Shooting For Justice by G. Tilman (top 100 novels txt) 📗

“May,” he continued, “not for mention anywhere outside of this house, but Sarah and I were brought in to investigate something for the federal government. She and I are both detectives.”

May’s eyes widened, probably at the thought of the beautiful, raven-haired woman being a detective.

“We are getting close, we think, in the investigation. The people we are after may begin to try to watch us and the house. There is nothing to be alarmed about but keep your eyes alert for strangers in the neighborhood. Particularly if they seem interested in us or the house. And let us know right away?”

“I will, Mr. Pope. I remember how careful we had to be in Washington during the war. I will be alert like I was then.”

Pleased with her taking the words without expressing a great deal of concern, the three continued eating and chatting. They learned May’s proficiency preparing fish came from growing up in Deltaville where her father was a fisherman. She talked about the beautiful, historic town on the Chesapeake Bay. Her father was still there, though ailing. They determined to try to take her to see him before cold weather set in and did two weeks later.

Tuesday proved another uneventful day from the standpoint of their investigation. Around six, Pope met the Kanes at the front of the Willard Hotel.

Kane beckoned him to climb into the carriage he had driven up from Charlottesville. It was pulled by a pair of beautiful horses. They were powerful white horses with gray manes and tails. Pope asked about them.

“They are Andalusians from Spain. My son brought them to me on his first visit to America two months ago. He’s still touring the country. He may move here once he gets his stepsister comfortable running her late father’s estate,” Kane said.

The trip did not require a light fast carriage, being a matter of only several blocks from the hotel.

They stopped at the front and Pope walked them up to the front door where Sarah greeted them. She was more striking than ever.

Fearing the horses would be stolen on the street, Pope recommended putting them in the rear stable and feeding and watering them after the over hundred-mile trip. The former cowboy quickly unharnessed, fed and watered the animals as he chatted with his guest.

“Guess you’ve done this before,” Kane observed.

“I grew up on my grandfather’s ranch in Alameda County. It was small, so I hired out for roundups, taking beeves to the market and all,” Pope said.

“How did you become a detective?”

“I joined San Francisco Police early as a patrolman. The rise to detective was pretty quick. Then, two years ago, I solved a big case for Wells Fargo. Their chief detective saw me do it and offered me a job. Later, I recruited Sarah and she became my partner. It has been a whirlwind to say the least.”

“You’ve almost become too famous in the West to be a detective. A disguise might work.”

“Mr. Kane, would you rather talk our business for a bit here, or over whiskey or brandy after dinner?” Pope asked.

“Please call me Michael. What is your first name, Pope?” Kane asked.

“John.”

“John, I reached out very quietly to a number of people. People with influence and also who know things. My results are vague, but a bit unsettling.

“I spoke to several railroad presidents. They are not overly miffed about the president’s stand on the Chinese. I spoke with some rather ardent expansionists. People who want to grow the borders of the United States. South and into the Caribbean both. Most are old men and realize their time to see fruition of their dream has passed. I corresponded with a professor in Virginia. His mentor knew more about ships, navigation, and running a navy than any man alive. He literally wrote the book.

“The mentor said shipbuilders are ramping up for the change to steel hulls and the final throes of the death of sail power. Most are looking forward to opportunity, not retribution.

“Now, for the alarming part. I picked up several whispers of some dissident group out for the president any way they can get him. I can promise you these people are definitely not associated with the Knights of the Golden Circle.

“I have been unable to determine their motives, leadership or funding. I will keep looking if you want. I admit to being disappointed in my lack of success with this angle of your inquiries.”

“John, are you and Mr. Kane about ready? May says dinner is ready,” Sarah called out the rear door.

“Yes, darling, we are coming.”

They spoke quietly on the way in.

“Michael, thank you for all your work and interest in this. You have saved me a couple of dead ends. I have two cabinet secretaries who are aware of what is going on and will ask them about dissident groups. Neither has mentioned the possibility.

“I just returned from investigating the wood versus steel hull angle in Florida and Mississippi. They are the primary sources of wood for hulls. The next day—or rather night—someone shot at me on the way home. I was unable to identify him. Hell, I couldn’t even catch him. He missed the back of my head by no more than a couple of inches. It proved one thing. I must be ruffling somebody’s feathers,” Pope said.

“It’s damn troubling, John. Bushwhackers are cowards. I will stay engaged if you will allow me.”

“I am most appreciative, Michael. I take it your efforts should not be shared with the cabinet members?”

“I’d prefer not. However, the maritime expert said he could be quoted. You might want to ride down and speak with him so you can claim the effort. He is Professor John Blake. He worked under the famous Matthew Fontaine Maury at the Virginia Military Institute. You may use my name to get in.

“Speaking to John Blake will just be due diligence. He can help you mark off some suspects but does not know anything about dissidents. Though I guess since Maury’s electric torpedoes kept