Enigma of Lake Falls: Spies of Texas, #1

By Brittany E. Brinegar

★ From the Moment They Met it was Espionage ★

 

Summer, 1949

Haunted by a family scandal, Jenny Nicolay boards a train for a fresh start in Texas. The master of disguise charms her way into the heart of the small town. And the heart of the handsome private eye, Sawyer Finn.

 

But when an encoded message meant for a Russian spy turns Lake Falls upside-down, Sawyer and Jenny embark on a treacherous journey for the truth. In a town with more secrets than people, anyone could be the Russian spy.

 

Can Jenny navigate her growing feelings and crack the code in time? Or will the dangerous pursuit drown her in international espionage?

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Enigma of Lake Falls is the swashbuckling first installment in the Spies of Texas historical mystery series.

Cozy Mystery meets Espionage Adventure. If you enjoy witty banter, quirky towns folk, and unexpected plot twists, this book is for you!

 

Spies of Texas Series Order

• Book 1: Enigma of Lake Falls
• Book 2: Undercover Pursuit
• Book 3: Cloak & Danger
• Book 4: Double Agent
• Book 5: Shadow of Doubt
• Book 6: Ghost of a Chance

 

"If you loved Nancy Drew books growing up you will definitely love this book... Nancy Drew vibes, but the adult version. I highly recommend this book." - Blog Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Britt Lizz Publishing Company
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215181133

Book preview

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Copyright © 2020 Brittany E. Brinegar

Revised © 2024

Cover Design © 2023 Britt Lizz

All rights reserved

BRITT LIZZ PUBLISHING COMPANY

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Created with Atticus

Contents

About the Book

Author’s Note

1.So It Begins

2.Blue-Eyed Mystery

3.Open For Business

4.Double Down

5.The Plant

6.The Kleptomaniac

7.Lightning Strikes Twice

8.Fore!

9.Caught Blood Red-Handed

10.The Gumshoe

11.The Shadow

12.Lost in a Maize of Corn

13.Truth Be Told

14.Missing

15.Fit for a King

16.Suspicious Secrets

17.The Pursuit

18.Covert Meetings

19.Complex Questioning

20.Menger

21.Lying Game

22.Fisticuffs

23.Breadcrumbs

24.Prime Suspect

25.Together Again

26.Save it for the Judge

27.The Past Lies

28.Cracked

29.Unraveled

30.Train Travelin’

31.The Enemy

32.The Waley Barbeque

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Sneak Peek

About the Author

Books by Britt

About the Book

★ From the Moment They Met it was Espionage ★

Summer, 1949

Haunted by a family scandal, Jenny Nicolay boards a train for a fresh start in Texas. The master of disguise charms her way into the heart of the small town. And the heart of the handsome private eye, Sawyer Finn.

But when an encoded message meant for a Russian spy turns Lake Falls upside-down, Sawyer and Jenny embark on a treacherous journey for the truth. In a town with more secrets than people, anyone could be the Russian spy.

Can Jenny navigate her growing feelings and crack the code in time? Or will the dangerous pursuit drown her in international espionage?

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Collect all the books in the Spies of Texas series!

Enigma of Lake Falls

Undercover Pursuit

Cloak & Danger

Double Agent

Shadow of Doubt

Ghost of a Chance

Author’s Note

Who says truancy doesn't pay off?

I made straight A's in high school and never received detention, but the front office required me to attend Saturday school to make up for a little bit of tardiness. I've never been a morning person or punctual for that matter. Not to mention we started school at 7:30! That's the real crime.

The school kept track of my morning miscues and forgot to warn me of the consequences. By the end of the year, we're talking mid-May, they sprung the news. I wouldn't be moving on to eleventh grade. Refer to the first line (I made straight A's). But rules are rules and I missed too much time. No exceptions.

The solution? Extra school of course.

So, I arrived in the technology-free zone to serve my time with the other miscreants. During our brief bathroom break, we compared wrap sheets. Surprisingly, not too many honor students were in attendance.

Armed with a thick book and a notepad, I made the best of my situation. With no homework to work on and all sorts of ideas floating around in my head, I decided to write about a post-WWII Texas town. By the end of the four-hour session, I completed the first several chapters of this book in almost the form you see here… a dozen painstaking edits and many moons later.

I immediately fell in love with the characters and almost wished I was sent to Saturday school a few more times. Maybe not - I had to wake up too early.

Chapter 1

So It Begins

Sawyer

May 1949

Dirt and grass smudges stained my wool uniform, depicting every slide on the bases and every dive in the outfield. Oil and pine tar coated my hands. The smell of a crisp spring day and chirping birds battled with the mood around campus. I gathered my glove and bat, swinging them over my shoulder. A cool breeze brushed my cheeks. Disappointed by the loss in my final career game, I was the last to leave the field. Removing my white and black cap, I wiped my dirty face with a handkerchief.

My longtime buddy Mitchell Turner strolled across home plate. With his hands in the pockets of his letterman, he kicked at the dirt. I guess three consecutive years in the College World Series was too much to ask, ey Cowboy?

I tossed the baseball left-handed to Turner. Unfortunate way to end the season. And my career.

Too bad Poppy wasn’t here, Turner said lobbing the ball high in the sky.

George ‘Poppy’ Bush served as the team captain in ’47 and ’48. I filled the role when he graduated. I slapped the dusty hat on my head and moseyed to the exit. The girl I’d been seeing for a few weeks stood underneath a spreading chestnut tree. She offered a finger wave.

Turner wiggled his eyebrows. Say hello to the beauty Bernadine for me. He saluted and roamed in the opposite direction.

When I rotated to Bernadine, I noticed a sketchy man approaching her. A fedora shielded his features and he wore a trench coat despite the pleasant weather.

I cupped my hands to amplify my voice. Bernadine!

Her gaze lifted from her book and she grinned as she marked her place. With a deliberate motion, I drew her attention to the shady fellow. His shifty eyes met mine and filled with panic. He snatched the purse sitting beside her and bolted. Bernadine screamed. My bat clattered to the ground as I raced after the fellow. Three steps and I was in an all-out sprint. My spikes offered excellent traction as I dashed through the meadow.

The thief glanced over his shoulder, his crooked teeth snarled and he sported a bandaged nose. I pumped my arms as I gained on the thief. He sprinted like a gazelle, but during the autumn I was a third-team All-American fullback. He wouldn't outrun me for long.

He relocated the pursuit from the baseball field to the quad. The campus was empty, putting the time after five. Knowing I closed the gap, the thief cast the handbag aside. While I could have abandoned the chase and returned Bernadine’s purse, I decided to catch the thief and bring him to justice.

My spikes slipped as the metal hit the slick pavement and I nearly lost my balance. The thief dashed across the courtyard, using my falter to increase his lead. I took a shortcut and hurdled over a bench. The couple screamed as I sailed above their heads. I offered a weak apology and kept my gaze on the purse snatcher.

Weaving through the yard I paused the pursuit to rub the golden foot of Theodore Dwight Woolsey - the Bulldogs’ good-luck tradition. The thief made a beeline for Phelps Hall and busted through the arched opening of the castle-like structure. He bounced upstairs with great agility, but I refused to let him escape. I mounted the stairs two by two. He ascended until he reached the door to the roof. I lunged and wrapped my hand around his bony shoulder. He swerved, threw a dirty elbow to my throat, and slammed the door into my nose.

I stumbled backward, disoriented by the blow. My momentum sent me tumbling down a flight. Sitting on the landing, I shook the ache. After catching my breath, I vaulted upstairs and banged through the rooftop entrance.

With my eagle vision, I scanned the horizon. His caramel trench coat flapped in the wind, one building over. I searched for how the fellow landed on the other roof. The gap between Phelps Hall and Welch Hall must have been twelve feet. Surely the thief didn’t risk falling five stories.

As if hearing my inner thoughts, the thief saluted. He assumed he had reached freedom. I set my jaw, determined to wipe away the cocky swagger.

Retreating several steps, I made room for a running start. A quick prayer and a deep breath later I sprinted to the edge and jumped. My arms flailed in the air as I soared toward Welch Hall. I felt sick when I realized my leap might land a little short. I grasped the ledge with no more than a few fingernails. With desperation, I fought for a stronger grip. I secured my left hand as my feet wiggled, in search of a foothold. My right arm slipped and my stomach sank.

What a stupid way to die.

A piece of the brick facing crumbled in my hand a crashed into the sidewalk below with a splat.

Stop panicking and dig deep.

I swung my body closer to the building and gripped the ledge with my right hand. Using every bit of energy I had remaining, I pulled myself to safety and rolled onto the roof. I struggled to my feet and balanced on the slanted shingles of Welch Hall, my spikes digging in more than they should.

The thief’s head spun in surprise as he opened the stairwell door. He expected me to fall to my doom or abandon the chase. I didn’t plan on doing either. Running as fast as I could at the precarious angle, I made my way to the closed door. I yanked on the handle and almost collapsed when it didn’t budge.

That no-good thief locked me out.

With an urgent scan, I searched for an alternate escape. I peeked over the edge at the fourth-story windows, searching for an opening. Sliding down the side, I dangled over the ledge. Resembling a circus performer, I slipped inside the open window. The late afternoon class screamed at my sudden presence. The bowtie professor flashed a perplexed glare. I slunk across the front of the room to the exit.

You there, the professor said in a European timbre. Number twelve, come back here immediately.

I slid to the other end of the waxed hall with the screech of metal spikes and plodded downstairs. Luck was on my side as I spotted the thief strolling the courtyard. Like a jungle cat, I stalked him. When I grew close enough, I pounced. I wrapped him in a textbook tackle and pinned him to the ground. With a knee pressed against his lower back, I waited for campus police to arrive.

He robbed my, uh friend, I said to the head officer. I didn't need to get into specifics with the man regarding whether Bernadine and I were going steady. You'll find the dumped handbag in the quad.

Thanks, Cowboy. I’ll handle it from here, Lazzeri said in his honking Connecticut foghorn. Good work. He nodded his approval and reached for a set of cuffs.

I released my pressure on the thief and jogged to Bernadine. I got him.

This has to stop, she said with her nose in the air. You promised to quit this hero business.

He snatched your purse, I said revealing more of my hometown accent. I attempted to wipe away the dirt plaguing my uniform. I don’t understand why you’re angry with me.

How can you be so calm? She clipped her words like Oscar winner Katherine Hepburn. This delusion you're a cowboy riding in on a white horse is going to get you killed one day.

I ran a hand through my dirty-blond locks. Now probably wasn’t the right time to tell Bernadine about my career change. She assumed I’d start law school in the fall and marrying a lawyer was on her list of superficial requirements.

My chin set into a determined line. I couldn’t play football or baseball, and chase girls at Yale forever. Time to grow up and think about the future. And what I wanted.

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In the days leading to graduation, I weighed the momentous decision. I would never be passionate about a profession as an attorney and catching the purse thief confirmed the thought. I wanted to be a gumshoe.

My plans didn’t mesh with Bernadine and we split. But she still took the news better than my folks, who thought I was bonkers; I suppose I was a little crazy for getting into such a line of work but the best rewards came from taking risks.

I basked in the Texas sunshine, a welcome feeling after four years in the northeast. A brick walkway guided me back in time to my youth. A flood of memories accompanied the stroll. My first steps came on the lawn at eight months. I watched my mother bring home my screaming baby brother from the porch swing. Through the open window, I listened to FDR on the radio as he addressed the nation after Pearl Harbor. That evening, I schemed about joining the Army but at fourteen I still had a baby face. Four years later I said goodbye to my family in the driveway when I left for Yale.

A smile spread, reaching my eyes. And now I was home again.

My father, with his no-nonsense attitude, leaned his broad frame against the pillar. He offered me his rough, workman's hand and slapped me on the shoulder. You look taller. Emotion clouded his baritone.

Charles Finn owned Finn and Sons General Store. During the war, I helped him with the business as we sold bonds and dealt with shortages. The name plastered to the front said it all. My father planned for his three sons to one day run the establishment alongside him. I shattered his dream when I abandoned the family for the big city and attended college in Connecticut. Since I returned, he expected me to jump in and leave any fantasies behind.

My mom, Virginia, wrapped her arms around my neck in a suffocating but loving hug. Welcome home, honey. She taught grade school and everyone adored her. I credited her as the reason I made it to the Ivy League. She loved to read, as her children’s names reflected, and she instilled in me the joy of learning.

Both my parents treasured our little Texas town. They were born in Lake Falls and never intended to leave. My younger brothers shared the same sentiment.

My middle brother, two years my junior, greeted me with a distant handshake. He was named Clemens after Mark Twain’s real name. You’re a Yale graduate now. He scratched his sandy hair. I had four inches on him, putting him around five-foot-ten, but he had a stockier build. Clem planned to manage the family business since diapers and like our father, he enjoyed the work.

Seventeen-year-old Twain rose with a wide grin and a warm welcome. He was tall like me but lanky. With age, he might fill out. Don't let nobody scare you off, big brother. They're all happy to see you. He rubbed at the top of my head. Boy, do I have some stories for you. I've got four years of activities to update you on.

His sea-colored eyes filled with excitement as he regaled about our crazy little town. Twain was destined to serve on the city council before he turned twenty-one. Despite his friendly demeanor, he had a politician’s doublespeak down pat.

Come inside for dinner. Mom hooked my arm as if afraid I might escape. I fixed your favorite.

My folks had plans and intended to talk me out of mine. But small-town life wasn’t my thing. At least I didn't think it was four years ago. But now?

If my time at Yale taught me anything, it was that I enjoyed the law but not as a lawyer. I didn’t want to prosecute or defend, I wanted to solve crimes. I returned to Lake Falls and applied for a private investigator’s license. Funny how the place I was determined to leave four years earlier became the place I missed the most.

My parents were ecstatic to have me back. We exchanged letters while I attended college, but we hadn’t talked in person since the day I left.

My father rubbed his full belly. What’s this PI stuff about? A touch of gray invaded his brown hair and somehow, he seemed smaller.

I thought long and hard Dad, and I realized I want to arrest the criminals, not defend them.

What happened to shelving the conversation until after dessert? My mom gathered our dishes and headed to the kitchen.

My politician little brother leaped to his feet. I’ll help, Ma. You deserve a break.

My dad shook his head. Well Sawyer Finn, PI, I wish you would have figured that out before you wasted four years in college.

Yes, they named me Sawyer Finn. My mom loved to read so with the surname Finn, Sawyer was a logical choice. The name combined two of Mark Twain’s most popular characters, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. I rubbed my square jaw. Parents had a talent for making your name sound like a threat.

My petite mother returned to the table. It wasn’t a waste, Charles. She, unlike my father, hadn’t aged a day. Not a trace of gray touched her blonde locks. After taking the summer off, I'm sure Sawyer will come to his senses.

Don't count on...

I talked to Mr. Holden last week at the store and he praised the University of Texas Law School. You would be closer to home and also receive an excellent education. Then in a few years, you can start your practice or become a prosecutor.

My father twisted to face my mother. Sawyer's wasting his time. I built the store for the boys. 'And Sons' isn't for decoration. You have a mind for this business. You’ve done the college thing. You have a fancy degree. It’s time you joined the real world.

I combed a hand through my slicked dark- blonde hair. I learned how the law works. That’ll be an advantage when I hang up my shingle.

Where are you going to open your agency? my practical father asked.

Right here in Lake Falls, I said.

My mom cleaned off the table with a dish rag. And then in the fall, you can reconsider law school. But for now, I'm happy you are home.

Clem shook his head, disapproving of my plan. What kind of investigating can you do here? We live in Lake Falls. Nothing bad ever happens.

You’re twenty Clem, not forty. I glared at my younger brother. Besides, what do you know about starting a PI business? I did my research. This isn't a whim.

Call me an old man if you want but you know I'm right. The smugness on Clem's face spread. Did you conduct market studies or pull crime statistics?

I shot from my chair. My decision is made. I don’t care how impractical it might sound to you. I hugged my mother and headed for the door. Tell Twain I said goodbye.

I stomped outside and kicked a rock down the street. I adjusted my fedora and debated my next move. I wandered the clean, healthy streets and turned on Main. Our little town recovered from the Depression and prospered after the war.

I stepped across the area we referred to as the Town Circle which consisted of various buildings arranged on a circular block. Located in the center was the courthouse. Is the mayor in?

The woman at the front desk peered over her bifocals. Do you have an appointment?

Yes, the name’s Sawyer Finn.

Go on in Mr. Finn. Mr. Waley is expecting you.

Theodore James Waley the 4th, the richest man in town, controlled Lake Falls. He owned almost every piece of land and building in the city limits. If I planned to open an office going through the old tycoon was a must.

Hello, Mr. Waley. How are you today?

Not bad Half-Pint and you? His thick, gray mustache bobbed as he spoke. I cringed at the nickname my tall frame no longer warranted.

Waley, as most people called him, was in his early sixties. Course gray hair lined the side of his head, and a shiny bald spot glistened in the middle.

I’m good. I tempered my annoyance at the necessity for small talk. How’s your grandson?

He adjusted the oval-shaped glasses perched on his prominent nose. Teddy is great. Thank you for asking.

I learned the best way to get something from a Waley was to butter them up and take an interest in their lives. What is he, twelve now?

Waley beamed. Sure is. He played his first round of golf a week ago. He’s going to be the next Byron Nelson.

After the Waley family bought up the land around the town, they wasted prime acreage on a golf course. Expensive and the first of its kind in our county, most people considered it useless. Only the Waleys and their prosperous friends could afford the indulgence. I would never step foot in their ritzy club.

Do you like golf, Sawyer?

I attempted to hide my surprise. The Waleys had a motto 'Never talk about others when you could talk about yourself' and the mayor was breaking protocol.

I’m more of a baseball or football guy myself.

Really? What team? Yanks?

Red Sox.

You like Joe DiMaggio?

He's with the Yankees. I'm a big Ted Williams fan. The Splendid Splinter.

I’ve never been interested in baseball. Golf is my game. It’s quiet and peaceful.

When Waley got going, it was hard to bring him to a stop. After hearing about his exploits on the links for an exhausting ten minutes, we got down to business. So, what can I do for you, Sawyer?

I’m searching for office space.

A budding entrepreneur. What field are you entering? he asked.

I just received my private investigator's license.

Waley eyed me. Are you sure that’s smart?

Why did people keep asking me that? Didn't Waley want to rent the property? Do you have anything for me?

I think we can find something.

An hour later I left bound to a two-year lease agreement on a one-room office a few blocks away from the Town Circle. It wasn't ideal, but it was a place to start.

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Jenny

For twenty-one years, I called Boston, Massachusetts home, and aside from vacations, I’d never been away from the city for more than a week. I glanced around the packed train and my gaze dropped to the bag at my feet. Along with the trunk in baggage, I traveled with all my worldly possessions. This time I didn’t plan on returning.

I watched the other passengers as I twirled a silver dollar between my knuckles. During the previous leg of the trip, I entertained a pair of six-year-old children for close to three hours with my endless supply of coin tricks. Their parents were more than happy to have them quiet and in awe of the disappearing and reappearing silver dollar.

My survey landed on a family of four. I overheard their plans to see California. My jealousy didn’t lack merit. As a young girl, I lost my mother and I barely remembered her. I didn’t have any siblings, so I spent most of my time with my father. A pain formed in my chest at the prospect of leaving home, but I couldn’t stay any longer. That much was clear.

Two rows back an elderly man in a crisp suit perused the society pages of the Boston Herald. My face graced the cover with a scandalous headline. The reporter didn’t care about the truth, only selling copies with the best bait. I tugged my wide-brimmed hat lower. The last thing I needed was to be recognized as that Nicolay girl from Beantown.

The conductor dropped by once again, checking to make sure everyone belonged. Enjoying the ride? he asked as he marked off my ticket.

With a British accent, I said, Indeed. It’s been ages since I thoroughly enjoyed traveling.

The man dipped his chin and went on to the next passenger. I wasn’t from England, nor did I speak with a brogue. I closed my eyelids and remembered the games my father and I played when we traveled. Adopting a unique persona was my favorite game as a child. But it felt odd to playact alone. Or perhaps I finally realized it was more than a game.

I shook the painful memory and focused on a more enjoyable task – dissembling my charm bracelet. Just when I thought the dust settled, my college beau informed me we were no longer an item via a letter. And in true petty form, he asked for the bracelet he gifted me to be returned.

He wasn’t the only one who could be petty. I quite enjoyed sending the bracelet back, one charm at a time. I dropped the tiny ballet flat into an envelope and addressed it to Les. The guy never really knew me if he thought I liked the ballet.

Tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind my ear, I resumed my reading. My mind traveled through time as I heard swinging jazz music and pictured people dancing the Charleston. I flipped the frail yellow pages I read many times before. While The Great Gatsby wasn’t my favorite book, it ranked near the top of my list.

I need a cup of coffee, the foul, demanding man said from a neighboring seat. For the last four hours, he did nothing but complain and yell at his wife. The woman’s head bobbed but her eyes never left her shoes. My observation techniques were as sharp as ever. From the moment I saw Mr. Hanson and his frightened wife, I pegged him as trouble.

I placed the book atop my bag and decided to stretch my legs. I smoothed the pleats of my springtime blue dress and adjusted the wide, V-neck collar. The heel of my new white pump silently followed Mr. Hanson to the dining car. Something about him gave me an uneasy feeling. He toddled to the coffee pot and poured the strong brew into a cup the size of a vat. He held the mug as he leaned against the wall.

After several minutes, Mr. Hanson had yet to drink the coffee in his hands. He scanned the crowd as if waiting to meet someone. Then it hit me. His beady gaze canvassed the passengers in search of a mark. The lowlife thief flinched when he found a suitable target. He rubbed his thin neck with a grimy mitt. His squint focused on an older gentleman with an affluent air about him. The older man wore a flawless, tailored suit and a shiny, gold watch protruded from his breast pocket.

Mr. Hanson revealed gapped teeth as he sneered. He narrowed the distance and bumped the man's shoulder as they passed. With quick fingers, Mr. Hanson reached into the older man's jacket and pinched his billfold.

I rolled my eyes at Mr. Hanson’s amateur attempt. His sloppiness was sure to land him in bracelets. The train didn’t have a scheduled stop until Austin, three hours away, giving the older man plenty of time to notice his missing wallet.

But what if Mr. Hanson got away with the pickpocketing? I sighed, knowing I must intervene. I poured myself a cup of the steaming brew and formulated a plan. Mr. Hanson fingered the pilfered billfold, growing more fidgety by the moment. He elbowed through the narrow aisle to return to his seat.

I hung back a few moments, sipping my coffee. Unlike Mr. Hanson, I wasn't an amateur and knew how to keep a low profile. I gave him a sufficient head start before following. As I crept closer, I spotted his blonde rug peeking above his headrest. Once in striking distance, I made a spectacle of tripping and spilling the remaining contents of my coffee on Mr. Hanson.

You fool. His face reddened and his fist balled like he wanted to clock me.

Oh, my stars, I said in a Georgia accent. What have I done? I am such a klutz.

Mrs. Hanson emitted a whimper. Oh, no.

I retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed Mr. Hanson’s blazer. I’ll have this stain out in no time, Mister. My great aunt Stacy has a remedy she just swears by. I never leave the house without it. As I blotted with my left hand, I nabbed the stolen billfold with my right.

Scram. You're making it worse. Mr. Hanson shoved me away.

I stumbled to my seat and dropped the wallet in the aisle.

Watch it, Bud, a man with glasses said. The little lady apologized.

Yeah, yeah. Mr. Hanson removed his blazer and marched to the next car.

When he was out of sight, I pointed to the billfold. Oh no, he lost his wallet. I am too clumsy for my own good. I buried my head in my hands.

I’ll give it back to my husband, Mrs. Hanson whispered. She turned it over and twisted her head to the side as she stroked the unfamiliar monogram.

Is that not your husband’s? My question echoed loud enough to draw glances from the other passengers. I'm sure I saw it fall from his pocket.

The man with glasses edged closer. Why’s he got some other guy’s wallet?

It’s a mistake, the wife's voice cracked.

Maybe some kind of mix-up or somethin’, I offered.

The man with glasses snatched the wallet. I bet anything your husband lifted this off another passenger. I knew the guy was trouble.

He said he was through with this stuff. The wife spoke so softly only I could hear.

A knot formed in my stomach. Publicly outing the situation and causing the poor woman embarrassment wasn’t the best way to return the billfold to its rightful owner. Then again, I couldn’t let Mr. Hanson get away with robbing other travelers. I did the right thing.

I patted Mrs. Hanson’s shoulder. Everything will be fine. I froze, something striking me as odd. The necklace dangling from Mrs. Hanson’s neck belonged to a passenger who exited the train during the previous stop.

Your pendant is lovely ma’am.

Her hand gravitated to the stolen item. Thank you. The harshness in the clipped words startled me.

The man with glasses returned with the conductor and handed over the wallet. It belongs to a guy named Hester. The man in that seat stole it. He pointed next to Mrs. Hanson.

That's a serious accusation, the conductor said.

While they sorted through yesterday's news, I turned my attention to the accomplice. In a matter of minutes, her meek demeanor shifted. Her gaze cut to her open handbag filled with gold jewelry.

Mrs. Hanson caught me staring and sprung. She drew a knife and wrapped me in a stronghold.

What’s going on? the glasses man asked. He enjoyed the drama but didn’t want to participate in the action.

Passengers scrambled for the safety of another car, clearing out and leaving me to fend for myself.

What's the plan, Mrs. Hanson?

​The cold steel of her knife pressed into my neck. Quiet. I'm thinking.

I realize that requires a great deal of effort on your part. The sharp edge dug into my skin. How did I get myself into such trouble? I just had to pickpocket a thief.

Mrs. Hanson tensed as the conductor closed the gap. Don't come any closer or the girl gets it.

And to think, I felt sorry for bringing embarrassment to the plump woman.

Despite my racing heart, I stuck with my southern accent. If I didn’t, the others might imagine I was somehow involved with the Hansons. Honey, I'm not sure why you’re taking me hostage, but this surely can’t be your best option.

Shut up. She held me tighter.

My jaw twitched. How did I not see through her quiet, abused wife disguise? As of now, you and your husband are only guilty of a harmless little robbery. But taking me hostage, hijacking a train, makes it a federal crime. And if you kill anyone, it bumps this whole thing to murder, a-hangin' offense here in Texas.

What are you rambling about? she asked.

I'm giving you some advice, I said. My daddy’s a lawyer.

My father taught economics at Harvard University. But I read my fair share of detective stories and studied enough court cases to fake it with the dimwit holding a dagger to my throat.

Her eyes widened as the railroad police booked it from the dining car. "It’s too late;