Clint got back to Canby’s, took Eclipse into the barn, and saw to his comfort before returning to the house. He peeked in on Whirlwind. The three-year-old stood still and stared back at him.
“What do you say, boy?” Clint asked him. “Should I put my money on you?”
The horse kept staring.
“That’s what I thought,” Clint said. “No tips when you’re looking for one.”
He left the barn and walked to the house. As he entered, he smelled the remnants of supper in the air. He went directly to the kitchen, found Elena there, cleaning the stove.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I am,” he said.
“I thought you might have eaten in Louisville.”
“Too crowded.”
“Not by half,” she said. “Folks usually start pouring in the day before. Have a seat at the table. I’ll bring something out.”
“Thank you,” Clint said. “Where’s Ben?”
“In his room, I think.”
“Asleep?”
“No,” she said, “it’s too early. He’s probably reading.”
“I’ll wait at the table,” Clint said, “rather than bothering him.”
He went out to the dining room and sat down. Elena appeared after only a few minutes.
“I hope you don’t mind cold chicken,” she said. “I’ve cleaned the stove and oven already.”
“Cold chicken is fine,” he said.
“Actually, it’s not so cold,” she told him, setting the platter down.
He picked up a leg and felt what she meant. It hadn’t gone fully cold yet.
“I’ll bring some vegetables,” she said. “They should be the same temperature.”
“That’ll be fine,” Clint said.
He was on his second piece when she returned. She brought with her a pitcher of water.
“This okay?” she asked. “I can bring whiskey if you like.”
“Water’s fine.”
“Do you mind if I sit with you while you eat?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “I don’t mind.”
She sat across from him. He bit into the chicken. It was excellent, but by now he expected no less from the cook.
“What have you found out?” she asked.
“About what?”
“About whoever was watching.”
Clint looked at her.
“How much has Ben told you?”
“Everything,” she said. “He pretty much tells me everything.”
He stopped chewing and stared.
“Don’t be so shocked,” she said.
“So you’re more than just the cook?”
“Much more.”
“Why does he—”
“He thinks he’s protecting my reputation,” she told him. “I’ve told him I don’t care, but he won’t hear of it. So . . . what have you found?”
While he ate, he told her everything he had learned, which really wasn’t much.
“So you still don’t know what Fontaine has planned,” she said when he was done.
“No.”
“All right then,” she said. “I have something to tell you that might help.”
He chewed a potato and asked, “What’s that?”
“I think Peter Fontaine is a thief.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’m sure a lot of his business associates probably agree.”
“No,” she said, “I mean he’s really a thief. A bank robber. A train robber. A thief.”
He stopped chewing, sat back, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Ben told me you used to work for Fontaine.”
“For a short time,” she said. “I left because I found out he’s a thief.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “you keep saying that, but you still haven’t told me how you know.”
“Well, keep eating,” she said. “Do you have enough there?”
“I have plenty of food, Elena,” he said. “What I don’t have is enough information.”
“Well,” she repeated, “keep eating and I’ll tell you.”