Murder on the Last Frontier Read Online Free PDF Page B

mourning the loss of their childhood relationship, of their innocence.
    Michael stood and began pacing the small space. “I was trying to find the proper way to explain it. It’s happened rather suddenly. And I’m telling you now.”
    â€œOnly because I stumbled in on you. This sort of thing is to be shared and celebrated, not hidden away.” That was how more upsetting incidents were to be handled. Her train of thought went directly to that conclusion. “Is she pregnant?”
    Michael’s mouth dropped open, as if he were shocked she even knew the word. “What? No, of course not. She’s a good girl.”
    Charlotte’s chest tightened, and her stomach knotted. A good girl. Of course she was.
    â€œI wanted to tell you,” he continued, “but I knew Mother and Father would have a fit if I told them I was engaged before they could investigate her family.”
    True enough. The Brodys were progressives, to a point. They’d been incensed with Charlotte’s decision to become a journalist who wrote about feminism, equality, and unfair labor practices. Not because they didn’t support the ideas, but because of the negative—and potentially dangerous—focus on Charlotte and the family. To appease them, Charlotte sometimes used a pseudonym for her more controversial articles. But anything that threatened Claxton Brody’s business enterprises or punched holes in the moral fiber Frances Brody had woven was to be avoided.
    Both she and Michael knew the ramifications of displeasing their parents. The elder Brodys, particularly Father, had a long memory for slights and insults. Marrying the “wrong person,” or other indiscretions, qualified as such.
    â€œYou won’t tell them, will you?” The worry in his eyes, the fear she’d tattle, hurt her worse than his keeping Ruth a secret. Neither of them had been saints, and they’d protected each other from parental wrath on many occasions. This time would be no different.
    She came around the desk and grasped his cold hands. “It’s not my place to tell them, and I’d never go behind your back like that.”
    Michael’s cheeks pinked. “I’m sorry. I should trust that you’d keep it to yourself.” He gave her a wry grin. “And force me to hold my own feet to the fire.”
    They both laughed.
    â€œCome on,” Charlotte said, tugging his hand. “I want to hear all about this woman who’s joining the family.”
    Michael grabbed his mackinaw off the coatrack behind the door. “She really is a great girl. I think you’ll like her.”
    Charlotte gave his arm a squeeze and smiled at him. “I’m sure I will. By the way, I haven’t had breakfast, so be prepared to lavish me at luncheon.”
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    On their way out of the restaurant, Charlotte took Michael’s arm. “Thank you. That was the most delicious salmon I’ve ever had. Do you always eat that well?”
    The afternoon had cleared somewhat, with patches of pale blue peeking through the clouds, though it wasn’t quite warm enough to leave their coats open. A “sucker hole,” she’d heard another lunch patron call it—a temporary break in the foul weather that made you think it was over.
    Michael’s eyes were half closed, his face angled toward the sun. “I wish. No, I figured I’d treat you to a decent first meal. After this, you’re on your own.”
    â€œI can cook for both of us, you know.”
    He gave her a sideways, dubious look. “When did you learn to cook?”
    â€œMrs. Cameron taught me at the end of last summer, when I stayed with Kit.” The moment she said it, Charlotte tensed. Kit’s mother had given her tips and lessons, keeping Charlotte’s mind off her “love woes,” as Kit had referred to them in the presence of her parents. Mrs. Cameron hadn’t pressed for details, but