Secrets and Lies

Fourteen

It didn't take them long to return to her father's townhouse. Banks, and Phelps were also there, and they—along with her father—waited for them in the dining room. Father's cook had prepared a scrumptious dinner of roast duck and red potatoes. Nicole's stomach grumbled from the Heavenly aroma filling the room.

"Are we waiting for Cartwright?" she asked Mr. Banks.

"Good Heavens, Nicole," Gordon whined. "Don't you ever listen to assignments? Cartwright went to Staten Island to the Conrail office there."

Silently, she scolded herself. She hadn't heard that, but it was probably because she was daydreaming about Ashton. She really needed to get a handle on that. She couldn't have him distracting her worse than she already was.

She and Gordon hurried up to their rooms to change clothes before dinner. Although she was hungry, she wouldn't feel right eating until she was wearing a much cleaner dress that wasn't falling apart. Once finished, she scampered downstairs, almost unlady-like, and rushed into the dining room.

They all sat around the dining table. Everyone, even Gordon, looked at her when she entered. Her father arched a bushy brown eyebrow at her.

"My dear? Is there a fire somewhere?"

She took a deep sniff, but only smelled dinner. "I don't detect any smoke. Why?"

The others around the table snickered, but her father didn't crack a smile. "Because you were running in here so fast, I thought you were coming in to warn us of a fire somewhere in the house."

She rolled her eyes and walked to her chair. The men stood and Mr. Banks pulled out the chair for her. As soon as she sat, her father motioned for the servants to start bringing in their meal. When the servants finally left and closed the doors, her father cleared his throat, unfolded a linen cloth and laid it on his lap.

"Let's discuss what we discovered today." He switched his gaze between Gordon and Nicole. "Did you find out anything during your train ride?"

"Not one thing, Father," Gordon answered.

Nicole was grateful for her brother speaking because she was too busy stuffing her mouth with food. She didn't feel the need to respond, anyway. Her answers would be the same as her brother's.

Her father glanced at Mr. Banks. "Did you find anything?"

He shook his head and rested his arms on his rotund belly. "I checked with the police about how much money had been taken. Apparently, all of it had been taken. In each robbery there was close to one-thousand dollars. The monies were kept in an unmarked metal box. The box itself was not flashy or stood out in any way, so why would anyone want to take it—or did the thief already know it was there?" He scratched his balding head. "The more I learn about this, the more I think that we're dealing with someone who is working from the inside. Robberies that are this planned out are rare. We are definitely dealing with an expert."

"Forgive me, but that doesn't make much sense," Nicole said as all eyes turned on her. "How would someone working for the railroad know what was in these metal boxes? Did someone from the government tell them that money was being transported to the south?"

Mr. Banks shrugged. "From what I've gathered, these metal boxes were the same as what the government used during the war when they shipped money to the Union."

"So then the person who robbed the trains during the war is probably the person who is doing it now," Nicole said precisely.

"That is my thought too." Mr. Banks nodded.

Her father tapped his finger to his chin. "I'm thinking that as well. When I was at Conrail's main office asking questions this morning, one of the co-owners was suspiciously absent. Apparently, he'd been there, but nobody knew where he was or when he'd return. The other two owners are still in the Staten Island office. One of the workers said that although they all knew about the robberies, none of the three co-owners have talked directly to them to explain what is going on."

"That is strange," Gordon mentioned before taking a bite of his potatoes.

"Mrs. Phelps?" her father asked, looking at the older woman. "What did you discover?"

She took a sip of her red wine before answering. "Because I have a friend who works at one of New York's main banks, I had him check to see if any of the three owners of Conrail Railroad have recently acquired large sums of money in their accounts lately. It appears that Mr. Ashton Lee is the only one who has had a great deal of money deposited into his account within the last two months."

Nicole's stomach twisted, and the food on her plate suddenly became unappetizing. The roasted duck still in her mouth lost all of its taste. Even her mouth refused to eat another bite.

No, not Ashton! But she did recall him mentioning the night of the ball, that he had purchased a home in Staten Island. So if he had money to buy things like that, why didn't his partners have that money as well? Or, if they did, were they hiding it from him?

"Did you check the accounts of the other two owners?" Nicole asked the other woman quickly.

Mrs. Phelps gave her a nod. "Of course. This is why Mr. Lee's account looked abnormal—because he had more money than Mr. Larson and Mr. Nickerson."

Nicole shook her head, slowly at first, but faster the more she thought about all of this. "No, something must be wrong. Mr. Lee can't be making more than the others. It doesn't make sense."

"Nicole," her father said in his parental tone that set her on edge.

Inwardly, she cringed. She should have known she couldn't keep secrets from him. He was one of the best spies in the world. She couldn't hide anything.

"Yes, Father?" She sneaked a peek at him. Gone was his agent character, and in its place was her judgmental—but caring—father.

He patted the linen napkin on his mouth. "Do you know Mr. Ashton Lee, by chance?"

She swallowed the lump of fear lodged in her throat. "Yes, I have met him."

He had started to lower his hand back to the table, but it stilled in mid-air. "Where, may I ask?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "A week ago, at the masked ball I attended at General Babcock's house."

Her father's mouth straightened into a solid line and his jaw hardened. Finally, his hand dropped to the table, but still grasped the napkin. "How well do you know Mr. Lee?"

Oh, Heavens! She couldn't tell him that. If he knew that she had been friends with him all this time without saying anything, he'd be very disappointed in her. "Uh, we danced a few dances. We talked a little." We kissed a little more... "And then I saw him again in town the next day when I was shopping with Cousin Emily."

When her father started tapping his fingers on the table, she knew he was upset. It didn't matter that his expression didn't show it. There were some things she just knew. Just like she knew the sun would rise tomorrow...and that her father would forbid her from seeing Ashton again.

"Did he give you the impression he wanted to court you?"

From across the table, her brother shifted in his chair and she quickly glanced his way. Big mistake! He wore a sneer that would irritate even the most patient person. His eyes were wide with surprise, yet the smirk on his face was growing by the second.

She put her attention back on her father. "Yes, he did, actually," she answered softly.

"Are you sweet on him as well?" he asked.

She dropped her gaze to her plate of food, not really seeing anything. She shrugged. "I thought he was a pleasant man to converse with."

Across the table, Gordon snorted, but not loudly. She wanted to throw him a glare but didn't dare. The woman doth protest too much, he'd told her in the railcar. If she let him know how upset he made her, she was certain he'd throw it in her face again.

Silence stretched around the dining room for several awkward moments. She didn't want to look up to see if everyone was staring at her.

When a deep sigh rattled from her father, she dared sneak a glance his way. Surprisingly, he didn't look as mad as he had a few minutes ago.

"Then if you know him," he began in a stern voice, "I think you should be the one to talk to him and spy on him."

"I thought Mr. Banks was going to do that," she said quickly, and with entirely too much excitement in her voice.

Her father moved his focus to the middle-aged man. "George, I think you would agree with me on this, that Mr. Lee would feel more comfortable if Nicole were to ask him questions—vaguely, of course—better than he would if you asked him questions."

Shock vibrated through Nicole so suddenly it caught in her throat and made her choke. Quickly, she cleared and throat and studied her father. He was serious! She didn't see that coming at all.

Mr. Banks bobbed his head before taking a sip of his wine. "You are quite right, Conrad. The man would be too suspicious if a stranger poked his nose into his business, but since Nicole is already acquainted with him, I believe he will open up and trust her more quickly than a stranger."

She couldn't be hearing right. Yet, what they said did make sense.

Excitement beat inside her chest and threatened to jump up her throat and out of her mouth. She quickly took a sip of her drink before it could do that very thing.

"Starting tomorrow, Nicole," her father continued, "I want you to visit him in his office and get to know the man a little better. We need answers, and soon. If you feel Mr. Ashton Lee should not be a suspect, then I expect you to find the proof of his innocence."

"I will," she said, almost too fast.

Although she was anxious to see him again, she now worried that she might mess up this case in some way. After all, she couldn't act like the love-stricken woman he met—and kissed—last week. Now she must put on another, more professional charade and become a Secret Agent.

This would not be easy!