“Then I suppose I’m meant to share.”
“I hoped you would.”
“I’m not even talking to you, Laurel.”
All evidence to the contrary, but Laurel understood. She placed one hand over her belly as her stomach rumbled. Maybe it was the noise that decided him, but he gestured her to walk with him and found a place on a thick bed of pine needles to sit down. She crossed her legs and sat. He took out a sandwich and then handed her the sackto get her own. She opened her mouth to thank him but he shook his head and she closed it again. The implication was obvious. He didn’t want to hear anything from her.
She took small bites simply so she could linger. Call had eaten his egg and was eyeing the cherry pie when she was just finishing her sandwich. She brushed crumbs off her hands before she reached for the egg. She hesitated, and rather than cracking the shell, she held it out to Call.
“It’s yours,” he said, shaking his head.
“Mrs. Lancaster knows I don’t really like boiled eggs.”
Call was suspicious, but he took it. He cracked it against the scaly bark of the ponderosa and eyed Laurel as he peeled it. She wasn’t staring at the egg as if she regretted giving it to him so he ate it in three bites instead of two quick ones. “Maybe you should have held back some of the dried apples for yourself,” he said, handing her one of the pie slices.
She shrugged and carefully unwrapped the pie. Her mouth watered, but she waited for Call to take his first bite. “Dr. Singer is leaving tomorrow on the afternoon stage.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“I invited him to take a room in the house tonight.”
“You didn’t need to tell me. You don’t have to worry that I’ll run into him.”
Laurel inhaled sharply. “You are determined to be cold.”
Call didn’t deny it.
“Very well,” she said after a moment. The pie did not look as tempting as it had when she unwrapped it, but Laurel would have eaten it if it were a prairie pancake and made the same effort to pretend she enjoyed it.
Call finished first and wiped his mouth with the gingham towel the pie had been wrapped in. He opened the canteen at his side and drank deeply before he offered it to Laurel. When she shook her head, he closed it, leaned back against the trunk behind him, and closed his eyes.
Laurel wondered if he could actually fall asleep. He looked perfectly comfortable. In contrast, her stomachwas in knots. The silver lining, she supposed, was that it was no longer rumbling.
“Did you find anything?” asked Call.
Laurel noticed he didn’t trouble himself to open his eyes. “A faded ten-dollar tender note. Not a scrap like you found. It’s a whole greenback.”
“Red seal?”
“Yes. More pink than red, but it’s still evident.”
“What about the serial number? Those notes have serial numbers. Could you see it?”
“I didn’t look.” She started to retrieve it, but he stopped her, and she realized his eyes were not quite as closed as they seemed. He was watching her from beneath the fan of dark lashes.
“When we get back,” he said. “We’ll look at it under your magnifying glass.”
“Why is it important?”
“The red seal series has serial numbers to track legal tender notes. It discouraged counterfeiters during the war. The Denver bank uses those notes for the Stonechurch payroll and records the serial numbers of the bills they release. We’ll be able to trace the bill back to the payroll that was on the stage.”
“I had no idea.”
“Neither did Mr. Pye. Most people don’t pay attention to the money they pass. Shopkeepers and banks do, of course. Counterfeiting is a profitable business.”
“If this note is from the robbery and the money never left Falls Hollow, isn’t it possible that some of the notes have been spent?”
“That’s two big ‘ifs,’ but yes, it’s possible.”
