And she had nothing that needed done, regardless.

Or did she? “I do have one small task that you can accomplish. Not now, but sometime this week.” She pointed to the park, and to the empty table and chair. “Sometimes there is a man there, playing a board game with white and black stones. He’ll tell no one his name. But if you could determine who he is, I would very much appreciate it.”

The stranger frowned. “All right. May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t like unknowns. Every x in an equation ought to be solved for.”

“Then you’ll want to know my name as well.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m called Redvers—Red, for short. Red Holmes.”

She shook rather than holding her hand out, wrist limp, for him to bow over. “Any relation to Sherlock?”

He laughed, making her glad she’d emptied her change purse for him. “Not that I’ve yet discovered. So once I’ve found out who that other bloke is, how am I to let you know?”

Well, that was a good question. She could only imagine Lukas’s outrage if she told him where she lived. “If you’re in this neighborhood often, you could simply make it a point to be on this corner around five-thirty. That’s when I usually walk by.” When she walked this way, which she typically only did if coming from her brother’s, or if she fancied a turn through the park. But she’d take the long way until he reported back. And then he wouldn’t know her actual path, in case he was less savory than he seemed.

He nodded and slid the hand with the coins into his pocket. “Thank you, miss. I’m grateful. I won’t spend it on anything but food, I promise you.”

Yes, definitely new to his current plight. She nodded and kept her features schooled. “I trust not. Have a good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

“You too, miss. Thank you.”

He hadn’t asked her name, and he backed up again to give her room to go by. She nearly smiled. In the French sectors of Belgium, people tended to get much closer than the English did in general. Stop to ask someone for directions, and they all but embraced you. But she’d taken rather naturally to the more generous spaces between people, and she appreciated now that he was obviously taking pains to keep from alarming her.

A nice man, she would guess. On hard times thanks to whatever battle had stolen part of his left leg. Of no more use to the army. She could only imagine how long he’d been recuperating, the agony as he learned to use a false foot. But none of that showed on his face now. No pain, other than that of failure. He must have been trying recently to find work and been turned away.