Page 40 of The Frozen River

“Why you haven’t come for Joseph North?”

“Ah, I see.” Barnabas scratches the back of his neck. “Direct orders from the court. I’m to let North come in on his own for the hearing.”

“And why does he get different treatment?”

“Because he’s a judge. And a colonel.”

“James Wall was a captain, and you arrested him in front of twenty people.”

He nods once but doesn’t break eye contact. “There’s a wide gap between captain and colonel, isn’t there?”

“And a wide gap in favor too, I’d say. You think that is fair?”

“What I think has nothing to do with it. I’m only an officer of the court; no one asks my opinion.”

“I just did.”

He flashes a quick, bright smile. “I think that I’ve a single job, Mistress, to apprehend the men I’m ordered to. And I’m the sort of man who does my job.”

Yesterday, when he was scuffling with James, I hadn’t gotten a good look at him. But I take Barnabas in now, curious about this man who has stepped into the scandal enfolding our town. He has sandy-colored hair and eyes that might be hazel. Or perhaps brown. I can’t tell from this distance. But there’s something about his face and the way he moves that makes him appear unremarkable. It occurs to me that perhaps he does this on purpose, to seem nonthreatening. He’s young to be an officer of the court, and looking nondescript—especially to strangers—would be an advantage.

“Your turn,” he says. “I’ve answered your questions.”

“You can find Joshua Burgess at Pollard’s Tavern.”

He flicks a glance to the house behind me, then back, another smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Seems to be a popular place amongst the criminal element in your town.”

“James isn’t a criminal,” I say. “He’s a friend, in fact. And there isn’t a man in this town who wasn’t shocked to hear that he’s failed to pay a debt.”

Abashed, Barnabas nods once. It’s not an apology—he doesn’t owe me one—but rather an acknowledgment that he’s misjudged the man.

“Go to the tavern. Ask for Amos Pollard. Tell him I sent you. He’ll take you to Burgess.”

“I thank you for the help,” he says, replacing his hat. He tips it, adds, “Mistress,” then looks over my shoulder. Again, he offers that charming smile and tips his hat a second time. “Miss.”

I turn to find Dolly leaning in the doorway, hand on her hip, scarf conspicuously missing from her hair. She watches Barnabas with an expression that I can only describe as proprietary.

Well, that’s new.

“Good day to you, Mr. Lambard,” I say, walking to the garden gate to see him off. He unties the reins and climbs onto the wagon seat.

Another tip of his hat. Another glance over my shoulder. A smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth. And then he is gone, unaware of the gruesome discovery awaiting him at the tavern.

Dolly comes down the walkway to my side. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“About Burgess?”

“Yes.”

“Because he’d have gone back to Vassalboro.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“If he goes home now, he’ll never see the body. And if he never sees that body, he won’t ask any questions about how Joshua Burgess came to be hanged, then thrown in the river.” I look Dolly full in the face and see the vivid flash of understanding in her eyes. “I want as many people asking questions as possible.”

“I think he will,” Dolly says with a firm nod. She turns her gaze down the drive to where Barnabas and his wagon have already disappeared into the trees. “He seems clever.”

It’s a woman that does the choosing. I remember Ephraim’s statement from a few days ago. Anyone who thinks differently is a fool.