“No, ma’am,” the sheriff said. “You’re wrong. Billy Thornton was born and raised in Copper Springs, and he has never left town for longer than a few days.”
“Never?” she asked.
“That’s true,” Billy stated. “I’m more of a homebody.”
“I should arrest you for disorderly conduct,” the sheriff said gruffly as he stepped closer to her. “You can’t just wander into a town and make false allegations.”
“But… I…” she stammered, unsure of what to say.
“I believe you owe Billy Thornton and the whole congregation an apology, agent,” the sheriff remarked.
Pressing her lips together, she turned around and met Billy’s gaze. “I apologize for accusing you of bank robbery and murder.”
“And?” the sheriff pressed.
She swallowed slowly. “And for ruining your wedding.”
“Now, pick up your weapon and leave my town, Pink,” the lawman growled, “and never come back.”
Amey reached down, picked up her revolver and holstered it. “I’m sorry,” she murmured again to no one in particular.
The congregation was silent as she walked back down the main aisle of the church and out the doors. When she stepped outside and approached her brown gelding, he dropped down to the ground and didn’t move.
The sheriff’s voice came from behind her. “It appears that your horse is dead.”
“No, he’s alive,” she sighed. “He just pretends to be dead when he doesn’t want to be ridden.”
“But his tongue is hanging out of his mouth,” the sheriff pointed out.
“Just give him a moment.”
She reached down and tugged on the reins, but nothing happened. She crouched down next to her horse’s ear and whispered, “Please get up, Jasper. I really need you to cooperate right now.”
The horse’s ears twitched back, but still he did not rise.
“Get up,” she pleaded again.
Laughter came from behind her, and she turned to see several people from the congregation standing out front and watching her converse with her mount.
“Is she talking to a dead horse?” a woman whispered to another.
Bringing her attention back to the stubborn animal in front of her, she said, “I promise I won’t ride you out of town if you get up right now.”
Jasper’s eyes opened, and he started to rise.
“Well, I’ll be,” the sheriff said, chuckling. “It appears that Pinkerton Agents can bring horses back from the dead.”
Ignoring the snickering from the men and women, Amey took the reins and started walking her horse out of town.
Never had she been more mortified than she was at this moment.
With a feeling of great trepidation, Amey Barney walked down the new wooden sidewalk in Chicago as she headed toward the Pinkerton Detective Agency. She was amazed with how few reminders there were of the great fire just two years before.
It had been nearly a week since her embarrassing fiasco in Copper Springs, and she was dreading her upcoming meeting with Mr. Hopkins, the man who ran the agency when Mr. Pinkerton was on assignment. She had no doubt that he would be furious about her actions, and she knew that their conversation would be most unpleasant.
Would he fire her for the scene she caused in Copper Springs? She truly hoped not. Being a Pinkerton agent was her whole identity. Besides, she had solved more cases than she had botched. That had to count for something.
She was now dressed in a green flounced skirt and matching basque bodice, feeling deucedly uncomfortable. She would much rather wear her trousers, a shirtwaist, and her gun belt strapped around her hips, but she was well aware that she couldn’t parade around in that outfit all the time. It always caused unwanted attention, especially in a big city.
She hurried up the steps of the Pinkerton Detective Agency building. As she opened the door, she was immediately greeted by the sweet, aging secretary.
“Morning, Agent Barney,” Mrs. Reeves said from behind her desk. “Mr. Hopkins will be with you in a moment.”
“What is his temperament like today?” she asked, stepping closer to the desk.
Mrs. Reeves placed a hand up next to her mouth and answered in a low voice, “He is in a foul mood.”
“That does not bode well for me.”
“It doesn’t bode well for anybody,” the secretary said, lowering her hand.
Amey’s eyes darted toward the closed office door. “Mr. Pinkerton isn’t in today?”
The secretary shook her head. “No, he is on assignment.”
“When is he not on an assignment?”
Mrs. Reeves laughed. “That is a good point, my dear.”
Bringing her gaze back toward Mrs. Reeves, Amey asked, “How are you doing this morning?”
“I can’t complain too much.” The secretary cocked her head. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I am,” she rushed to say.
Mrs. Reeves studied her for a moment. “You appear anxious. Why is that?”
A grin came to Amey’s lips. “Why were you never an agent, Mrs. Reeves?”
“Unlike Kate Warne,” Mrs. Reeves started, smiling, “I was content just being a secretary.”
A lock of blonde hair slipped out of her tight side bun, and Amey tucked it behind her ear. “I’m grateful for all of Kate’s sacrifices,” she said. “Because of her, I was able to become a Pinkerton agent.”
“She was a good woman, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Reeves stated. “Now, back to my original question. Why are you so nervous?”
“Well, what happened was…” Her words trailed off when Mr. Hopkins’s door was wrenched open.
The stone-faced, brawny man, with his black hair slicked back, dressed in a dark blue suit, frowned disapprovingly at her. “Agent Barney,” he said in a gruff tone, “I would like to speak to you.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied as she moved to step into his office.
Mr. Hopkins closed the door behind her and moved to sit down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and proceeded to glower at her.
Amey’s eyes took in the small room, barely large enough to contain the large desk. The walls were white, and no pictures hung from them. There was nothing cheerful about Mr. Hopkins’s office.
Finally, the supervisor leaned forward and picked up some files off his desk. “You have had an exceptionally
