Secrets and Lies

Eighteen

Nicole strolled with Mrs. Phelps along Stone Street as they did some shopping. It hadn't been a whole day since Nicole had seen Ashton, and she had the uncontrollable urge to drop by his office again. This time she didn't dare visit him while Angela was with her. It wasn't that she was afraid to do something wrong in front of Angela, but the older woman had always treated Nicole like a daughter, and she didn't want that motherly advice she knew Mrs. Phelps liked to throw Nicole's way every so often.

She felt a little more settled with their plans for the dinner party since Angela had contacted her friend who worked at the hotel and set them up a room. Nicole and Mrs. Phelps would wait in the lobby when Ashton's friends came to get her for their social. Everything would appear just as it should.

Mrs. Phelps insisted on going into the milliner's shop. Nicole loved to collect beautiful gowns, but Angela loved to collect hats. In Nicole's opinion, women shouldn't have to wear hats. She loved her hair and wanted it long and flowing over her shoulders instead of tucked away in a coil at the back of her head, or hiding underneath an awful hat. She thought Angela had pretty, brown hair and should show it off a little more, but the older woman wouldn't think of such a thing.

Just as they stepped toward the door, a middle-aged woman exited. She was busy tying the ribbons of her hat under her chin and didn't see Angela until almost bumping into her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I—" The woman's eyes widened. "Mrs. Phelps! What a pleasure to see you. How long has it been?"

Angela grinned. "At least six months." She clasped the other lady's hand in a friendly greeting.

The woman's gaze moved to Nicole and stopped. "And who is this lovely creature?"

"This is Miss Bastian. I work with her father."

Nicole tried not to look startled at Angela's comment, only because she wasn't sure what exactly the other woman knew about their profession.

"Miss Bastian," Angela said, looking at Nicole, "this is Miss Merriweather. I have known her for years." She switched her gaze to the woman. "Margaret, this is Nicole Bastian."

"How very nice to meet you." She patted Nicole's hand.

"And you, as well." Nicole smiled.

"Don't you think Mrs. Phelps is a remarkable woman?" Mrs. Merriweather beamed. "I have never known a woman who could do what this one does."

"Oh, yes." Nicole nodded, still not knowing how much to say. "She is stupendous."

"Now, now..." Angela waved her hand in the air. "Enough boasting about my accomplishments. I'm sure they are overrated."

Nicole chuckled. Not often did she see this side of the Secret Agent.

"So tell me, Margaret," Angela lowered her voice, "have you heard anything lately about Conrail's train robberies? There are so many rumors, I just don't know what to believe."

Holding her breath, Nicole kept herself from overreacting. Angela must have told Mrs. Merriweather something about her secret life. Why else would she ask such a question?

"Actually, yes," she whispered and leaned closer. "Rumor has it that the thief was spotted during their last robbery, and the guards were able to get a better description of him."

Nicole gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Why hadn't the agents heard this yet?

"Do tell," Angela urged.

"Apparently, he's a tall, strappingly handsome man with dark brown hair. Rumor has it that he's young, too."

"How young?" Nicole whispered, not really wanting to hear this, especially if it pointed to Ashton.

"Probably in his late twenties or even early thirties." Mrs. Merriweather nodded. "I've heard he dresses like a gentleman, too."

A throb began to pound in Nicole's forehead. Too many similarities that made Ashton a prime suspect. Then again, she didn't know if she should trust this woman or not. However, by Angela's wide-eyed expression, she seemed to believe her.

"I don't think the police have given such a perfect description of the robber. How remarkable," Angela muttered.

"Isn't it though?" Margaret shook her head.

"Well, I thank you for clearing that up for me." Angela folded her hands across her large bosom. "I just hope the police are looking for the right person now."

"I pray that as well." Mrs. Merriweather smiled. "I better be on my way now. I hope to see you again soon." She turned her attention to Nicole. "And it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise, I'm sure." Nicole watched the other woman waddle down the street before she turned to Angela and scowled. "What exactly does Mrs. Merriweather think you do?"

Chuckling, Angela shook her head. "My sweet girl, there are some of us who were spies during the war, you know." She nodded in the direction Mrs. Merriweather was walking. "She was a spy during the war. She's not one now because she remarried after her husband died, and she is just fine with her role as his wife."

"Oh," Nicole breathed a sigh of relief. "So do we believe her about the thief's description?"

Angela arched an eyebrow. "Margaret is one of the biggest busybodies I know, so if she says that's the rumor...I believe her."

Inwardly, Nicole groaned. She really didn't want to hear that.

"And I know you're thinking what I'm thinking," Angela said softly as she touched Nicole's hand. "You are thinking this points to Mr. Lee, aren't you?"

"Yes." She sighed heavily. "I still don't believe he did it, though, but I have no proof."

"What is telling you this, my dear girl? Is it your head—or your heart?"

Nicole shrugged and tried to smile. "I wish I knew the difference between the two."

"You will when the time comes."

Angela stepped toward the millinery's shop and Nicole grudgingly followed. As the other woman chatted with the milliner, Nicole slowly wandered through the shop, but wasn't really looking at anything. Not when her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions.

Her chest grew heavy with worry, yet her mind argued that they still haven't found any solid proof that Ashton was involved with the train robberies. The extra money in his bank account didn't mean anything...and neither did this description going around town.

What she needed was hard, physical proof, and somehow, some way, she needed to get it. But how? She'd be at his house for a dinner party in a few days, yet how could she sneak around without everyone knowing? The fact was, she couldn't. She needed her brother or father—or even Mrs. Phelps—to do the sneaking while she was keeping Ashton and his guests entertained.

Nicole moved to the window and leaned against the pane as she stared out into the busy street. Sighing, she frowned. Now, what kind of proof could they search for in Ashton's house? He wasn't stupid enough to keep the stolen money lying around, so looking for that is out of the question. And if he were involved, he wouldn't be doing this alone. He'd definitely need help, so perhaps he has some correspondence in his study somewhere. Maybe even in his room. Possibly, but she for sure wasn't going to convince him to take her to his room just so she could look. No, her brother would be better at doing that.

Although...did she want her brother in the same house where she and Ashton were? Especially when she practically melted every time that sensual man looked at her with his desire-laden hazel eyes?

She quickly shook herself out of the stupor she'd been falling in, and concentrated harder on her plans. So, Gordon would just have to stay away from the house that night. Mrs. Phelps could do it—or the other two agents could as well. They wouldn't be watching her every move and hearing her every sigh like her brother would.

"All right, Miss Bastian, I'm ready now." Mrs. Phelps bustled past her and to the door.

Nicole followed right behind. When they were out on the street once more, she said, "I think I have a plan for the night of Ashton's dinner party."

Angela's footsteps slowed and she watched her with curious eyes. "What kind of plan?" she spoke in a low voice.

"I was thinking that while I'm being entertained by Mr. Lee and his friends, that you or one of the other agents could sneak around in Mr. Lee's bedroom. I'm not sure just how close his study is from where we'll be dining, but if it's not close, someone could look there, too."

"What exactly should we be looking for?"

Nicole explained to her friend that if Ashton were involved, he wouldn't be alone. Naturally, there would be some kind of letters back and forth about the plans to rob the train. Mrs. Phelps nodded as her smile widened.

"Splendid idea, Nicole. I believe that is something your brother could do."

Groaning, she shook her head. "I don't know if I want my brother there."

"And why not? He's as quiet as a mouse, you know. He'll be able to get in and out without anyone hearing."

Nicole blew out an aspirated breath. "Yes, you have a point. I just hope he worries more about searching for evidence than trying to keep an eye on me." She tilted her head, looking sideways at Angela. "You don't know how bothersome he can be when he plays the big brother part."

"Now, now." Angela patted Nicole's arm. "You shouldn't think such a way. He loves you and he would give his life for you—just as you would for him. Just be glad you have a brother. I wish mine was still alive."

Frowning, Nicole shook her head. "I'd forgotten. He died during the war, didn't he?"

"He did."

Sometimes Nicole wished she would think before speaking. The war took a lot of loved-ones away. Indeed, even her own father and brother could have been taken if they hadn't been working for President Grant.

"But back to the subject," Angela continued, "I think it's a brilliant plan, and I honestly believe Gordon is the right man for the job."

"All right then, I'll ask him tonight. Will you be coming to supper?"

"Of course. Banks and Cartwright will be there as well. We'll all be sharing our report." She winked at Nicole. "And you will have the best report yet, I'm sure."

"Perhaps," she said without conviction.

"Look. There is the St. Denis hotel. Let's go inside and see if Mr. Lee's dinner invitation has arrived yet."

For the first time today, Nicole had energy in her legs as she practically ran a race with Mrs. Phelps to the hotel...and got there first. Of course, she allowed the older woman to go to the front desk first.

"Good day," Mrs. Phelps greeted the clerk. "Did Miss Bastian get any mail today?"

"Let me check." The older man turned toward the boxes on the wall until he found a letter. "Oh, here it is." He handed it to Mrs. Phelps.

"Thank you, sir."

Casually, she turned and started walking back out of the hotel. It was all Nicole could do to keep calm instead of yanking it out of the other woman's hand. Once they stepped outside, Angela gave it to Nicole.

Her heart hammered so fast, she thought she'd faint. Breathing slowly, she calmed herself enough to open the letter.

My dearest Nicole, I hope this letter finds you well. As previously discussed, I will have a dinner party on Thursday of this week, starting at seven o'clock. There has been a slight change of plans, and instead of Mr. Larson and his wife picking you up, Mr. Nickerson and his companion will be your escorts. I look forward to seeing you again. With my deepest regard, Ashton Lee.

His deep, soothing voice rang in her ears as she read, and her body filled with warmth. She really did enjoy feeling this way, and sincerely hoped it would continue—as long as they didn't find him to be the thief.

"What a kind man he is," Mrs. Phelps whispered from over Nicole's shoulder.

She jumped and turned her gaze on the other woman. "Did you read it?"

Angela grinned. "But of course."

"I truly hope he's not the person responsible for these train robberies," she muttered more to herself than anything, but Angela heard and nodded.

"I can see how infatuated you are with him, so for your sake, I pray you're right and that he isn't involved in any way. But dearie," she touched Nicole's shoulder, "please guard your heart, just in case. Feeling the pain of heartache is not an enjoyable feeling."

Nicole frowned and glanced down the street, trying to keep her eyes off the forlorn expression of the other woman. If luck were truly on Nicole's side, she would never have to feel that kind of pain.