look frayed a bit around the edges. HereâTenner! Fetch Sergeant Whitlock. We got our own gen-yoo-ine agent from the Treasury Department back in town. Fill him in, and letâs watch how fast he hightails it over to the widow Tremayneâs.â
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Micah tied the livery horse to a post three houses down from Jocelynâs home, then checked the time. Seventeenminutes. Heâd driven the buggy with imprudent haste through a maze of narrow streets, dodged two streetcars, an oncoming freight train, and clipped the wheel on a curb when he took a corner too fast on the edge of Monroe Park. Heâd planned to return to Richmond a week earlier, but duty, not to mention Chief Hazen, bound him with chains he could not afford to break. Sighing, he thrust the watch back in his pocket. Ah, yes. Duty.
Katyaâs round face lit up like a harvest moon when she opened the door. But her gestures spoke of urgency as she bustled him into the front parlor.
âHello, Katya. Youâre looking fine.â When the maid rolled her eyes, Micah smiled a little. âItâs all right, I came from the police station. I know about the break-in. Is she home?â he asked, glancing around the room, noticing the absence of a pair of green glass paperweights with flower etchings that had been displayed on the doily-covered table next to the window. A colorful urn in the foyer that had boasted several peacock feathers was also gone.
He started to say something else, but the words drained out of his head when Jocelyn appeared between the fringed draperies lining the entrance to the parlor. âMrs. Tremayne.â
âOperative MacKenzie.â
She hovered, seemingly uncertain about whether to enter, or perhaps flee up the staircase. Her reception was so contrary to Micahâs expectations that for a moment he floundered in his own swamp of indecision. Then he looked more closely into her eyes and realized that her lack of warmth stemmed from causes other than himself. âI believe we agreed that âMisterâ is less official-sounding. Whatâs happened, besides your home being vandalized?â
âOhâ¦Iâd forgotten. How did you know?â
With a wry look, he gestured to his wrinkled, travel-wornattire. âI went from the train station to the police station to your house as fast as I could. Iâm sorry I wasnât here sooner. Katyaâs back to looking anxious, and youâre lookingââ he reeled in the words dancing indiscriminately on his tongue ââsubdued,â he finished, and behind him Katya stomped the floor.
âIâm glad youâre here,â Jocelyn said, waving a limp hand at her maid. âThereâs nobody else I can askâ¦.â
Micah waited, but when she didnât elaborate, and a backward glance at the maid revealed her frantically writing in her tablet, he went with instinct. âHere.â He placed his hand under her elbow, exulting in the feel of her despite the alarming fragility that hovered all around her. âCome and sit down. Tell me whatâs bothering you.â
âI donât know where to begin.â
âAnywhere you like.â He sat her down on one end of the luxurious sofa, and commandeered the other end for himself. âPerhapsâ¦what happened the other night? The police report indicated that you werenât home, so the only damage was to some of your possessions.â And he thanked God for it, though not aloud.
Jocelyn shrugged. âIt doesnât matter. I donât want to talk about that, not right now.â
Katya thrust her paper into his hand. Tell her we can not to New York go, do not know these people.
âNew York?â Alarmed, he searched Jocelynâs lackluster countenance. âWho is requesting your presence in New York?â
Her complexion paled further, highlighting purple smudges beneath eyes that made her look far too old. âYou neednât glare