Murder on the Last Frontier by Cathy Pegau Page B

Right. She’d been “unwell” while in conversation with Mrs. Kavanagh and Ruth’s mother. Charlotte’s malaise being miraculously alleviated by dancing with Deputy Eddington didn’t go over well with Ruth. “I am feeling better now, thank you.”
    â€œI couldn’t let Miss Brody leave without dancing with me,” Eddington said. He turned to Charlotte and inclined his head. “I hope I didn’t exacerbate any symptoms of nausea.”
    It took considerable effort for Charlotte to control the laughter that threatened to bubble out of her. He was a rogue, just as Ruth had said. She gave him a wan smile. “I’m sure I’ll recover, Deputy.”
    Their shared pretense shone in his eyes as he bowed to her, then the others at the table. “I’m afraid I have to return to my duties.”
    The deputy bid them good evening and, with his hands clasped behind his back, resumed his patrol of the perimeter of the room.
    â€œIf you’re feeling ill, Charlotte, perhaps I should bring you back to your room.” Michael stood and straightened his coat.
    Charlotte started to protest, then thought better of it. “I’d appreciate that. I promise to send him back here right away,” she said to Ruth.
    Ruth’s pinched expression, so like her mother’s, softened slightly. She offered a tight smile. “Of course he should take you home. I think that’s for the best.”
    I’m sure you do, Charlotte thought.
    She bade good-bye to the others. Michael came around the table and gently grasped her upper arm. He guided her toward the coatroom to pick up his mackinaw. On the way, he shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
    â€œNo,” she said, “you probably don’t.”

Chapter 6
    A light rain fell throughout much of the morning, lending a cold dampness to the room. Charlotte snuggled under the down comforter, loathe to move lest she touch the cooler portions of the sheets. The patter against the window and the warmth of her bed lulled her into an in-between state of consciousness. She had no reason to be up with the sun, such as it was on a gray Sunday. She certainly had no plans to attend morning services. Let Cordovans see her as a godless heathen, for all she cared. She’d behave herself in other public forums. Mostly.
    Would Michael be joining Ruth and the Bartletts at the Lutheran church? Charlotte and Michael had gone to services now and again with their parents, but it was more for show than due to any sort of piety. What had possessed him to become engaged to a preacher’s daughter?
    Must be love, she thought with a surprising lack of envy.
    Eventually, her bladder determined it was time to get up. The rest of the house was quiet as Charlotte made her way to the lavatory. She returned to her room, dressed, and read through the first installment of her series she’d be sending to Kit. It couldn’t be posted until the next day, and it would take at least a couple of weeks to reach New York, but Kit and Mr. Malone should be pleased.
    At ten thirty, her stomach rumbling, Charlotte decided to see if the café was open. It should be late enough afterward that Miss Brigit’s house would be stirring. Hopefully Marie would be willing to talk to her. Charlotte donned her mackinaw and wide-brimmed hat and headed out into the rain.
    Henry was just setting up the coffeepot in anticipation of the after-church crowd. “Morning, Miss Brody.”
    â€œGood morning, Henry.” Charlotte shook off rain from her coat. “Goodness, what a day.”
    â€œAt least it isn’t snowing yet. We usually don’t get this sort of weather until late in September. Might be a bad winter this year if it keeps up.”
    Charlotte hung her hat and mackinaw on the provided coatrack. “That’s something to look forward to.” Henry cocked his head, not getting her sarcasm. “Never mind. Can