turned to yet another clean page in his notebook, wrote a bit, and slid it over to me.
“Answer these three questions, Mrs. Krause. And to make it easier for you, I’ll only require one to be truthful.”
“Why do I feel as if I am a suspect rather than a victim of a heinous crime?”
He said nothing, only held my gaze and pushed the notebook nearer to me. His handwriting was that of an educated man, neat and even, with a uniformly sharp angle to the left. I could detect a slight smearing of the ink and registered a light stain along the side of his smallest finger.
He’d written:
What is your name?
In which city is your husband’s death certificate filed?
In what state were you married?
I read the first question aloud. “You know my name.”
“If so, then I have your truthful answer. I’m going to step outside.”
He left, taking a silver cigarette holder from his breast pocket and a match from the shot glass on the bar. He had the cigarette lit and between his lips before opening the door, leaving me to worry that he didn’t take his heavy overcoat with him. I could hear sleet hitting the window.
He’d left his pen, still warm from his grip, and I held it over the page. Such questions. Such easy questions for any other woman. One truthful answer seemed a fair request. I wrote, my hand trembling equally with both the fact and the fiction.
The door opened, and Carmichael came back in, his face flushed between its freckles. At the same moment, Mr. Sylvan walked in through the hotel entrance and Bert stepped out from behind the bar. Carmichael acknowledged both men with a nod of his head, then made his way straight toward me. I could smell the cigarette and damp of the night. He didn’t wear a wedding ring—few men did in those days—and I wondered if there was a woman in his house who would press her face into his broad shoulder and breathe him in. I had to grip the table to keep from doing so.
He reached down for the notebook. “Are we done here?”
“We are.” Though, even then, I knew we weren’t.
He thanked me, touching the notebook to his temple in an odd salute, and held out his arm. “Then I shall walk you down to Mr. Sylvan, who will, I am sure, escort you to your room. I understand he has set his staff of brownies to put it right for you.”
Brownies. A nod to his Scottish origins.
I took his arm and brought myself out of the booth—an action that has yet to be easy for a lady to accomplish. He gave my arm a reassuring pat once I was standing next to Mr. Sylvan. “You’ll see to it that our Mrs. Krause passes the night safely?”
“As I have these past three months, sir.” His moustache twitched with the effort of containing a sneer.
“Good, then. I’ll be in touch.”
Carmichael left by the street entrance, wishing a good night to Bert, who returned the same. The moment the door closed behind him, I felt the same ball of fear that I had when I ran into this bar hours before.
“I don’t know if I can go back there.”
“Very well,” Mr. Sylvan said without a hint of humor. “I’ll have my brownies pack your things. I’ll even have Bert here escort you across the street to the Emily Morgan.”
“She took all of my money. You know I can’t go anywhere else. Please—” I touched his sleeve, pleading, “Let me have another room?”
“I wouldn’t give you another room if we had one. Since you’ve no problem putting yourself on display, I’ll allow you to spend the night in the lobby. Prop yourself up on one of the sofas. That or the sidewalk. As you’re so far a paying guest, I’ll see to it you get a blanket. Those are your options. I’ve other guests to attend to. Please do let me know your preference.”
And he left, in direct defiance of Carmichael’s orders.
I looked to Bert, my arms folded tightly against myself for warmth. For strength. “Walk with me?”
“You know I can’t.” He stepped closer, touching a single finger to my elbow. All of the patrons had been chased from the bar for my interview with Carmichael, but the door was not locked. Someone could come in at any moment. “Last thing you need is more scandal. Now, you’ve had a fright, but you haven’t done nothing wrong. I can’t walk