“Miss Delacroix?” Wilkie asked in surprise.

“That’s the one.”

Wilkie shook his head. “She would destroy your cover. You have a way of blending in no matter where you go. She doesn’t.”

That was true. And dragging her all over the country wouldn’t be fair to her. While Caroline had been happy living in a sleeping berth on the presidential train for months on end, he couldn’t see her adjusting to a tiny apartment in some Milwaukee neighborhood with nothing to occupy her time. She deserved better than following him around the country.

A piece of him had always doubted he was good enough for her, but since that afternoon in Buffalo, he knew he wasn’t. Tackling crime and solving problems was the only way he knew how to put a bandage over the gaping wound in his soul.

“Quit looking so glum,” Wilkie said, cutting into his thoughts. “We leave for Key West tonight. I’ve already wired to the sheriff to expect us.”

“I’ll be ready,” Nathaniel said, and he could only pray that by the time he returned, he would have figured a way to be worthy of Caroline.

It was October, but it was still stinking hot in the sleepy island town of Key West. After disembarking from the steamer, Nathaniel and Wilkie headed straight to the small clapboard building that served as both the sheriff’s office and the jail. It wasn’t hard to find, for it was located on the town’s main street beneath coconut palms and bougainvillea vines. The explosion of fuchsia blossoms made Nathaniel’s fingers itch for some pastels to sketch them, but business came first.

“Bad news,” Sheriff Jackson said as the leathery-skinned man strode forward to greet them. He wore a uniform, but the collar and top few buttons were open, the cuffs were rolled up, and hair that was far too long brushed his collar. Quite a difference from the spit and polish of Washington. “The man you’re looking for cut himself hauling an anchor aboard his boat last week. No one thought anything of it, but an infection took root. He’s in bad shape. The doctor doesn’t expect him to make it.”

Nathaniel sagged. They’d come a long way to interrogate Daniel Perez, and the timing seemed suspicious. “Could he have gotten wind of the investigation? Could he be faking?”

The sheriff shook his head. “No way. His fiancée has been bawling her eyes out for days, and her little kid is just as bad off. Perez might have been a scoundrel, but he loved that woman and her boy and would never do this to them. Just lousy luck all the way around.”

“Can we talk to him?” Nathaniel asked. It was essential to get verification of Holland’s story. There might be more conspirators in Cuba of whom Captain Holland knew nothing.