“What of the local law enforcement?” Thomas asked.
“The sheriff is a fellow by the name of Hell Roaring Bill Jones. A thoroughly competent frontiersman, at least when he’s sober. But he’s quite out of his element here.”
“Hell Roaring Bill.” Mr. Burrows laughed, delighted.
“I serve as his deputy now and then, and I can promise you the moniker is well earned. But as I said, this matter is beyond his expertise. He’s not one of us, you know.” Mr. Roosevelt raised an eyebrow, making his meaning plain. Sheriff Jones, however hell-roaring, wasn’t a member of the paranormal community. “I don’t care to have him directly involved.”
“We understand, sir,” Thomas said. “We’ll certainly do our best to get to the bottom of the matter.”
“Good, good.” And just like that, Mr. Roosevelt was on his feet, watch in hand. “You’ll leave tomorrow?”
“What?” I jerked upright. “So soon?”
“We may require a little more time to get our affairs in order,” Thomas said diplomatically.
“Very well. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. And here.” Mr. Roosevelt drew a stack of letters from a leather case at his feet and deposited them on the desk. “From my men at Elkhorn and Maltese Cross. A little light reading for the train.” Looking Thomas up and down, he added, “You ought to pay a visit to your tailor before you go. You’ll want something a good deal sturdier than what you’re wearing. You can ride, I trust?”
“Passing well.”
Mr. Burrows snorted. “Don’t believe a word of it, Roosevelt. He joined us for polo once, and he rode circles around the lot of us.”
“I daresay you’ll find this a bit different,” Mr. Roosevelt said. “They’ll call you a dude, Wiltshire, but don’t you bother about it. Show them what you’re made of, and they’ll shut up soon enough, trust me. And what about you, Miss Gallagher? Can you sit a horse?”
“Passing well, and I’m not being modest.” I’d learned only recently, as part of my training with the Pinkerton Agency. I could lope around a ring and jump a low fence or two, but that was about the extent of it.
“Well, then, this will be quite the adventure for both of you. I’m only sorry I can’t join you. I’ve a manuscript to deliver to my publisher, and given the state of my finances, I don’t dare disappoint them. But my men will take good care of you, and I’ll expect regular updates on the wire.”
“You’ll have them, sir,” Thomas said, shaking hands.
“Excellent. In that case, I wish you good hunting, and…” His smile faded, and his blue eyes grew solemn. “Be careful,” he said. “Both of you.”
* * *
“So,” Mr. Burrows said, “what’s your theory?”
He sat across from Thomas and me in the landau, which he’d summoned to the house as soon as Mr. Roosevelt left. He claimed to be interested in the case, but I didn’t believe that for a second. I’d seen the glint in his eye when Mr. Roosevelt suggested new clothes; he wanted to be there when Thomas visited his tailor. Not that I blamed him. I’d met Mr. Jennings, and he was nearly as posh as his best client. Watching those two painfully English gentlemen try to work out how to outfit Thomas for the Badlands would be worth the price of admission. Alas, a gentleman’s tailor was no place for a woman, but I had no doubt Mr. Burrows would merrily relate the details afterward. For now, we were headed down to Wang’s General Store—to procure supplies and, hopefully, smooth things over with the proprietor.
“My theory?” Thomas arched an eyebrow. “It’s far too early for that.”
“Come now, we both know you have one. You’re just reluctant to show your cards in case you’re proven wrong later.”
Thomas tsked. “Do you think my pride so fragile? There’s a difference between theories and rampant speculation, and I see no benefit in indulging in the latter.”
“Oh, let’s do indulge.” Mr. Burrows thumped his cane playfully on the floor of the carriage. “Tell him, Rose.”
“Much as I don’t like to encourage him, Thomas, I am curious what you think. The murder seems straightforward enough, but a monster? And what do either of them have to do with a harsh winter?”
Thomas started to answer before checking himself. “Let’s wait until we reach Wang’s. I do have a thought—”
“I knew it!” Mr. Burrows thumped his cane again.
“—but I’d like to hear Wang’s reaction first. If he has a similar notion, then I’ll know there’s merit in it.”
Traffic was light this time of day, and it didn’t take us long to reach Five Points. It felt strange visiting the old neighborhood these days—especially arriving in a landau, of all things. If a tidy little brougham was conspicuous, Mr. Burrows’s six-seater vis-à-vis was positively outrageous. People stopped to stare as the three of us descended from our grand vehicle, as though maybe they expected to see the mayor. That was silly, of course. The mayor wasn’t half as rich as Jonathan Burrows. I fought the absurd impulse to wave, as though I were the Queen of England. Instead, I hurried awkwardly into Wang’s General Store.
As always, the scent of the place hit me as soon as opened the door, a unique cocktail of incense and dried mushrooms and heaven knew what else. The shelves were so crowded that it was impossible to keep track of all the exotic items lending their perfume to the place. The grocery section was interesting enough, but it was the dry goods—the silks and the porcelain, the lacquer boxes and jade talismans—that drew me most. I’d spent hours browsing these shelves with wandering eyes and fingers. It reminded me of a museum—or, more accurately, the basement of a museum, where they keep all the curiosities crammed haphazardly in high, overstuffed shelves. How Mei kept track of it all, I couldn’t imagine.
Just now, she was sweeping up some broken bits of pottery near the counter. “Oh dear,” I said. “I hope they paid for it, whoever they were.”
Mei smiled, showing her dimples. “He left with a full ear and an empty purse.”
“That’s my girl,” I said, laughing. Mei Wang was a gentle soul, but those who mistook her soft-spoken ways for weakness learned their lesson very quickly.
The bell on the door tinkled again, and her glance went over my shoulder. “Hello, Mr. Wiltshire, Mr. Burrows. Shall I fetch my father?”
“Miss Wang.” Thomas doffed his hat. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
She ducked through the silk curtain separating the front of the store from the back, reappearing a moment later with her father in tow. I could tell straightaway that Mr. Wang had heard what happened to the stone we’d recovered, because the look he gave Thomas and me was slightly south of frosty. His mouth was a thin line under his drooping mustache, and he folded his arms over his frog buttons as if to say, Explain yourselves.
“Good afternoon,” Thomas said breezily, as though he didn’t notice. Drawing a money purse from his jacket, he deposited it on the counter. “For your troubles, Wang. Thank you again.”
Mr. Wang didn’t even glance down. He just stood there like a statue, arms folded.