PISCES

33

BENJY WAS THE ONLY ONE who slept through the night, unbothered by anything that occurred around or to him. While this worried Oliver and Thomas, Penelope didn’t bat an eye. She coolly mixed, grinded, and cut various herbs. Not once did she show a hint of worry, even when her most powerful healing potions had no effect. She kept trying things, but never enough to make things worse. Throughout the night she sent Oliver and Thomas away, but let Hetty stay in the room, until after dawn, Penelope kicked her out too.

“I’m going home to get a few things.” Penelope cut in to Hetty’s protests. “While I’m gone you need to eat and rest, in that order. If you make yourself ill, it’s not going to help him get better. More likely he’ll get worse. Sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight.”

That suggestion, as kindly meant as it was, was no solution. No matter where she slept, she wouldn’t catch a wink. She might as well stay here and be close at hand.

“I’d rather not,” Hetty said as Penelope pulled several vials from her pockets. “This would have been our room if we’d stayed here.”

“You sleep in the spare room,” Penelope repeated, each firm word making it clear her friend was gone and only the healer whose practical suggestions were not influenced by emotions remained. “Go eat.”

Hetty had no appetite, but one look at Penelope’s stern expression drove her downstairs anyway.

The kitchen stove, which had remained unused and ignored all these months, now happily roared with sizzling pans as Thomas worked a different brand of magic.

Hearing her, he stepped away and let the wooden spoon stir on its own while he rummaged around in the cabinets.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“Which is the wrong thing to tell me,” he said. “Sit down and let me fix you a plate. I promise it’ll be the easiest thing you’ll do all day.”

With her protests unheeded, Hetty sat down at the table. But once food was placed in front of her, she found it hard to resist scrambled eggs and fresh bacon. “Oliver just told us you were coming home. I thought I’d have to wait weeks before I got to eat your cooking again.”

“I left nearly as soon as I sent it,” Thomas admitted. “Though I had been planning to return sooner.”

“Trouble?”

“Hardly trouble.” He settled into a chair next to her, pulling out his pipe but made no moves to light it. “Deliverance is a nice town most of the time, but there’s nothing but ugly outside it. White lawmen roll about pitting everyone against each other. Negro, Natives, poor white folks all calling for each other’s blood instead of banding together against the rich.” Hetty’s face must have revealed her concerns, for he managed a laugh. “I’m making it sound terrible, but it wasn’t. There were a few bad spots here and there, but overall it was . . . pleasant.” He gave her a sharp look. “I saw my wife and daughter while I was there.”

“Your wife?” Hetty echoed.

“And daughter.” Thomas’s mouth curled over this.

“But,” Hetty sputtered, “they’re dead!”

“I thought they were dead,” Thomas corrected. “I got a telegram from them last year. They found out about me and wanted to see me.”

“And they live in Texas.” Suddenly Hetty understood every shift and movement in Oliver’s moods in the months following Thomas’s departure. She knew he was upset but thought the reaction a bit excessive, given that Thomas was supposed to be building and protecting schoolhouses. But if Thomas had gone to see the family he had thought lost, why, that explained a great number of things.

Except for one thing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Then, remembering Marianne’s accusations of losing sight of her friends, Hetty added almost defensively, “I would have been so happy to hear you found them.”

“I know.” Thomas sighed and tapped the pipe against the table. “I said nothing because I was scared. I almost wanted it to be a trick. I thought they were dead for all these years, and never checked if it was the truth. I was afraid they’d know that and hate me for it. I arrived in town, and my darling little girl ran up to me, hugged me as if I’d just returned from a short trip. She’s all grown up now—not a little girl anymore, I suppose—and ready to make me a grandfather. And my Bess. She runs the town in every way except in name, and I think her post office is the best run one I’ve ever seen.”

“You had a good time, then?”

Thomas’s mouth twisted, pulling at the old scars that covered the right side of his face. “I saw my wife married to a kind man, saw the brightest and clearest sunsets I’ve ever seen, and . . . and, well, was dreadfully bored the rest of the time! The only time I had fun was when I teamed up with some of the younger men to go after missing livestock.”

“Is that why you came back? You wanted excitement?”

“My heart will always have a spot for them, but here”—he swept his hand around the table—“is where my family is. I’ve missed you all terribly. I only wish I’d come back sooner.”

“Your timing is perfect.”

“Perfect.” He snorted. “I leave you all for a few months, and I return to a mess!”

“Not everything is terrible. Darlene and George adopted a baby.”

“Which is one glimmer of starlight!” Thomas went on, “I still don’t understand how Charlie’s murder connects to what happened to Benjy. Does someone know that you are looking into things?”

“I’m not sure,” Hetty lied. Thomas made a sound of disbelief, but Hetty continued as if he said nothing.

“I do know that Charlie’s made money off of Benjy’s matches. He had a book of figures. It’s likely whatever he owned his murderer was coming from last night’s match.”

“Then why would the murderer attack Benjy like that?”

“Because Benjy was supposed to lose the match.” Hetty paused, remembering the swirl of emotions as she stood at the ring, horrified at what she saw and indignant that he would allow himself to be pushed around like that. They had not traveled a long road together for such things to occur. “But then he saw me.”

“Changing his mind. Don’t blame him.” Thomas nodded. “It’s a wise move. You don’t want to have anyone you care about angry at you.”

Hetty started to protest, but found she had no arguments to make in the face of sadness seeping into his features.

“Have you and Oliver exchanged a single word in private?” she asked.

Thomas shook his head. “He does not want to talk to me. He shut the door on my face when I showed up last night. I’m not sure what would happen if Benjy wasn’t here to whisk me to the match before I could say something I regretted. Again.”

“You just surprised Oliver,” Hetty assured him. “Your return caught him with a body in the cellar, and a house in need of cleaning.”

“I hope that is all,” Thomas said, but did not sound convinced.

Hetty patted his hand. “This is a rather big house, but it’s going to become very small if you try to avoid each other.”

“I thought he would be happy I’ve come back.”

“We’re talking about Oliver. He’s never happy.”

Thomas began to laugh at this only to start to cough so hard she thought he was choking.

Then she saw Oliver leading a man in a rumpled suit toward the cellar. When he turned his head, Hetty knew him at once. This was Preston Stevens, the man she’d seen yelling about the missing wagon.

This truly was a small town.

She hurried after them, ignoring Thomas’s start of surprise.

“I don’t see why you can’t handle—” Preston said, stopping himself as he heard Hetty’s footsteps.

“Don’t mind her,” Oliver said, going around to the table where a coffin lay. “She’s just here to clean up.” He gestured for her to go back upstairs, but Hetty remained where she was, lurking in the background.

With a sigh, Oliver approached the coffin. “Preston, this is the man I need you to put in a pauper’s grave.”

“Do you want the coffin back?” the man asked, eyeing the wood greedily. “Because it’s mighty nice.”

“You can have it,” Oliver said. “Do with it what you want.” He lifted the lid. “Let me just remove some of the preservation charms.”

Oliver barely lifted his hand into the air before Preston let out a small shout. He swayed, nearly keeling over.

“That’s . . . that’s my brother!” he squawked, then pointed at the dead man lying in the coffin. “Morris. I hadn’t seen him since . . . Stars above, how could this have happened?”

“This is your brother.” Hetty stepped up to them. “When did you last talk to him?”

Instead of answering, Preston stared at her. “I’ve seen you before. Who are you?”

“My name is Henrietta Rhodes,” Hetty said. “My husband and I found your brother earlier this week. If we’d known who he was, we would have told you sooner.”

“You found Morris,” Preston said.

“Yes, in an alley off Barclay,” Hetty said. “We brought him here since Oliver doesn’t mind taking care of things.” She hesitated, taking a measure of how grief spilled over the man. The wrong question could push things in a more difficult direction. “Do you know if your brother was involved in anything dangerous?”

“Morris did nothing to put himself at risk.”

“Was he a member of E.C. Degray?”

Preston’s shock faded suddenly, and his stare turned icy. “What would you know about that?”

“It could be connected to his death.”

“ ‘Connected to his death’?” he parroted. “Who do you think you are!”

“Just someone doing their best to help.”

Oliver put a hand on Hetty’s shoulder, pulling her away from Preston. “If I had known this was your brother, I would have told you earlier. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll take him,” Preston said. “By the stars,” he muttered, drawing the Taurus star sigil. The coffin lifted into the air. “This was not how I expected this day to go.” He looked up at Oliver with wet eyes. “Do you know who killed him?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Oliver said, with a warning glance to Hetty. “Although I know someone is seeking answers.”