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Calico Spy (Undercover Ladies)

By Margaret Brownley

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Calico, Kansas

1880

Katie Madison tied the black satin ribbon at her neckline and frowned. The lopsided bow wouldn’t do. She yanked the ribbon loose and tried again. Today she was all thumbs and everything that could go wrong, did. Already she’d broken a shoelace, snagged a stocking, and torn the hem of her dress.
Just as she finished tying the bow for the third time the bedroom door flew open and her roommate’s brunette head popped inside. “Katie! Hurry or you’ll be late.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying.”
Mary-Lou’s green eyes narrowed and her southern drawl grew more pronounced. “Pickens has a burr in his saddle. Said if you don’t hurry he’ll have your head!”
Katie’s stomach knotted. She was already in trouble with the restaurant manager. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“A minute might be too late.” The door slammed shut, and Mary-Lou’s footsteps echoed down the hall as she yelled for the other Harvey girls to hurry. “Y’all better hurry now, you hear?”
Katie whirled about for one last look in the mirror and hardly recognized the image reflected back. The black dress with its high-collar, starched white apron, black shoes and stockings made her look more like a nun than one of Pinkerton’s most successful female detectives.
Even her unruly red hair had been forced to conform to Fred Harvey’s strict regulations. Parted in the middle, it was pulled back in a knot and fashioned with the mandatory net. The rigid hairdo did nothing for her, appearance-wise. All it did was make her eyes look too big and her freckles stand out like brown polka dots.
Wrinkling her nose, she turned away from the mirror. It’s a good thing she’d chosen to be a detective as she had neither the looks nor housekeeping skills needed for landing a husband.
Not that she was complaining; two Harvey girls had been found dead and it was her job to find the killer. The assignment of a lifetime had landed in her lap.
Working undercover was never easy, but so far this particular disguise was proving to be the hardest one yet, even harder than last year’s job as a circus performer. At least here she didn’t have to hobnob with lions, and for that she was grateful. All she had to deal with now was a possibly deranged killer.
Pausing at the door, she checked that her leg holster and gun were secured beneath her skirt. The pocket seams had been ripped open for easy retrieval. Hand on the doorknob she braced herself with a quick prayer. God knows, she needed all the help she could get.
Leaving the room, she raced along the hall and sped down the stairs. Just as she reached the bottom tread the heel of her shoe caught on the runner. Arms and legs flailing she hit the floor facedown and the wind whooshed out of her like juice from a squashed tomato.
Momentarily stunned, she didn’t move. Not till noticing the polished black shoes planted in front of her did she gather her wits. Looking up, she groaned.
The manager, Mr. Pickens, glared down at her, hands on his waist. A large, imposing man, he looked about to pop the buttons on his overworked vest. Judging by his red face and quivering mustache, his patience was equally tested.
“Miss Madison. You’re late!”
Her mouth fell open. Was that all he cared about? No concern for her welfare? No thought that she had injured herself?
“Well, are you going to lie there all night?”
“No, sir.” She scrambled to her feet and smoothed her apron.
His eyebrows dipped into a V. “Shoulders straight, head back, and for the love of Henry, smile! I want to see some choppers.” He spread his thin lips to demonstrate but did a better impersonation of a growling dog than a friendly waitress. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Choppers.”
“Tonight you’re the drink girl. Do you think you can handle that?”
Plastering a smile on her face, she nodded. How hard could it be to pour tea?
He gave her a dubious look that did nothing for her self-confidence. “We’ll soon see. Follow me.”
He led her to the formal dining room where tables were already set for the supper crowd. The room was decorated in shades of brown and tan. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the railroad tracks. Beyond, fields of tall grass and wildflowers spread a colorful counterpane beneath a copper sky.
The restaurant was shorthanded, and she had been handed a uniform the moment she stepped off the morning train. After that she hardly had time to catch her breath. So many rules and regulations to remember. No notepads or pencils were allowed. That meant she was expected to memorize the menu. She was also instructed to radiate good cheer to even the most difficult of patrons.
Her chances of lasting through the night didn’t look promising, and that was a worry. The investigation depended on her keeping her job as a waitress. No one at the restaurant knew her legal name or real purpose for being there. As far as anyone knew, she was simply a farm girl who traveled all the way from Madison, Wisconsin, looking for adventure and a better life.
Pickens quickly pointed out the silver coffee urns and teapots. He stared at her with buttonhole eyes. “You do know the cup code, right?”
“Uh.” There was a code for cups?
“Cup in the saucer means coffee.” He demonstrated as he spoke. “A flipped cup against the saucer is for iced tea. A cup next to the saucer—milk. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, next to the saucer.”
“As for hot tea,” he continued and her heart sank. “The cup will be flipped upon the saucer.” He then explained how to tell if the customer wanted black, green, or orange pekoe tea by the direction of the cup handle. “Any questions?”
She had plenty but he didn’t look in any mood to answer them, so she shook her head no.
Satisfied that she had donned the proper attitude or at least a Harvey-worthy smile, he turned. Giving three quick claps he called the workers front and center. “All right, ladies, take your stations!”
“Don’t be nervous,” her roommate Mary-Lou said as they strode side by side to the back of the room.
Easier said than done. Katie stopped to stare at the cups on the table. She’d come face-to-face with some of the most ornery outlaws in the country, and she wasn’t about to let a china cup intimidate her. On second thought, maybe just a little. Did the cup handle facing right mean green tea or pekoe?
Already her cheeks ached from smiling, but that was the least of it. Her collar itched and the stiff starched apron felt like a plate of armor.
As if to guess her rising dismay, Mary-Lou said, “You’ll like it here once you get used to it. You just have to work fast, be polite, and smile.”
“Nothing to it,” Katie muttered. She only hoped she had enough energy left at the end of the workday for sleuthing.
A loud gong announced the imminent arrival of the five-twenty-five. Windows rattled and the crystals on the chandelier did a crazy dance as the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe train rumbled into the station. With a blare of the whistle, it came to a clanging stop in front of the restaurant.
Moments later, the door flew open and travelers filed into the dining room like a trail of weary ants. Only thirty minutes was allowed for meals before the train took off again. The Harvey House restaurants took pride in the fact that no one had ever been late boarding a train because of inept service.
Katie planted a smile on her face and a prayer in her heart. God, please don’t let me be the one to break that record.

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