie accepted orders from Denver residents, as well.

  “Of course, I know that. You never complain about the menu.” Dixie shook her head and laughed. “I am just nervous.”

  Refusing to give in to Dixie’s innate shyness, she pasted on a broad smile as she walked. “But you should not be. You have spoken with Mister Gordon before.”

  “Only a few times. We always deal with the agency’s secretary, Marianne.”

  An older man swept the boardwalk in front of his haberdashery shop. He stopped to let them pass, tapping a finger on the brim of his black derby. “G’morning, ladies.”

  “’Morning, Mister Manning. Lovely day.” Liana smiled then refocused on the three-story Gothic-like mansion on the huge corner lot on Chain Bridge Road. Five solid pillars held up the edges of the steep-pitched roof. Large windows fronted the structure. A multitude of trees and flowers accented the grounds inside the wrought-iron fence. From this angle, she couldn’t see the agents’ dormitory, but the two-story house that could sleep sixteen men stood on the far side of the two-acre lot. Could the agent who might be her trainer be under that roof right this moment?

  “How is Missus Manning’s arthritis?” Dixie’s footsteps halted.

  “Doing better, now that the rains have stopped. Thank you for asking, Miss Dixie.”

  Heat flamed Liana’s cheeks because she really should have thought to ask about the man’s wife. But this interview filled her mind this morning. She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Give her our best, Mister Manning.” Then she connected with her sister’s gaze and jerked her head.

  At the base of the steps leading to the wraparound front porch, Liana hesitated. Now that she was this close to her goal, she thought of the potential obstacles. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and that short walk labored her breathing. Or was that condition brought on by nerves? She reached out to link an elbow with Dixie’s. “Onward, to our future.”

  “If you say so.”

  At the carved wooden entrance, 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, watching Dixie mimic her actions. Pausing only a moment to smooth a hand over the back of her pinned-up hair, she leaned down to whisper in her sister’s ear. “Bonne chance, soeur douce.” Wishing her sister good luck might boost Dixie’s spirits.

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

  “Oui, I mean yes, Miss Marianne.” Liana had been glad to hear of the secretary’s return from the Chicago headquarters. The woman kept matters well organized and had been missed during the months of her absence.

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

  “I will go second.” Dixie lifted the hems of her skirts and scurried away.

  Marianne nodded. “So, please keep your answers short. I don’t want him too overtired.”

  Customers in the dress shop gossiped about trouble at the Bolton home and how the cook, Pearl, tried to keep Mister Gordon from discovering their troubles. But he started an investigation and was shot in the back for his troubles. “Of course, I understand your concern.”

  Marianne walked to the closed door to the right of the foyer and knocked again.

  “Come in,” a deep voice called out.

  The secretary turned the knob and stepped partway inside the door. “Mister Gordon, Misses Liana and Dixie LaFontaine are here for our interviews. Miss Liana is first.”

  “Thank you.” Liana entered and glanced at the well-dressed man seated behind a large desk stacked with papers. Although a mite pale, he looked starched and pressed in his three-piece brown suit that went well with his reddish-brown hair, beard, and trimmed moustache.

  Pressing a finger into the middle of a page he read, Archie Gordon, agent in charge of Denver’s Pinkerton office, looked up. His brows crinkled together.

  Oh dear, he looks confused. Marianne explained, upon the sisters’ hiring a year earlier, that Mister Gordon often appeared a bit addled if he was concentrating on agency business. “You sent Mister Preston to the dressmaker shop on Wednesday to confirm we met the basic requirements, and you scheduled these personal interviews.”

  His green eyes lit, and he nodded. “Ah, that I did. Well, step inside and have a seat.”

  Liana moved forward and perched on the edge of a chair situated opposite the desk. She took a moment to adjust her skirts to the proper drop over her knees down to the tips of her black calf-skin boots.

  He shoved papers aside, making them rustle. “I know I left some applications here somewhere.” He glanced up then bent his head again toward the desk. “Just start with a few basic details about yourself. I’ll find them soon enough.”

  Odd to be talking to the top of his head. “Well, Mister Gordon, my name is Liana, and I have worked as a seamstress for this agency for a little over a year.” Since she had only been in this room once, she gazed around at her surroundings, admiring the view through the large bay window toward the street. She noticed peeling wallpaper and holes in the wall to the side of a dark wood wardrobe. What could have made such marks?

  Again, he looked up. “And doing a fine job, or so Marianne has reported.” He leaned over and yanked out a desk drawer. “Neeps and haggis, where did those applications go?”

  “I probably remember everything I wrote. Should I just recite the facts?”

  “No, no. I’ll find the papers.” He moved one stack to the far corner, pulled a different stack close, and licked a thumb to rifle through the individual pages. “Well, I’ll be. I found them.” Grinning, he shuffled a
page to the top. “You speak four languages? That ability could come in handy.”

  “I thought so. I speak English. Parlo Italiano. Ich spreche Deutsch…nur ein besschin. Hablo español.”

  His brows lowered. “I see you were born in France, but you don’t speak the language?”

  “Oh, oui. Je parle Français. French is my native tongue, and I just forgot to list it.” She smiled, hoping her oversight did not reflect badly. “Maybe that I am a bit shaky on my knowledge of German is the reason I listed only four. I assure you, I understand much more than I can speak.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he winced and shifted position then steepled his fingers and gazed across the desktop. “Why do you want to become an agent?”

  For a second, she wondered if he asked the male applicants the same question. Being studied in this way was most unsettling. She cupped her hands on her knees. “I have listened to lots of the new agents talk about their upcoming assignments as they received their allotted wardrobe or were fitted for special outfits. Many of the jobs sounded exciting. I find people interesting, and I talk easily with strangers. For many years, Papa owned an import/export business and entertained people from around the world, so I’m familiar with various cultures.” She looked for a change in his blank expression and saw none.

  Remembering the phrasing in last year’s newspaper ad, she scooted forward. “I love living in my adopted country and want to see that justice is done for those criminals who break our laws.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Oh, Mister Gordon, a man should not ask a lady such a personal question.” Hoping her age did not disqualify her, she left that space blank. She cast her gaze downward as Maman taught when conversations became uncomfortable. Then she angled her chin and peeked sideways.

  His green eyes narrowed, and he tapped his pointer fingers together.