“Unfortunately. Reed Herod’s brothel was burglarized down to its last nickel during the fire, so it seems likely the fire was a distraction.”
“Oh… I didn’t know. I’m… I’m glad we got out then.”
He hugged her close. “Me too.”
Commotion sounded from outside the door, Megan’s girlish voice followed by one of Claire’s giggles.
“We should probably get up.” Jessalyn covered a yawn with her hand.
Thomas groaned again, his shoulder aching. “I want to pray first.”
“Pray?”
“As husband and wife, for our relationship, for our daughters, for God to direct our steps.” He rolled out of bed and knelt on the floor, never mind the popping in his knees. “I messed up the first time around with you. I don’t intend to make the same mistakes again.”
Silence lingered between them for a long moment, then Jessalyn slowly scooted over the bed toward him and knelt. “No. I don’t suppose you do.”
The question was, were they both too set in their ways to change things ten years into their marriage? Or was there time left to start anew?
Nothing. They had absolutely nothing.
Isaac blew out a breath, long and hard, as he trudged over the packed snow on Center Street.
How did a person—or group of persons—steal so much from a brothel without anyone seeing a thing and without leaving tracks back to where they’d taken their loot? It had to bethe work of several men, but where could they store so many things? With the harbor frozen, they could hardly move a brass chandelier or a gold-plated mirror out of Copper Country, which meant the stolen goods had to be stashed somewhere nearby.
But where? He looked up to survey the wooded hills surrounding the town. So many trees. Without a trail to follow or a witness who spotted something in the forest, it would be impossible to find where the goods were hidden. He and Thomas could spend from dawn until dusk snowshoeing every day, and they still wouldn’t cover half the places someone could have set up a makeshift warehouse.
He huffed out a breath, which turned instantly white in the dry winter air, then passed the front door of the bakery and rounded the side of the building, heading to the back. He knocked on the door that led into the kitchen from the alley.
Ellie Spritzer, the oldest of Ruby Spritzer’s eight children, opened the door a second later, her carrot-colored hair contrasting with the white clapboard wall. “Sheriff Cummings. We’re just closed for the day, but if you want to look over some of the goods that didn’t sell while we clean, I’m sure I could?—”
“Actually, I’m here to visit Miss Brogan.” Which was why he’d timed his visit for after the bakery closed.
“Miss Brogan?” Ellie’s hand stilled on the door handle for a moment, then she looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. “I’m not sure that she wants any callers.”
“It’s sheriff’s business.” At least in part. And if there was another part of him that wanted to see her again? Some unofficial part that ached to glimpse the flaming color of her hair, or watch a smile inch across her lips rather than a frown?
He cleared his throat. “Definitely sheriff’s business.”
“Come in, then.” Ellie motioned him inside. “Aileen, the sheriff is here for you.”
“For me?” Miss Brogan looked over her shoulder from where she stood by the counter, her hands buried in a big bowl of dough.
“Miss Brogan.” He took off his hat. “Might I have a word with you?”
“You can go into the bakery while I finish up in here.” Ellie nodded her head toward the swinging half doors that led from the kitchen to the storefront, then trotted to the sink full of sudsy pans.
“I’m sorry. I assumed you’d both be done working by now. I can come back later if that would suit better.”
“No.” Miss Brogan’s voice was nearly panicked as she spoke the single word.
Then again, he should have expected as much. The woman had almost suffered a fit of nerves last time he’d tried talking to her alone. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?
“That is, I’ve just finished mixing up the sourdough.” Her jaw was hard despite the tremble in her voice. “Let me wash me hands and I’ll be done.”
“Instead of going into the other room, perhaps you could go for a walk with me?” Maybe she’d feel less threatened if they were out in the open.
Indeed, a bit of the tension eased from her movements as she washed her hands. “Aye, a walk sounds better than sitting in the stuffy storefront.”
