Calista leaned to peer around the doorframe. While she couldn’t exactly see Mr. Seaton, she did get the definite sense of a dark mass in the chair opposite Mr. Pinkerton’s desk. She was paid to be observant, but she’d missed that?
Sorry, she mouthed as she lifted her hat off her bouffant and deposited it next to her bag.
“What I was telling you is that our good friend Mr. Seaton is requesting our help.” This time Mr. Pinkerton’s voice echoed through the office as if he were giving another speech to the Railroad Loss Prevention Board. “Why don’t you join us in my office, Miss York?” He widened his eyes to emphasize the importance of her cooperation.
Bending, Calista swept her hand beneath the desk until her fingers hit cold metal. “You seem to have misplaced your letter opener,” she said and dropped the utensil into his palm as she walked past him.
Jinxy stood when she entered. Two hundred and fifty pounds of sausage and cannelloni stuffed into a striped suit. She dipped her head to avoid a handshake and took a station in the corner behind Mr. Pinkerton’s desk.
Calista had worked undercover for five months. When she applied for the job as a Pinkerton agent, she’d understood there would be danger and intrigue. She’d anticipated that there would be distasteful assignments, or at the very least, ones that required her to don a wardrobe that was particularly loathsome. If she was going to enter Jinxy’s world, she had to prepare herself for even greater indignities. But seeing a wrong righted would always be worth it.
“Miss Calista York has joined our staff since your earlier association with our company.” Mr. Pinkerton pushed his chair to one side so he could view both Calista and his client as Jinxy took a seat. “She is our youngest female operative and has just returned from Emporia, Kansas, where she helped bust a smuggling ring on Mr. Buchanan’s railroad. Before that she was instrumental in obtaining a confession from an embezzler, but she has no experience with kidnappers.”
Calista shot a sideways glance at Pinkerton. Despite her success in her last case, Pinkerton still expressed misgivings over her skills. He thought she was overconfident and naive. Her partners worried that she wasn’t discreet enough. She had to convince them that she could do better if she wanted a permanent spot with the agency.
“I’m not interested in stopping any smuggling or embezzlement,” Jinxy said. “A man’s got to earn a living. All I’m interested in is finding Lila. Just knowing she’s alive . . .” He pulled out a crisp handkerchief and blew into it like a foghorn. “Ever since Florence was killed, we’ve kept an eye on Lila. Somehow even that wasn’t enough.”
“Remind us about Florence. Was your daughter’s killer ever found?” Pinkerton asked.
“No, but my gut tells me the same people took Lila. I didn’t think we’d ever see her again, but now, eight months after she disappeared, someone spotted her six hundred miles away.” Jinxy wadded his handkerchief and shoved it into his vest’s inner pocket. “But who has her? What are they doing with her? She was at a place . . . a place she shouldn’t be. My own flesh and blood being exploited. I can’t bear it.”
Mr. Pinkerton rubbed his brow. “I wish you would reconsider and use one of our male operatives. Mr. Sampson is available, and he’s got a strong record of—”
“Absolutely not. Lila’s barely twenty years old, and just think what she’s been through in the last eight months. The thought of a man going after her . . . absolutely not.” His jowls quivered, and he swung his arm in Calista’s direction. “This gal will do. She looks like a reassuring sort.”
Pinkerton looked anything but reassured. “You say we have a witness who saw her, and with that information, we have every hope that this case will be resolved speedily and your daughter will be returned to you soon, even without the assistance of Mr. Sampson.”
“I sincerely hope so.” Jinxy leaned over the desk, his fists clenched. “Those goons with the union know I helped you. My life and my business have been wrecked since then. At the very least, you can do this for me. If I don’t get my daughter back, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Beneath the veiled threat, Calista sensed a father genuinely concerned about his daughter. She leaned against the wall and studied him. If knowledge of his double-crossing the union had gotten out, that was incentive enough to murder his family. Florence was already one innocent casualty, but it sounded like Lila’s suffering had just begun.
“Do you have a photo?” she asked.
Mr. Pinkerton raised an eyebrow at her interruption but remained silent as Jinxy shoved his hand into his vest and produced a bent photograph. Calista stepped up to the desk as he dropped it in front of them.
“That’s her a year ago. Her mother had that dress made special for the Spring Ball. I couldn’t believe how grown-up she looked.”
Lila was striking, posed as she looked over her shoulder, her thick, dark hair pulled back from her high forehead and arranged like a cloud. And although one had to ignore the hand-tinting on the photograph, the rosy cheeks didn’t seem out of place with her porcelain complexion. Beautiful wasn’t the right word . . . maybe haunting. Haunted. Calista leaned forward for a better look. Yes, there was fear in her eyes.
“Someone saw her?” Calista asked. “They’re sure it was her?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His nose wrinkled as he spat out the words. “It was a brothel in Joplin, Missouri. The House of Lords.”
At the name of the city, Calista’s attention snapped to Mr. Pinkerton. Her Granny Laura lived outside Joplin. Joplin was practically Calista’s second home. Mr. Pinkerton knew that, but his ever-so-slight movement toward his letter opener warned her to keep that information to herself.
Calista backed away from the desk
