Read Online A Wicked Way to Burn by Margaret Miles - Free Book Online Page B

pails of cream, butter, and honey, and taking home sugar, tea, or coffee beans for her family. Sometimes, she walked over just for news and conversation. Often enough, their talks supplied Jonathan with more information than he had to give. Over the years, he had watched his pretty young friend train her ears and eyes well, although not everyone was aware of her skills … probably because she refrained from using what she learned to her own advantage, unlike so many others.
    “I hear you and Longfellow were taking the eveningair across the river last night, along with half the town,” Jonathan offered now in the way of conversation.
    Charlotte watched the large stomach in front of her rise and fall more quickly, while the landlord began to wheeze rapidly, in the manner of a concertina.
    “What you say is quite true. I wonder, though, which of your many friends happened to pass this information on?”
    “Nathan … coincidentally.”
    The landlord shifted his round figure, and settled back into his chair. “You wouldn’t be after Hiram’s job, would you? We all know he isn’t much good at it, what with the thread and button trade to look after. And you know he only has a few months left.”
    “It’s charming, Jonathan, that you’d consider a woman as your next constable. And surprising.”
    “I don’t know why. This isn’t the first time a woman’s extra measure of curiosity—and your snooping specifically—has captured my attention. And that’s perhaps the foremost requirement for the job, wouldn’t you say? What surprises
me
is how someone can think her fishing expeditions appear innocent, when her intentions can be read as easily as the
Boston Gazette.
I believe I can be trusted. Is there anything you would like to ask me, before you go? Perhaps about one of my guests?”
    “Did he come back in last night?” she responded immediately, perching on the edge of her chair. Jonathan was forced to smile, a little proud that with him Charlotte would still expose the exuberant nature she’d been born with.
    “If you mean Mr. Middleton, who took a room with us yesterday, he doesn’t seem to have spent the night. I believe he rode in around three or four, bringing only a small valise. His full name, by the way, is—or was, depending on which story you believe—Duncan Middleton. Of Boston.”
    “What about his horse?”
    “Still here.”
    “Did you have any kind of feeling about him?”
    “He seemed nothing special to me. Actually, we hardly spoke. I’m afraid I paid very little attention to the man.”
    “Then you probably wouldn’t know why he was here.”
    “It isn’t something I generally ask, being none of my business. Let’s say I assumed he was taking a break in a short journey, since he made no inquiries about anyone in town, that I know of, and brought very little with him.”
    “I see. Do you suppose he may be dead?”
    Jonathan sighed and regarded her more seriously.
    “This morning, I sent word to his house in the city, letting them know that something might have happened to him. I expect to have a reply this afternoon. That’s all I can tell you.”
    “Did he take any meals here?” Charlotte asked after some further thought.
    “He arrived too late for breakfast, of course; no, I don’t believe he took any dinner, either. And he certainly wasn’t here in the evening.”
    “Jonathan—where do
you
think he is now?”
    “On that, my dear, I will not comment. I have enough troubles, so I leave it to you and the other ladies to supply the most likely answer. You might ask Reverend Rowe for his help; he seems to enjoy that sort of thing. All I know is that I have everything that’s left of Mr. Middleton, locally at least, and I wish that I did not.”
    “Oh! Jonathan, show me what you have!”
    Having fallen into a hole of his own digging, the innkeeper groaned, then scuttled behind a familiar breastwork.
    “Unfortunately, I don’t believe my wife would approve.”
    “No, I