An Agent for Serafina Read online

  Beam approached Serafina. “We’ll need some time to get aholt a him. Let’s say we meet back here this evening, about sundown.”

  Smith nodded and shook Beams hand. “Until tonight, fellas.” He turned to Serafina and put her hand at his elbow. “Come darling, let us go back to the hotel until this evening.”

  “Oui.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Merci, mon amour.”

  

  “We did it!” Serafina squealed inside the taxi carriage, once they were several blocks away from the docks.

  “Yes. I’ll wire Archie and let him know what we have found out.”

  “And I’ll go to the Women’s Political Alliance meeting this afternoon. I heard they are meeting at two, as luck would have it, in our hotel. Perhaps there will be a few open discussions about the shenanigans going on in office, so I can solidify our suspicions.”

  “Great. But first, let’s have lunch while we wait for Archie’s reply.”

  “You suppose he’ll tell us to come back to Denver?” A huge stone slammed into her heart. Their time together was drawing near an end. Too near. It would only be a day and a half, once they left St. Louis, before they would go in search of this Judge Hotchkiss and receive their annulment. She sighed and leaned back against the velvet seat.

  Smith’s smile waned also. Perhaps the same realization was weighing heavily in his heart too. “Yes. Let’s have lunch somewhere other than the hotel.” He turned to stare out the window. “I hear there is a style of smoked pork here in St. Louis, not like ham or bacon. It’s called Bar-B-Que. My sources tell me it is something we don’t want to miss out on while we are here.”

  Serafina looked confused. “Bar-B-Que? Well, if your sources claim it’s wonderful, we must give it a try.” She chuckled.

  Smith nodded and opened the door to hang his head out. “My good man! Could you take us to the telegraph office?”

  The driver leaned over to where he could see Smith and touched the brim of his hat. “Yes sir.”

  Smith pulled the door closed as he sat back down. “There. All we have to do is find a diner nearby after we send the wire to Archie.”

  Serafina smiled warmly.

  “What?” Smith looked amused.

  “Oh nothing really. I-I just enjoy your spontaneity.”

  “Really?” His eyes twinkled with mischief, he leaned toward her. She wanted to kiss him. He moved closer. The carriage swayed. They smashed into each other clumsily.

  “Oh!” She covered her nose.

  The horse nickered loudly. Smith jerked his head toward the window. “What’s goin—”

  Both doors snapped open and men on horseback, with dark bandanas over their faces and dark cowboy hats, reached in and grabbed Smith and Serafina from their seats. Black hoods were shoved over the agents’ heads. It smelled like moldy wool. Then a wet rag with a pungent, vinegary smell pressed against Serafina’s nose and mouth. She couldn’t breathe!

  The liquid quickly saturated the hood. She kicked and wriggled while grabbing for the knife in her boot, but her limbs felt too heavy. She couldn’t tell what she was doing. The scene before her spun like she was twirling with her orphanage sisters to see who could make their skirts big like a bell. Nausea lapped at the back of her tongue. The city sounds faded quickly from her hearing.

  Then nothing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Smith stirred. His head pounded behind his eyes. His neck and shoulder felt stiff. Where was he? The bed felt hard as a floor—

  “Serafina!” The word hurt his throat, causing him to cough violently.

  He twisted his head to look around. He was on a floor! But he couldn’t get up. His hands were securely tied behind his back, and the ties cut into his wrists. Still he struggled against them. All he could do was lift his head.

  Serafina moaned behind him.

  “Serafina,” he croaked and fought to clear his burning throat. “Serafina, are you alright?”

  “Sí.” She sounded like she was straining.

  “Don’t wear yourself out. These ties are impossible.”

  He heard a snap and then she sat up. “Yeah, they were awfully tight.” Rubbing her wrists, she leaned over and cut his bindings.

  He turned curious eyes toward her. “How—?”

  She held up another of those thin knives with an ornery grin.

  “Someday you need to give me a tour of all these weapons you hide in your clothing. Where was this one? Your bustle?”

  “Sí.” She scrambled to her feet and realized she wore only stockings. “Have you seen my boots?”

  “No.” He looked around. They were in an office. But whose? Smith stood and looked through the items on the desk. “John McDonald.”

  “Who is he?” Serafina looked around his shoulder.

  “The Regional Superintendent of the Internal Revenue. You suppose he is who has been receiving the bribes to evade the whiskey taxes?”

  “Why else would we be in his office?”

  “Right.” Smith rifled through the man’s desk, but found nothing substantial to prove him guilty. “We know the whiskey distillers have a specific man they go to for those tax stamps, but just because we were kidnapped and brought here— it would never hold up in court against McDonald.”

  The door handle jiggled. Serafina and Smith both dropped to the floor, where they had been lying. Neither moved. A man entered with a tray. He sat it on the desk and walked closer to Smith’s leg. He nudged Smith with the toe of his boot.

  Smith spun on his hip, kicking the man’s feet out from under him. Serafina leapt up and drew a small but powerful gun from behind her. “Don’t move, Raymond! If that’s really your name.”

  Smith took a double look. Sure enough the man was Bristow’s gentleman waiter. “You! Why?”

  Smith reached under his coat, into his back pocket, but it was empty. “Ah. They took my cuffs.”

  Serafina bent her free arm behind her back, still aiming the gun on Raymond. Struggling a little, she pulled out a leather length. “Here, use this.”

  Smith smiled at her. “Good. Not exactly a weapon, but resourceful all the same.”

  She smiled back at him with a shrug. “That’s probably why they took my boots. They found my knives.”

  Smith paused. “Well, probably. Good thing they assumed your boots were your only hiding place.”

  She patted her thigh through her skirts. “Nope. They got my Derringer, too.” A blush filled her cheeks. Patting her ribcage and bustline, she sighed. “Good thing they didn’t look more thoroughly.”

  Smith raised his brow. “Yes. Good thing.” He took her gun from her and shoved it into Raymond’s cheek. “Now, tell us who you work for.”

  “Benjamin Bristow.”

  Smith turned his head, but kept slitted eyes on the man. “Who else?”

  The man remained silent. Smith shoved the gun with more force into Raymond’s cheek bone.

  “Ow! …McDonald.”

  “John McDonald?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you blew our cover!”

  Raymond breathed heavy, sweat popped out on his face, but he said nothing.

  Smith turned from the man, pursing his lips. “Damn!” He turned back and smashed the butt of the gun into Raymond’s head. Blood oozed across his forehead, as his body went limp.

  “Todd!” Serafina yelled. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I hate a snitch!” He growled. “Especially when they snitch on me.”

  “Todd, we’ve got to get out of here! They know we are agents. They know—”

  He lifted his eyes to her. She looked terrified. “It’ll be alright. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She sat back on her heels and glared at him. “I can take care of myself.” Slipping her Derringer back into her bustle.

  “Sure. I know, but you’re right. We’ve botched this case. We need to get word to Archie and get out of St. Louis.”

  She nodded and looked around for her boots. />
  He snapped his fingers. “Oh Shoot!”

  She jerked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Now we’ll not get to taste that Bar-B-Que!”

  She sighed. “Another time, perhaps.”

  

  Serafina padded to the window and looked out. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure.” He joined her at the window. “Look, there’s a general store across the street. Let’s go get you some boots, figure out how to get a wire to Archie, and get out of town.”

  She jerked a nod.

  Together, they ran to the door. Smith looked down the hall before pulling her with him. Serafina hiked her skirts to avoid tripping on the hem. How would she explain her stocking feet? Surely the mercantile owner had seen and heard all sorts of excuses. Would they have another knife sheath small enough for her ankle? Not to mention a knife like the ones she had hidden in her boots?

  Smith opened a door at the end of the hallway. “Here we are. The servant’s passage.” They scurried down the spiral staircase and busted out into an alley between the buildings.

  “Hey!” A huge burly man in an ill-fitting suit that looked like the laundress had washed in too hot of water, tossed down a cigarette and charged toward them with his meaty fist doubled up, ready to punch Smith in the face. “How’d you two— where’s Raymond?”

  Serafina yanked a comb from her hair and spun around, tossing the weapon at the man. The razor-sharp comb sliced through his cheek as it sailed by his face and stuck deep in the wooden slat of the building. The man yowled, slapped his hand over the wound, and bent in pain. Blood seeped from between his fingers, dripping into the dirt.

  Smith took advantage of the man’s compromising position and threw an upper cut fist into the monstrous man’s nose. A loud crack indicated Smith had made his mark, solid. Blood splattered all the more.

  The man straightened stiffly. His eyes rolled back in his head. He fell as if in slow motion, like a giant cypress tree, flat on his back. Dust billowed around his body. Smith turned to Serafina, grabbed her hand, and pulled her across the street. Swiftly they ducked into the General Store and turned to see if any more of McDonald’s men were following them.

  The owner, who stood behind the sales counter beside the door, gasped. “You two alright?”

  Smith straightened his coat and cleared his throat. Serafina tucked her hair behind her ear. The section of it that had been secured by the comb hung down over her eye. She wished she had retrieved the comb from the building. “Do you have hair accessories?” she said breathlessly but casually.

  The owner stared at her a moment. “Yes ma’am. We have ivory, alabaster, bone, and some inlaid with jewels. Some are more expensive than others, just depends on what they are made of.” He led her to a display cabinet.

  Serafina leaned into the glass to peruse the selection. “I’ll take that alabaster one. And, do you have ladies boots? Size five?”

  “Sure.” His inquisitive brow indicated his curiosity, but he did not question her need. “Come this way.” He glanced back at Smith, who stood near the door, watching the street for any more of McDonald’s men.

  “Would you like to try some on?” He indicated a wooden bench near the footwear.

  Serafina smiled. “Yes, thank you.” She sat and realized her stocking were shredded. “Uh, might you have some ladies stockings, too.”

  The man didn’t even hesitate. “Yes ma’am. We have an abundant supply of ladies things. Let me get my wife.”

  He walked away to a back curtain. Soon a woman followed him into the store. She appeared to be concerned, but went straight to the intimate apparel and brought Serafina three pairs of stockings, black, brown, and cream colored. “We have these three colors, miss.”

  Serafina nodded. “It’s Missus, and thank you.” She accepted all three, but opened the cream and slid the shredded ones off, replacing them with the new and then pulled the boots onto her feet. They fit and she stood.

  “I’ll take these and those and this comb.” Serafina handed the other two packages to the woman. Gathering her disheveled strand of hair, combed through it and secured the comb in place. “How does it look?”

  “Lovely.” The woman smiled with a nod of approval, took the shredded stockings from her, and led the way to the sales counter. As she tossed the ruined stocking in a bucket, she said, “Will that be all, Ma’am?”

  Serafina lifted her eyes to Smith, who looked away from the bustling street. “Where is the nearest telegraph office?”

  The man grinned. “You’re standing in it.”

  His wife wrote down Serafina’s purchases and tucked the pencil behind her ear. “We are a post office and a telegraph station. Virgile meets the train ever morning for the post and my daddy taught me the code for the telegraph machine.” She beamed with pride.

  Serafina and Smith smiled with relief, but it was Smith who responded. “Excellent. We need to send a wire to Denver, Colorado.”

  The woman handed Virgile the bill of sale and lifted another sheet from under the counter. “Alright. Fill this out and I’ll get it sent right away.”

  Smith thought a minute, then wrote, “Leak in client’s pipeline. Cause known but irreparable. Serious damage. Must return without tools.”

  He read it back over. Archie would understand the encrypted message. Now to find a way out of town without McDonald’s men coming after them again. Time was imperative. And there was probably no possibility of retrieving their luggage. Then, Smith had an idea. “May I send another wire?”

  “Of course.” The owner’s wife pulled out another form and laid it before Smith.

  He took the pencil and crafted a carefully worded message. “A, please send. To Sec B. Had to leave town. Sorry for confusion. Please have luggage sent home and hotel bill settled. Funds transferred to bank in STL.”

  “Here you go.” Smith handed the form to her.

  She looked down at what he had written. “But, this is addressed to the same person as the one before.”

  “Yes. It needs to be sent from Denver. We are in need of a quick escape.” Smith laughed as if he had just made a joke.

  The mercantile owners frowned. “I don’t understand.” The wife uttered.

  Smith turned to the man. “It seems the missus and I have gotten ourselves into a bit of a… situation. And we need to get out of town. Quickly and quietly once we hear back from that first wire. Is there any means of transportation that could get us away without being too public?”

  “I’ll get right on it.” The woman hurried through the curtained door way.

  “As a matter of fact” —the man glanced at the street, then pulled a gold pocket watch from his apron bib pocket— “our son is loading up the wagon for a delivery out west of town. If we time it right, he could wave down the west-bound train and probably get you on board.”

  Smith turned to Serafina with questioning eyebrows. She shrugged. “Seems like our only chance.”

  “Alright.” Smith agreed. “When will he be ready to go?”

  “Whenever you are ready.” The man pursed a smile.

  A commotion caught their attention across the street. They all turned to look out the glass door. Men ran out of the building they had been in, and were shouting, waving guns in the air, and pointing up and down the street. The man Smith had knocked unconscious stood next to a post on the boardwalk, holding a bloody cloth over his nose. He looked unstable.

  Smith turned to the mercantile owner. “You got a back room?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Sure.” The mercantile owner rushed ahead of them and jerked the curtain aside. His wife glanced up from the telegraph machine, but the man continued through the storage area, opened a wooden door, and gestured for them to enter a small apartment. “This is our home. You will be well hidden here and comfortable too. The wife will let you know when your reply is in. I’ll let Justin know he’s got a special delivery.”

  Smith shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, my frien
d. Here’s something for your trouble.” Smith put several silver dollars in his palm.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble really. I’m honored to be able to help a Pinkerton Agent. Somethin’ to tell the grandkids, eh?”

  Smith halted.

  “Sorry. I saw who you addressed your wire to. Everybody in these parts knows who Archie Gordon is.”

  Smith nodded. “Well, thank you all the same.”

  The man jerked a nod. “You bet.”

  The loud voice faded behind the apartment door. Serafina sat at a small table with a sigh. Smith paced the floor. Soon the wife slipped into the apartment and handed him a reply wire.

  Return immediately. Stop.

  Caution at all costs. Stop.

  Additional message sent. Stop.

  AG.

  “Well, there we have it. Is your son ready to go?”

  “Yep.” The mercantile owner led them into the alley where a large young man who looked just like the owner stood next to a large wagon and pair of geldings. “These the ones, Pa?”

  “Yes.” He walked to the back of the wagon and lifted a tarp. The son had packed the wagon in such a way as to leave a tunnel, of sorts, through the middle. Serafina paused. She didn’t like small spaces. Smith looked at her with concern. “You want me to go first?”

  She nodded.

  He crawled in, moving all the way to the front of the wagon, and waited for her. She looked at Justin, then took a deep breath. “Could you—” she held out her hand for him to help her.

  Instead, he took hold of her waist and lifted her onto the end of the wagon. She squealed with surprise at his bold move, then turned onto her hands and knees, and crawled toward Smith. Her breath increased immediately.

  “It’s alright, Serafina. We won’t be in here too long.”

  She turned on her hip and faced the rear of the wagon. At least she could see out the back, from under the tarp. But then Justin flipped the tarp down and secured it across the bottom.

  Serafina was instantly in total darkness. A shiver rippled through her limbs and her breath increased to panting. Her heart pounded in her chest and against her ears. Visions of the half-naked men on horses hooping and hollering around her parent’s wagon, horses stomping as they ran so close. Thunk, thunk of the arrows hitting the wooden sides. Rifles exploding near where she hid in the supplies box attached to the wagon.