“Oh,” she says, as if she understands all that this means. “So . . . is it terribly worrisome with Mr. Hocking being missing? With the way you two . . . met? I was just wondering if love has blossomed between you and if this is now a very tragic thing not knowing where he is.”

I can see that Libby very much wants me to be brokenhearted at Martin’s absence and what a sweet, romantic image that would be for her. I’m also thinking that it would do me well for people to think I miss my husband and want him found. I reward her with another little smile.

“I have indeed grown to have feelings for him,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I do have feelings for Martin; they are just not ones of affection.

“You poor thing!” Libby says. “I do hope he can be found quickly. Perhaps he’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere and for some reason he’s unable to speak or maybe he’s forgotten his own name and you’ll find him and when he sees you he’ll remember you and he’ll know that he has feelings for you now, too!”

“Oh, I’m sure he has mutual feelings for me,” I reply, also not a lie. Libby beams and we are quiet for a few moments, which allows me time to wonder what this detective might ask me. I was not expecting this. I was expecting to file a report that nobody would care about. Again I wonder what lies beneath the crush of the fallen fireplaces. I turn to Libby.

“I feel badly for the neighbors on our street that our place hasn’t been cleaned up at all. I see everyone clearing away the remains of their burned houses. I don’t want people thinking that we’re not going to be taking care of that.”

“Oh, I suppose they will understand with the situation being as it is,” she says. “Still. The place is a sore sight.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin to hire someone to clear it all the way,” I say, knowing that Libby, ever the fountain of service to her pathetic neighbor, will want to help me.

“Let Chester and me find someone to do that for you. There are so many men out of work and wanting to earn money. It’s not hard to find the workmen. Getting wagons to haul away the rubbish is the hard part. But then you don’t have much left of your house to haul away.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s quite all right. It’s primarily the few things that didn’t burn entirely,” I say. “The cookstove. And the slabs from the fallen fireplaces. Some piping. You’ve seen it. And I would be so grateful if you could line up the labor for me. I have some money back at the house where I’m staying to pay for it.”

“Not to worry, not to worry. We can take care of that later. Now, you’re sure there’s nothing of value there? Nothing you’d want the workers to try to save for you?”