She would’ve been happy to sit a while at the table afterwards, or in the boardinghouse parlor with its cheerful little stove, but Mrs. S hustled her right back out after promising Mrs. Nolan that they would be there for supper on the morrow.
When they got back to the store Mrs. S hustled Mr. Welles out the door as well, thanking him over and over for helping. Antonia also heard her say, “I need to talk to Jamie’s friends, preferably all together. Do you think you might be able to round them all up tomorrow morning before the store opens?”
He hesitated. “I can try. Will you need me a full day tomorrow as well? Nico thought that might be the case.”
“Yes, all day tomorrow. In fact, all this week, if you could, and possibly early next week.”
“Sure. And I’ll see if I can’t bring the gang along, before opening time.” He cleared his throat. “I’m assuming whatever this is about, it isn’t good.”
“No. I’m afraid it’s not.” Mrs. S glanced at Antonia, who pretended to examine the music boxes but was really listening to everything. “I’ll explain more tomorrow,” she said and almost pushed him out the door. Then she looked at her pocket watch again. “Any minute now,” she said.
“What’s any minute now?” asked Antonia, curious.
“Mrs. Sweet and Mr. de Bruijn are coming. We have matters to discuss.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Brown? Ugh. Is it about Jamie? Can I listen?”
“You most certainly cannot!” snapped Mrs. Stannert. “We have no idea what is going on here, and I don’t want you involved in anything having to do with Mr. Monroe’s death. And I warn you, should I catch you eavesdropping at the back door or some such, it will not go well for you.”
“All right! I just wanted to help.”
Mrs. S softened up at that. “I understand, Antonia, but this is something Mr. Brown, Mrs. Sweet, and I must do. You can help me best by doing your homework, going to school, and staying out of trouble. I don’t need to be worrying about all of this and you too.”
The front door opened. The little bell rattled like it was dying, and the private detective and the parlor hour madam came in.
“Well, hello there,” sang out Mrs. Sweet. “It’s the little newsie from Leadville. Antonia, right? Goodness, it’s been a long time. And how you’ve grown.”
Inez nudged Antonia, muttering, “Manners!”
Antonia managed a “Hello, Mrs. Sweet. How d’you do?”
“Just hunky-dory, child.”
Mrs. Sweet sure seemed cheerful, Antonia thought, given they were all running around trying to find a killer. It made Antonia all the more determined to hear what they were going to talk about.
Mrs. S muttered “Manners!” again, and Antonia turned grudgingly to the detective. “Hullo, Mr. Brown.” Another nudge. “I’m sorry I tried to stab you last night,” Antonia said.
“You what?” Mrs. Sweet gave Antonia a wide-eyed stare. “Sounds like I missed some excitement.”
“It was understandable,” said the detective. “I would no doubt have wanted to do the same in your shoes.”
“Antonia,” said Mrs. S, “you have times tables to work on, I believe.”
That was her signal to go. “G’night, everyone.” She started toward the door, thinking that, if she moved fast, she could be in position over her knothole before they got settled.
“A minute if you please, Antonia,” said Mr. Brown and turned to Mrs. Stannert. “May I talk with her privately? For just a moment.”
Mrs. S frowned. Antonia could tell she didn’t like that idea too much. Mrs. Sweet said, “I recall where you keep the good brandy, Mrs. Stannert. How about if I just go set things up and pour us all a jot?” and off she went, not even waiting for a nod.
Mrs. S finally said, “You and Antonia can talk by the front door, if you wish. However, I shall wait right here.” She crossed her arms and stared at him.
He nodded and turned to Antonia. “I have something for you. Something your mother gave to me, which I want to give to you.”
Antonia hated to hear him mention her maman. She wanted to slap the words from his mouth. But, something of hers? That she gave to him? “All right,” she said grudgingly.
They walked over to the door, Mrs. S watching them like a hawk. Antonia felt all she had to do was glance her way and Mrs. S would come swooping down with claws bared to save her, if need be.
The detective crouched down, so he was at her level. “First, I want to say, Antonia, I am not here to take you away from Mrs. Stannert. I want to be certain you are well cared for, above all. That you are happy. Or at least, as happy as you can be.”
“I’m. Fine,” she managed to grind out between clenched teeth.
He gave her a sad little smile, which surprised her. She didn’t think he could smile at all, much less like he really felt something. Then, he said, “Very well. Although I will say you don’t look as if you feel particularly ‘fine’ right now. Maybe this will help.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, black braided cord attached to a small silver locket. He said, “I treasure this above everything else I have,” and pushed on the catch. The little silver door sprung open, and inside was a photograph, about the size of his thumbnail. “This is a picture of your mother.”
Antonia leaned forward, unable to believe her eyes. It was! It was Maman! Seeing the face she hadn’t seen in over a year, except in dreams and memories, brought a deep pain to her heart. All she said was, “Maman never let her picture be taken. Never!”
“She allowed it once. For me. Because I asked her to.” The detective then took Antonia’s hand—very carefully and slowly, as if he wanted to give her every chance to yank it away—and put the locket in her palm. “The cord,” he
