After breakfast, he found Mr.Kirtland in the cramped lobby, drinking a cup of coffee at his desk. His hair was askew, his eyes streaked with red as if he’d been up and perhaps away from the hotel for most of the night.
Victor smiled to himself. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to pay the wife after all.
When Mr.Kirtland saw him, he set down his cup. “Did you sleep well?”
Victor shrugged. “Well enough.”
“This town never seems to sleep.”
Victor sat in the chair beside the desk, the handle of his leather portfolio case secure in his hands. “How long have you and your wife lived in Sacramento?”
“I arrived here in 1850, but I spend half my year in the goldfields.”
“Does Mrs.Kirtland run this establishment while you’re gone?”
He took a sip of coffee before shaking his head. “We just purchased this house from a man on his way to look for gold. It’s a constant ebb and flow here of people moving between the city and diggings, depending on the weather.”
Victor leaned forward. “I’m actually looking for someone who’s either here in Sacramento or out in the mines.”
Mr.Kirtland raised his eyebrows. “Is it your wife?”
Victor snickered. “I wouldn’t be searching for my wife.”
The proprietor didn’t laugh. “Who are you looking for?”
“My slave.” He slipped his drawings of Isaac out of the portfolio and spread them across the desk. “Someone kidnapped him and brought him to California.”
The man picked up a sketch. His eyes flickered as he looked at Isaac’s portrait, his lips pressed together. Then he dropped it.
Victor leaned forward. “Have you seen him?”
Mr.Kirtland pushed the sketch away. “No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m certain,” the man snapped.
Victor slowly collected the pictures. First the law clerk and now this man—why did people keep lying to him?
Fanny swept into the room, smiling at him before looking at her husband. “There’s a big trial down at the courthouse this afternoon.”
“We have plenty of work to keep us occupied here today,” Mr.Kirtland said.
“But I have a new gown to wear,” Fanny insisted. “And this is an opportunity for us to find better clientele for our house, like Mr.Duvall here.”
Mr.Kirtland sighed like a man who’d repeated a conversation one too many times. “Running this house well will attract the best clients.”
“Nonsense,” she said, clapping her gloved hands together. “We need to be socializing with the residents of this city.”
“It’s not like attending an opera,” the man said, clearly frustrated with his wife. He opened a ledger on the desk and began to review it.
His disinterest didn’t stop her. “The sheriff caught a runaway slave last night,” she continued. “Lorinda said this will be the biggest trial they’ve had around here in ages.”
Victor clutched his portfolio to his chest, processing her words. Was it possible the law had found Isaac before he did? If so, what would they do with him?
“And you’ll never guess who they think is involved,” she said, leaning closer to the men as if they were conspiring together.
Mr.Kirtland glanced up from his work. “President Pierce.”
