The Man Who Loved Cole Flores (Dig Two Graves 1)

The need for justice still burned at the pit of Ned’s stomach sometimes, but he’d let go of revenge fantasies long ago, after Uncle Liam had explained to him that trying to track down the gang would only lead to more death. Ned didn’t blame him. At the time, the man had just suffered the loss of his brother, but with a young family and a ranch to take care of, getting a posse together to hunt down the murderers months after the crime would have been a fool’s errand.

Thank God the orchestra in his head quieted since he’d left the barn.

When he arrived at Aunt Muriel’s parlor, he wasn’t exactly fresh as a daisy, but close enough. Dressed in a green plaid shirt and with his hair smoothed back, he was wide awake. Cole had looked so well put together in black, so Ned wanted to put his best foot forward.

The air smelled of porter cake, and the warm aroma of spices calmed the pounding of Ned’s heart somewhat as he made his way down the corridor, to the door that had been left halfway open. He wondered how someone who wore clothes as fine as Cole would find the modest interior. At this time of the year, the fireplace was cold, but the mantelpiece held family photos and some trinkets Aunt Muriel wanted to show off to guests. The painted crockery displayed in a cabinet close to the window had only been used twice since Ned had moved in—for a family wedding and the twenty-fifth anniversary of Uncle and Aunt’s marriage. At least the seats, while nice, were in use.

The sofa and chairs gathered around the dainty table weren’t part of the same set, but Uncle Liam had them reupholstered last year, so they fit together well despite slight differences in design between the individual pieces. The bright green paisley pattern might not have been to Cole’s liking, but if he chose the best seat, usually occupied by Ned’s uncle, he should be happy enough with the way he’d been received.

Ned’s excitement died down when neither of the two men sitting on the sofa turned out to be Cole Flores. The one on the right, thick around the waist, with a dense moustache that framed his lips on either side, had gray hair at the temples. He put down a plate with two oat cookies and met Ned’s gaze. His companion, a clean-shaven fellow in his early thirties, with a very pointy chin and narrow mouth, was quick to finish his tea before adjusting his tie.

Both were dressed in suits that made them appear stern rather than elegant, as the clothes didn’t have much in terms of adornment and were meant for a practical purpose.

“Mr. Ned O’Leary, I presume?” the mustachioed gentleman asked and rubbed his thick hands together.

“That’s me. What can I help you with, gentlemen? My aunt told me you’ve been waiting a while. Apologies.” He searched their eyes for news of the Gotham Boys but had no idea who they were or why they’d sought him out.

The older man cleared his throat. “My Name’s Homer Craig, and this is my colleague, Thaddeus Craig. We represent the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Please, sit,” he said, pointing to the chair across the table, as if this were his house, and Ned—a guest.

Ned’s joints stiffened, but he lowered himself into the armchair with blood draining from his face. “Is this about the Gotham Boys?” he asked before they could have broached the topic.

The agents looked at one another, and the younger one, Thaddeus, loudly put down his empty cup. “Agent Craig… that is, my father, has been on their tracks for a while. They’d disappeared after a train robbery two years back, but it seems they haven’t disbanded. They either got greedy and came back together, or another group of outlaws is using their name.”

Older Craig nodded, and his son went still the moment he cleared his throat. “The sheriff in Beaver Springs tells us you’re familiar with one of their members.”

Ned shook his head with a groan. “Big misunderstanding. Fellow was friendly to me at the saloon, that’s all. Whatever you’ve heard, I do not cheat at cards, and that was the first time I ever—” Ned lowered his gaze when it occurred to him that he had actually seen Cole before. “Don’t know them.”

The Craigs exchanged glances, and the son was the first one to speak, offering Ned a smile too pleasant to be honest. “Mr. O’Leary. Your aunt tells us you’re looking for a job that would help you stand on your own two feet. I know it can be hard for a man to start a family when they don’t have prospects of inheriting any land or businesses. Maybe this could be an opportunity for you.”