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takes to get me out of the way.”
    Prescott’s brow creased with concern. “Coming from Reilly, a violent man, that’s a threat to take seriously. All the more, since Clubber Williams seems likely to stand behind him.”
    â€œWhat can be done about his petition?”
    â€œI’ll immediately go to the court and object that it’s far too early for Reilly to claim to have reformed. Less than two months ago, scarcely out of prison, he physically assaulted you. Later, the judge will want to consult Brenda. In the meantime, I may have found a way to put you and her out of Reilly’s reach.”
    He pointed to a bench, and they sat down. “The middle-aged, wealthy lady from Macy’s, Mrs. Henry Jennings—her given name is Lydia—has asked for your services during the summer. She was much impressed by the judicious way you handled her maid’s theft of a bracelet.”
    Pamela quickly grew attentive.
    â€œRecently,” Prescott continued, “an illness of the heart had confined Mrs. Jennings to bed. While she was recovering, she looked more closely into the household management of her country home. It had suffered while the illness had distracted her. Now, she has thought of hiring you to serve as her eyes and ears, ostensibly as a personal companion to read books to her and so on. Your chief task would be to find out if the domestic staff is thieving.”
    â€œWhere, precisely?”
    â€œHer country home, Broadmore Hall, is in the Berkshire Hills, close to Lenox, Massachusetts, and near my cabin. She didn’t offer details, just insisted that something didn’t seem right.”
    â€œShouldn’t she turn to the police?”
    â€œI asked her. She replied that the police were dull-witted and heavy-handed. Their investigation would seriously disrupt the household and achieve nothing.”
    Prescott leaned forward and met Pamela’s eye. “Are you interested?”
    â€œSummer in the Berkshires, free from Dennis Reilly, sounds lovely. What more can you tell me about her?” The name Jennings had already rung a bell in Pamela’s mind during the encounter at Macy’s.
    â€œShe comes from a wealthy family. Her country home is a wonder of the Berkshires, one of the largest of the ‘cottages’ and tastefully opulent. Mrs. Jennings’s parents died a decade ago, leaving Broadmore to their daughter. When she married Henry Jennings, she retained ownership of the cottage. She’s a kindly, cultivated lady, generous to charities—a religious person, I believe.”
    â€œAnd her husband? Is he the Copper King?”
    â€œYes. He’s a big, energetic man, about sixty, and rich as Croesus. Wealthy, respectable people regard him as one of our ‘captains of industry.’ Critics of his ruthless business methods call him a ‘robber baron.’ Much of his money comes from investments in railroads and mining—especially Michigan copper. As you recall, he’s the trickster who fooled your husband—and many others—with bogus shares in a copper mine.”
    This reminder of her husband’s tragedy was painful. She had always held Henry Jennings personally responsible. The mere mention of his name made her shiver. Jack Thompson was but one among the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of investors he had deceived. He wouldn’t know her. How would it be to work for his wife? The prospect was intriguing—and a little frightening.
    With some effort, she forced herself back into the present moment. “How shall I meet Lydia Jennings?”
    â€œShe invites you to tea and conversation at her Fifth Avenue residence in the city.”
    â€œTell her that I’d be delighted to join her.”
    As Pamela left Prescott’s office, she thought of taking Brenda along. A summer in a great house in the Berkshires might broaden her view of the world and her own possibilities and, incidentally, offer her