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I’m not that easy.
It’s been too long. I have too many questions.
“Just passing through,” she says.
The girl across from her lifts a golden locket hanging from a long chain around her neck. It’s chunky and stylish, not delicate, and the gold is dirty, like an heirloom.
When she speaks, her voice is soft and high, deceptively innocent. “It’s almost eight, but it’s still so bright outside.”
“I wouldn’t be so anxious to see the sun disappear,” Aleister says. “At sundown, the weather turns brutal. It’s a deadly night to be out in the wilds.”
“Scaring the women, Fragonard? Hoping to lure one to your bed?” A loud authoritative voice breaks the hypnotic spell of the swirling snow, and Baron Robert Esterhaus pushes through the double doors with his valet Jeffrey following close behind. “Good evening, Fitz,” he says to me. “I trust you’re keeping this swindler on his toes.”
“I am no swindler,” Aleister growls, red rising around his collar. “The Yukon Territory is renowned for its dangers—”
“Keep your shirt on, I’m only yanking your chain.” The older man takes a seat across from the two women and winks back at me. “Still, I left my wallet in my safe.”
Aleister emits an insulted noise, and I break the tension. “I heard we might be in for some weather tonight.”
“Yes, forecasters predict a blizzard, but these engineers know how to navigate it,” Esterhaus says to the room.
Lara turns to the baron, and I’m not sure how she would know him. I remember him, of course. I’ve been following him these many years watching and waiting.
So far, he’s walked a straight line.
“I haven’t heard the weather report. Should we be concerned?” Lara asks.
“As long as this beast stays on the tracks, we aren’t in any danger, despite what this Frenchman might tell you.”
Aleister shifts in his chair, growing angrier by the syllable. Ustinov, our perky Russian porter, cuts off any further interaction as he enters the car.
“Limited choices on the dinner menu tonight, I’m afraid.” He tugs on his starched white jacket and smiles. “We have Duck l’Orange or roast duck.”
I’m turning back to the bar when I hear Molly whisper, “I don’t care for duck.”
“What comes on the side?” Lara asks.
“Ah, yes…” A wink is in Ustinov’s tone. “We have a lovely roasted corn salad with avocado, or a risotto with exotic mushrooms and spinach.”
“Avocado this far north?” Robert exclaims, his hearty voice loud in the small car.
“We received a special shipment from the California coast when we embarked at Juneau.”
“We’ll each have the roast duck with the risotto, please,” Lara says.
The baron selects the l’Orange and corn salad, as do Aleister and I. Ustinov’s mood seems to have assuaged my friend’s irritation at our brash companion.
“Forgive me, I failed to introduce myself.” Esterhaus turns to the women. “I’m Robert Esterhaus, and this is my valet Jeffrey. At the bar there are Detective Mark Fitzhugh, or Fitz as I call him, and Aleister Fragonard, The Grifter of Montreal.”
Lara’s eyes move to each of us as we’re introduced, briefly widening when I’m introduced by my title. She never meets my gaze. Does my profession bother you, beautiful? They pause on a fuming Aleister, waiting for further explanation, which isn’t forthcoming.
I know the baron despises him. They’re still wrangling about a past business deal gone sour, but I’ve never dug deeper into that. I monitor these men once a year when I make the trip from the Yukon Territory to Juneau for my annual police association’s conference. Aleister is returning from making purchases for his retail store, and Esterhaus is inspecting his holdings along the Alaskan coastline.
It’s always the same… until now.
“How do you do,” she says with a slight nod. “I’m Lia Hale, and this is my… sister. Molly.”