“Where’d they see it?” asked Willet.
“I don’t know. The sheriff, his deputy, and few other folks wrote down what the passengers reported was stolen. Descriptions, amounts, the approximate value if it was known. That Jackson Brewer was thorough.”
“Somebody’s lying.” Doyle took another swallow of his beer and set the glass down hard. “I’m telling you, Natty, one of those passengers is a damn liar. There was nothing like that.”
“Nothing,” Willet said, an echo of his brother.
Doyle was staring at his beer. “Could be something like that turned up missing, but it isn’t because we stole it.”
“Insurance,” said Willet. “If it’s as expensive as you say, then maybe it was reported as missing to collect something for it.”
Doyle turned his bent head, sneered at his brother. “Then how is it that it’s been seen? You sure you didn’t hold something back? You fingered just about everything.”
“I didn’t.”
“Fellas,” said Natty. “All will be revealed. Seems there’s a plan to put it in the owner’s pretty little hands.”
Doyle looked up. “So the deputy has this collar in his possession?”
“It would appear so.”
“Then I think we need to keep an eye on him.”
“One of us should.” Natty picked up his beer. “We don’t need to cluster around him like iron filings on a magnet.”
Willet’s recessed chin made it impossible for him to effectively jut it forward in a challenging manner, but it also never stopped him from trying. He made the reflexive gesture now. “Who, then?”
“Yeah,” said Doyle. “Who’s it going to be?”
Natty sat back in his chair and regarded them from under a hooded glance. “I think you boys know the answer to that.”
• • •
Phoebe and Remington left Saturday afternoon over Fiona’s strenuous objections and Thaddeus’s milder ones. Fiona offered to invite Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler to Twin Star, and that was an alternative for which Phoebe was unprepared. She bald-faced lied and said that Mrs. Tyler was visiting her son and daughter-in-law because the birth of her grandchild was imminent. “She won’t want to be away from the baby until she has to return to Saint Louis. You understand, don’t you?”
Fiona’s mouth had snapped shut, and she kept it that way, although Phoebe would have rather argued with her than have to listen to her thunderous silence. It was tempting to see if she could find a trunk to crawl into.
Thaddeus had wondered about the suddenness of the trip, and this time it was Remington who offered the bald-faced lie. “Blue delivered the invitation when he came out to the branding. Stationmaster asked him to bring it out. It was the only mail he had for the ranch, so Blue obliged him.”
Phoebe sat back on the wooden bench seat as the train pulled away from the Frost Falls station. “Do you think they believed us?”
“About what in particular?” asked Remington. He slung his long legs into the aisle.
“About all of it. I can’t remember what I even told Fiona now. We should have considered what they might say and been better prepared.”
He shrugged. “Fiona cannot dislike me any more than she already does, so I—”
“Don’t be so sure,” she said.
“So I am fine with it. And my father? He’ll forgive me.”
Phoebe lowered her voice. “That’s because he thinks you are planning to compromise me.”
“He’s late to that conclusion.”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “If anyone is thinking about my dress and our cake, it’s your father.”
Remington laughed. “Damn, that’s probably true.”
