“Let’s send the telegram first and post the letter,” Cheyenne said. “Asking the Pinkertons to look into your ma’s death doesn’t seem so important anymore, but it needs to be done. And the Pinkertons need to know what happened to Rachel.”

Cheyenne thought a moment. “She told us not to mention her name, but I think she was afraid she was dying. With the man who shot her arrested, do we still keep the details a secret?”

Considering it carefully, Falcon said, “I’d say we’d better do as she asked. If we don’t hear anything from the Pinkertons, we can wire them again, tell them straight out what happened.”

They sent the wire and posted the letter, then headed for Kingston’s office.

It stood off by itself, looking more like a house than an office. A mighty grand building for a small town. They walked up five majestic steps to a porch that stretched across the front. The biggest key fit perfectly.

Seventeen

Molly picked up the pitcher and walked upstairs, making as little sound as possible without actually tiptoeing, for fear Mr. Hawkins would notice that. She recognized that she was making mental excuses, practicing explanations, in case Mr. Hawkins asked her what she was doing.

This was how a fearful woman behaved. Young as she’d been, she remembered her ma acting this way. Trying to avoid her husband’s wrath. In the end, Ma hadn’t been able to.

Molly walked straight to his room and set the pitcher in place. Moving fast and listening for Mr. Hawkins to come upstairs and bother her, or worse, she crouched and saw the envelopes still in place with the kitchen knife beside them. She grabbed all of it, tucking the envelopes deep into her pocket and hiding the knife in the folds of her skirt. Then she rushed out of the room. She caught herself before she broke into a run.

Back in the kitchen, she replaced the knife and continued cooking, trying to decide if she needed to peek at the envelopes first or just flat out quit. Walk out now, find Wyatt, and ride for home. Open the envelopes when they were safe.

She wished Wyatt would come to the back door again. Talk to her, make a plan. He would come to her window tonight. If she didn’t just up and leave before then, she’d wait for Wyatt, check what she had, then they’d leave together in the night after Mr. Hawkins went to sleep. Evidence or not, she was done here.

She agonized over whether to keep the envelopes in hand, and fear the crinkle of paper as she moved, or hide them in her satchel. She didn’t want to let them out of her sight. She found a solution she could live with. She hid the envelopes in a place Mr. Hawkins could expect a fat lip if he touched her.