Fletcher had even suggested he try his hand at writing penny dreadfuls. He had tales enough to tell, no doubt. And they’d heard him spin any number of good ones during the time they’d been working with him. If he would finally set pen to paper, they could let him in to the Dread Penny Society and stop keeping so many secrets from him.

For a time, Barnabus had thought Parkington might be the mysterious Dread Master. But Parkington, while willing to bend the rules when absolutely necessary, would balk at breaking them entirely, which the DPS did regularly.

“Fine thing the lot of you are doing,” Parkington said. “A bit of a departure from the usual snooping, though.”

“An author can’t ever stop learning all he can about people and the world,” Barnabus said. “And if that learning helps people in trouble, so much the better.”

Parkington seemed doubtful that was the full truth, but let it pass. “Brogan pointed out Mrs. Milligan to me.” He narrowed his eyes on Barnabus. “She’s a beauty.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Everyone says she ain’t been around before, but she seems familiar.” Parkington scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t place her, though.”

Barnabus’s heart dropped to his shoes. Gemma’s family were criminals, back generations, and she herself had been part of their criminal efforts, though not by choice. She was hiding as much from the law as she was from the Kincaids.

And he’d brought her face-to-face with an enforcer of that law.

Móirín and Gemma approached in the very next instant. Móirín’s expression was her usual pointed perusal of everyone and everything. Gemma wore a look of mischief.

Parkington was studying her already. It’d only be a matter of time before he pieced it together. Barnabus’s best course of action at the moment was to behave as if nothing was amiss.

“Why do I get the impression I might be in trouble?” Barnabus kept his tone light, looking from one woman to the other and back again.

“Because you are,” Móirín said. “You’ve kept Gemma a secret from me. I’m not overly pleased about that.”

With a barely suppressed smile, Gemma said, “I ain’t best pleased either. Móirín and I could’ve been chums all this time, Baz.”

Móirín hooked an eyebrow upward. “Baz?”

“Can’t say I’ve heard you called that before,” Parkington said with a chuckle.

Móirín eyed the policeman. “Don’t you have some poor, unsuspecting soul to arrest, Parky?”

He tipped his hat. “I’m off duty, Miss Móirín.”

“How fortunate for us,” she said dryly.

Gemma didn’t seem to be paying the least heed to the bickering but was watching Barnabus. Voice lowered and eyes worried, she asked, “Would you rather I not call you Baz when others are listening?”