Mikhail threw up his hands. “I’m not heartsick.”
“What’s his name?” Kate dug the point of her finger deeper into his sternum.
Mikhail just shook his head. “Telling you won’t do any good. He died on the expedition.”
“The Caldwell fellow?” Yuri took another slurp of coffee. “He’s the one who was stealing Miss Wetherby’s work? I thought his father was a senator. Interesting...”
“I should have guessed it would be a Caldwell.” Kate threw her arms up, then went back to pacing. “All they do is cause trouble, but this is a new level of depravity, even for them.”
“Mind yourself.” Alexei stepped into the room, his dark eyes leveled at Kate.
When the next man entered behind Alexei, Mikhail realized why his older brother had been so stern.
Marshal Hibbs lumbered toward the open chair directly in front of Alexei’s desk, his breath puffing as though the walk to their house had taken too much effort.
Jonas then entered behind him, followed by Evelina, Nathan, and finally Sacha and Maggie.
Mikhail straightened. “What’s going on?”
“I have a few questions to ask you about Richard Caldwell’s death,” the Marshal answered.
“I’m happy to help.” Mikhail came around the side of the desk to shake the portly man’s hand. “Is there some kind of form you need me to fill out?”
It had been so long since someone died on one of his expeditions that he wasn’t sure what the exact procedure was.
“I’ll just start by asking some standard questions.” The Marshal settled into the chair, his tin star gleaming in the light from the window. “I’m sure you’re aware that Mr. Caldwell’s family will want answers.”
“Of course.” Mikhail took the chair across from the Marshal.
The room fell silent, and for a brief moment, he considered telling the rest of his family to leave. But they all probably had questions, and it seemed easiest to answer everything at once. Besides, Jonas was Marshal Hibbs’s Deputy Marshal, and Evelina was a lawyer. Having them present could be helpful.
Marshal Hibbs started at the very beginning, asking questions about how long it had taken Mikhail to find the lost botanists, why they’d gotten lost in the first place, and if he had any information about the grizzly attack that had claimed Jack’s life.
Mikhail left nothing out. A few gasps went around the room when he explained that Richard and Heath had left the rest of the party to search for gold, and that their actions ended up putting everyone in danger. But no one looked surprised when he explained that Richard perceived he knew more about surviving in the wilderness than he actually did.
Then he told the Marshal that Richard had pulled a gun on him.
Marshall Hibbs’s eyes sharpened, and he started writing in his notebook. “And Mr. Caldwell fell the day after he threatened you with his gun?”
Mikhail shifted. “Yes.”
“How did Mr. Caldwell’s threat make you feel?”
Again, he had the urge to shift, but this time he stopped himself. “Angry. I was doing everything in my power to get the team back to safety, and all Richard cared about was finding gold—even if it put everyone else at risk.”
“So you were angry with Mr. Caldwell when he died?” Marshall Hibbs adjusted his spectacles, watching him carefully.
He had been angry, yes. Not because of the gun but because of how cavalierly Richard had treated the safety of the others in the party. Because of how he’d been trying to strong-arm Bryony into marriage. Because of how he’d been stealing not only Bryony’s field guides but also the royalties she should have been earning from them.
But he had no clue who would end up reading this report back in Washington, DC, and he wouldn’t make public any information that Bryony might prefer kept private.
“There’s no question that Richard Caldwell was the most difficult person in the party to work with,” he found himself saying. “But it was my job to see that he returned to Sitka safely, the same as everyone else. I set aside all emotions so they wouldn’t interfere with doing that job.”
“So the fact Richard Caldwell threatened you with a gun didn’t make you want to retaliate?” Marshal Hibbs wet his lips and leaned forward in his chair.
“Excuse me, Marshal?” Evelina sent the man a kind smile, her voice somehow both calm and strong. “Is Mikhail being accused of a crime? Because it seems like these questions are moving into the realm of an interrogation, not a recounting of events.”
Marshal Hibbs looked down at his notebook, then blinked. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I just want to make sure I have all the information correct before we discuss the next incident.”
