She laid an arm over his, murmured something that might have been good night, and then fell deeply asleep.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Martin Cabot had the information that his employer wanted less than twenty-four hours after she’d demanded it. He waited three days to tell her. It was a petty triumph but hardly unethical, and he was the only one aware of it anyway. He bought a newspaper at the drugstore and carried it to the hotel to read while he ate his breakfast. His landlady voiced no objections when he announced he would be taking all of his meals at the Butterworth. And why should she? It was one less at her table. He was also paying—or rather Victorine was—more than double for his room so Mrs. Brady did not foist another itinerant salesman on him. Martin was very much enjoying the peace and privacy his contract with Victorine afforded him.
Martin waited at the entrance to the dining room for Mrs. Butterworth to show him to his table. He’d learned quickly that she liked to do that, considered it important to the hospitality of the hotel. She greeted him warmly when she came upon him and apologized that the table he preferred was already occupied.
“That’s Judge Miner. He’s waiting for my son. Criminal business, I expect.”
“Of course,” Martin said graciously. “You could not very well ask him to find another seat.” He looked around the dining room. It was crowded this morning. He recalled there had been a train arrival late in the day, so that explained so many unfamiliar faces. He would have to join a table that was already populated. It was not his preference. “May I wait in the lobby for a table to become available?”
“Certainly, if you wish it.”
“I do.” He indicated the paper under his arm. “I can readwhile I wait.” Ellie took his coat and hat and showed him to the padded bench below the staircase. Martin thanked her and sat, opening his paper immediately to avoid conversation with her husband at the desk. He glanced up when the front door opened. He recognized Sheriff Madison. The lawman did not look in his direction, which Martin accepted as a good sign. It meant he had not attracted unwelcome attention.
The next time he looked above the broadsheet was because he heard Victorine. She’d been silent coming down the stairs but was now making her presence felt complaining to Mrs. Butterworth. Martin hid his satisfaction behind the paper. It seemed there were still no empty tables in the dining room.
Ellie invited her to sit at a table with an empty chair but otherwise occupied or return to her room and be notified when a table became available. Victorine clenched her jaw and chose the latter simply by walking away.
Martin lowered the paper. He knew the moment she spied him because she stopped so suddenly that she practically vibrated. Her skirt fluttered before it settled in place. There could be no meaningful conversation while Abe Butterworth stood behind the desk fiddling with the room keys and pretending to be oblivious. The man was aware that Victorine was at least an acquaintance because of their previous meeting in the lobby, but Butterworth couldn’t begin to know the facts of their association. He wanted to keep it that way.
“Are you waiting for a table?” asked Victorine.
“I am, but you are welcome to take mine when it becomes available. I don’t mind waiting.”
“Perhaps we could share. Would that be acceptable to you?”
“It would.” He watched Victorine look over her shoulder at Ellie Butterworth, who was also pretending not to observe their exchange.
“I will share a table with this man,” she said. “You’ll let me know.” With that, she turned toward the stairs and began the climb.
Martin judged that Victorine could have only reached her room when Ellie sent one of her girls to announce that a table was ready. He wondered if the sheriff’s mother had done it onpurpose, but if she had, she did not give herself away, even when her husband regarded her with a raised eyebrow.
Martin stood when Victorine joined him at the table and politely held out a chair for her. She was slightly out of breath but he refrained from commenting. He sat opposite her with the paper opened beside him. He was wearing his spectacles now so he could read the broadsheet and not simply make a pretense of it.
“You are an awful man,” she said. “I would not suffer you if there were a choice.”
He looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “Oh?”
“I sent that boy around on two separate occasions because I wanted to know what you learned. You’ve given me nothing. Not so much as the satisfaction of a reply.”
“The boy’s name is Frankie.”
She ignored that as of no account. “Where have you been? I thought you were going to take your meals here. I’ve never seen you once.”
“Then it’s because we simply take our meals at different hours.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve come down at different times and waited for you. I know you must be watching me.”
“Must I?”
“You’re purposely avoiding me.”
“How do you explain that I’m here with you now?”
“You’ve learned something. Tell me.”
“In time. Food first.” Martin watched Fedora as she listened to Victorine. She kept more than a respectful distance from their table. He thought she was becoming accustomed to him, so perhaps it was Victorine who made her wary. It showed good sense on her part, and he liked her all the more for it. He gave her his order, and when she was gone, he shook his head at his breakfast companion. “I don’t think she’s an admirer.”
