Martin did not reply. He nudged his plate away, set his napkin beside it, and then rose, checking his pocket watch as he did so. Fedora would be leaving the Shepard house soon. He wanted to observe her walking to the boardinghouse. Since she’d left the hotel, he’d made it his responsibility to see that she arrived safely. She didn’t know she had a guardian angel and he wanted to keep it that way. Now that Victorine had confirmed she had no intention of leaving anytime soon, he needed to rethink his plans for Fedora. He always knew that he would not be returning to New York with Victorine but had hoped it wouldn’t be long before she departed. She was his Achilles’ heel, the person who knew who he was and what he did and, most important, how to find him.

  Martin bowed his head slightly before departing. She took no notice of it, and he left without a word. If there was a benevolent God, he thought, Victorine would not seat herself at his table anytime soon.

  * * *

  • • •

  Hitch waited for Fedora in the kitchen as she finished cleaning after the family had left the table. Lily came in on two occasions and tried to shoo Fedora out the door, but Fedora would have none of it. Hitch knew Lily had good intentions, and yet he was satisfied to sit in the warm kitchen and pass the time watching Fedora go about her duties. He offered to help every time he came to walk her home, but that was another thing she would have none of, and so he sat back and allowed himself the pleasure of seeing her move from one task to another. It was not only her grace that captivated him. She had an economy of motion that kept him entertained with its efficiency.

  Hitch suspected Fedora never gave her movements a thought. Unlike him, they came naturally to her. He still had uncoordinated moments where his feet tripped over each other and his hands knocked things aside when he was only trying to reach them. That’s why he never took a cup of anything when Fedora offered it to him and why, when she was finished, he rose carefully to his feet.

  He was helping Fedora into her coat when Roen came into the kitchen. Hitch nodded at him. “Hey, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Good to see you, Hitch. I was afraid I missed you. I was working on a new map.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew some bills and counted them out. “This is for you, Fedora,” he said, handing over her week’s pay. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask in the event I forget.”

  She nodded, taking the money and folding it half so it fit neatly in her palm. “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Thank you.” His gaze returned to Hitch. “Any news for me?”

  “Ben says I’m supposed to tell you that she’s still there. No bags packed either.”

  Roen nodded. Nothing had changed since this morning when he had stopped to pick up his pack.

  “Oh.” Hitch’s face brightened suddenly. He held up an index finger. “That man you and Ben were wondering about? He had dinner with her this evening. Or maybe she had dinner with him. Leastways Ellie said they shared a table for a time. Ben got me curious about him but hasn’t told me much except to keep an eye out. Who is he?”

  “Don’t know. I think he might be employed by a rival railroad.” Roen had no remorse about lying. “You can see why I want to know what he’s doing.”

  “Sure. That makes sense. And him being with her, well, that makes sense, too. She’s Victor Headley’s daughter, ain’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “And he owns a rail company.”

  “That’s right. One of Northeast’s largest competitors.” That was true.

  “Huh. It’s still a head scratcher, her being here and all, especially in her condition. She doesn’t look like a spy. I guess maybe that’s the point.”

  “It probably is.”

  “Well, I’ll keep my eye out like the sheriff asked.” He grinned. “Both eyes.”

  “One eye is sufficient. Keep the other on Fedora.” Roen smiled at her but continued speaking to Hitch. “We are very happy she’s here with us.”

  “Reckon that’s good night, then,” said Hitch, tapping the brim of his hat.

  Roen waved them off, and when the door closed behind them, he went to find Lily. She was sitting on the sofa beside Clay looking over his answers to a series of problems Roen had given him earlier. Roen walked behind the sofa and looked over their shoulders. There was no help that he could offer that Lily hadn’t so he moved to the rocking chair and sat. He had the odd thought that he had just usurped Lily’s throne, and apparently he wasn’t alone in that. Hannah, Lizzie, and Ham stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

  He shrugged a shade guiltily and that appeared to be enough for them. Ham and Lizzie resumed playing cards, and Hannah put her nose back in her book.

  “Did you catch Fedora and pay her before she left?” asked Lily without looking up.

  “I did. Hitch was loitering in the kitchen. Did you know that?”

  “Uh-huh. And so would you if you hadn’t gone straightaway to your study after dinner.” She smiled a little at the word “study.” It was pretentious to call that cubbyhole a study, but they were all following Hannah’s insistence that it be so.

  “I’m working on a new map.”

  “Yes, I know. I peeked in on you once.”

  He frowned. “You did?”

  “It’s all right, Roen. You were deep in thought.”

  Roen realized he must have been because it wasn’t like him not to be aware of Lily’s presence, even if it was only brief. “I apologize. Did you need something?”

  “I wanted to remind you that Fedora was due her wages, but you took care of that on your own.” Lily pointed out an error to Clay. He used the side of his hand to rub the slate clean and started again. Lily said to Roen, “He’s been working hard at this since he left the table.”

  “It appears you have, too.”

  She shrugged as if it was of no account. “Did Hitch have anything new to tell you?”

  “No. The same.”

  “Hmm. What do you suppose she’s waiting for?”

  Roen looked to see if they had an interested audience for this conversation. No one’s ears pricked. “I don’t know, but if this delay is because there’s hope I’m going to change my mind, I’m not.”

  “Do you think you should have another talk? Perhaps make that clear?”

  “No. I couldn’t have been clearer the first time.” Roen changed the subject. “I’m planning on going out tomorrow. I could use your help.”

  “Take Clay,” said Lily. “He can miss a day of school. He’s worked hard enough this evening.”

  “But we agreed I wouldn’t take—”

  Lily waved aside his objection. “You’re not going to the disputed property, are you?” Roen shook his head. “Well, then, he can go. I know you’ll look after him.”

  Clay looked up from his slate. “Thanks, Ma, but no one’s going anywhere tomorrow. Maxwell Wayne says a storm’s heading our way. It’ll come down hard from the mountains and drop ten inches on us by the afternoon.”

  “He can’t possibly know that,” said Roen.

  Clay screwed his mouth to one side as he considered this. “Maybe he doesn’t know. But do you want to risk him being wrong?”

  “Ten inches?” Roen asked skeptically. “He actually said ten inches?”

  “Hannah?”

  Hannah laid her book in her lap. “He said either side of ten inches.”

  “That’s right,” said Clay. “Either side of ten inches.”

  Roen dropped his head against the rocker’s back rail and groaned softly. “That’s that, then.”

  “You could start interviewing local men for the jobs you’re going to have,” said Lily.

  “Won’t the storm keep them away?”

  “Not if you conduct the interviews at the Songbird. Word will get out and a blizzard wouldn’t keep them away.”

  “This storm that’s coming isn’t a blizzard?” No one responded to his question directly. What they did was share laughter at his expense, which Roen decided was its own kind of answer and one that he appreciated more as soon as he joined in.

  * * *

  • • •

  Martin Cabot knew what he was going to do when he saw Deputy Springer was once again accompanying Fedora to the boardinghouse. The opportunity presented itself the following morning when his daily visit to the drugstore to purchase a copy of the Rocky coincided with Amanda Springer’s weekly visit to purchase her particular blend of teas. He doubted the steadily falling snow would prevent her from getting out, and he was gratified to see that he was right. The only other place she visited with predictable regularity was the butcher shop, which Martin had learned she owned. The difficulty there was that he had no reason to be in the shop and his presence would have been met with suspicion, if not immediately, then soon afterward.

  He waited until she had finished paying for her tea before he approached the counter to pay for the newspaper. When she turned away, she bumped into him.

  “Pardon me,” she said and made to sidestep him.

  Martin sidestepped in the same direction. “Pardon me,” he said. They lurched toward each other once more and then Martin stood his ground so she could proceed. His smile was a tad embarrassed. “I do apologize.”

  “No need. I believe I began this dance.”

  He tipped his bowler. “It’s Mrs. Springer, isn’t it?”

  “Why, yes.” She regarded him more keenly. She was a dark-haired angular woman with a sharp chin and sharper eyes. Her brown eyes softened marginally as she continued to stare. “Oh, we’ve met before, haven’t we? I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”

  “Cabot. Martin Cabot.”

  “Of course, Mr. Cabot. It’s been a while. I had no idea you were still in town.”

  “I had not expected to be in residence this long. My business, well, it continues to have its challenges.”

  “Just so.”

  “Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you? The butcher shop. That’s yours.”

  “It is indeed.” As little as two years ago, there would have been a measure of pride in her voice. She was still proud of her ownership, but she could say it matter-of-factly. “And what is your business? I don’t believe you ever said.”

  “I didn’t because I can’t say. I suppose that’s the very nature of my business.”

  “Then it must have something to do with the railroad. Every rail man who’s come through Frost Falls keeps his own counsel.” She paused, considering what she’d just said. “Every man except Mr. Shepard. He called for a town meeting and laid out Northeast Rail’s plans for everyone in attendance.”

  “Clever that. You must wonder what he’s keeping up his sleeve.” He gave her a moment to think about that and then moved the conversation to where he wanted it to go. “Deputy Springer is your son, isn’t he?” When she nodded, he went on. “I’ve observed that he is diligent in the performance of his duties. That has not often been my experience with the law in towns like Frost Falls. There is a lot of swagger and very little attention to duty. I imagine you’re proud of him.”

  “I am. Some days, though, I am more worried than proud.”

  Martin nodded empathetically. “Understandable. The fact that he escorts the China girl home every night must give you pause. He puts himself between her and the vicious threats against her. All very brave of him.”

  “He is brave,” she said. “But you’re mistaken. Mr. Butterworth accompanies her from the hotel to Mrs. Brady’s.”

  Martin lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, I thought you surely would have known.”

  “Known?”

  “The girl. Miss Chen, I believe she is called, no longer works at the hotel. The Shepards employ her now. She’s their housekeeper.”

  “The Shepards,” she repeated softly. “Hitch never said. I suppose you know this because of your interest in Roen Shepard.”

  “I never said I had an interest in Mr. Shepard.”

  “No, but your business is the railroad, and he is working for Northeast. I’m not a fool, Mr. Cabot. It simply stands to reason.”

  “I am happy to allow you to draw your own conclusions, Mrs. Springer, as long as you don’t say you heard it from me.”

  Amanda looked around for Dolly Mangold. The druggist’s wife had stepped away from the counter and could not have overheard their conversation. “Your business is your own. I’m afraid I must be going, but not before I thank you for your kind words about Hitchcock.”

  “You’re very welcome. It’s been a pleasure.” He walked her to the door and opened it for her and then returned to pay for his newspaper. If Mrs. Mangold wondered why he was smiling following an encounter with Amanda Springer, she didn’t ask.

  * * *

  • • •

  Hitch walked into the Songbird and found Roen where Ben said he would be—set up at a table in the back with men lined up to take their turn in the chair opposite him. Hitch excused himself and stepped in front of George Hotchkiss, the next in line.

  “Hey,” said George. “You looking for another job? Maybe you should go to the end of the line, and maybe I should apply to the sheriff to take yours.”

  “You do that, George, and you’ll lose your place.”

  “Humph. Seems I already done that.” He clapped Hitch hard on the back. “You’re up. You want that seat or not?”

  Hitch turned to see that Lincoln Jordan had vacated the chair and was on his way back to tend bar. He wasn’t surprised that Buzz Winegarten’s nephew was hopeful for a job that would get him out from under his uncle’s thumb. He took the seat.

  “Name?” Roen asked without looking up.

  “Hitchcock Springer.”

  That got Roen’s attention. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not looking for a job. My mother just cornered me at the jail for a rather ugly conversation. I couldn’t lock her up so I had to take it on the chin until Ben walked in and saved me. Actually, calling it a conversation is inaccurate. It was a diatribe.”

  “Miss Chen?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. It was a guess. I thought she would have had her feathers ruffled a while back. When I never heard a word about it, it occurred to me that she knew about your affection for Fedora and was fine with it.”

  “Well, she didn’t and she wasn’t.” He stared glumly across the table. “She wants you to walk Fedora home. She says since you employ her, it’s your responsibility same as it was Mr. Butterworth’s.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No. My mother’s wrong. It’s my responsibility to look out for her. And it’s Ben’s if I can’t do it.”

  “That’s why you’re doing it? Because you’re looking out for her?”

  Hitch’s expression was a tad sheepish. “Mostly.”

  “Right.”

  “I only came here because Mother asked me to. Now I can tell her I spoke to you and not lie about it.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s hard to lie to our mothers. Just to make it a little easier for you, you tell her I said I wouldn’t do it because it would make Fedora uncomfortable. That’s true, too.” Roen set down his pen and squared off the short stack of papers in front of him. “Why now?” he asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why is Amanda bringing this to your attention now? If she didn’t know that you’ve been Fedora’s regular escort since before she left the Butterworth, what’s happened that she knows about it now?”

  “I asked her that. She was vague. She wouldn’t say more than that someone told her.”

  “I suppose that’s a long list of suspects.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Odd that no one said anything to her earlier. Is that something they would purposely keep from her?”

  Hitch frowned, struck by the question. “No. No, it’s not.”

  “So perhaps the list isn’t that long after all.”

  “That’s something to think about.”

  “You do that and let me know what you come up with. No special reason, just that I’m interested. Are you going to tell Fedora?”

  “No. It will make her unhappy. She might refuse to allow me to walk with her. She’s already conscious of people watching her.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “She’s never said. I think it’s a general sense of being watched because there are people who don’t want her here. I don’t get it myself. She’s never hurt anyone.”

  “You took her out to shoot.”

  “With Ellie. And it was Ellie’s idea for Fedora to be comfortable managing her own protection. Fedora’s real sharp with a rifle, but she couldn’t hit a barn door with a six-shooter if her life depended on it. It’s too heavy for her small hands, even with a double grip. She pulls her shot every time. Goes up. Goes down. Goes wide. Ellie gave up so you know it was bad. I haven’t taken them out but that once.”

  “What about a derringer?”

  “The thing is,” said Hitch, “she’s firm about not wanting to shoot anyone. She won’t agree to carry one. Ellie offered Fedora hers, but she turned it down. My opinion? I don’t think anyone wants to hurt her, but if someone could scare her off, there’d be folks satisfied with that.”

  “She still gets threats?”

  Hitch nodded. “One or two every week. She got one yesterday. Someone slid it under her door. She showed it to me. Big block letters with a simple message: GO HOME. She was born in California, for God’s sake, but no one seems to care about that. Some of the other messages refer to the yellow peril or the yellow terror. They’re all disturbing.”

  “It’s hard to believe Mrs. Brady doesn’t know who put the last note under Fedora’s door.”

  “She’s not saying. I asked. I think she’s fears the consequences of speaking up.”

  “Really? Who would dare retaliate? That woman could frighten the devil with her gimlet eye.”