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He’d written down the time he and Mrs. Goodman had discovered the murder, as well as the temperature and weather of the day. He’d noted the clothes worn not only by Rebecca and Jimmy, but also the ones he and Mrs. Goodman had worn. He’d noted who was working for him and lengthy details about each man—their families—their habits and reputations.

Woody tried his best to figure out anything that would point
him in the right direction. At one point, after the judge had cleared him, Woody left Jimmy with Mrs. Goodman so he could try to investigate what few clues he did have. That had turned out to be a waste of time. There just wasn’t enough information, and the only physical evidence available to him was a dead wife and mute son.

He closed the journal and started to put it back in the drawer when he spied something shiny. Dropping the book back atop his desk, he picked up the brass button. This was the only other physical evidence. A button. A single brass-colored button. It wasn’t anything special, but Woody knew immediately that it belonged to the killer. First of all, it didn’t match anything owned by the family or Mrs. Goodman. It didn’t even match anything his crew wore. Second, it had been tightly grasped in Rebecca’s right hand. She’d obviously pulled it off her killer’s coat.

He’d looked everywhere for a man wearing a coat with just such buttons. No matter where he went, his eyes were open to that detail. But he never saw anything even remotely similar.

Turning the button in his hand, Woody clenched his jaw. His only connection to the killer. The one tangible thing he had to identify the man. Even holding it now brought up an anger inside that Woody knew was best left buried.

He threw the button back into the drawer and slammed the journal in on top of it. Maybe it was all just a waste of time. The sheriff would never consider his evidence, and Woody would probably never know who killed his wife and forever changed his life.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

H
arry walked to town in the wee hours of the morning. The leather bag his ma had made was strapped across his chest. He wanted to do something special for Miss Lillian and Jimmy. His new friends weren’t mean at all. They treated him like Ma used to treat him. And that made him feel good inside. Maybe one day he could live with a nice family like that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his brother. He did. It’s just that Brother wasn’t always nice.

Harry shook his head. He should never think bad thoughts about his brother. Mama had told him many times that Darwin had problems that were heavy to bear. That made Harry sad.

Darwin could be good. In fact, he even gave Harry some money the other day so he could get food. Brother said he was gonna be out of town for a while. But since Miss Lillian had given Harry some extra food, he’d had money left over. So he was gonna use the money to buy them something nice.

The morning sun was over the horizon when he arrived in Angels Camp. The Stickle brothers owned the general mercantile,
and he liked it better than the Clarks’ general store. Mrs. Clark was always nice to Harry, but Mr. Clark didn’t like him and shooed him away whenever she wasn’t looking. He decided to go to the Stickle brothers’ store.

Inside, he picked up a sugar stick for Jimmy and a wooden whistle. He counted his coins and realized he had plenty left, so he found some pretty ribbons for Miss Lillian. Green. Just like her eyes.

Too many people had come into the store now, and it made him nervous. He dropped a couple coins and fell down when he tried to pick them up. A boy in the corner laughed at him.

“It’s all right, Harry. I remember you.” Mr. Stickle—Harry couldn’t remember which one—waved him toward the counter. “Come over here.” The man sized him up. “Why, I haven’t seen you in years. Looks like you grew another foot.”

Harry shook his head and looked down at his feet. “Nope. I still have just two.”

Mr. Stickle laughed, but it was a good kind of laugh. “Well, let me see what you have.”

Harry paid for his things and Mr. Stickle wrapped them in brown paper. Harry was glad the man hadn’t asked him anything. Darwin would be so mad if he knew Harry had come to town.

“Thank you.” Harry tried not to look at the boy in the corner. He could hear him saying mean things about the man who was an idiot. He tucked his package in his leather bag.

Harry’s bottom lip quivered. He wished Ma were here.

“You’re always welcome, Harry,” Mr. Stickle whispered. “You head on out. I’ll take care of those youngsters. They just need their mouths washed out with soap.”

As he left the store, he felt sad. Why did people have to be so mean? He wasn’t an idiot. No. No. No.

On the outskirts of town, he realized he still held the change in his hand. Opening his fist, he found a note. He couldn’t read it, but he would bring it to Miss Lillian. So he tucked the note in his bag, as well. The thought of seeing his friends brought a new smile to his face. He counted his coins again and tried to think of another surprise. Mrs. Rolleri!

He raced back to the Hotel Calaveras and knocked on the back door to the kitchen.

Mrs. Rolleri answered it and smiled at him. “Why, Harry, I haven’t seen you in ages. I’m so sorry about your mama.”

“She’s in heaven.”

“I do believe she is, Harry.” She hugged him. “Now, what can I do for you? I’m making some ravioli right now. Would you like the first ones?”

He nodded. A lot. “I want to do something nice for my new friends. Do you have enough I could share with them? I’ve got money.” He held out his coins.

“You put your money away, young man. This is a gift from me. I’ve thought of you many times wondering what I could do to help you after your mama passed. Let me do this for you, yes?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He nodded again and smiled as he tucked the money back in his pocket.

“You wait here, and I will be just a moment.” She went back into the kitchen.

Harry sat down on the steps and wondered what the note said. Miss Lillian would read it to him, he knew she would.

Mrs. Rolleri returned with a bucket. Harry stood up and peered inside. It was
full
of ravioli. Mrs. Rolleri was famous for her ravioli, and Harry’s mouth started to water.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Rolleri!” Harry jumped up and down. It would be a perfect gift.

“Here’s a note on how to finish them. And here’s a jar of my sauce.” She tucked the jar and note into his bag since his hands were full with the bucket. She covered the bucket with a towel. “You come back and see me again, yes?”

“Yes.”

She kissed his cheek and said good-bye.

Then he ran down the street, he was so excited.

But a big, hairy man stumbled out of one of the saloons and almost knocked Harry down. “Hey, watch it! You dumb or somethin’?”

Harry backed up and checked the bucket.

“Hey! I was talkin’ to you. Get outta my way.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not in your way.” He shook his head. Harry couldn’t understand why the man was mad.

“Idiots like you are always in the way.” The man shoved Harry and made him fall down on his backside. “Get outta town, you big oaf. Nobody wants you here.” The man’s words slurred like Uncle John’s when he’d gone drinking.

Harry sat on the ground, hugging his bucket and bag. He wasn’t an idiot. Why did people call him one?

He peeked under the towel and found all the ravioli were still okay. Looking at the ground around him, he sighed. He hadn’t spilled any. Knowing how hard Mrs. Rolleri worked to make all the ravioli by hand, he didn’t want to see anything happen to them.

A wagon pulled up beside him and stopped.

Harry crawled away and cowered until he looked up. Relief flooded through him. “Mr. Stickle!”

“You all right, Harry?” The man frowned.

“Uh-huh.” He hopped up.

Mr. Stickle looked behind him. “Harry”—he blew out a big
breath—“some people are mean just to be mean. I’m sorry for what that man did to you.”

Not all people were mean. And Mr. Stickle’s kindness made Harry feel good. He smiled up at the man.

“I need to make a few deliveries. Which way you headed?”

“That way.” Harry pointed with his elbow.

Mr. Stickle chuckled. “Can I offer you a ride . . . that way?”

“Thank you, yes! It’s a long way to walk, and Mrs. Rolleri gave me ravioli.” He held up the bucket for inspection.

“I see that.” Mr. Stickle took the bucket while Harry climbed into the wagon.

“You’re a nice man, Mr. Stickle.”

“You are too, Harry. The world needs more people like you.”

The nice comment made Harry want to sit taller and puff out his chest. As he took the bucket back and cradled it in his arms, he wondered if Ma was watching from heaven.

“No, not quite. That note is a
D
, not a
C
. Can you find all the rest of the
C
s?” Lillian smiled at her little charge, his face focused and determined.

After a moment of thinking, he nodded and played the correct note, looking to her for approval.

She clapped. “Yes, good job!
C
is always on the left of two black keys. The pattern is always the same. Now play the rest.”

As the rest of the notes resonated from the beautiful grand piano, Lillian patted his back and smiled some more. “You’ve got it. Now let’s find all the
D
s. Where would all the
D
s be?”

Jimmy stuck out his tongue and squinted. Pointing to the correct key, he looked up again for approval.

“Very good. Now play the rest of them.” She glanced out
the window and found the sky a brilliant blue. After they finished up at the piano, it would be a good time for a spell spent outside in the fresh air.

When Jimmy had successfully played all the notes in a row, Lillian was satisfied they were making grand progress. “All right, young man, you are doing brilliantly.” She hugged him. “Now, I think it’s time to go outside. What do you think?”

He hopped off the bench and nodded.

“You go see Mrs. Goodman for a snack and then meet me on the porch in a few minutes, all right?”

He turned on his heels and ran to the kitchen.

Lillian hurried to her room and grabbed her bonnet and her book
Guide to the Study of Insects
by A. S. Packard, Jr. She hoped her enthusiasm for learning about bugs as a child would be equaled in her young charge.

As soon as she sat on the front steps, she opened the book to the page that showcased
Plate 8
. The sketches of moths and larvae in all different stages sent a little thrill of excitement through her. She had loved bugs growing up. Grandmother encouraged her learning and curiosity until Lillian left a jar of her collection open in the parlor one day. After a disastrous afternoon tea with the Ladies’ Auxiliary, Grandmother stopped the actual bug gathering and shifted the focus to books about bugs.

Lillian giggled with the memory. Always a spirited child, she pondered how much work it must have been for her dear grandparents. The thought sent a pang through her chest. If only Grandfather would respond to her letters.

Jimmy sidled close to her and pointed to the page.

Her attention quickly back on task, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Do you like bugs?”

He nodded and pointed to the words at the bottom of the page.

“It says, ‘Transformations of Moths.’” She placed a finger under each letter. “
T. R. A. N. S
 . . .” and then sounded it out for him. “See the
m
? You have two of them in
Jimmy
.” She took the slate and wrote his name.

He nodded again and leaned into her a little more.

Oh, the things this child could do to her heart. How incredible to be loved and trusted so unconditionally. She explained what she knew about each picture, and he traced the drawings with his fingers.

A movement down the lane caught her attention, and Lillian squinted into the distance. “Why, look, it’s Harry.”

Jimmy needed no further encouragement. He got up and ran to meet his friend. Lillian set the book aside and stood to wave. She walked down to join them near a bed of various rose bushes. Just the day before she and Jimmy had weeded this particular bed, and she’d very much enjoyed the sweet scent of the blossoms.

“Harry, it’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” He smiled and looked down at the flowers. “You took out the weeds.”

Lillian was surprised by his knowledge. “Jimmy and I did it yesterday. Do you like roses?”

He nodded. “I do. My ma planted them.”

“She planted roses?” Lillian smiled as Harry nodded. “I’ll bet they were beautiful.”

Harry nodded again and then held out a bucket. “I brought a surprise.” His eyes twinkled with merriment.

But Lillian found herself hesitant to look. Surely, big, sweet Harry wouldn’t put a snake or anything else slithering in a bucket to give her, right?

“It’s okay. It’s a good surprise.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Lillian accepted the gift and lifted the towel. “Ravioli—my goodness—how . . . where . . . ?”