Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“No,” she said quietly, “there is no changing . . . anything. It is quite beyond either of us.”

“We will see,” he said. “We will see.”

Giana clutched at the leather strap in the cab. She had made a decision, and felt now as if a great weight had lifted from her. After Alex’s tenderness to her the night before, she realized she had to tell him about Randall Bennett, to ask for his help.

“Mr. Saxton isn’t here?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jake Ransom, Alex’s foreman in the Saxton shipyard, told her. “I think he went off with Clinton Murdock, a business friend from Boston, to the Gem Saloon. Braggin’, he was, about the mirror there being larger than anything in Puritan country.”

Giana nodded, distracted. She knew of the Gem Saloon, for gentlemen only, of course, an adjunct of the Broadway Theater.

“Then I heard him say something about Dr. Rich’s Institute for Physical Education. You know, ma’am, the gymnasium Mr. Saxton visits.”

“It’s on Crosby Street near Bleecker?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake Ransom tugged uncomfortably at his ear. “Ladies aren’t encouraged to visit, ma’am,” he said at last.

“I know.” Giana sighed.

“Can I have one of the men take you home, Mrs. Saxton?”

“Yes, Mr. Ransom, you can.”

Giana paced back and forth in her bedroom. Mrs. Carruthers had taken Leah to Union Square to feed the ducks. The house seemed as empty and desolate as she felt.

She realized she was dithering like one of the silly ducks. “This is altogether ridiculous,” she said aloud. She gathered up her skirts and walked downstairs to Alex’s library.

Alex’s gun case was locked. She stared at it for a long moment, wondering what to do.

“Would you like something, ma’am?”

“Herbert.” Giana whirled around. “No, thank you,” she said. His rheumy eyes rested a moment on the gun case, but he said nothing. “I just wish to be alone for a while,” she said.

When he had left, Giana searched through Alex’s desk. At the back of the second drawer, in a small box, she found a ring of keys. She smiled grimly and drew it out. She knew very little about guns, she thought, but she knew enough to scare the wits out of Randall Bennett. Bloody bastard. She would return to the restaurant. Perhaps the proprietor knew Randall’s address.

She was sitting on the floor, her skirts spread out about her like a blue silk fan, trying to figure out how to stuff a bullet into the pistol. “Come on, you stupid thing,” she muttered, glaring into the barrel.

“Good afternoon, Giana.”

The pistol fell to her lap. She raised her eyes at the sound of Alex’s cordial voice.

“You’re home,” she said. “I thought you would be later.”

“So it would appear. You are having a problem loading the gun?”

“I was just—that is, yes, I was.”

Alex appeared only mildly interested. “Would you like me to help you?”

“No,” she said, “I shall figure it out.”

“As I have told Leah several times, one never looks down the barrel, nor points a gun at anyone. It is odd that I should have to tell you the same things.”

“I don’t know much about guns,” she said, wondering if she were ill-fated. She should have taken the damned pistol and the bullets and locked herself in the water closet. She clasped the gun firmly in her hand and shook it, her finger closing over the trigger. “It won’t take a bullet,” she said.

There was a sudden explosion, and Giana stared at the gray smoke billowing from the pistol. She flung it away as if it burned her.

She saw a large jagged hole in the back of Alex’s desk.