“No.” They had examined the greenback under Laurel’s magnifying glass after they ate. Call recorded the serial number as well as the names of the men Laurel and Mrs. Lancaster had given him. That information was now in his pocket. He had also included the serial number in his letter to Mr. Stonechurch as proof of his progress. “Where did you put it?”
Laurel pointed to the small safe tucked under the bookshelf. “I still have that scrap of a bill you found in the strongbox. I decided to keep it under the glass rather than put it in the safe. I thought it might get lost in there.”
Call glanced up at the shelf where the overturned glass was still covering the first evidence he’d found. “It’s good where it is.”
She tapped her pencil against the desktop as she regarded him curiously. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know what I learn.”
Nodding absently, Laurel returned to studying her accounts. When she looked up again, Call was gone.
***
Call was still jawing with Mr. Booker outside the mercantile when Laurel arrived. She hitched Abby to a post and stepped up on the boardwalk. Her smile encompassed both men as she passed them on her way into the store.
Mrs. Booker placed her hands on her ample hips as soon as she saw Laurel. “What have they done?” she asked, leaving no doubt as to whom she was referring.
Laurel laughed, shook her head. “Nothing. They haven’t done a thing.” She noticed that the mother of the boys did not look especially relieved. “I mean they haven’t been a bother. They were both working hard when I left them.”
“Hmm.”
“They’re good boys,” said Laurel.
“Oh, and I know it.” Mrs. Booker dropped her militant stance. Her arms rested at her sides. “I worry that they’ll turn shiftless.” Her dark eyes glanced toward the front window, where she could see her husband sitting in his usual place. Her face clouded, but she would bite off her tongue before she’d say a word against him. “That’s Mr. Landry out there, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. I couldn’t think of anything I needed when he said he was going into town, but then I remembered that I wanted some ribbons so here I am.” She wandered over to the shelves of bolts of fabric and notions. “Ribbons aren’t the sort of thing someone else can pick out for you, are they?”
“No man that I know,” said Mrs. Booker. “Do you have a particular color in mind? Is it for trimming a bonnet or a dress?”
“No. Just something pretty for my hair.” Laurel felt awkward as soon as she’d said it. “I haven’t bought anything for a—”
“Lord, Laurel Beth, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. You look it all over and choose whatever strikes your fancy. Clarice would help you but she’s home with the baby today. I’ll just be over by the counter when you’re ready. Take your time.”
Glad that Mrs. Booker was not going to hover, Laurel thanked her. There was a veritable rainbow of ribbons to choose from and in a variety of fabrics. Grosgrain. Satin. Lace. Sateen. Velvet. Laurel fingered them to test the textures. Idly, she asked, “Would you be able to make change for a ten-dollar note?”
“A ten-dollar note?” asked Mrs. Booker. “Ithasbeena long time since you’ve been in. Always sending Rooster or one of the boys like you do, you’re forgetting you have credit here.”
“Oh, no. I remembered. I just didn’t want this on my account, so I was wondering if you could make change.”
Mrs. Booker opened her cash drawer and examined the contents. “Depends on how many ribbons you purchase, but I should be able to. I’ve been trying to keep smaller bills and coins handy because I’ve been getting some larger notes lately. I had to send Calvin to the bank a week past to make change for Mrs. Fry. Now there’s a woman who knows about notions. Ostrich feathers. Mother-of-pearl buttons. Satin trimming. She comes in to look at my catalogs and fashion magazines once a week. Always has something particular in mind and somehow manages to find it. I hardly understand it myself, but I appreciate her business even if I don’t appreciate herbusiness. If you take my meaning.”
Laurel smiled. “I believe I do.” She looked out the window and saw Call was no longer standing. Mr. Booker must have invited him to sit. “You said you’ve been getting some larger notes lately. Is that because of Mrs. Fry?”
Mrs. Booker sat on a stool behind the counter. “Mostly her, I reckon, since she’s a frequent customer, but a couple of others, too.” She chuckled. “I’m recalling Bobber Jordan came in flashing a ten-dollar note he won playing poker at Sweeny’s. I thought for sure he’d have spent it all at the saloon, but he bought a saw, a hammer, two boxes of nails, and some sundries for his wife and left here a happy man.”
“Good for him.”
“And for me. It’s a pleasure when sales are brisk.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“You know,” said Mrs. Booker, “you got me thinking. I had a note from Magnus Clutterbuck of all people. Can you imagine? Magnus Clutterbuck. I was glad for it since I don’t extend him credit anymore, not with him spending so much of his time sleeping off his drink in a jail cell.”
“Did you ask him where he got it? You must have suspected it could have been counterfeit.”
“I sure did. He told me Sweeny gave it to him for leaving the saloon while he was still on his feet. Seemed incredible to me so I asked Sweeny and he said it was true. Apparently it was worth it to him to get Magnus out before he started breaking things up.”
“Truly? I had no idea that Mr. Clutterbuck was so disorderly.”
