contractions or slang. The letters weren’t written with a heavy hand, either. Which means the person didn’t have to think too hard before writing the words or struggle to keep up as someone dictated them.”
A flash of admiration filled his gray eyes, but only for a moment. “That is rather impressive. However, it doesn’t tell us who the culprit is.”
“Or does it?” Maggy muttered to herself as she peered harder at one of the last notes in the pile. The curves on the capital B in Brit seemed vaguely familiar. “May I see your library notebook?”
She glanced up to find Edward watching her in confusion. “Whatever for?”
“Testing a theory.”
Rising to his feet once more, he collected the book and brought it over to her. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”
“Which is precisely why I am the detective and you are the rancher.” Maggy opened the notebook to the page she’d surveyed earlier. Carefully she reread each name, then compared it to the handwriting on the note. Sure enough, her theory proved correct when she reached the most recently penned name.
“Ah-ha,” she exclaimed with a surge of victory as she glanced at Edward. “I found one of our potential suspects.” Which was one more than the last operative had discovered. She’d won Edward’s little challenge, which meant he would have to hire her as his new detective.
Snatching the book from her, Edward shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“Look, here.” She bent forward to show him the handwriting on the note and how it corresponded to the name in the book. “This one has a curve in the B like the one in Bertram there.”
Another of the names was written in handwriting she was sure she’d seen on one of the other notes. She sifted through them again until she found it. “Here’s another. This note has the same flourish on the W as it does on the name...” She leaned forward and read the notebook upside down. “Right there—the name Winchester.” Now they had two suspects! “Who are these men?”
The furrow in Edward’s brow increased as he handed back the book. “They are both wealthy ranchers who live in the area.”
She nearly blurted out that she’d been right—the culprits were educated—but she clamped her teeth over the remark as she saw the color drain from Edward’s face. She’d had plenty of practice keeping her thoughts to herself—she wouldn’t do well at undercover work if she told the criminals how absurdly dim they were to brag about their exploits in front of her persona as a harmless-looking scullery maid or a mousy store clerk. But holding her tongue for the purpose of sparing someone’s feelings was new, and she wondered why she didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Especially given that he hadn’t believed she could sniff out any clues at all.
Edward stood and began to pace the rug in front of the sofa, his expression one of consternation and confusion. “I can’t understand it. I dine with these men nearly every week at the Sheridan Inn. They’ve visited me here and I’ve been to their homes. Why would they sabotage me?”
That was still another matter to solve—motive. Though she didn’t share his surprise that the attacks came from those he considered friends. She’d seen too much of mankind’s duplicity to be shocked by it anymore. “It makes more sense that a fellow rancher would be behind all of this havoc rather than a lone wrangler or cowboy. What more can you tell me about these men?”
Pocketing his hands, Edward frowned further. “They’ve done well for themselves, though their spreads aren’t nearly as large as the Running W. Winchester is married and his wife belongs to that little club in town.”
“Little club?” Maggy sat up straighter. The niggling of an idea had started to form inside her mind, though it wasn’t fleshed out and ready to present itself yet. “What sort of club?”
Edward waved his hand dismissively. “All of the ranchers’ wives belong. They get together for their teas and tête-à-têtes and head up a number of society functions in Sheridan, as well.”
“Do you have to be married to a rancher to join their club?”
He didn’t slow his pacing. “I believe so, yes. That or engaged.”
“And their husbands?” she asked. “Do they gather socially, as well?”
Edward nodded. “Nearly all of the ranchers attend weekly dinners at the inn. Sometimes it’s with their wives. Other times it’s only the men.”
“Perfect.” She slapped the chair arms for emphasis. Things were definitely looking up for this investigation—and for restoring the Pinkerton name with Edward. “Now we know where to concentrate our efforts.”
“What do you mean?”
Maggy stood, ready for some tea after all. It would be tepid by now but could still serve as an honorary toast to her first successful hour on the ranch.
“You already know two of these men and you attend the same social events they do. Since there’s a strong likelihood others in their social group are involved in this plot against your ranch, you need to become better acquainted with all of the well-to-do ranchers in the area.” She bent and lifted her teacup from off the low table. “You need to know their closest friends, enemies, ambitions, fears.”
He threw her a perturbed look. “And what will you be doing while I am ingratiating myself?” His tone still rang sharp and full of frustration.
“I’m working on that,” she reassured him as she took a sip.
“Boss?” a voice called from the hallway.
Edward turned toward the sound. “In here, McCall.”
A man with a handsome face and curly black hair poking out from underneath his hat strode into the parlor. “Some of the boys just learned about that detective pretending to be a wrangler. They’re worried that since he didn’t find the culprit...” He broke off when he saw Maggy. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t ’spect you to have company. Especially not feminine company.” Removing his hat, he nodded politely at Maggy. She inclined her head in return.
She was beginning to get a picture of Edward Kent, and it didn’t include the man having numerous female visitors. He was handsome, she conceded, and fairly affable. But clearly his ranch, his horses and perhaps his staff were all his heart had room for. She couldn’t help wondering why.
“This is West McCall, my ranch foreman.” Edward collected his cup and poured himself some more tea. He was stalling, which meant he was either grappling with how to introduce her or reluctant to reveal to the man that she was a detective. Perhaps both. “McCall, I’d like you to meet...” He took a swallow of tea, his gaze darting to Maggy’s in a silent plea for assistance.
His unexpected show of confidence in her abilities to come up with a solid cover story brought her earlier idea forward at last, in full form. “I’m Maggy. Edward’s fiancée,” she finished with a triumphant smile. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
Turning toward him, Maggy only had a moment to register the shock in Edward’s gray eyes before his mouthful of tea came spewing out—all over her.
