Keeper of the Secrets Part 2
Chapter 1
Autumn, 1879
Jarrod was exhausted when he finally unlocked the door to his place in San Francisco. It was beginning to get dark outside, and since his house faced north, it was already dark inside. He lit a lamp on a table inside the front door, then closed and locked the door.
With a big sigh, he put his hat on the table, then came in and lit three more lamps in the living room. His home looked fine, if a little dusty. He'd talk to his part-time housekeeper – who was only here when he was - about becoming full time. He wandered to the small bar in the corner and poured himself a scotch before he plopped down into the armchair next to the fireplace. He thought about building a fire and then decided not to. It wasn't that cold in here. God, he was tired but he was still feeling more like he wanted to go out and get some dinner than stay in – and he'd have to because there wasn't any food in the house anyway.
A knock at the door surprised him. He got up and went to it, and opened it.
A tall, thin man stood there. "Mr. Barkley," he said.
Jarrod knew him. His contact with Pinkerton. He opened the door wider and said, "Come on in, Davis."
"I was surprised to hear you were moving in here for good," Davis said.
Jarrod ushered the man into his living room and asked him to sit down. "I think it was inevitable at some point. Now is as good a time as any. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you," the man said, sitting down on the sofa.
Jarrod planted himself back into the armchair next to the fireplace. "I take it from the look on your face that you haven't come up with anything more."
The man shook his head. "We've dug into every newspaper we can think of, every bank record we could find. Everything leads to dead ends, both in the past and in the present. Agatha Cromwell seems to have existed from October of 1872 to 1877. From June 1873 to June 1876 she was married to Alexander Carpenter. He died and she reverted to Cromwell until 1877. Then Agatha Cromwell disappeared, together with all her assets. We haven't been able to track down a name change, a marriage, a bank record trail or anything at all to explain where she went."
Jarrod nodded, mostly to himself. Agatha Cromwell appeared long enough to marry Alexander Carpenter and then disappeared. She could have been married to someone else before Carpenter, but clearly, she changed her name and everything about her after Melanie Palmer was arrested. "Did you ever uncover a photo of her?" Jarrod asked.
Davis shook his head. "Not even a wedding photo from a society page."
"How about her husband, Carpenter? Have you traced any of his family?"
"Apparently none left. He was married before Agatha, but widowed. One son who died young. Two brothers, unmarried, died in the war. No sisters, no extended family."
Jarrod felt his neck crawl. "How did he die?"
His visitor caught on to what he was thinking. "He drowned. Supposedly fell off a pier down off the waterfront. No witnesses, just a body that floated up."
"Inquest?"
"It was deemed an accident. I talked to the officer who investigated. He seemed to be suspicious but didn't have any evidence to change the finding."
"But he thought Agatha."
"He thought suicide, maybe had something to do with Agatha, maybe not."
Jarrod scratched the late day growth of beard that was itching the underside of his chin. "So, we have a potential black widow who likes to hire contract killers. What a lovely lady."
"She may have left San Francisco," Davis said.
"But you haven't uncovered any train or boat tickets."
"Not even a donkey rental."
Jarrod chuckled in spite of himself. "No connection to the Barkley family for her or her husband?"
"None we could find. What do you want us to do, Mr. Barkley? We've really run out of avenues to explore."
Jarrod thought, and then said, "Cut back, but keep your ears open, just in case. If I get wind of anything or if anybody comes after me or my family, I'll be in touch again."
Davis nodded and got up. "I'm sorry we couldn't come up with anything more for you. The lady is slick."
"The lady's no lady," Jarrod said as he stood, saw Davis to the front door, and shook his hand good-bye.
The man left and Jarrod closed the door behind him. For a few moments he wondered what to do next. He couldn't go hunting the woman himself – she'd know him, and it would be far too easy for her to have him killed if she knew he was snooping into her whereabouts.
Jarrod wandered back to his chair and his scotch, thinking. He couldn't just let this slide. All signs were that Agatha Cromwell, whoever she was, wouldn't be put off by her failures thus far to kill a Barkley brother. She'd just hire someone else to go after one of them, or his mother or sister.
Jarrod came to an unhappy conclusion. He was going to have to call in a favor from someone who owed him a big one, someone new to this investigation, someone who could get into records and other information that even Pinkerton had trouble getting into.
He finished his scotch, went to the telegraph office and fired off a wire, then went to his club for dinner and one more scotch to help him have a better night's sleep than he thought he might have. Tomorrow was going to bring all his other San Francisco work back to the forefront, and it was going to bring, just maybe, word from the man who owed him that big favor.
He sighed again, this time at how complicated his life had become, and how every one of these complications were secrets he had to keep from his family. He felt incredibly alone – he was alone, but that was his choice. He reminded himself again that it was a wise choice, at least for now.
"Will there be anything else, Mr. Barkley?"
Jarrod looked up at the waiter, then around at the other men eating and drinking at his club. He didn't know any of them. "No, I guess not, Michael," he said.
The waiter left his tab, and Jarrod signed it.
"Say, Michael," Jarrod said as he gave the bill back.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'm going to be around a lot more. I've moved to San Francisco permanently."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Barkley. We always enjoy having you here."
Jarrod smiled. "Thanks. Could you do me one big favor?"
"I will certainly try."
"That supply of scotch from Scotland you keep for me – can you see they triple it? I have a feeling I'm going to be needing it."
Michael smiled. "We certainly will, Mr. Barkley."
"And will you make sure that when I'm here, I don't overdo it? Make sure everybody cuts me off at two or three, depending on how I look. I don't ever want to go staggering out the front door and making a spectacle of myself."
"We'll take care of you, Mr. Barkley."
Jarrod got up and slapped the man cordially on the left arm. "You're a lifesaver, Michael. Have a good evening."