The Harvey Girl Mystery - Part 2
Harvey Girl LINKS: Prologue, Part #1
Quick Recap: In NYC in 1891, a young socialite awakes to find her father missing. But is he? The police claim he left town suddenly for Kansas City. Our spunky heroin (whom the writer hasn't named yet - shame, shame) goes off in search of dear old dad by becoming a Harvey Girl. (They're waitresses at Harvey Houses along the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railway line.) Traveling there, she meets a hunky Pinkerton Man. He's full of advice and sparks fly.
Author’s Note: If you only have time for a quick read, just scan through and read the bold parts. Trying something new here. :)
"Stop looking for those scoundrels," the Pinkerton Man repeated, a growl to his deep baritone.
I did not immediately respond, counting the clicks of the train tracks as we rolled over them. They beat. Their beat. To the beat. Of my heart. The rhythmic pace soothed part of my frayed nerves. Stalling my answer, however, only made the infuriating man frown as if I didn't understand his order. His brow wrinkled, and he scratched his chin. Perhaps he had an itch, or his morning shave had irritated his skin, but I worried it had to do with me. He seemed to be waiting for a response.
When none came, he leaned closer, filling the slight space between us with his large, muscular frame. "Their names are Sullivan and Tuck." He nodded as if the names should mean something to me. "They are the worse sort and will rob you of your coin without you knowing. Worse, perhaps, as they zero in on the helpless and infirm—the easy targets, if you will. They have no morals and will take no pity on a girl. Do you take my meaning? Smile if you understand. Frown, if you're just the senseless, silly sort."
I punched him in the arm. It hurt like heck, and I feared all the knuckles on my right hand would turn into a purple bruise, but I ignored the pain. He'd never see the truth of it. Instead, he sat back and chuckled.
"Finally," he said, with far more humor than a gentleman would typically show in polite company, "we have a sign of life. I was certain I'd scared it out of you."
"I want no trouble with a Pinkerton Man," I told him.
"You have none," he replied evenly, until his left eyebrow arched, "unless you've fallen fowl of one of my brothers."
I recognized teasing and gave him a withering look. He winked.
"I'll have none of that. I don't care who you are," I practically shouted. I'd have moved to other seats if he wasn't such a big brute, but his bulk blocked the way. I'd never get past him without brushing his legs with my skirts—something a lady would never do unless she wanted to draw a man's attention.
"Which Harvey House have you been posted to?" he asked, continuing his unwelcome interrogation.
"Kansas City."
He considered the location, I assumed, grunting a bit, mulling it over. "The first one."
"So they tell me." I looked out the window. The flat, sun-bleached land rolled by at a calming pace. In the distance, a lush tree line fronted the mountain peaks beyond. Imagining a lake and a sweeping glen, I wondered how many had traveled this way and if one had been my father. He often spoke of how grand it felt to see for miles and miles until the ground melted into the horizon. The city buildings blocked such views. They were only possible if someone had the time or inclination to travel to the edge of town. I never took the journey, but Father had a strong wanderlust.
"Kansas City is still a rough town," the Pinkerton Man continued.
"What is your name, sir?" Suddenly, I turned to him, cutting through some useless information about the Hannibal bridge and how its construction had boosted Kansas City's population.
"Fin Morgan." He smiled, showing off a handsome smirk.
At least he has all his teeth, I thought. That's one good thing about him, although I could not find another.
"Don't let me keep you, Mister Morgan," I overenunciated his last name. It was a little annoyance of mine when it was used against me. It always made me feel as if the speaker doubted the quality of my hearing. I hoped it would offend the Pinkerton Man, as well. It didn't.
He smiled again, which was quickly becoming my new annoyance. "And whom do I have the honor of meeting?" He paused, waiting for me to supply my name.
"Willa Abbot, but you won't need my name," I said, catching a flicker of recognition for my last name. "My time will be taxed, I assure you; thus, Kansas City shall see little of me except for what comes through the Harvey House."
"Almost everyone comes through the Harvey House." He smiled again. "I expect they will come regularly once they get sight of you."
My eyes jerked in his direction. For the first time, I really looked at him. He was either teasing, flirting, or some hybrid of the two. None were welcome. He took my stare, unflinching.
"Sir," I said severely, "please refrain from such comments. I have not come West for the likes of you."
"What have you come for?" He winked.
I considered not answering, as the man was infuriating, but he covered a lot of distance. He might help my search for Father if only for the very fact of hastening my return home—not that it should matter to him.
"My father is missing." I let the stunning information sink in, pleased he took the news with more care than anything else I'd mentioned. "My thoughts are only of him and word of his whereabouts."
He nodded, clearly running through all the steps I would have taken to reach this point. To his credit, he did not do the obvious and belittle my concern. "I see."
Unsure of what he could envision since I'd told him the bare minimum, I turned back toward the window. The move was intended as a cue for him to leave me. He did not.
"If you believe your father is somehow in the company of Sullivan and Tuck, I assure you that could not be the case." He stroked his chin in thought. "They are more likely to take his money and disappear."
"Thank you, I will take all your counsel to heart and bid you safe travels." It was my turn to smile sweetly.
He frowned. "You are finished with me then? I should move along?"
"I would never say so to your face." My stare froze on a point just to the left of his head.
"I believe you just did." He leaned back in the seat, pleased with himself. "I'd stay a bit longer, Miss Abbot, if you can manage the intrusion."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." I also relaxed in my seat, unwilling to give him the upper hand.
We watched each other warily. I wondered what he saw. For my part, I couldn't overlook the fullness of his lips. They pouted for a brief moment, but our stare-off was interrupted.
A noise behind me made Fin jump up and rush down the aisle. I turned, marveling at his speed and agility. He moved like a lean panther, all power and strength. Without a second thought, I rushed after him.
Heads turned, shouts warned. I did not stop, even when we entered the dining car, and a plate of meatloaf crashed into the wall. It smelled delicious. I did get a look at the wild face of the Pinkerton Man's pursuit. All flushed with red splotches, red mustache askew, and the bluest of eyes. Fear shivered in those depths. The desperate man stumbled, causing Fin to slow down and assess his prey. Every one of his glorious muscles went taunt, but the wild man spun to the side and dashed toward the front of the train,
I worried for the conductor or even the car that held an office for the train staff. Could they be the target of this awful rogue?
The chase ended in the baggage car. The conductor must have heard the commotion and locked the sliding door at the far end, for it did not open though the screeching man tugged and pulled at the handle.
"You be going no farther," Fin said. "Stand down."
I also held up, sure that neither man knew I'd followed behind. If possible, they never would. I had every intention of retreating—but the wild man pulled a knife.
Fin raised his hands, well within range of the deadly blade.
Without thinking, I grabbed a shoe-sized package stacked on top of a crate and threw it at the knife. To my surprise, it hit the wild man's hand. The knife fell to the ground, and Fin surged forward, taking his assailant down. The impact caused several wallets to fall from his jacket. I could only assume he was a pickpocket.
Fin briefly glared in my direction as I backed out of the baggage car. Train employees rushed by, taking the man into custody. I went back to the first-class lounge, looking for Charles Gibson. He'd found another lady to dazzle with his sketches, and here I was, thinking I was special. He would have made a nice buffer between me and the Pinkerton Man.
Just as I was considering a safe place to hide, a firm finger tapped my shoulder. I cringed, surprised that Fin had caught up to me so fast. Bent on a scolding, I guessed, but I was wrong.
A cockney accent behind me sounded older and gruff. It whispered near my ear, "I can take you to your father, Miss."
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Ohhh well that's a way to end an chapter!! 👀