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“Not a bad idea.”
“I’ll book passage to Juneau, Alaska, first thing in the morning.”
“Why Juneau?” asked Cromwell. “It’s colder than a witch’s nipple up there.”
“Because it’s the last place he’d look.” She paused, and her eyes took on a shrewd look. “And there is the fact that Eugene’s father, Sam Butler, oversees his mining operations outside of Juneau.” Margaret laughed, loosening the bond on her emotions. “It gives me a chance to look over my future financial interests.”
“Dear sister,” Cromwell said genially, “you are a never-ending, constant source of amazement.” Then he brazenly looked across the dining room at Bell. “I wonder,” he muttered, “what happened to Red Kelly.”
“Maybe Bell killed him.”
“Maybe,” said Cromwell. “If that’s the case, Bell is far more dangerous than I gave him credit for. Next time, I’ll handle the matter myself.”
WHEN BELL returned to the table, his dish of sweetbreads had arrived. He picked up a fork, looking forward to tasting the delicacy, but he was stopped by questions from everyone at the table.
“Was she the woman you think you met in Denver?” demanded Bronson.
Bell dodged the question, not wanting to dwell on what he knew was a touchy subject with Bronson. “I am probably wrong. I admit it. But the resemblance is quite extraordinary.”
“You have an eye for beauty,” Bronson said with a mild chuckle.
“How did you find Cromwell?” asked Irvine. “Do you think he will be helpful when I make an appointment with him to discuss the stolen currency that passed through his bank?”
“You’ll have to ask Horace. I didn’t mention our investigation. He seemed nice enough, if a little lordly.”
“He has a reputation of being lofty,” said Bronson. “But, one on one, he’s quite solicitous, and I’m sure he will be very cooperative in your investigation.”
“We shall see,” Bell said, finally savoring the sweetbreads. After swallowing, he nodded at Irvine. “I think I’ll accompany you to the Cromwell National Bank.”
“You want to meet him again?” asked Bronson.
Bell shook his head. “Not a priority, but I would like to probe around his bank.”
“What do you expect to find?” wondered Curtis.
Bell shrugged, but there was a faint gleam in his eyes. “You know, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
19
MARION SAT AT HER DESK, TYPING A LETTER, WHEN two men entered the office. She turned from her Underwood Model 5 typewriter and looked up. One man, with a thicket of un-brushed brown hair, smiled a friendly smile. He was thin, and would have appeared sickly if not for his tanned face. The other was tall, with blond hair. She could not see his face because he had turned away and seemed to be studying the luxurious décor of the office. “Miss Morgan?”
“Yes, may I help you?”
“My name is Irvine.” He handed her his agency card. “My fellow agent, Isaac Bell, and I are from the Van Dorn Detective Agency. We have an appointment with Mr. Cromwell.”
She came to her feet but did not smile. “Of course. Your appointment was for nine-thirty. You’re five minutes early.”
Irvine made an open gesture with his hands. “You know the saying…”
“About the early bird getting the worm?” she said as if amused.
The tall blond-haired man faced her. “But the second mouse gets the cheese.”
“Very astute, Mr. Bell…” said Marion, her voice trailing off.
Their eyes met, and Marion suddenly felt something she had never felt before as she gazed into the blue-violet eyes. She realized now that he was well over six feet tall, with a wiry body clothed by a nicely tailored white linen suit. A large mustache was the exact shade of his flaxen, well-groomed hair. He was not handsome in the pretty-boy sense, but his features were craggy and masculine. There was a look of ruggedness about him, a man who was at home in the wild country of the West as well as the comforts of city life. She openly gazed at him, her usually well-restrained emotions in upheaval. No man had ever moved her this way before, certainly not on the first meeting.
Bell was also moved by the beauty of Marion and her aura of loveliness. The floor trembled beneath his feet as he stared back at her. She looked dainty but strong as a willow. There was a serene confidence about her that suggested she could surmount any complicated problem. She was poised and graceful, and, from the narrow waist to the flared bottom of her lengthy skirt, he could tell that she had long legs. The thick, lustrous hair was piled atop her head, with one long, narrow strand falling nearly to her waist. He guessed that she was the same age as he, give or take a year.
