Page 33 of Heart on the Line

“I’m here for you, Grace,” he vowed. “Whatever you need.”

Tiny frown lines sprouted across her brow. “What I need is an unbiased opinion of Mr. Dunbar and his motives.” She tugged her hand free, then sat at the desk and fiddled with the edge of the telegraph machine.

Amos returned to the blue-striped chair and perched on the edge. “I’m not sure how unbiased my opinion is,” he admitted, since he despised the far-too-handsome Pinkerton, “but I can promise to evaluate everything about him with a healthy dose of skepticism.” She finally turned to look at him, and Amos leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees as he spoke. “I would never tell you what you should do with your father’s books, Grace, but Dunbar’s timing in showing up here makes me wary.”

She said nothing, just held his gaze. For once, he was the one who looked away first.

“I caught him in a lie.” Her soft voice floated to him. Amos jerked his attention back to her face, which gave little indication of what she might be thinking.

“Did you confront him?” He hoped not. If the Pinkerton had a hidden agenda, Grace needed any advantage available to get the upper hand.

Thankfully, she shook her head. “No. And I think I hid my reaction well enough that he didn’t suspect anything.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was harder to evade his direct questions about the location of the documents. I told him truthfully that I hadn’t been able to find them yet in my father’s belongings. He mentioned the books. Said his informant among the Pinkertons at the Silver Serpent Mine let it slip that two books had gone missing from the library at Haversham House.”

Amos straightened. “He admitted to knowing Chaucer Haversham? But earlier he acted as if he’d known nothing about Haversham discovering your whereabouts.”

“I know.” She sighed and turned back to the telegraph, outlining the rectangular base with her finger. “That was the lie I caught him in. I just can’t discern the intent behind it. Was he simply trying to spare me worry, not realizing that I already knew of Haversham’s discovery? Or is his duplicity a symptom of a more serious problem?”

She blew out a breath, pushed back from the desk, and twisted in her chair to stare into the empty space above the customer counter. “I can’t trust him with the books. Not yet, at least. When he asked about them, I told him I had packed them away and left them with a trusted friend. When I refused to give him the name of the friend, he encouraged me to wire that person and ask her to ship them to me.” Grace turned to face him, her eyes dark and fretful. “That’s when I left and came here. It was the perfect excuse—leave him to assume I’m wiring my friend.”

“Without realizing that your friend is just a few steps away at the bank.” Amos smiled. “Quick thinking. You probably bought yourself at least a couple days. Dunbar couldn’t expect a shipment to arrive any sooner than that.”

Grace’s gaze dodged past him through the doorway to her private chambers then returned to his face. “The books are at the bank, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They’re safe. Locked up tight.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

The depth of gratitude she packed into those two small words made his heart swell to what felt like twice its normal size. What he wouldn’t give to slay all her dragons so easily.

Silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it reverberated with the tension of a complicated situation that had no clear solution. If they could figure out Dunbar’s true motives, they could decide how to proceed, but until they ferreted out the truth, they remained in limbo.

“I have two days to find Father’s documents.” Her tone didn’t instill much confidence. “But with Mr. Dunbar hanging around town, I can’t risk taking the books out of the vault.” Her mouth quirked with irony. “It’s rather hard to find something if you can’t look in the place where it’s hidden.”

Amos smacked his knee with his palm and shot to his feet, determination humming in his veins. He would not allow her to be defeated by this situation. “Then we’ll just have to tackle this problem another way.”

The office chair creaked as Grace craned her neck to follow his movements. “What are you thinking?”

He paced over to the counter, then pivoted, leaning back against the half wall. “If we can’t investigate the documents, we’ll just have to investigate the man who intends to claim them.”

“Mr. Dunbar? But what is there to investigate? His credentials are legitimate.” Her brow furrowed, but it seemed to be more in thought than confusion. “Malachi and I telegraphed the Pinkerton office in Philadelphia the morning after I received the warning over the wire. Detective Whitmore confirmed that he’s had the same man working my case since he received my father’s communication all those months ago, one Elliott Dunbar. Mr. Whitmore assured us that he could be trusted. Said Dunbar was as honorable as they come.”

“Yet your gut says otherwise, doesn’t it?” Amos gently prodded.

Grace gave a jerky little nod. “I just wish I had evidence one way or the other. To either verify that he is the honorable man Whitmore claims or to prove he’s been corrupted somehow. That Haversham got to him. Paid him off, threatened his family, something. But I have no proof on either side.”

“Not yet,” Amos conceded, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t start gathering the information you need to decide if he’s trustworthy.”

Interest lit Grace’s eyes. “What kind of information?”

“Anything. Everything.” Amos pushed away from the wall. He crossed the floor in five strides then sat on the corner of her desk. “We don’t take anything for granted. We question everything, including Whitmore’s testimony. If Dunbar has been working this case for nearly a year, Whitmore hasn’t seen him in quite some time. It’s possible Dunbar’s no longer the man Whitmore knew.”

“Not the man Whitmore knew . . .” Grace shot forward in her seat. She reached for the telegraph sounder, opened the circuit, and began tapping.

Amos translated the sounds as she set up a wired path to the telegraph office at the Pinkerton agency in Philadelphia. Once connected, she asked for Whitmore. The operator on the other end responded that the detective was not available, so Grace turned her attention directly to her cohort on the other side. A male operator, by the sound of his touch on the key, slightly heavier than Grace’s, and a little faster. Almost . . . regimented, like a soldier marching to battle.

Have you ever met Detective Dunbar?

Yes.