Abbie sighed. “I’d better get to work.” She smiled. “Thank you. It was a little taste of heaven.” She sucked the remaining juice from her fingers before doing Nabor’s bidding.

  Ronya and Charlotte were both delighted to receive oranges, and Ronya was surprised by the gift of almonds. She always had apples, bartering with a grocer down the street for fruit in exchange for pastries or bread. The three women sat in the kitchen, taking a rare break between the breakfast and lunch rush.

  Ronya poured Kathryn a cup of coffee. “You’ve been gone a few days, so I don’t imagine you’ve heard the news. Matthias agreed to run for mayor.”

  “You sound pleased about it.”

  “I am, but I doubt he has much of a chance against Morgan Sanders. Stu Bickerson made mention of it in the Clarion yesterday.”

  When Kathryn asked about Beck’s platform, Ronya shrugged. “Don’t rightly know, but he’d be better for the town than Sanders.” Ronya told her other news. There had been another accident at the Madera Mine. Thankfully, no one was killed or seriously injured this time. Henry Call seemed to be Matthias’s business partner in some new venture, but no one knew what.

  Kathryn wanted to read Stu Bickerson’s article. Opening the door of the Clarion office, she was struck by the odor of cigar smoke and something else so foul she grimaced. A bearded man sat tipped back in his chair, boots off, stocking feet on the desk, snoring like a bear in hibernation. The office was a catastrophe of disorganization. Uncle City’s house had been tidy by comparison. She stepped in and almost tripped over a spittoon overflowing with soggy cigar butts.

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Bickerson, I’m sorry to interrupt your noontime siesta.” Though it was not yet noon.

  Bickerson’s rheumy eyes opened and then widened. His feet went up and his chair banged down. He stood on unsteady feet, thumbing his sagging suspenders into place. “Miss Walsh,” he croaked. “This is a surprise.”

  She’d never met the man, but he clearly knew of her. “I’d like to buy the latest issue of your newspaper.”

  “You would?”

  “The one announcing Mr. Beck’s candidacy for mayor.”

  “Sure. Got copies here somewhere.” He rummaged around on his desk. “It’ll be five cents.”

  Five cents! “Isn’t that rather high?”

  “Price went up since the Voice shut down. Only newspaper in town.”

  She extracted five pennies from her drawstring purse and put them on his desk.

  “Here’s one.” He handed over the Clarion.

  She glanced at it, turned it over, and looked at him. “One sheet, one side? That’s all?” She felt cheated.

  “Not much news in Calvada.”

  Not when the editor slept on the job. She scanned the article about Matthias Beck, noting numerous misspellings and few answers to questions he should have asked. “This doesn’t tell us very much about the candidates for mayor.”

  “Everyone in town knows Sanders and Beck.”

  “That’s not the point.” This was Calvada’s only source of news? And why had it taken this long for her to notice?

  Bickerson tucked an old cigar in his mouth and chewed on it until he found a match. “I was going to come and talk to you, Miss Walsh.” He lit up and inhaled. “Heard you were trying to sell hats and such.” He chortled, smoke puffing out of him like a locomotive. “City Walsh’s niece setting up a ladies’ shop in the Voice. Bet he’d be plumb happy about that.”

  She liked his tone even less than his newspaper. The cigar smoke was making her nauseous.

  “How about I ask you some questions, write a story on you?” Bickerson’s cigar bobbed up and down as he spoke, dropping ash on the front of his vest.

  “Not today, Mr. Bickerson.” She opened the door, desperately needing fresh air.

  “A newspaper article would be good for your business.”

  “I’m sure word will spread.” She could tell Gus Blather and the whole town would know in less than twenty-four hours.

  “Didn’t know women read anything but Godey’s. But then maybe you’re interested in Matthias Beck.” He raised his brows.

  “Only as a prospective mayor, Mr. Bickerson.”

  “Why? You can’t vote.”

  “Just nosey.” She smiled sweetly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Don’t start a fire with it,” Bickerson called after her, laughing.

  She took a breath of air, preferring the stench of Calvada to the smell of Bickerson’s dirty socks. She read as she walked.

  Matthias Beck announced at his bar this mornin that he was proklayming hisself a candidate for mayor of Calvada. He says he is running for law and odor. When I aked him why he would wanna do suc a thing as that and he says to me well it’s time I dealt myself into this game. He said he was tired of men shooting up his bar and maybe there should be a law that no man can shoot a gun in town limits. I don’t lay much hope on Beck getting hisself elected. Morgan Sanders has done a fine job for us so far. No reason to change horses in mid streem.

  Bickerson used space for a story about a dog howling outside the back door of the music hall and an announcement that Fiona Hawthorne had added a new doll to her house. Gents shud mak her feel welcome.

  “Miss Kathryn!” Scribe crossed the street, all smiles as he stepped up while she opened her front door. “You sure do look pretty today. Bets have been on that you wouldn’t come back. Glad I won the bet.”

  She bunched the Clarion in her hand. Start a fire with it? Oh, it had already started a fire.

  “Come in, Scribe. I’ll make some tea. You and I have business to discuss.”

  Matthias saw Scribe coming out of Kathryn’s house, a grin spread across his face as he headed across the street. He came through the swinging doors and spotted Matthias. Marching over, Scribe handed him a small, white, sealed envelope. “An invitation from Miss Kathryn Walsh.” He looked like he’d been having the time of his life and couldn’t conceal his glee.

  “What have you been drinking?” Matthias growled.

  “Tea!” Scribe laughed and headed for the bar, where he had a pile of shot glasses to wash. He stopped and turned. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. Miss Kathryn is back, and she told me to tell you that she’s decided not to sell the press.”

  Opening the dainty monogrammed envelope, Matthias looked at the note written with the artistic flair of a calligrapher. Her words were few and to the point.

  Mr. Beck,

  May I have an hour of your time to discuss your candidacy for mayor?

  Respectfully,

  Kathryn Walsh

  What was she playing at? Matthias went to his office and wrote a response: Your place or mine? He sent Scribe back across the street.

  Scribe returned with another little sealed envelope with Matthias Beck written neatly on the front. He tore it open and read. Neither. Ronya’s at 2:00 p.m. Unless you are otherwise occupied. KW.

  Matthias was beginning to enjoy himself. He wrote on the back of her note card: I am always occupied, your ladyship, but I will gladly give you all the time you want. We will have more privacy to chat in my office. MB.

  Scribe returned quickly. I will only meet with you in a public place. KW.

  Grinning, Matthias wrote, People will talk, Miss Walsh. If we are seen together, they will make assumptions about our relationship. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?

  Scribe looked annoyed as he took the envelope. When he came back, he thrust Kathryn’s response at Matthias and waited.

  Thank you for your concern over my reputation, Mr. Beck, but I will make sure everyone understands nothing is going on between us.

  How might she do that? he wondered, and decided to ask. When he knocked on the door, she called out, “Come in, Scribe.” Matthias walked in. Kathryn sat at her desk, busily writing. “Just rest a minute. That man is as dense as a post. I want to add a few more questions before I forget them.” Finishing, she blew on the paper as she held out her hand. “Let’s see what nonsense he says this time.” After a second, she glanced up. “Oh!” She dropped her pen. “It’s you.”

  “At your service.”

  She walked around the desk and opened the door he’d just closed behind him. “In that case, make yourself comfortable.” She sat behind her desk again. “I read the Clarion.” Folding her hands, she smiled. “I am hoping you have a better reason to run for mayor than ‘I figured it was time I got in the game.’”

  “Seems reason enough, don’t you think?”

  “Why do you want to be mayor? You have a lucrative saloon and hotel. And I heard you were an officer in the Union Army with a rank of captain. So you apparently have business acumen and leadership abilities, but . . .”

  She sounded so earnest. “Why are you so interested?”

  “I intend to write about you. Scribe has agreed to set the type and we’re going to print the Voice.”

  A woman running a newspaper? He laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  Her eyes lit hot and fierce. “I am very serious, Mr. Beck.”

  She meant it. “It’s a bad idea.”

  “I think I can do a better job than Mr. Bickerson.”

  “You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

  “I’ve been in trouble before.”

  He came to his feet and planted his palms on her desk. “Open your hat shop or ladies’ wear or whatever, but toss this asinine idea now. You have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “It’s not a woman’s business.”

  Her eyes sparked. “Well, I plan to make it my business, Mr. Beck. That press has been standing in the corner as idle as a corpse at a wake. It’s about time to use it for a good purpose. I think that’s what my uncle would have wanted.”

  Matthias gave a mirthless laugh and straightened. She had no idea the mess she could get herself into if she stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. “City wouldn’t have much good to say about a girl trying to take his place behind that desk.” He saw the punch hit, harder than he intended.

  “I’m not a girl, Mr. Beck. I’m a woman with some education. I will do my best to honor my uncle as well as his newspaper.” When he moved toward the door, she stood. “Are you leaving so soon?”

  “The less you know, the better.”

  She sighed, but Matthias had the feeling she wasn’t surprised. “I must say I was hoping for better from you, Mr. Beck.” She sat and went back to whatever she was writing.

  Matthias left uneasily. Slapping through the swinging door, he spotted Scribe. “In my office, kid. Now!” Scribe tossed the towel on a table and followed him.

  Closing the office door, Matthias turned on him. “Don’t encourage Miss Walsh to go into the newspaper business.”

  The boy looked rebellious and smug. “Kathryn is City’s niece. Running a newspaper must be in her blood.”

  Bloodshed was what Matthias wanted to prevent. “Scribe, you’re not doing Kathryn a favor by setting type for whatever nonsensical story that girl might write.”

  “She’s not a girl. She’s a lady. And she’s educated.”

  “So she said.”

  “She’s a lot smarter than you think she is.”

  “She’s a young woman in a wild town where someone murdered her uncle for saying too much.”

  Scribe had clearly forgotten—or chose not to remember—how City had died. “We don’t know for sure that was the reason.” His bravado had withered slightly. “Besides, no one would hurt a lady like Kathryn.”

  “And you know that how?”

  Scribe squared his shoulders. “Don’t you worry. I’ll protect her.”

  Great idea! Matthias almost laughed at the lunacy, but it wasn’t funny. He could see the boy wouldn’t listen. “Fine. Have it your way. Just remember you still work for me, and I’m running for mayor. Things are going to heat up around here, and I’ll need you to run errands. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Matthias intended to keep Scribe working so hard, the boy would be too tired to set type, let alone operate the press. “You’ll have evenings free to work for Miss Walsh. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Scribe shook hands on it.

  Matthias smiled and dismissed him. He was going to run that boy until his backside was dragging and then run him again.

  Since Matthias Beck wouldn’t cooperate, Kathryn found other sources of information. Gus Blather had a treasure trove he was only too eager to share. Ronya also proved helpful, though her friendship with Matthias made her biased. She was full of praise for the saloonkeeper.

  “He could have opened a restaurant and put me out of business. Instead, he comes here for meals and encourages others to do likewise. Sanders is doing his best to shut me down.”

  “I didn’t see many patrons when I ate in his dining room,” Kathryn remarked nonchalantly.

  “Two reasons for that, Kathryn. There aren’t many who can afford his prices, and his French chef isn’t French. He’s Canadian.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “No, but Fiona Hawthorne told me.”

  “You’re friends?” Kathryn brightened. “I’ve been wanting to talk with her, but she won’t even look at me in church.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t. The last thing Fiona would want to do is spoil your reputation.” She rolled out dough. “You do know what she does for a living, don’t you?”

  Kathryn blushed. “Yes, and that she was one of three who attended my uncle’s burial. I was told she stayed longer and cried. She must have cared for him a great deal. She’s still wearing black.”

  “She always wears black. She’s a widow like me, but she ended up on another path.” Ronya punched out biscuits and put them on a greased sheet. “Matthias went to City’s burial. That should give you reason to like him a little better.”

  “I don’t dislike him, Ronya.” Kathryn was surprised by the accusation. “He’s been nice on occasion.” She thought of their walk in the moonlight.

  “On occasion?” Ronya gave her a curious look.

  “He likes to make fun of me.”

  Ronya smiled. “You do make a fine target.” She laughed. “The earnest Miss Walsh.”

  Stung, Kathryn defended herself. “I just want to know more about the man running for mayor.”

  Ronya slid a sheet of biscuits into the oven and straightened. “Are you going to be as interested in Morgan Sanders’s past and character?” She looked and sounded annoyed. Was it Matthias she was defending? “I haven’t heard you asking any questions about that son of a—” She pressed her lips together.

  “I’ll get to him soon. You seem to have a strong opinion.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not saying a word about Morgan Sanders.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have sense.” Ronya grabbed a damp rag. “And you’d better develop some quick.” She wiped the worktable. “Keep your nose out of men’s business.”

  Men’s business. Kathryn bristled. She’d never expected to hear those words come out of Ronya’s mouth. “I’m starting up the Voice again.”

  “A tomfool idea if I ever heard one.”

  Her words cut deep. “That’s the sort of comment I hear from men.” She stood. “Women should be interested in politics. A mayor makes decisions that impact all of us. Women included!”

  “You’re poking a hornet’s nest, Kathryn.”

  “I intend to be truthful and impartial.” She slipped her arms into her coat.

  Ronya threw her rag down. “You are young and naive.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” She headed for the door.

  “Kathryn!” Ronya came around the worktable, wearing a worried frown. “Perhaps you should read some of your uncle’s newspapers.”

  Kathryn understood her concern. “I have. Unfortunately, the ones that might’ve been pertinent are missing, due to the death of a sheriff and the fire that burned down his house. Facts that give me even more reason to learn about the main players in town.”

  She headed for Herr Neumann’s barbershop. Her uncle had let him handle the details of the inheritance. She stepped into the shop just as he was removing a man’s tooth. Kathryn winced as the man in the chair yowled. “I’ve almost got it.” Mr. Neumann planted a knee on the man’s chest and yanked back. “There it is.” Kathryn couldn’t look, but the patient moaned in seeming relief. He got up, gave Herr a coin, grabbed his hat, put a hand to his jaw, and left.

  Mr. Neumann noticed her then. “Something I can do for you, Miss Walsh?”

  His bloodshot eyes told her he’d been drinking. How could any man trust him with a pair of scissors or pliers, let alone a razor? She knew better than to ask straightforward questions. She used charm and gave him the opportunity to tell his story and talk about her uncle. Then she slipped in a question here and there about Matthias Beck.

  “Ho, City raked Matthias over the coals a few times. Matthias fought in the war. Like a lot of us, he came west after. Rumor has it he was under Sherman during the march through the South. Captain. That’s what his partner called him.”

  “Langnor?”

  “Paul Langnor. Matthias is good at poker. Langnor didn’t have the money to expand, so Matthias went up and down Chump Street, playing cards. Bought half interest in the saloon, and then they started building. They worked well together, even though they fought on opposite sides.” He wiped blood off his hand, rinsed the stained rag, and took it outside to wrap around the post to dry. “When Langnor got sick, Matthias and City tried to get him to a doctor. Burst appendix, they think. Heart gave out. A good man. Didn’t water his whiskey. Neither does Beck.”

  “I suppose that is a very high compliment in Calvada.”

  “Well, it means you get what you pay for, unlike most watering holes in this town.”

  Shouts came from Beck’s Saloon, and they both looked across the street. Kathryn frowned. “What do you suppose is going on over there?” Would Matthias be dunking another drunk in the horse’s trough?

  “Don’t rightly know, but I think I’ll find out.” He paused. “Why did you come in here? Do you have a toothache?”