Clementine Read Free Page B

down to their very bones. The ship tore against the ground, and the men’s bodies were battered in their seats; the dust and earth scraped into the engines, into the burned cargo bay, and into the bridge; and in another minute more, the unnamed ship ground itself to a stop while the so-called Clementine staggered across the sky towards Kansas City.

MARIA ISABELLA BOYD
    2
    Maria Isabella Boyd had never had a job like this one, though she told herself that detective work wasn’t really so different from spying. It was all the same sort of thing, wasn’t it? Passing information from the people who concealed it to the people who desired it. This was courier work of a dangerous kind, but she was frankly desperate. She was nearly forty years old and two husbands down—one dead, one divorced—and the Confederacy had rejected her offers of further service. Twenty years of helpful secret-stealing had made her a notorious woman, entirely too well known for further espionage work; and the subsequent acting career hadn’t done anything to lower her profile. For that matter, one of her husbands had come from the Union navy—and even her old friend General Jackson confessed that her loyalties appeared questionable.
    The accusation stung. The exhaustion of her widow’s inheritance and the infidelity of her second spouse stung also. The quiet withdrawal of her military pension was further indignity, and the career prospects for a woman her age were slim and mostly unsavory.
    So when the Pinkerton National Detective Agency made her an offer, Maria was grateful—even if she was none too thrilled about relocating to the shores of Lake Michigan.
    But money in Chicago was better than poverty in Virginia. She accepted the position, moved what few belongings she cared enough to keep into a small apartment above a laundry, and reported to Allan Pinkerton in his wood-and-glass office on the east side of the city.
    The elderly Scotsman gave her a glance when she cleared her throat to announce that she stood in his doorway. Her eyes were level with the painted glass window that announced his name and position, and her hand lingered on the knob until he told her, “Come in, Mrs.…well, I’m not sure what it is, these days. How many men’s names have you worn?”
    “Only three,” she said. “Including my father’s—and that’s the one I was born with. If it throws you that much, call me Miss Boyd and don’t worry with the rest. Just don’t call me ‘Belle.’”
    “Only three, and no one calls you Belle. I can live with that, unless you’re here to sniff about for a new set of rings.”
    “You offering?” she asked.
    “Not on your life. I’d sooner sleep in a sack full of snakes.”
    “Then I’ll cross you off my list.”
    He set his pen aside and templed his fingers under the fluffy, angular muttonchops that framed his jawline like a slipped halo. His eyebrows were magnificent in their wildness and volume, and his cheeks were deeply cut with laugh lines, which struck Maria as strange. She honestly couldn’t imagine that the sharp, dour man behind the desk had ever cracked a smile.
    “Mr. Pinkerton,” she began.
    “Yes, that’s what you’ll call me . I’m glad we’ve gotten that squared away, and there are a few other things that need to be out in the open, don’t you think?”
    “I do think that maybe—”
    “Good. I’m glad we agree. And I think we can likewise agree that circumstances must be strange indeed to find us under the same roof, neither of us spying on anyone. This having been said, as one former secret-slinger to another, it’s a bit of a curiosity and even, I’d go so far as to admit, a little bit of an honor to find you standing here.”
    “Likewise, I’m sure.” And although he hadn’t yet invited her to take a seat, Maria took one anyway and adjusted her skirts to make the sitting easier. The size of her dress made the move a noisy operation but she didn’t apologize and he didn’t stop