This morning, Father and I walked to the pharmacy. I still haven’t told him of my situation or of Mr. Carrington. I was hoping we could finish the sale and leave Kingsbrook before it became necessary.

As we entered the main square, we saw that everyone was either reading or carrying a newspaper. I assumed that there may have been a development in the disappearance of Katherine Carrington and was anxious to get to the pharmacy.

I opened the door and went inside while Father brought in the stack of newspapers, which he said was the last we would receive, as he had canceled the subscription. He set the bundled stack on the counter and cut the twine.

I was about to step into the storeroom to bring out more items to stock the shelves when I heard Father call out, “Rebecca?”

“What is it?” I asked.

He held up the paper and pointed to an article in the corner.

I stepped over for a closer look.

Thomas Carrington Found Dead

I braced myself against the counter. Father brought me a chair and a glass of water as I read the article, which didn’t say much more than the headline. Thomas Carrington had been found dead yesterday in his bedroom at the Nightingale House. The article said that it may have been the result of a sudden illness, possibly brought on by the grief of his daughter’s disappearance. I flipped through the paper to see if there was any more, but the article was all there was.

It didn’t make sense. I considered that the wound I gave him may have become infected, but that would have taken weeks, not two days.

“Rebecca,” Father said, “you look ill. Would you like to go home? I can run the store, myself.”

I told him that I was fine, that it was just a bit of a shock.

I didn’t want to go home. I wanted answers, and I hoped someone would have them.

There were more customers this morning than yesterday, which is no surprise when you’re practically giving away the merchandise, but I made sure to keep my eyes on the window as one o’clock approached.

They arrived, right on time, strolling across the square.

Thankfully, we were experiencing a lull in the customers over lunch, and I told Father that I was stepping out for a moment.

I hurried out the door and across the street.

“Ms. Fleming?” I called when I was a few steps behind them.

They stopped and turned.

Patricia was surprised to see me.

“May I have a word with you?” I asked.

She regarded me briefly and then told her friends that they should go on without her and that she would catch up.

“What is it?” she asked, once they had moved away.

“I wanted to ask you about Mr. Carrington.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Thomas’?”