The Maverick Preacher. Victoria Bylin

avoid Adie and her autumn eyes, but supper would give him a chance to ask her boarders about Emily.

      “I’d be grateful,” he replied.

      Concern wrinkled her brow. “Is your stomach strong enough? I could make you a custard.”

      Babies ate custard. Men ate meat. As kind as it was, Adie’s offer irked him. “My digestion’s much better.”

      “Good.”

      Having supper with five ladies made a bath a priority. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to run an errand of my own.”

      “Of course.”

      As Adie retraced her steps down Colfax Avenue, Josh headed for the part of town where he’d find a bathhouse among saloons and gaming halls. Tomorrow he’d come back to this sorry place and ask about his sister, praying he’d find her and hoping it wouldn’t be in an upstairs room.

      Maybe she’d found a sanctuary like Swan’s Nest. The thought cheered him. It also raised questions. Adie’s dress, a calico with a high neck and plain buttons, spoke of a simple life. She worked hard to care for her boarders. How had she come to own a mansion, especially one with the air of old money? She kept one parlor closed, but the other had a marble hearth, cornices and wall sconces. An oriental rug protected the hardwood floor, and the latest flowery wallpaper lined the hall. While most of the Denver mansions were made of stone, someone had spent a fortune to haul in wood for siding.

      Most notable of all, a stained glass window adorned the entry hall. Round and wide, it depicted a white swan with an arched neck floating on a lake of blue glass. Swan’s Nest struck Josh as a perfect name, especially considering its owner and her female guests. Tonight he’d eat a home-cooked meal in the company of good women. They’d chatter, and he’d listen to their birdsong voices. He wouldn’t be lonely for conversation, and he might glean news of Emily.

      Two hours later, Franklin Dean entered the bank he’d inherited from his father. A review of the day’s business showed Adie Clarke’s payment. Irritated, he summoned Horace, his driver, and left for the Denver Gentlemen’s Club.

      As usual, he’d eat supper alone. He blamed the unfortunate state of his evening on Pearl. Didn’t she know how much he loved her? He’d die for her. Sometimes, like this afternoon when he’d seen the foolish preacher at Swan’s Nest, he thought he could kill for her.

      He hoped the circumstances wouldn’t come to that. He knew from experience that dead bodies raised questions. He hadn’t meant to strangle Winnie Peters, but she’d started to scream. Why had she done that? Frank didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He’d left her body in a ravine and paid Horace to remove her belongings from the hotel. No one missed her. She’d come to Denver alone and hadn’t made friends.

      As the carriage passed through town, Frank considered today’s visit to Swan’s Nest. It hadn’t gone well, and he’d missed Adie’s visit to the bank. If it weren’t for her, Pearl would be living at the parsonage. By now, her father would have forced her to marry him. Instead she’d found refuge in a mansion that should have belonged to the bank.

      Frank scowled at his father’s shortsightedness. Swan’s Nest was on Seventeenth Street, a dirt road that led to the outskirts of Denver. As the city grew, that street would fill with businesses. In a few years, the land would be worth thousands of dollars. Frank’s father had sold the mansion for a song, and Frank wanted it back.

      He had to get rid of Adie Clarke and he had to do it soon, before Pearl had the baby and his son was born without his name.

      “Horace?”

      “Yes, sir?”

      “Do you recall the job I asked you to do last month?”

      “Of course, sir.”

      Frank had asked his driver to send Miss Clarke a message, so Horace had thrown a rock through her bedroom window. Miss Clarke had replaced the glass and said nothing, not even to the sheriff.

      “It didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped,” Frank said.

      “Another plan, sir?”

      He thought of the garden he’d seen on the side of the house. A smirk curled his lips. “I believe Miss Clarke’s vegetables need attention.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Horace stopped the carriage in front of the Denver Gentlemen’s Club. Frank exited the rig, then pressed a shiny silver dollar into his driver’s hand.

      Horace’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, sir.”

      With his walking stick in hand, Frank entered the club where he’d find fine food and drink. Tonight he had everything he needed…except Pearl. Only Adie Clarke stood in his way.