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since—Well, I can’t remember when I last had squirrel.” Rosaleen gave an inward groan when Tobias Stilwell dropped his lanky frame onto a dining room chair.
    A look of dismay replaced the smile on Jacob’s face.
    Since his appearance two weeks ago, the cookstove salesman had not ingratiated himself to anyone at the boardinghouse. His habits rivaled the worst Rosaleen had seen during her years aboard the steamboats. Except at mealtime, he perpetually kept a wad of chewing tobacco in his jaw. He’d continually spit the foul-smelling brown juice in the general direction of the nearest spittoon, seemingly unconcerned whether he hit the mark. Worse, the looks he raked over Rosaleen gave her cold chills and caused her to lock her attic room door at night.
    Good-hearted Opal Buchanan couldn’t seem to bring herself to send the unsavory character on his way, even though his promised payment for room and board had yet to materialize.
    “Rosaleen, do you remember how many squirrels you fried up?” Jacob’s tone sounded benign, but Rosaleen caught a mischievous glint in his eyes.
    She’d learned in the past month that Jacob Hale had a penchant for practical jokes. She remembered how Opal had laughed, recounting that she’d once made the mistake of teasing him about always being the preacher and never taking a day off. Later that day, she’d discovered all her candles missing from their holders. After searching the house over, she’d found them under a bushel basket turned upside down on the back porch. Opal told her Jacob later confessed to the prank, saying he was attempting to make a point about a verse in the Gospel of Matthew. Rosaleen couldn’t remember the scripture Opal quoted, but it had something to do with not hiding a light under a bushel basket but putting it on a candlestick so it would light the house.
    “No, I never actually counted the squirrels,” Rosaleen answered Jacob, unsure of his intention but keen to play along.
    “Andrew said he killed six squirrels, but that sure looks like more. Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “By the way, have you seen that tortoiseshell cat that’s been bedeviling Mrs. Buchanan? I heard her tell Andrew she wanted him to get rid of that thing one way or another.”
    “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen it at all today.” Rosaleen fought to keep a straight face, realizing what Jacob was up to. She’d learned that the one thing Opal Buchanan and Tobias Stilwell had in common was their mutual disdain for the feline species.
    “One, two, three—” His face wearing a deadly serious expression, Jacob poked a fork at the golden brown pieces of fried squirrel.
    Tobias had become very still. Rosaleen ventured a glance in his direction and was forced to press a napkin to her mouth. The salesman’s eyes began growing large, and his pinched features took on a greenish pallor all the way up to his balding pate.
    “Andrew must have counted wrong, because I’m counting legs and back pieces for seven animals,” Jacob concluded.
    Tobias Stilwell practically leaped from his chair, causing it to fall backward with a thud. “I–I’m not really hungry. I—I just remembered I have an appointment in Cincinnati day after tomorrow.” His hand shook as he righted the chair and mumbled, “Please give Mrs. Buchanan my regrets and tell her I’ll be sending my payment.”
    “What’s gotten into him?” Opal Buchanan carried a plateful of cornbread into the dining room just in time to see Tobias race out.
    “Suddenly remembered an important engagement,” Jacob told her with a poker face as good as any Rosaleen had ever witnessed. He gave a deep, soulful sigh. “Alas, I’m afraid we will no longer be enjoying Mr. Stilwell’s stellar company.”
    “Thank the Lord! I’ve been praying for this for two solid weeks.” Opal sank to a chair, relief blooming on her face.
    “Prayer works, Opal. All it takes is a little faith.” Jacob’s eyes lit as a sudden thought seemed to