lovely as a spring day when she blushed.
He shouldn’t have gone to the shop. Because in seeking some final reparation from Josiah, Daniel could no longer avoid knowing how much he was going to hurt Sarah.
“Everything is set for this evening, Miss Whittier.” Mrs. Brentwood wagged a finger at Sarah, seemingly oblivious to Sarah’s dinner cooling on the small parlor table. True to her nature, Mrs. Brentwood hadn’t been dissuaded by Sarah’s attempt at privacy earlier that day. The woman’s curiosity always won out. “I told Ah Mong to be extra sharp about watching your house.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Brentwood.” Sarah offered a tight smile. She had opened the door to the woman’s persistent knocking before looking through the glass to check who it was, expecting that it might be Ah Mong himself asking after her or perhaps the police come back to check on them. She would be more careful next time. “But really, it isn’t necessary—”
“‘Be smart and keep your wits about you,’ I said,” Mrs. Brentwood interrupted. “But he has the oddest way of looking at a body that I can never tell if he’s understood me or not.” She leaned close to whisper, as if her Chinese servant had the ability to hear through the walls of Sarah’s house. “That brother of his is even more peculiar.”
“I don’t know why you keep Ah Mong on if you’re bothered by him, Mrs. Brentwood,” Sarah said, her voice edged with irritation.
“Because he’s so much cheaper than an Irish girl, of course!” Mrs. Brentwood’s close-set eyes peered down the expanse of her lengthy nose. “Mr. Cady did teach you about household finances and such affairs, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He always was practical and most careful about expenditures.” Her neighbor’s gaze swept the room much as Daniel Cady’s had, resting on the finest pieces of furniture, the rug on the floor, andthe gilded mantel clock in particular. “Never profligate with his money. Procured items of taste, but never extravagant. In fact, rather a miser, if the stories about his treasure are—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry, my dear. I spoke out of turn.”
“‘Treasure,’ Mrs. Brentwood?”
Mrs. Brentwood waved her hands as though Sarah was an annoying insect she was attempting to sweep away. “Silliness. It’s nothing, Miss Whittier. Truly. I told Robert I’d never breathe a word.”
A sick feeling burrowed into Sarah’s stomach. “You’ll have to apologize to your husband, then, because you have.”
“You won’t tell him I told you, will you?” Her brow pinched, deepening the wrinkles across her forehead. “He would be upset. I wouldn’t have even thought of that silly rumor if not for your unfortunate intruder earlier today. Please don’t tell Robert.”
“What treasure did Josiah supposedly possess that Mr. Brentwood doesn’t want spoken of?”
And why had Josiah never mentioned such dreadful rumors?
She dropped her voice again. “Gold, Miss Whittier. From the Black Hills.”
Relieved, Sarah shook her head and smiled. “I know about that gold. It was his share from his mining operation, but Josiah always said he spent most of it on this house, and I know what was in his bank accounts. Believe me, the money he left behind is a nice sum but no treasure. And if he had hidden any cash or gold nuggets on this property, he would’ve told me.”
“Ah, yes. He would have.” Mrs. Brentwood nodded. “That’s good to hear, because it’s these sorts of rumors that encourage the criminal element.”
The sick feeling returned. “You believe the story of a treasure is why someone was sneaking around my backyard and came onto the kitchen stairs?”
“Sadly, I do.”
“But why today? This house has been here for years and no one has attempted to break in before. Undoubtedly the man was simply looking for a handout.”
“A beggar? You can’t be as naive as that, Miss Whittier.” Mrs.
He shouldn’t have gone to the shop. Because in seeking some final reparation from Josiah, Daniel could no longer avoid knowing how much he was going to hurt Sarah.
“Everything is set for this evening, Miss Whittier.” Mrs. Brentwood wagged a finger at Sarah, seemingly oblivious to Sarah’s dinner cooling on the small parlor table. True to her nature, Mrs. Brentwood hadn’t been dissuaded by Sarah’s attempt at privacy earlier that day. The woman’s curiosity always won out. “I told Ah Mong to be extra sharp about watching your house.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Brentwood.” Sarah offered a tight smile. She had opened the door to the woman’s persistent knocking before looking through the glass to check who it was, expecting that it might be Ah Mong himself asking after her or perhaps the police come back to check on them. She would be more careful next time. “But really, it isn’t necessary—”
“‘Be smart and keep your wits about you,’ I said,” Mrs. Brentwood interrupted. “But he has the oddest way of looking at a body that I can never tell if he’s understood me or not.” She leaned close to whisper, as if her Chinese servant had the ability to hear through the walls of Sarah’s house. “That brother of his is even more peculiar.”
“I don’t know why you keep Ah Mong on if you’re bothered by him, Mrs. Brentwood,” Sarah said, her voice edged with irritation.
“Because he’s so much cheaper than an Irish girl, of course!” Mrs. Brentwood’s close-set eyes peered down the expanse of her lengthy nose. “Mr. Cady did teach you about household finances and such affairs, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He always was practical and most careful about expenditures.” Her neighbor’s gaze swept the room much as Daniel Cady’s had, resting on the finest pieces of furniture, the rug on the floor, andthe gilded mantel clock in particular. “Never profligate with his money. Procured items of taste, but never extravagant. In fact, rather a miser, if the stories about his treasure are—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry, my dear. I spoke out of turn.”
“‘Treasure,’ Mrs. Brentwood?”
Mrs. Brentwood waved her hands as though Sarah was an annoying insect she was attempting to sweep away. “Silliness. It’s nothing, Miss Whittier. Truly. I told Robert I’d never breathe a word.”
A sick feeling burrowed into Sarah’s stomach. “You’ll have to apologize to your husband, then, because you have.”
“You won’t tell him I told you, will you?” Her brow pinched, deepening the wrinkles across her forehead. “He would be upset. I wouldn’t have even thought of that silly rumor if not for your unfortunate intruder earlier today. Please don’t tell Robert.”
“What treasure did Josiah supposedly possess that Mr. Brentwood doesn’t want spoken of?”
And why had Josiah never mentioned such dreadful rumors?
She dropped her voice again. “Gold, Miss Whittier. From the Black Hills.”
Relieved, Sarah shook her head and smiled. “I know about that gold. It was his share from his mining operation, but Josiah always said he spent most of it on this house, and I know what was in his bank accounts. Believe me, the money he left behind is a nice sum but no treasure. And if he had hidden any cash or gold nuggets on this property, he would’ve told me.”
“Ah, yes. He would have.” Mrs. Brentwood nodded. “That’s good to hear, because it’s these sorts of rumors that encourage the criminal element.”
The sick feeling returned. “You believe the story of a treasure is why someone was sneaking around my backyard and came onto the kitchen stairs?”
“Sadly, I do.”
“But why today? This house has been here for years and no one has attempted to break in before. Undoubtedly the man was simply looking for a handout.”
“A beggar? You can’t be as naive as that, Miss Whittier.” Mrs.
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