The Diviners (The Diviners 1)

Evie examined the soft handwriting, obviously feminine.

“It means ‘little fox.’ It was my mother’s nickname for me. She was the only one who ever called me that. That’s when I knew my mother was alive, and I was going to find her. So I took off. I joined up with the navy for a bit—till they found out I was only fifteen. Then I fell in with a circus.”

“You did not!”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You’re no scout,” Evie sniped. They hit a bump and Evie careened into Sam for a second. “Sorry.” She sat back, red-faced.

Sam smiled. “No apology necessary. Gee, I might have to hit another.”

Evie cleared her throat. “The circus?”

“The circus. I trained as an acrobat. Got pretty good on the high wire. Quick feet. I even worked as a barnstormer, doing aerial tricks out on the wings.”

“On a moving aeroplane?”

Sam grinned. “You should try it sometime. Though if you really want to see someone do it up right, you should see Barnstormin’ Belle Butler, the aerialist extraordinaire.”

“Who is that, pray tell?”

“An old friend.”

Evie arched an eyebrow. “What sort of friend?”

Sam smiled but didn’t satisfy her curiosity. “The circus brought me to Coney Island. When they headed south to Florida for the winter, I decided to stay here for a while, see if I could make enough money so I could find my mother.”

Evie looked at the postcard again. It was a beautiful picture of blue skies and tall trees, with mountains in the background. She handed it back to Sam, who secured it inside his jacket pocket once more. “Doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

“I’m going to find her,” Sam said, sounding very determined. “So now you know about me. What about you? How’d you end up with your uncle?”

Should she tell him the truth? Then she might have to admit that she’d tried to read his mother’s postcard and gotten nothing from it. He might be furious. Or he might ask her to try again. And when she couldn’t get a read, he’d think she was a liar.

“I killed a man for insulting my honor,” Evie said blithely.

“Naturally. And?”

“And… I robbed a five-and-dime. I can never have enough paste bracelets.”

“Who can? And?”

“And… I accused the town golden boy of knocking up a chambermaid.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “For fun?”

Evie looked up. The sun seemed close enough to touch, like a shimmering foil prop in a Broadway show. “I was at a party filled with those ‘bright young things’ you love to hate. Yes, I was one of them. It was late and I was drunk and… anyway, it was just some gossip I heard,” she lied. “But it turned out to be true.”

“I don’t understand. If it was true, how come you got sent up the river?”

Evie wished she could tell him the truth, but she’d also promised Will she’d stay mum, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her stay in New York. “I really did kill a man in Ohio.”

“Hmm. And then these murders started in New York. Coincidence?”

“You’re on to me, Lloyd. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you now. Be a honey and sit still while I strangle you.” Evie reached playfully for his throat and Sam jerked the wheel, making the car swerve and Evie scream.

“I’ll go quietly, sister,” Sam said, correcting their course. “Just don’t wreck us.”

They parked Will’s old Model T a block away and dodged the trolley rattling up the cobblestones of Centre Street on their way toward the Tombs. The imposing, elliptical jail was anchored by a turret at each end and surrounded by a tall stone wall and an iron railing, which made it seem more like some medieval fortress than a modern New York City building.