“She did not. Did anyone step forward to admit authorship?”

  “Not to me. Has anyone ever claimed responsibility?”

  “No.”

  “Humor me, Sheriff. Why the questions about Miss Headley?”

  “You’re misremembering, Mr. Cabot. The majority of my questions were about your work for Miss Headley. Your presence in town has given rise to speculation.”

  “I’m aware. Mrs. Springer thinks I have something to do with Victor Headley’s railroad enterprise. I imagine she’s not alone.”

  “No, she’s not,” said Ben. “My mother thinks you’re spying on Mr. Shepard.”

  Martin’s smile was regretful. “If only I had been hired for that task, but no. I have nothing at all to do with Mr. Headley. I’ve never met him.”

  “I believe that will change soon. He’s informed Mr. Shepard by telegram that he will be arriving within a few days.”

  “Oh?”

  “He will very much want to know how his daughter came to be murdered under your watch.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Lily was studying the wanted notices in Ben’s office when Ben and Roen arrived. She turned when the door opened and regarded them expectantly. “Well?”

  “Let us take our coats off first,” said Ben. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I want to know how the interview went with Mr. Cabot. When Roen didn’t return home, I thought he must be here. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Roen shrugged out of his coat and passed it to Ben to hang up. He closed the distance to Lily in a few strides and kissed her on the cheek. “Come. Sit with me over there.” He pointed to the two visitor chairs. “Ben just concluded the interview. We didn’t discuss it on the walk here.”

  “Too damn cold,” said Ben. He looked in the coffeepot on the stove and made a face. It was empty. He decided coffee could wait but the fire needed attending. He tossed in some kindling, and when it blazed, he added coal from the scuttle. When he turned around, he saw Lily scooting her chair closer to Roen’s. She leaned her shoulder against his. It was a small gesture, but an intimate one, and all the residual doubts Ben had about their unconventional marriage vanished.

  Ben sat behind his desk and asked Roen, “Do you think Cabot was genuinely caught unaware when I told him Miss Headley was murdered?”

  “I can only say that he seemed so.”

  “Hmm. I had the same thought. Appearances aren’t necessarily fact. He asked all the right questions. I couldn’t tell if he was preparing himself for Mr. Headley’s visit or simply satisfying himself about the progress of the investigation.”

  Lily held up a finger to forestall Roen from speaking. “Mr. Headley is coming here? I didn’t think you’d had a reply from him, Roen.”

  “I haven’t,” he said. “Ben lied. He’s quite good at it, too. For a moment, I believed him. He convinced Cabot that he was there solely on Fedora’s account, and when the man was lulled into believing his answers were satisfactory, Ben dropped the other shoe. Cabot was struck dumb but not paralyzed. He jumped to his feet and would have left right then if Ben hadn’t blocked him.”

  “It helped that he stumbled over your foot. Well done.”

  Roen shrugged modestly. “No taste for physical altercations, I’m afraid.”

  “Neither, apparently, does he,” said Ben. “He returned to his seat easily enough.”

  “Did he say where he wanted to go?” asked Lily.

  “He wanted to see her. He wanted proof.” Ben leaned back in his chair. “It’s not an unusual reaction to learning about a death when it’s unexpected. Still . . .” He fell quiet, musing.

  “Still?” asked Lily. “What else?”

  Roen said, “He’s thinking, Lily.”

  “Then he can do it out loud. You do.”

  Roen gave her a look that was wryly amused and put a finger to his lips.

  Lily clamped her mouth closed and waited. She wasn’t sure that Ben had even heard their exchange. Ben finally made a sound at the back of his throat that seemed to signal the end of his thinking. Lily leaned forward just a little.

  “I hope you’re not expecting an oracle,” Roen whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  She tapped him on the forearm. “Hush.”

  “Still,” said Ben, “there was something not quite right about his presentation.”

  “I told you,” said Roen, still whispering to Lily. “Not an oracle.”

  “I can hear you, you know.” Ben’s tone was dry as dust.

  “What are you saying?” Lily asked. “It sounds as if you’re considering him a suspect. You didn’t go there with that in mind.”

  “I went there with an open mind,” said Ben.

  Roen said, “He can’t prove he was in his room all evening.”

  “No one who lives alone can provide proof of staying indoors.”

  “You’re right,” said Ben. “It doesn’t mean much that he can’t account for his time, but there was something about his reaction to the news that struck me as false. I’m trusting my gut here, but it seemed calculated, as if he was preparing to jump before I’d finished telling him the news. He set his feet and leaned forward. It was subtle. God knows I might have imagined it.”

  “Did you see that, Roen?” asked Lily.

  “Not that I’m consciously aware, but perhaps I did. I only said that it seemed he didn’t know about Victorine. I trust Ben’s gut.”

  Lily nodded. “So do I. I suppose this means he’s not leaving. You’ll want him to stay. Fedora will be unhappy. I’m unhappy.”

  “I know,” said Ben, “and I’m sorry. I would have escorted him to the station myself if it weren’t for Victorine.”

  “You asked about her pregnancy?”

  “Not directly. In fact, I never told him she wasn’t pregnant. He spoke of it several times, each time as if it were real. I decided not to challenge him about it.”

  Roen said, “He wants to see Victorine’s body, so he is going to meet Ben at Ridley’s surgery. I’m going to go to see the station agent about that telegram. I told him I wanted to know right away about a reply, but perhaps he forgot or he’s busy.”

  Both Ben and Lily chuckled at the idea of the station agent being busy. Except for those times when a train was due to arrive or depart, Mr. Winslow napped in the back room or read a newspaper at the counter.

  Lily explained to Roen why they’d laughed. “Why don’t I go to the station and inquire about the telegram and you go with Ben?” She added hurriedly, “Unless you’d rather not. I thought you might like an opportunity to revise or confirm your suspicions.”

  “That’s a good idea, Lily,” said Ben. “Roen? What do you think?”

  Roen nodded. “I’ll go with you. Lily, if Victor’s telegram is there, bring it to me straightaway.”

  “And if there’s none? Do you want to know that as well?”

  “Yes. Come to the surgery regardless.”

  “Of course. Should I compose a reply?”

  “If he requires one, I trust you’ll know how to answer him.”

  “All right.” She stood and retrieved her coat. Roen helped her with it, angled her hat just so, and then wound her scarf around her neck and the lower half of her face. She yanked it down so she could speak then changed her mind about telling him anything. Careless of Ben’s presence, she kissed her husband instead.

  Grinning crookedly, Ben watched her go. Under his breath, he said, “I’ll be darned.”

  “How’s that?” Roen handed Ben his coat.

  “Talkin’ to myself.” Ben took the coat; his smile didn’t fade. “Just talkin’ to myself.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Lily stopped at home to inform Fedora that she would be a while longer. She didn’t share details that she’d heard from Ben and Roen, but she did say that Mr. Cabot would not be leaving soon. Fedora was more resigned than disappointed, and Lily tried to reassure her that Mr. Cabot would not trouble her again in any manner. “He’s meeting Ben and Roen at Ridley’s surgery and there will be more questions for him to answer. I imagine he will be occupied with matters concerning Miss Headley’s death. Her father will require explanations that only Mr. Cabot can provide.”

  “He’s coming, then?” asked Fedora. “Mr. Headley, I mean.”

  “We don’t know yet. I’m going to the station to see if a response to Roen’s telegram has arrived. Either way, I have to let Roen know. Will you be all right?”

  “Lizzie and I will be fine. We are changing the beds and washing sheets.”

  “Oh, Lord. Don’t let her be too helpful.” Lily was encouraged by Fedora’s lilting laughter. Everything would be fine. There was truly no reason to believe that Fedora was in any danger; it was only that there was a tightness in Lily’s stomach, a wretched feeling that had been coming on in small increments that she associated with impending threat.

  Lily stepped outside. She was halfway to the end of the flagstone walk when she heard Fedora close the door behind her. She had an urge to look back that she forced herself to ignore. Victorine’s murder, Fedora’s injuries, this violence against women; Lily understood it was related to why she was finding it difficult to draw a full breath and why her skin prickled even though she was not cold. She hadn’t been fully honest with Ben and Roen about why she went to the sheriff’s office to wait for them. Yes, she wanted to know what they had learned from Mr. Cabot, but it was truer that she wanted the comfort that was her companion in Roen’s presence.

  It was a short walk to the train station. Hank Ketchum, owner of the livery, tipped his hat to her as she passed, his normally taciturn expression brightening momentarily as he greeted her. She smiled in turn and was relieved to know it wasn’t forced. Perhaps the fist around her heart was beginning to loosen ever so slightly.

  Solomon Winslow, the station agent in Frost Falls for as long as Lily could remember, smoothed the broadsheet he was reading across the countertop when Lily’s entrance blew the corners back. He did not trouble himself to hide his annoyance at the interruption, but he did have the grace to look abashed when he saw who it was crossing his threshold.

  “Lily Salt,” he said, folding the paper and pushing it aside. “As I live and breathe.”

  “Lily Shepard now, Mr. Winslow.”

  “And so it is. Seems it was just a week or so ago that you were Lily Bryant. Can’t figure out if change comes too quick or my brain’s too slow. Probably a bit of each.” Solomon slid off his stool. Long legged with a short torso, the agent was the same height on the stool as he was off it. “Now what can I do for you, Miss Lily?”

  Lily unwrapped the scarf around the lower half of her face. “Has there been a reply to the telegram my husband sent this morning?”

  “Ah, I thought that might be it. I promised I’d get word to him as soon as I heard, but I reckon he’s anxious, her being who she is and all and him working for Northeast. Damn shame, if you’ll pardon the language. ’Course I only met her the once. That was the night she arrived, and I can’t say I was pleased to make her acquaintance. A woman like her, she doesn’t breathe air the way you and I do. She sniffs it.” Solomon put his sloping nose in the air and sniffed to demonstrate Victorine Headley’s expression of disdain.

  “She’s dead, Mr. Winslow,” Lily said. It was not an admonishment, simply a matter of fact.

  “So she is.” His haughty countenance vanished. “Did you notice the car on the side track? It’s down a ways. You’d have to step outside to see it. That’s her private car.”

  Lily hadn’t noticed. “What will happen to it now?”

  “I expect there’ll be some instruction from New York. Mr. Shepard ain’t the only one waiting to hear from Mr. Headley.”

  “Have you spoken to anyone about this?” asked Lily.

  “Not a soul. Mr. Shepard asked me not to and I haven’t. Couldn’t if I’d wanted to. No one’s been around since your husband was here. He told me to expect the sheriff sometime, but Ben hasn’t shown himself either.”

  Lily had not asked Roen exactly what he had communicated in his telegram to Victorine’s father, but she felt confident that murder had not been mentioned. Mr. Winslow, therefore, knew that Miss Headley had died and nothing at all about how she had died.

  “Not sure what Ben’s business is,” Solomon said. “Do you know?”

  “I imagine he wants to send condolences, what with Miss Headley being all alone here and her father being a man of considerable reputation.”

  “Was it the babe?”

  “I couldn’t say,” said Lily. “But I agree with you, it’s a shame. Do you mind if I sit a spell? Perhaps the telegram will arrive while I’m waiting.”

  “Suit yourself. That chair by the window is more comfortable than either of the benches. Here, I’ll give you my paper to read. I’ve looked it over twice already.” He slid it across the counter.

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee? I have fresh in the back.”

  “No, thank you.” She removed her mittens, stuffed one into each pocket, and took the paper. The heat from the woodstove in the corner was insufficient for her to be able to remove her coat, and she kept her scarf draped around her shoulders. She carefully folded the paper and then sat. “When do you expect the morning train?”

  Solomon pointed to the slate board behind him. “Eleven forty. Evelyn Gray should be on it. At least that was her plan when she left to see her daughter and new granddaughter in Denver. Not expecting anyone else I know. Can’t say what strangers will show up and stay. There’s usually a drummer or two come to town. Guess it won’t be long before we’ll be getting folks looking for work with Northeast. Word’s got around that your husband’s already interviewed the locals.”

  Lily murmured a reply, but it went unheard as the telegraph machine began to tap. Mr. Winslow plucked the pencil from behind his ear and a piece of pale yellow paper from a notepad and began to record the message as it appeared on the alphabet dial. Lily sat up straight and looked on anxiously. When the agent caught her posture out of the corner of his eye, he gave a small negative shake of his head. She relaxed, shoulders slumping slightly.

  When he’d finished, he placed the message in an envelope, wrote the name of the recipient on it, and sealed it. “Message is for Harrison Hardy.”

  “Do you need to deliver it?”

  “Not an emergency. Frankie Fuller can ride out to the Double H with it after school.” Solomon examined his pocket watch and then came out from behind the counter to look out the front window. When he wasn’t satisfied with the range of his view, he opened the door and briefly stepped outside.

  “Looking for anyone in particular?” asked Lily when he returned.

  “Fella bought a ticket early this morning for the first train out. That’s the one Mrs. Gray will arrive on. Thought he’d be here waiting. I wouldn’t say he was eager to leave town but he was definite about his intentions.”

  Lily merely nodded and turned her attention to the newspaper.

  * * *

  • • •

  Martin Cabot surreptitiously checked his pocket watch before he followed Roen and the sheriff into Dr. Madison’s surgery. The pair stood back to allow him to approach the table where Victorine Headley’s body was laid out. A sheet covered her. Ridley stood on the opposite side of the table and folded the sheet back to Victorine’s shoulders.

  “She looks at peace,” said Martin. He’d given serious thought as to what he should say when he confronted Victorine. What he said was the best that he could manage. He did not want to give the impression that he was grieving because he certainly wasn’t. She had been his employer. He believed that making their arrangement seem something that it wasn’t would cast suspicion his way. Martin was not confident that the sheriff, and especially Roen Shepard, did not already harbor misgivings where he was concerned. The reason for it was not clear to him, except perhaps that it had something to do with Fedora Chen. How one was related to the other remained a mystery, but he knew from his own years as an investigator that a straight line did not necessarily connect the dots. Leaps of intuition sometimes trumped linear reasoning.

  Ridley raised the sheet so it covered Victorine’s face. Martin’s gaze swept the outline of the body beneath the sheet. He took a step back, feigning confusion and surprise.

  “Did you remove the child? What happened to the child?” Martin lifted his eyes to Ridley first then looked back at Roen and Ben. “I don’t understand.”

  Ben asked, “What were your traveling arrangements on your journey here?”

  Martin frowned. “My traveling arrangements?”

  “Yes. Did you share Miss Headley’s private car?”

  “Share it?” He chuckled humorlessly under his breath. “I never stepped foot in it, never was invited to. She offered to pay for a sleeping berth for me but I refused and accepted the additional recompense instead. Our only contact came when she left the train in Chicago to send a telegram to Mr. Shepard. I advised her against it. My interference, though it was hardly that, was not appreciated it. I believe she wanted to let me go. I cannot say why she didn’t.”

  “You never questioned her pregnancy?” asked Roen.

  Martin raised his eyebrows. “No. Why should I? Did you?” He looked at the doctor and the sheriff in turn. “Did any of you?” His frown deepened and furrows appeared on his brow. “What are you saying? That Miss Headley wasn’t carrying your child?”

  Ben spoke up before Roen could. “She wasn’t carrying any man’s child.”

  Ridley said, “She was using a bolster to simulate pregnancy.”

  Martin opened his mouth, closed it again.

  Roen asked, “Do you have knowledge of anyone with whom she had a disagreement? Someone who had given her offense?”