“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. Shecarefully 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.
