The next morning, I received a letter from Mr. Paul Blackberry, the current editor of the Bridges Daily:

About your inquiry, madam — these are known merchants for the quadrant in question:

The Ladies’ Emporium

Blind Button Dealers, Inc.

Mississippi Paper Co.

Big Bet Mining Supply

Open Stakes Trainers

The Dealer’s blessings upon you. If you require anything more, you have only to ask. — PB

What a list! I rewrote it, removing Mr. Blackberry’s information, and passed it to Tony at breakfast. “These are the shops which claimed Mr. Hart didn’t pay them,” I said. “I believe our enemies used false invoices to steal from them as well.”

Tony shook his head. “I should have asked Mr. Hart about this at the racetrack! Perhaps he’ll allow us to speak with his merchants, or at the very least, share what the scoundrels stole.”

Oh. I’d forgotten these were in Hart quadrant. “That would be helpful, I’m sure.” But I chuckled as I pictured Mr. Hart’s reaction to our having such a detailed list. We’d be lucky if we got information from the Harts anytime soon.

* * *

I told Tony I wished to go to the river for luncheon, so his men cleared a wide section of the beach, with guards stationed to keep onlookers away. The men brought a changing cabana, and Tony put on his swimming suit. While Jane and Mary set up a picnic for us on the rocky shore, I slipped on some bathing-shoes to wade the gentle surf.

The promenade remained open, and many strolled past. Fortunately, the reporters hadn’t found us yet.

After luncheon, Tony and several of his men returned to the water. I had Amelia put my boots back on. “I might promenade,” I told Sawbuck. “If you think it safe.”

Sawbuck grinned. “I let it slip we’d be bathing at Straight-Draw,” an exclusive beach on the other side of the quadrant, “so it’ll take a while for them to find us here.” He gestured for four of Tony’s men to follow.

I strolled the promenade, parasol in hand, guards flanking me. Under a tree, a thin young man with straw-colored hair wearing a dark brown suit sat at the far end of a bench reading a newspaper. He wore brass-rimmed spectacles tinted brown.

I sat at the other end of the bench, fanning myself. My guards stood more than far enough away not to overhear.

“Good day, madam,” Thrace Pike said. “I feel quite the spy.”

I held my fan up to hide my amusement. “I could think of no other way to meet.”

“My grandfather is furious.”

“Why?”

“He believes you planned to defraud him.”

I went to Doyle Pike — or rather, to Thrace Pike, who turned the matter to his grandfather — about collecting debts for Dame Anastasia Louis. Doyle Pike agreed to receiving one percent of the take. “It’s not my fault you didn’t get the money.”

“My grandfather hasn’t hired enforcers as yet. Although nothing he did would surprise me.”

“But Dame Anastasia’s dead!”

“His point exactly.” He turned the page.

“Wait,” I said. “He thinks I killed her?”

“Surely not. But —” He shook out the newspaper, “he did valid work, which you refuse to pay for.”

I considered this. “We had an agreement.”

Thrace Pike shrugged. “Back to the point, please, madam. I have little time. My grandfather believes I’m attending my daughter, who I told him was unwell.” He turned the page. “The documents. Your husband pays a tremendous amount to Diamond Manor every month in the name of Gardena Diamond.”

This news astonished me. “Are you certain?”

“I am.” He sounded distressed. “I could scarce believe it.”

“What ... why would my husband do such a thing?”

“I can think of several reasons.”

“Such as?”

“The most likely is blackmail.”

Gardena did urge Tony to tell me something vital. But why would Julius Diamond — or whoever was blackmailing Tony — want money paid to Gardena? “None of this makes sense.”

“Perhaps Miss Diamond provides some service we know nothing about,” Mr. Pike said.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I can’t think of what.” And why keep it secret?

He crossed one leg over the other. “There’s a third option, which may be what Mr. Bower referred to.”

Something in Mr. Pike’s voice made me afraid. “What?”

“I hesitate to mention this, madam, as it’s too horrible to imagine that a man would treat you so.”

“I shall inform you at once if I become too distressed.”

“Your husband could have a secret family.”

It took everything within me not to laugh aloud. Tony had been the most devoted husband possible. And he seemed so eager for a child. Why would he want children so badly if he already had some? “What if it were true?”

“Once a man signs betrothal papers, the marriage can only be broken if both families agree before the wedding takes place. Once married, no other alliance may be entered into unless divorce is finalized.” He turned the page. “Now, yes, men do break their vows, and there might even be children. But for a man to take from his estate to provide for them?” I saw Mr. Pike shake his head from the corner of my eye. “He would be subject to criminal action on behalf of his heirs present and future.”

“So what happens to the woman in this circumstance?”

“She certainly would have cause to file for divorce, but —”

“No, the other one.”

“Well,” Mr. Pike said, surprised, “she certainly wouldn’t be accepted in society any longer. If married, her husband would immediately divorce her.”

“Oh?”

“Some men might reconcile with a repentant woman, but her reputation would be permanently tarnished. They would probably need to leave the city to have any hope of living without constant scandal. An unmarried woman’s father, though ....”

I knew he suspected Gardena, which infuriated me.

“To preserve his reputation and that of his heirs, her father must denounce her and turn her out at once.”

“But where would she go?”

He shrugged. “She could go the Pot and continue her whoredom there, I suppose. It’s a pity for the child, but —”

“That’s quite enough.” Why should a woman suffer so for falling in love? “I wish to hear no further.”

Mr. Pike didn’t speak for a few moments. “Very well, madam. Will there be anything else?”

Why was this happening now? “Are you acquainted with a man named Frank Pagliacci?”

“No, madam. Should I be?”

“No. That’ll be all for now. Thank you. Please speak of this to no one. I’ll contact you should I need further assistance.” I rose without looking at him and continued on, my guards following.

The idea of Tony keeping a secret family was utter nonsense.

Yet none of the other reasons made sense either. Why would Gardena blackmail Tony? Why would she insist on him telling me the truth if she was?

But then I stopped, facing the shore. What if it were Julius or that insufferable Cesare who blackmailed Tony, using Gardena to hide the money’s final destination?

I began walking back to Tony’s cabana. This was more plausible. But was Tony capable of anything so terrible that he would submit to blackmail to hide it?

When I approached the cabana, Tony emerged fully dressed.

“How was your swim?”

“The water’s just right.” Tony seemed more relaxed than I’d seen him in a while. “And your stroll?”

“Lovely.”

Tony offered his arm. We began climbing the rocky slope back to our carriage.

I said, “I’d like to luncheon with Gardena sometime.”

He hesitated several seconds. “Very well.”

“I’ll bring her to Spadros quadrant, if it helps.”

Tony chuckled. “It would.”

“I’m sorry I’ve caused such turmoil. I feel I’ve lost your trust, and that distresses me.”

“Ah, now.” He stopped, took hold of my hands. “You just did what you felt necessary.” He reached up, tucked a loose strand behind my ear. “You’ve lost none of my regard.”

Sawbuck walked past. “I don’t know about you two lovebirds, but I’d like to get somewhere cooler.” He gestured to the carriage. “What do you say?”

* * *

On the return trip, I pondered Mr. Pike’s findings. The most logical conclusion was blackmail. First Gardena, now Tony. Could this be part of the Red Dog Gang’s plot?

Tony said Joe told him that the Diamonds started the Red Dog Gang. Morton said someone suborned the original Red Dogs to frame them for murder and kidnapping. All the evidence about the blackmail attempt against Gardena pointed to it being a way to keep me from reaching Anastasia in time to prevent her death.

But this felt much more dangerous than that. Tony was terrified of even discussing the subject.

I’d forgotten to ask Mr. Pike how long this had been going on. Perhaps someone pressured Gardena into being involved, using her grandfather’s death or some other misdeed as leverage. Perhaps she wanted me told so as to break the blackmail. Then Tony might win free. But why would Tony not want me told?

When we reached the Manor, I invited Gardena to luncheon a few days hence. We couldn’t visit the Spadros Women’s Club: since Roy’s intrusion, most ladies of high stature refused to attend without armed guards, which the Club didn’t allow.

I picked a highly-rated restaurant in Spadros, The Culbertson, where both men and women were welcome, then had Pearson set up a reservation. Gardena could bring her brothers or other guards as escort, and I could speak to her in public.

* * *

Over the next few days, I spent most of my time considering the matter. Gardena never would be around Tony for more than a few moments, and then only when Jonathan was present. Tony and Gardena always acted cross with each other. Sometimes Tony seemed afraid of her. And Cesare hated Tony as much as his father Julius did.

A lot of things went on in the past between these two Families: murders and betrayals on both sides. But Tony was in the Family — anything, no matter how horrible, might be covered up. If one went on rumor, Jack Diamond was a murderer many times over. Roy Spadros routinely tortured people to death. Yet they both walked free, even prospered. What could Tony possibly have done which he would be so afraid of revealing?

* * *

I went to the restaurant, and there Gardena was. Maids escorted us to a table and poured tea.

The room was full. Two of Gardena’s brothers sat behind her at another table, sipping tea as they waited to order. A buzz of conversation filled the room, which would drown out anything I might have to say.

Gardena said, “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I needed to speak with you.”

Her demeanor seemed perfectly innocent. “Whatever about?”

“I just received some disturbing news. I’d hoped you might assist me.”

She smiled warmly. “However I can help, Jacqui. You have only to ask.”

I leaned forward. “Why do you receive monthly stipends from Spadros Manor?”

Gardena stared at me in horror. “How did you learn of this?”

“What has my husband done?”

“You promised you wouldn’t ask!”

“That was when I thought it a simple disagreement. But ... blackmail? Dena, if I’m mistaken please tell me.”

Gardena took a deep breath, let it out. “Do you remember the boy you met on Market Center with my cousin Octavia?”

I nodded. Yet I felt perplexed, not making any connection between two children and our topic. The boy, perhaps four, looked like Jon; the girl — seventeen or so — had light skin and long blonde curls.

“The boy’s name is Roland. He’s my son.”

I felt surprised. “You have a son? He’s a lovely child. But why did you never speak of him? And why pretend he belonged to your brother?” And what did this have to do with payments?

She shook her head. “I begged Anthony, but he wouldn’t tell you.” She paused for a long time. “His name is Roland Spadros.”