Soon I was back home, and so was Tony. He was taking his coat off when I came inside. "How was your visit with Miss Kerr?"

Pearson must have told him. "She was anxious about our good graces," I said. "And Joe has been asking about us."

Tony nodded. "Tomorrow we can pay a proper visit."

"I'll write her at once. After luncheon, perhaps?"

"Yes, that would be good."

After changing into house clothes, I returned to my study and wrote to Josie.

Then I brought out my list and studied it again. I was beginning to see another pattern: this "business partner" of Anastasia's, who she was to marry, sounded suspiciously like Frank Pagliacci. And Frank seemed to also be Zia's lover — at least in her mind.

When a man is proven to be a kidnapper and strangler of boys, it shouldn't be surprising to find him a cad as well.

I wrote notes to my informants asking for any details on Anastasia they might glean. I handed the stack to Pearson and went upstairs to dress for dinner.

While Amelia fussed with my dress and hair, I considered Anastasia's scam. A penny a gem, sold for ten dollars — a sweet little set up. It sounded as if the workers were in on the scam as well. Splitting the profits gave them sure motivation to keep quiet.

Then to lie about the benefits ... unless this whole list of men were mistaken, this Dr. Gocow must be in on the scam as well — if he were even real. I touched the moonstone hanging between my breasts, wondering how much Tony paid for it.

I needed to talk with my contact at the newspaper. How did these articles get into the Bridges Daily if they were false?

***

The next day, the Bridges Daily had this as its top story:

STABLE-MASTER MURDERED

The Bridges stable-master was found strangled in his bed upon arrival of his taxi-men this morning. Market Center police have evidence of multiple persons involved in the murder.

Memorial services will be announced after the police investigation has completed.

Shock, recriminations, and vows to fight crime filled much of the rest of the article.

Melancholy swept over me. What more could I have done? I gave the letter to Madame Biltcliffe — did she send it? Did it reach the stable-man? Did he take the warning, or toss it aside?

The fact that this man died of strangulation — just like those boys — chilled me. Had Frank Pagliacci healed enough to resume his killing spree?

Amelia came in. "Mum, I must have dropped this on the way up. I'm sorry."

I took the envelope from her and opened it. Large, child-like printed handwriting on cheap paper greeted me:

j-bird they wan to kill yur ma to. i walk pass the pokit pare home from work at 7 then down the side.

marja

J-bird was Marja's name for me when I was a little girl.

The Pocket Pair was my friend Vig Vikenti's establishment. How did Marja know that I would know where it was? Very few people knew that I even knew the man, much less visited him.

I looked at the envelope but other than my name on the front, it held no other information.

"Amelia, ask Pearson to come here."

"But mum, you're not dressed."

"I'll get my robe."

She went out, closing the door behind her. I threw the note in the fire, watching it burn. I got my robe then sat back at my tea-table and finished my toast while I waited.

The door opened. Pearson peered at me. "Yes, mum?"

"The letter which came this morning. Who brought it?"

"One of the usual messenger boys, mum. Do you need me to call him back?"

I handed Pearson the envelope. "Find out who sent this, or at least the location it came from, as quietly as possible."

"Yes, mum." Pearson was the perfect man to choose if you wanted something done discreetly.

They want to kill your Ma too.

"What time does the morning paper print?"

Pearson hadn't moved, which surprised me when I realized it. "Early, mum. It's here at half past seven. Even if the truck came here first —"

The Bridges Daily office was on Market Center. I nodded.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"— perhaps five? Or earlier, if they're to have them all wrapped and ready." He paused. "I never considered the matter before." For the first time in my life, John Pearson sounded surprised. "They must be up half the night."

So Marja hadn't seen the paper yet — she heard this last night. They want to kill your Ma too.

"Mrs. Spadros," Pearson said, "are you well?"

"Find out where this letter came from."

***

Amelia was in the midst of doing my hair when Pearson returned. "The boy said he got it from a warehouse in Spadros, mum — a food distribution center on 17th and Broadway. It was in a letter-basket he picks up every morning for an extra fee."

Right near Vig's bar. "Thank you, Pearson."

He bowed and turned to go.

"Wait. Who owns that warehouse?"

"I don't know, mum. Would you like me to find out for you?"

"Yes, but quietly."

Marja either worked at this warehouse or close by. She overheard someone planning to kill the stable-man and my Ma.

Did she stumble upon Frank Pagliacci and his crew?

I could see them wanting to kill the stable-man. He could identify them. But why target my Ma?

I remembered the rage in Jack Diamond's eyes as he knelt by his friend's corpse ten years ago. Did Jack think he could get at my father through Ma?

It was absurd. Ma didn't love Peedro Sluff, and he had never once spoken of her. But Jack didn't know that.

And there was another possibility.

Morton, David, and I cowered behind the boxes as Frank Pagliacci boasted. "I have you; when they come for you, I'll kill them, one by one."

But that didn't work: we defeated him and his men. Was this another ploy to capture me?

Frank Pagliacci might have fooled me once, luring me to Jack Diamond's factory, but it wouldn't happen again. Roy said if I went to the Spadros Pot he would kill Ma and everyone in the Cathedral. Perhaps Frank didn't know that.

How did he know about Ma?

It didn't matter. I had to get Ma out of Bridges altogether, somewhere safe from both Frank and Jack.

***

Morton still slept a great deal, but was able to come down the stairs for breakfast, with help. "This sausage is quite good," he said. "My compliments to your chef."

"Monsieur will be pleased," I said. "I favor it as well."

Tony laughed. "We might have to buy a whole extra hog just for breakfasts, should —" He stopped, his face stricken.

Should I come with child.

Tony's eyes met mine. "Forgive me."

Morton glanced between us. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," I said to Tony. "Think nothing of it."

I gazed at the gardens through the large windows around us. I still took my special morning tea ... and Tony obviously thought my "inability" to bear children distressed me.

I felt a sudden hatred of my life: forced to lie in every area in order to have an existence other than what the Spadros Family dictated for me. But could it ever be any different?

I turned to Morton. "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Weak still, but improving." He paused for several moments, then straightened in his chair, his demeanor relaxed, contented. "It's good to be here. I never imagined the Spadros Family to have such pleasant circumstances, or such congenial company."

Tony smiled. "I do imagine our fearsome reputation."

Morton appeared flustered. "I meant no offense, sir."

"None taken. I'm not my father, Master Rainbow. One day he'll be gone, and I mean to have good and loyal men by my side when that happens. I hope you'll consider my offer."

Morton stared at his plate, hands in his lap. "I'll consider it."

I saw why Tony thought Morton wasn't who he said he was. For a moment there, the true Blaze Rainbow showed through, a man who evidently juggled conflicting alliances.

Why did Morton hesitate? Was this a ploy to see what else we might offer? What did his employer give that we did not?

***

That afternoon, Tony and I left Morton asleep in his bed and went to visit the Kerrs. A young girl of perhaps eighteen ushered us into their parlor. There we waited for some time until the maid wheeled Joe in.

The large bandage on Joe's head still remained. The cuts and scratches on his face and arms were healing, and he smiled that beautiful smile as he entered the room. He had a bandaged calf, a metal brace on his thigh (with much plaster) and steel going into the leg itself. This was supported on a metal platform which emerged from his brass and wooden wheeled chair. Josie and their grandfather Polansky Kerr IV came in behind him.

"Hello!" Mr. Kerr said. "So good to see you!"

"I'm so happy you could come," Josie said.

We rose to greet them. Tony appeared shocked at Joe's condition. "I hope you're well?"

Joe nodded. "Much improved, sir. Forgive me for not rising to greet you."

This took Tony off guard. "Well — of course!" He moved to shake Joe's and Mr. Kerr's hands and kiss Josie's.

We all sat. Joe peered at me, his face somber.

Mr. Kerr said, "I hope you and your family are well?" A gentleman of eighty and seven, he was well-dressed, well-groomed, and appeared in perfect health.

"Indeed," Tony said. "We're quite well, thank you."

"Would you like some tea?" Josie said.

"Certainly," I said.

"Daisy, fetch Mr and Mrs Spadros some tea, please."

The maid curtsied and left, returning with a tea-tray so quickly I wondered if she had it sitting outside the room. She began to pour for us, mine first.

"What news of the outside world?" Mr. Kerr said. "I hear your Family does quite a bit of shipping from your quadrant."

Tony chuckled. "My father's in charge of that. I hear little other than what is in the Bridges Daily."

"Do you not travel?" Josie said.

Tony shook his head. "Being the Family Heir, I'm allowed little travel, except of course, in our quadrant. I suppose I'm too highly valued to risk in a zeppelin."

"A pity," Mr. Kerr said, and the way he said made me feel this was the truest thing anyone had said so far today. "I find travel opens new viewpoints and opportunities seldom found at home."

Tony smiled and took my hand. "Perhaps someday Mrs. Spadros and I will travel." He turned to me, gazing in my eyes. "Would you like that?"

To leave Bridges was my fondest wish. "Very much so." I glanced up to find all three of the Kerrs watching me. I forced myself to laugh. "Surely it's not so uncommon as all that."

"It's quite expensive, I hear," Josie said. "Only the aristocrats seem to do much traveling these days. Although we do get our fair share of well-to-do tourists here in Hart for the races."

"You know," Tony said, "I have never been."

Joe's face brightened. "Oh you would love it," he said. "Quite diverting. And the food is magnificent."

"Perhaps I might persuade Mr. Hart to extend you an invitation," Mr. Kerr said.

Tony turned to me. "Our fourth anniversary is soon. Perhaps we might go then, to celebrate."

A spasm of anger crossed Joe's face.

Tony, focused on me as he was, didn't see it. He turned to Mr. Kerr. "And perhaps you would like to visit the casinos? We're in the midst of renovation, but even so there are many games open."

Josie turned to her grandfather. "Oh could we go? Please?"

Mr. Kerr smiled. "It's difficult to deny my grandchildren anything, it seems. Very well, we shall set a date." His voice remained light, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "After the celebration, perhaps?"

Tony regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "We've imposed upon your hospitality long enough." He rose, and went to Joe, so I did as well. "Best wishes for your recovery, sir." He turned to me. "Come, Jacqui, we must be off."

I wasn't sure what was going on, so I said nothing. Once the carriage was in motion, Tony said, "I'm sorry to leave so suddenly, but I got a — a terrible feeling. And I had a thought: my ancestor destroyed his." He hesitated. "If our positions were reversed, and I had the heir of the man who destroyed my family in my home ... I feared taking tea with them."

"Tony!" The idea was monstrous. "These are friends I've known my entire life. They had us for luncheon New Year's Day. If they wished to poison us, wouldn't they have done it then?"

"You know Master Kerr and Miss Kerr. But your friend is gravely hurt — and what do you know about the grandfather?"

I recalled the fear in Joe's face. My grandfather is a monster.

Tony shook his head. "I just — I felt something was terribly wrong. You're welcome to visit as you like, but I — I don't think I'll go there again."