An Agent for Marla Read online

  Copyright

  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

  ©2019 Lynn Donovan

  Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt

  Editing by Cyndi Rule

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Newsletter Signup

  Introduction

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Personal Note From the Author

  About the Author:

  Appreciation

  Free Gift

  Please leave a review

  Dedication

  To Christine. Thank you for being who you are naturally.

  Newsletter Signup

  I’d like you to be the first to know about a new book release by me or other authors that I recommend. Go to Https://LynnDonovanAuthor.com/newsletter to sign up. I promise, I’ll NEVER spam you or give your information out to anyone, for any reason!

  As a reward, I will send you a free book called “Stories for the Porch.” A collection of short stories written by me just for you and will be published NO WHERE else.

  

  Introduction

  A woman trying to prove her worth in a man's world, an agent determined never to fall in love, and a murder mystery that tests both their boundaries.

  Marla Porter longs to experience the life she reads about in the Pinkerton dime novels. She convinces a local newspaper to allow her to go undercover to find out what it means to be part of the Pinkerton's Female Detective Bureau. But Marla has a secret no one knows; if discovered, it could lead to her ruin as a journalist.

  Pinkerton Detective Pryce Adams has managed to avoid the Denver office's rules of marrying a partner. That is, until a sassy woman walks into the office and turns his life upside down. Twenty years her senior, they make the perfect covert father/daughter team to solve a bank robbery gone wrong.

  What happens when the lines blur between a professional relationship and falling for his new partner? Can Pryce let go of his promise to his dead fiancée and allow himself to love again? Will Marla’s secret ruin everything?

  CHAPTER ONE

  

  Topeka, Kansas, September 1872

  “With all due respect, sir— no.” Marla Porter had all she could take with being tossed crumbs for assignments.

  The Managing Editor, Albert Michaels’s eyes darted up from his list. “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, I’m sick to death with human interest articles. I don’t want to report on Missus O’Leary’s cat probably winning the ‘Fattest Cat’ category at the County Fair, even if the feline is a shoe-in for the win, or whether Mister Burns’s apple pie wins the blue ribbon, again. But you’re right, that man needs to stay out of the baking categories. He is really upsetting the Topeka ladies.” She swallowed. “I want something I can really dig my teeth into.”

  Mr. Michaels yanked his glasses off his nose. Red dots flanked his bridge from where his glasses had sat. “You talking about the pie? Or an assignment?” He chuckled.

  The other reporters either rolled their eyes or laughed with the boss. Another simply tossed down his pencil. It wasn’t easy being the only woman reporter at the Topeka Blade. The morning briefings always went like this. She couldn’t gain one single man’s respect. She was determined to get an assignment worthy of her writing talents.

  Michaels rotated his gaze among the men. “Really? Like what?”

  Marla lifted her chin one rung. “What have you got?”

  His glare remained on her. “I’ve got a fat cat and a man who out-bakes the wives of Shawnee County.”

  “Sir. You know I’m better than that. Give me a real article to write.”

  “Give you— how about you give me something?”

  She blinked. “Okay… give me a day. I’ll pitch a proposal at tomorrow’s briefing.”

  “Fine.” Mr. Michaels shoved his glasses back on. “But today, give me a fat cat and an apple pie that can’t be beat?”

  Marla sighed. “But, I… fine.”

  “Fine.” Al bulged his eyes. “George, I want you to follow up on that attempted arson…”

  Michaels continued giving out assignments while Marla fumed. She had been determined to not take any more crumbs. She was a published author with thirty thousand books in print. Her fans adored her stories. Of course they only knew her as M. P. Porter. Using a pen name was her publicist’s idea. Disguising her gender by using her initials, unfortunately, was imperative to getting a contract with Beadle & Adams Dime Novels in New York City.

  It wasn’t Mr. Michaels’s fault really. She couldn’t divulge her success as an author without breeching those contracts and she didn’t make enough from her book sales to support herself completely. So she did the next best thing. Worked for a Newspaper where she thought she’d be able to write entertaining column stories which would turn into more short stories for the dime novels. So far she was only allowed to write local soft news pieces that any child could put together.

  She had to come up with something really interesting by tomorrow morning. What that would be, she had no clue. She grabbed her pad and pencil and left the conference room.

  Her desk sat among the other five, in the middle of the newsroom. A telegraph machine tapped out a message at the back. A young intern wrote down the translation of each pattern of taps and pauses. She ignored the possibility of the message being handed to her to investigate. They never made it to her desk.

  She drew a copy of The Blade toward her. Everybody got the early morning edition on their desk. She should head straight to the fairgrounds before the finalists were chosen. But she was just too mad.

  She crossed her legs and opened the paper. The syndicated headline from Colorado tickled her thoughts. “Murderer Thwarted by Lady Pinkerton.” She quickly read the article. There was a National Pinkerton Detective Agency in Denver City, Colorado!

  She peeked over the top of her paper, purposefully defying anyone to say something about her procrastination. But no one did. Her little act of defiance wasn’t exactly working. She turned the page and flipped the thin paper to make it stay taut. Her eyes ran down the personals page. An advert caught her eye.

  Help Wanted: female agents to join the National Pinkerton Detective Agency…”

  Marla uncrossed her legs and leaned into the paper, shielding her perusal from onlookers. She ran her eyes over the words, skimming the details.

  Interviews will occur on the premises in the Denver office.

  She had studied the escapades of Kate Warne for one of her dime novels. Being a female Pinkerton agent sounded like the most intriguing job a woman could do. She reached into her largest desk drawer at the bottom and pulled out a copy of True Tales of Kate Warne and Other Pinkerton Detective Stories, By M. P. Porter.” She knew how the agency worked f
rom her research, but what if…

  By golly this was a good idea! She needed to formulate her strategy. Al wouldn’t be easy to convince, but she’d think of something. What would be the bait that would convince him to let her do this? She tapped her lip with a pencil.

  “Porter! Get to it.” Al’s brazen voice bellowed from his office.

  She jerked, dropped the pencil, and slipped her book into her bag. “On it.”

  She tapped Oliver on the shoulder as she walked past his desk. “Come on.”

  The young artist looked up from his doodle and then scrambled to gather his charcoal sticks and drawing pad. “Coming!”

  The two walked out and hailed a taxi carriage. Marla said very little during the ride, which seemed to make Olly nervous. He opened his pad and doodled, something Marla had noticed he consistently did when he was uneasy. She let him stew over her silence. He wouldn’t understand and she didn’t feel like explaining the thoughts she was putting together.

  It was imperative she got this right. This was an opportunity she couldn’t imagine coming along very often. An inside exclusive in the modern-day lives of Lady Pinkertons, and a series of criminal novels she could write based on what she learned while working undercover. She’d change all the names to protect the real people, of course, and call it fiction, no doubt. She could smell another novel coming and this one would be a hardback. This one just might get her Best Selling Author of the Year.

  All she had to do was get Al’s permission to go to Denver City, Colorado for… a while, and Archibald Gordon’s approval to join the force. She’d probably need a letter of recommendation to pull it off, but she could ask Uncle Thaddeus. He was probably busy running his reelection campaign but he promised her he’d always make time for his favorite niece. She smiled. The Governor’s Mansion was on the way to the fairgrounds. She tapped on the carriage and hollered at the driver. “Excuse me. Could we drop by the Governor’s Mansion?” She turned to Olly. “I shouldn’t be but a moment.”

  Olly looked up in surprise. Marla smiled. “He’s my uncle. I just want to stop by and ask him something.”

  Olly answered not in words but a furrowed brow and continued drawing the interior of the carriage. Marla turned to watch the city go by from the window. This plan was a double undercover operation. If that didn’t prove she was a top-notch reporter, nothing did. Now, she just needed all these pieces to fall into place.

  What could be easier?

  

  Marla walked into the morning briefing with yesterday’s paper under her arm. She sat it on the large table and folded her hands over it. Mr. Michaels eyed her suspiciously. “What you doing with that fish wrapper, Porter?”

  “I have my reasons,” was all she said.

  He glared at her over his glasses and opened the meeting. After he gave everyone their assignments and some discussions ensued on story ideas, Michaels sighed through his nose and turned to Marla. “Alright Porter. What you got?”

  She smiled. “I told you I’d bring you a story idea that I could sink my teeth into. I have it here.”

  “You’ve got a story idea out of yesterday’s news? How? You know that yesterday’s news is nothing more than a bird cage liner. Right?”

  “Not this time.” She stood and opened the paper to the headline. “What if I brought you a story about the women detectives with the National Pinkerton Detective Agency out of Denver City, Colorado?”

  His bushy brows shot up. “Go on.”

  “They’re known as ‘the Pinks.’ Twenty years ago, Mrs. Kate Warne blazed the trail for a select few women to become detectives, bodyguards, and stealth messengers. Did you know Kate herself protected President Abraham Lincoln on many occasions? The only reason he got shot was because he refused to let the Pinkertons guard him that night.”

  She paused for effect. Mr. Michaels just stared at her with disinterest.

  “This is a great story, Al.” She shook the paper. “Look, our own headlines hawk the praises for another Lady Pink’s success in discovering and bringing to justice a would-be murderer!”

  “What are you proposing? You gonna interview a lady Pinkerton detective?”

  “Better.” She smiled smugly. “I’m going to infiltrate the agency and become a lady detective.”

  He looked at her intently. “You’re quitting here to become a Pinkerton Agent?”

  “No! I’m going to go undercover and write about it.”

  “You got a way into the Pinkerton Agency?”

  “I might.” She lifted her chin.

  “Might!” Michaels roared. “Might’s not good enough, Porter!”

  The other reports chuckled.

  Marla swept their insolent faces. “Al, listen to me. I’ve got a good chance of getting in.”

  He glared at her. “How’s that?”

  She paused. Having the governor as her uncle was not something she wanted to reveal. She didn’t want preferential treatment at the paper. She would use his influence to get into the Pinkertons, but that was a favor, not a privilege.

  “I have a letter… of recommendation… from someone who is influential.” She cocked her head back. “But I’m smart.” She switched to a lower-London accent. “I know how to get answers out of people, I do.” She switched to a southern bell accent. “I can disguise my little ole self to take on a different appearance, y’all.” She switched again to a Scottish brogue. “I can change me accents rather on cue.” She squeezed her eyes closed and blinked, tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffed. “I can cry on command.”

  Instantly drying her tears and switching back to her normal voice. “I’m a perfect candidate for the Pinkerton Agency.”

  Michaels and the others stared at her with their mouths agape.

  She leapt on the silence. “It could be a weekly column, like a series that our readers will want to keep reading, to… to find out what happens next.” She considered the idea. “But you can’t publish any of it until I’m done. It would give me away, blow my cover—”

  “Alright!” Michaels held up his hand to stop her. “You bring me a serialized story about being a female agent in the Pinkertons, and I’ll, I’ll move you up to editorials.”

  She tightened her shoulders, resisting with every ounce of willpower she possessed not to leap into the air. “Deal!” She shoved her hand toward her boss.

  He leaned back slightly, eyeing her hand. Then a smile crept onto his lips. He took her hand and they shook. “Deal. But! Keep your expenses to a minimum! If they take you on, you’ll be getting a salary. So you’ll have to survive on that. We’re made a newsprint, not money.”

  She considered his proposition. “Okay, but you’ll pay for my train there, right?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  Marla frowned. “And I’ll still have a job here at The Blade when I come back?”

  “Of course. How else will I get the story?”

  She smiled slowly. “Okay. I’ll send a wire to the agency telling them I’m coming and pack my bags.”

  “One more thing.” Mr. Michaels beckoned her to toward him. He leaned closer to her and spoke softly. “I want to be sure this is going to work. I want you to send me installments.”

  “Installments?” Her eyebrows frowned.

  “Yes. Put them in the post. I want to see what these articles are going to look like. If I feel it’s not print worthy, then I’m going to call you back. If you want your job to stay open, you’ve gotta agree. Quit the Pinkertons and come home.”

  “But… only if you don’t think my stories are print worthy, right?”

  “Right.” His smile was too big. “Of course! Send great stories, and stay ’til you solve some big crime.”

  Something stirred in her gut that made her feel uneasy with this bargain she had struck. But the opportunity to go undercover inside the Pinkerton Agency had more advantages for her future publications than disadvantages. Even if Mr. Michaels reneged and she lost her job with the Topeka Blade, she could have an outstandi
ng novel to publish and that could be financially beneficial to her. Either way, surely, there was nothing to lose.

  CHAPTER TWO

  

  “Four-Two-Seven Chain Bridge Road, please.” Marla stepped into the carriage. Her driver supported her climb with a tan gloved hand. He stood a head taller than her, which was unusual because she was not of short stature. A shiny black top hat exaggerated his height, and he was an excessively big man. His skin absorbed the morning sun with its dark tone, but his smile was bright and his eyes were kind.

  “Yes, Miss.” He closed the door and shoved her trunk on top behind the driver’s seat. She waited anxiously inside, clutching her attaché, carpet bag, and the letter from her governor uncle. Thank goodness she was wearing traveling gloves, or the letter she held would be soaked through. Seldom did she have to deal with such nervousness. But so much depended on her getting past this first checkpoint.

  The driver grunted and she swore she heard him do something distasteful in public as he climbed onto his driver’s seat. Her eyes darted his way with the sound. She pinched her lips and stifled a giggle. “Okay. Pinkerton Agency, here I come.”

  She sat back and watched the city go by her window. She’d never been to Denver City, or the Colorado Territory, for that matter. Her book agent, Simon Bartholomew, of Merrill Publishing, was in Indianapolis and she’d been to New York City twice when some of her books were published by Beadle & Adams Dime Novels, but never west of Topeka. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

  She cleared her throat, patted her hair, and stared as the density of the business buildings faded to a more open residential area. Finally a hollow clopping sound stirred her from a dozing state. They crossed a bridge. Could it be the chain bridge where her destiny lay? She angled her head to look ahead. A very large, very handsome mansion sat off to the right. She gawked at it in awe. Could that be the Pinkerton Mansion? She sat up straighter and moistened her lips with her tongue.