She took slow steps over to the window and peered out. The next bidder would arrive at any moment. Smoothing her hair back, she watched the elaborate carriage make its way up the long drive to her gate.
Right on time.
She turned and rang the bell for her men to join her.
Without a word, Simon and Charles entered the room and took up residence on either side of her desk where she did business negotiations. No one had dared to cross her with her hulking bodyguards present.
All these years, the use of this remote estate had given her the cover she needed. It had been her place of escape and sanctuary as well.
Returning to regular life in the city was tedious. But she didn’t mind the duplicity. In fact, it made life a bit more exciting. Even fun.
She took her seat behind the massive mahogany desk and folded her hands on top.
The door opened and Gerard bowed. “Ma’am. A Mr. Ferdinand is here to see you.”
“Show him in.” A slight grin lifted her lips.
The bidder was smaller in stature than her last visitor but lifted his chin high in the air as he entered the room. “I simply must have the specimen.” He stomped toward her, his tiny boots sounding almost like a child’s.
“I’m glad to hear it. But you understand there are others vying for it as well.”
“I shall outbid them all.” The chin lifted even higher. Too much further and his nose would be pointed toward the ceiling.
“This is the current highest bid.” She slid a piece of paper across the desktop.
He inched closer and eyed her two large bodyguards.
Simon stepped forward, a barely audible clearing of his throat sounding underneath his breath.
The bidder took the cue, grabbed the paper, and stepped back. His eyebrows shot up when he unfolded it. Chin up, he blinked a few times. “I’ll double it.”
“How shrewd of you, Mr. Ferdinand.” Pointing to the pen and ink on the other side of the desk, she lifted one eyebrow toward him. “I’ll need that in writing.”
Let the games begin.
Pinkerton Agent Cole Anderson stepped off the train and onto the platform of Union Station in Denver, Colorado. People poured out of the train and fanned in different directions. Whoops and hollers echoed through the station as families reunited and friends greeted each other. Porters rolled large wooden carts full of luggage, the metal wheels clacking against the planks of the platform. Steam hissed and popped from the train stacks, filling the station with white puffs.
Smashing his cap on his head, Cole took a deep breath and pushed through the throng. His leather traveling bag thumped painfully against his knee. Young boys called to everyone passing by, offering to carry bags for a small fee. He scoffed. Small fee. By the time they reached the hotel, they would charge three times the beginning quote. He glanced at the boys again. Their dirty faces and tattered clothing evidenced their low social status. His frown lessened a bit. Couldn’t begrudge them trying to make a living.
But Albert Hart, his boss, would have his hide for every frivolous expense. It didn’t matter that the father of the victim whose murder he was investigating had paid quadruple the amount charged by the agency for such cases. The purse strings were still tight. The allotment for this trip wasn’t the stingiest his boss had been. However, if the investigation went long, he might have to get creative with resources. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. He would figure out what happened to Edwin Gilbert, let the boy’s father know, and be home in Colorado Springs before the weekend. He’d promised his wife, Anna, he would try.
Cole sidestepped a small dog yapping and nipping at the ankles of travelers and stepped through the heavy wooden doors. Fresh air and sunshine greeted him. A welcome change from the dank smell of his second-class train car. He scanned the area and shot his free hand out in a wave.
A black hansom cab pulled close, and Cole opened the door. “The Tremont House,” he instructed and settled against the squabs. The fabric was worn, but the cab was clean. Cole let out a slow breath. Traveling was getting rougher the older he got. In his younger years as an agent, he would ride for days, camp, then ride some more with ease. Now in his late forties, Cole was beginning to feel every bump and lump.
“Tremont House, sir,” the cabbie called, interrupting his thoughts. Cole disembarked and flipped a coin to the driver.
He made his way up the short gravel walkway and through the door of the familiar boardinghouse. Tremont House had once been a glorious hotel for the wealthy and famous in Denver. But expansion in the city, as well as the opening of hotels like the opulent Windsor Hotel downtown, had taken business away. But it still held remnants of its former glory. Worn red velvet carpeted the stairs. Gilded framed paintings lined the lobby. And a crystal chandelier still lit up the dining room.
“What can we do for you?” A middle-aged woman from behind the dark wood desk studied him.
“One room for four nights, with the possibility of extending into the following week. Is it still a dollar a night?” Cole gave her a grin.
She nodded and he placed the appropriate number of coins in her outstretched hand. The woman dropped them into a small leather pouch tied to her waist. “Room seven, just down the hall to your left.” She plunked a skeleton key on the desk. “Dinner is at six thirty. One bath a week, any more than that is fifty cents extra. No lady friends, this is a respectable establishment. No drunken behavior or you’ll be kicked out. This is a temperance establishment as well.”
He nodded. “Sounds fair. Thank you.”
The woman gave him a smile that looked more like a grimace and turned back to the large wall of mail slots behind her.
