Sadie's Secret: 3 (The Secret Lives of Will Tucker) Read Free Page A

much as you will be when your father’s letter arrives.” He shrugged. “It’s likely waiting for you back at the hotel.”
    She let out a long breath. A missive from home was indeed overdue. Her father generally penned something abrasive and loving in equal measure and sent it within hours of her departure. Oddly, she’d been here almost a week and heard nothing from him or Mama.
    Neither had any of her brothers pestered her, be it with telegrams or calls. Thus, she expected a Callum man to jump out from behind a tree trunk or other hiding place at any moment to announce his deep concern for her welfare.
    Or to demand she accompany him back home where she belonged. A statement that rarely produced the desired effect.
    She centered her concentration back on Uncle Penn. “Then perhaps you would be doing me a service in preparing me for whatever Daddy’s planning to lecture me on this time.”
    “I ought to. Really I should.”
    He looked away as the lakeside breeze ruffled the ends of his graying hair. Once a redhead, his diminishing crown of glory, as he called his ginger curls, was fading and retreating faster than the Confederates at Pea Ridge. Only once had he made the statement in front of Daddy.
    “No,” he finally said, “I’ll allow for the fact that Seamus Callum somehow came to his senses between the writing of my telegram and the sending of your letter.” Steely eyes met her gaze. “And I’ll leave it at that. Now, humor an old man and allow me to put you into a hansom cab. I’ll not have you walking alone no matter the training you have, understand?”
    He punctuated the statement with a wink that made it impossible for Sadie to argue. He kissed her on the cheek and then helped her into the cab. “Virginia Hotel, Ladies’ Entrance,” he told the driver. “We will meet again for dinner, yes?” he asked Sadie.
    “Yes, Uncle,” she said as she settled back for the short ride to Rush Street.
    After paying the cabbie, Sadie cast a careful glance in all directions and then went inside. Striding down the gilded hall as quickly as she could manage and still project some air of respectability, she set her sights on the far end of the passageway. Stepping past the white marble statue of Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii, she passed the guest elevators to stand at the broad semicircle of black marble that was the reception desk.
    A few moments later, a packet of letters in hand, Sadie made her way up to her room with much less assurance, much less haste. For in the packet, addressed in the bold handwriting of her father, was a letter to Sarah Louise Callum.
    The name he called her when no other name would suffice to contain his ire. Or, on far too many occasions, his disappointment.
    Rather than wait, Sadie deposited the letters on the desk and settled herself in front of them. A woman of the world, she was, and a Pinkerton agent besides.
    Sadie reminded herself of both things as she reached for her father’s envelope. And yet as she tore open the seal and pulled out a single page of vellum purchased by Mama at the best stationers in New Orleans, her heart pounded as if she was a little child.
    Home, he demanded. A word. A sentence. A threat.
    Home.
    He’d written other things. Something about a photograph in the New Orleans Picayune that was causing a stir. A postscript to request she report her travel itinerary forthwith.
    She would have to ask Henry if he knew what sort of fuss Daddy meant. If the tempest was bigger than a teapot, it would be heard and reported back to Henry Smith, especially if it involved one of his agents.
    More likely, her mother had read of some distant relation’s wedding and decided it was time for Sadie to come back and find a husband.
    Yes, that was it. Mama and her matrimonial machinations were most likely behind the letter. But Sadie had no husband in mind, nor did she intend to find one, not while she still had plenty to occupy her time. Mama would just have to wait, and