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“Do you fine gentlemen remember a few weeks ago when you dragged me to a spiritualist?”

Louise, who had long since made her disapproval of this event known, emitted a snort.

“Of course. We had that beer that sent David onto his ass after two pints.” Jake took a sip of wine. “How is that pertinent?”

“Because she came into the shop today.”

Odd, how a silence could fall so loudly. Lou’s mouth parted slightly, David looked confused, and Jake’s forehead had furrowed in worry. Emmy, unbothered, settled back into her father’s chest and yawned mightily.

So much person in such a small container.

“She and those men we saw working the stall—her brothers, she said—have rented some shop and intend to turn it into … Well, she wasn’t sure what the plan was for that.”

“Did she track you down?” Jake was picking at his nails nervously, as if the threat of a small psychic woman was harrowing.

“As enticing as I am, I don’t think so. She needed stew meat, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look as shocked as she did when she saw me.”

“She needed stew meat?” Lou said, her eyes narrowed. Her wine was already mostly gone.

“Even those who speak to the dead appreciate the superior cuts of meat that Barrow and Sons provides to the public, Lou.” He paused. “She didn’t charge me for the séance, so I didn’t charge her for the meat.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Lou slammed her now-empty wine glass onto the table. “Really, Theo? You gave charity to a confidence artist?”

“She was nice,” he protested. “She has kind eyes.”

Lou made another unattractive noise while his brothers sent him wary stares. “She didn’t know you were here at all?” David pressed. “This was a complete coincidence?”

“Yes,” Theo replied, lowering his voice as Emmy began to snore. “They’re living just down the road, so you’ll see them—her and her brothers or whatever they are.” Theo was not the most observant person, but he generally noticed when people who claimed to be related looked absolutely nothing alike. Mr. Cruthers, the redhead who had been manning the ticket table, resembled a short scarecrow. The other Mr. Cruthers had been barking the show and was a hulking wall of bone and muscle. Miss Cruthers (Magdalene, he thought, according to the little banner above her tent) was the average between the two, medium height and curvy, with dark brown hair and an effortlessly pretty face. He had gotten a better look at it today, in the daylight. Her eyes were a bright honey-brown, framed by dark lashes, and her nose, though too long to be called pert, balanced her wide eyes and full mouth.

Mostly, however, he had been drawn to how utterly perplexed she had been at his presence. He’d had, like his brothers, the wild notion that she had somehow hunted him down (demanding payment, finally? had been his first thought), but as soon as her eyes had locked on his, her sheer amazement shone through. He imagined the slightest breeze could have toppled her over in that moment. How round those brown eyes had grown; her lips had parted and her expression was so fully shocked that he’d almost laughed. He had tried teasing her, attempting some sort of bond over what they both knew had happened at her little table in a tent filled with candles, and she resisted him. It was intriguing.

“Could be useful,” David mused, swirling his wine. “Having someone who can talk to the dead nearby.”

“She can’t talk to the dead,” Louise snapped. “The fact that you even brought him to that ridiculous show still bewilders me. What on earth were you thinking?”

“It was just a lark, Lou,” Jake placated. “We were half in the bag, and it was harmless.”

“You know how maudlin Theo gets when he’s been drinking, and you decided to further the mood by bringing Sarah into it?”

“You do know I am sitting right here—” Theo began, but Lou was near-fuming now, fueled by bad wine and sisterly rage.

“And now they’re here, in our village, and we have to keep an eye on them before they start robbing people blind.”

Theo gave up. He stood carefully, holding his daughter against his chest. “Lou, please calm down before you wake up Emmy. And none of you start spreading rumors about these people before they’ve had a chance to unpack, please. It’s unkind.” He glanced down at Emmy. “I’m going to put her down and go to bed myself; it’s been a long day and we’re all tired. Jake can do the washing up.” His youngest brother raised his empty glass in agreement, and Theo strode to the nursery. There, he focused on making Emmy warm and safe and hardly had time to examine why he wanted to see that look of wonder on Magdalene’s face again.

Chapter

Four

The boys had been absurdly unimpressed at her revelation of Theodore’s presence in the village. Bridgers had released a fake-sounding noise of surprise and Tom had merely raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t understand how neither of you are bothered by this,” she said for perhaps the dozenth time that night. The stew had been middling—more a testament to Bridgers’ lack of culinary abilities than the ingredients—and they had moved into the room they were calling the library, despite the absence of books. “He’s going to think we’re setting up shop here to communicate with the dead. We were trying for anonymity, and this is the opposite.”

“Mags, I don’t think we’re all that notorious.” Bridgers was inspecting his drink critically, his nose wrinkled at the cheap brandy Tom had procured. “We’re hardly Alexander Herrmann or Emma Hardinge Britten. Maybe he won’t say anything; he was rather sloshed, if I recall, and probably doesn’t even remember the session. Anyway, that will all be forgotten when we open the shop.”

Maggie knew if she reacted the way she wanted to—unrestrained panic, her old friend—they would dismiss or, worse, soothe her. They had never traveled further north into Minnesota than Minneapolis, and that had been a one-night stay six years ago; this simply was not supposed to happen. Con artists were considered untrustworthy and duplicitous, and she so desperately wanted to be someone who didn’t raise any eyebrows.

“Yes, we wanted to discuss it with you.” Tom sat up straighter, looking uncharacteristically cheerful.