Parlor Games: A Novel Part 7

Dougherty reached into a large envelope and pulled out a parchment of thick stock. He eased it across the table. "A sample certificate. For your inspection."

Claude slid the sheet toward me and brushed his fingertips over the embossed emblem at its top.

"Certificate of Purchase, 100 shares of Hull Copper Company," the t.i.tle read. Below that a paragraph began with "The bearer of these shares ..." I took in the paragraph about share ownership and surveyed the bottom of the page, which contained two signature lines, a blank one for the bearer and another signed with flourish by a Theodore X. Hull and dated that very day, June 16, 1888.

Dougherty leaned back in his chair. "All very legitimate in appearance, as you can see."

Claude nodded. "Yes, and will we be meeting the ill.u.s.trious Mr. Hull?"

"There is no Mr. Hull. Nor is there a Hull Copper Company." Dougherty folded his hands on the table and pitched forward. His gaze slid over Claude before coming to rest on me. "It's just the three of us."

"Can you tell us a bit more, Mr. Dougherty," I asked, meeting his steadfast eye, "about how you propose we proceed?" Experience had taught me that his looks demonstrated more than a mere interest in my potential as a business partner.

"First I want to know that you are both with me on this. That I can count on your discretion and cooperation."

Claude shot me a what-do-you-say glance. I signaled him with the slightest of nods. He turned back to Dougherty. "Yes."

Dougherty looked to me, angling his eyebrows questioningly.

"You can count on my discretion," I said.

Dougherty drummed his fingers on the table. "You understand that what I propose is not exactly legal? But that it stands to yield handsomely?"

Claude brushed his palms together. "And can you a.s.sure us we won't be apprehended, Mr. Dougherty?"

Dougherty concentrated his brow. "I have thought this through down to the minutest detail. If you are willing to act quickly and decisively, we will all come out the richer. I propose a three-way split, after expenses."

Claude dipped his head and slapped his hand on the table, as heady as a poker player showing a royal flush. "Very well, then."

Dougherty drew his torso up stiff and straight, like a cat considering a pounce. "Are you both still with me?"

I took his exacting requests for confirmation as evidence of the gravity and also the momentous opportunity of his proposal. Not wanting to tarry or disappoint Claude, I said, "Yes, Mr. Dougherty, we have both said we are with you."

"Fine, fine. Then let me introduce our a.s.sistants." Dougherty rose, marched to the door behind him, and opened it slightly. "Ladies, would you kindly join us?"

In waltzed Rose and Sadie from Carrie Watson's house.

Dougherty said, "Miss Davidson, I believe you are acquainted with Miss Thomas and Miss Chesnick."

"How nice to see you," I said, nodding to each of them, "Rose, Sadie." The sight of these two did not please me. After leaving Carrie Watson's, I'd avoided any contact with the girls. Why Dougherty should bring them into this matter was beyond me.

Dougherty kept his eyes trained on me. "You know them from your employment at Carrie Watson's, correct? You once resided there, didn't you?"

"Mr. Dougherty," I said, summoning my firmest voice. "Are we here to do business with you, or do you have something else in mind?"

"I only wish to understand the nature of your acquaintance with Miss Thomas and Miss Chesnick."

"I don't see what that has to do with the matter before us."

Dougherty turned to Rose and Sadie. "Miss Davidson was at one time a resident of Carrie Watson's, was she not?"

Rose glanced at me and crossed her arms. "Most certainly. And the favorite of quite a few gentlemen."

At that, Dougherty called over his shoulder, "Mr. Andrews, you may come in now."

The rear door to the room swung open, and Dale and his father burst into the room, whereupon all h.e.l.l broke loose.

MATTERS OF THE HEART.

CHICAGO-JUNE 1888

Pinkerton detective Reed Dougherty had a roomful of people to answer to that night at Fitzgerald and Moy's: my loving fiance, Dale, trying to get close enough to punch him; Dale's father, staving him off; Rose and Sadie, beholding the scene with devilish amus.e.m.e.nt; and a puzzled Claude, shooting questioning looks at everyone.

Dale leaned toward Dougherty, stiffened his arms, and knotted his hands into tight fists. "What's the meaning of this? How dare you treat a lady so rudely."

Dougherty stood and faced Dale, c.o.c.king his head attentively. "I beg your pardon, sir. But it's better the truth comes out before rather than after you've been hornswoggled."

Dale flared his nostrils. "What truth? How do I know you haven't paid these ladies?"

"She greeted them by name," said Dougherty. "She betrayed herself."

Claude, slapping his palms on the table, asked Dougherty, "What's going on here?"

Dougherty held a palm up toward Claude. "Patience, please, Mr. Montcrief."

Dale's father tightened his grip on Dale's arm and tugged him away from Dougherty. "Son, calm yourself."

Dougherty turned to Rose and Sadie, who stood in the corner giggling and flouncing their skirts like tattling schoolgirls. "We don't need to detain you ladies any longer."

Although I suspect they would have been thrilled to stay and observe the hoopla, they shuffled up to Dougherty. Rose offered him her hand. "I trust we'll see you soon, Mr. Dougherty."

"Yes, of course, Miss Thomas. Good evening, ladies."

Rose and Sadie sauntered toward the door, and as they exited Rose tossed me a smug leer.

Dale maneuvered close to Dougherty again, sloughing off his father's grip. "You'll see them soon? Are you in cahoots with them?"

Dale's father put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Son, it's not just that."

"What is it, then, Father?"

"She agreed to sell fake stock certificates. You heard her."

Claude jumped up out of his chair and shook a finger at Dougherty. "You sneaking b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you tricked me. You used me."

Dougherty jiggled his head, as if to chastise. "Please, Mr. Montcrief, there's no call for that."

Claude pounded a fist on the table. "If you dare to arrest me, you'll have Miss Watson to answer to."

"Don't worry," said Dougherty, "I intend you no harm. You are free to leave."

"Completely free?" Claude asked, his face etched in disbelief.

"Nothing more need be said of your involvement in this matter."

Claude leaned over and said to me, "I'm sorry, Pauline," and hurried out of the room.

Dale yanked away from his father's hold and said, "Can't you stay out of my affairs?"

All this time I'd been observing the commotion and sizing up the situation. Dale's father had obviously hired Dougherty to upend our engagement. But, worst of all, I faced the threat of being charged with selling fake certificates. I deduced that extricating myself from this predicament required that I first concede the engagement. Taking in a deep breath to still my pounding heart, I rose and directed my remarks to Dougherty and the elder Mr. Andrews. "Gentlemen, I understand you wish Dale to break off our engagement. Out of respect and consideration for him, I will allow him to do so."

Dale rushed to my side and clutched my hand. "No, Pauline."

"Dale, this pains me, too. I'm truly sorry." I turned to go, but Dale only gripped my hand tighter.

Mr. Andrews stepped toward Dale. "Let her go, son."

Dale glared at his father.

"Dale," I said, "you must release me."

He let go of my hand. I kissed him on the cheek, nodded to Dougherty and Mr. Andrews, and departed, holding my head high and concentrating on taking smooth, even steps.

The next morning, I sent a message to Mr. Andrews at the bank, requesting a two o'clock meeting with him to discuss the urgent matter of his son's reputation.

Right on schedule, Mr. Andrews appeared at the Palmer House meeting room I had reserved-a green-and-gold-wallpapered room with no windows, a twenty-foot-long conference table, and plush swiveling chairs.

The coffee service I'd ordered awaited us in a silver pot. I poured two cups and invited him to join me at the table.

He took a seat across the corner of the table from me and pushed his chair back, as if to keep a safe distance. "Miss Davidson, I am a busy man. I trust this won't take long."

"I a.s.sure you, sir, I, too, would rather be elsewhere."

He took a sip of coffee, replaced the cup in its saucer, and shoved his coffee away. "What is this about my son's reputation?"

I stirred my coffee, studying how the rich cream swirled into the brew and turned it a caramel color. "Did it ever occur to you that in ruining my reputation you have jeopardized his as well?"

"Marrying you wouldn't exactly enhance his position."

"Doesn't honor make any provision for a young lady trying to turn honest and respectable?"

"It certainly makes no provision for dealing in fake stocks."

"That is not the question." I brought the coffee cup to my lips and tipped some of the warm liquid into my mouth.

"Then what is?" He leaned forward. I detected a quiver in his jowls. "I'll not be threatened by you."

"Naturally, there will be questions about why Dale and I have broken off."

"So you are threatening me."

I cupped my hands together over my breastbone. "I am merely asking you to consider this: You have caused your son to breach his promise of marriage. One moment I am happily engaged, and the next ..."

Mr. Andrews's cheeks reddened. "Tell me what you want and let's get this over with."

"I would like twenty thousand dollars and a.s.surances that you and your detective will say nothing of what happened last night."

"Or what, Miss Davidson?" He scrunched his thick eyebrows together.

"Or I will let it be known exactly why the engagement broke off. And where your son met his fiancee." Of course Dale and I had actually met at Melody and Melissa's, but I divined that intimating we had met at Carrie Watson's would compel him to quickly accede to my request.

He looked down his nose at me and tightened his expression into a glare. Did he fail to grasp the seriousness of his circ.u.mstances?

Lowering my voice to a discreet murmur, I said, "I should prefer to spare all of us the publicity of a breach-of-promise lawsuit."

He squinted his eyes at me like a judge considering a plea. "And if I give you twenty thousand dollars, will you a.s.sure me that'll be the end of the matter?"

"Yes."

He stared at me as if he wished I would disappear. Abruptly he grabbed his hat off the table. "Very well, come by my office tomorrow afternoon, at one-fifteen. No earlier and no later. I will arrange for Dale to be out then."

"Fine, at one-fifteen."

He rose, headed for the door, and swung his girth around. "And you will agree to have no further contact with Dale."

"That is understood, sir."

He shook his hat at me. "If you fail to keep any part of this agreement, you'll very much regret it."

"I have every intention of honoring our agreement, Mr. Andrews."

But it wasn't Mr. Andrews I found in his office the next day. Detective Reed Dougherty sat at his desk, looking for all the world as if he owned it-his slender frame sunken into Mr. Andrews's oversized leather chair and a leg splayed over his knee. Like a chameleon, he'd switched his attire to that of a businessman: He sported a steel-gray suit, matching vest with mother-of-pearl b.u.t.tons, and a black necktie with a perfectly symmetrical knot. His presence made me wonder: Could Mr. Andrews be balking at our deal? Surely he wouldn't risk a lawsuit, to say nothing of a scandal, merely to see me charged with some trumped-up crime.

"Miss Davidson, we meet again," Dougherty said, not even rising to greet me. "Please, have a seat."

"Mr. Dougherty," I said, "a pleasure, I'm sure."