it be that you’re related to him?”
Lena’s heart was hammering so hard that she was sure the marshal would hear it. “My father’s name is Saul.”
“Is that so?” Fire danced in his eyes now. “Would you know where I could reach him?”
“I—no—I mean . . . I haven’t seen him in a while.”
The marshal nodded his head as if satisfied. “Just how long a while would that be?”
“He left home when I was five.”
“So, the stories were true. Old Saul vanished. And he had a daughter.” He exhaled noisily. “Have you heard from him recently?”
“No.” Her voice was low now and she was thinking furiously. “How do you know of him?”
“Everybody in my line of work knows Saul. I grew up on stories about Saul. My own father died when I was twelve. Let’s say there’s some unfinished business between my father and your father. But I find it hard to believe even a man like Saul wouldn’t be in touch with his own daughter.” As he fastened her with his eyes, his mouth quirked into a smile. A dimple flashed. His voice softened. “Come now, tell me the truth.”
Lena could smell coffee on his breath as he leaned forward. She curled her fingers. “It’s true. I haven’t heard from him.”
“Your mother, then—has she heard from him?”
“No.” His eagerness unnerved her.
He closed the notebook with a snap and put it away. “And you’re traveling to Knob Knoster on the borderlands. That’s not where most attractive, respectable young ladies want to go.” The marshal’s inquisitive eyes traveled slowly down from the crown of her head to her waist.
As if her legs had turned to water, Lena rose shakily. “I have a cousin there.” She tried to sound like it was a familytrip and nothing more. What unfinished business did this man have with her father?
The marshal ran his index finger across his wide mustache. “And her name is?”
“Amelia Crane. She’s my mother’s cousin.” Would he try to find her there?
“That’s all for now, Miss Lena Mattacascar. Let’s hope you take after your mother.”
JIMSON WAS DOZING WHEN SHE RETURNED AT LAST, STILL SHAKING, to their passenger car. Not only was her purse missing, but now the loss was compounded by her unsettling conversation with the marshal. She looked at Jimson. His lips were parted, and his head slumped against the curtained window. Was he handsome? She couldn’t decide. What would Emily, her one friend from school, say? She would say that his nose was lopsided and that his chin was too sharp. But she’d like his eyes, as thickly lashed as a girl’s.
Lena buried her face in her hands. There was almost no chance the marshal would retrieve her purse; she was sure of it. What had her father done to be known by the man, to make his eyes burn with such intensity? When she looked up, her eyes sloppy with unshed tears, Jimson was sitting upright watching her.
“You didn’t find it.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“No.”
“Have you talked to the conductor?”
“I talked to a marshal. He questioned me about the shooting in the dining car.”
Jimson quirked an eyebrow. “And?”
“And nothing. He doesn’t have any idea where it is. He says that the train was in so much chaos that anyone might have taken it.”
“Can you do without it? I mean, do you have enough to get by until it’s found?”
Lena bit her lip to keep from crying. “For a few days, maybe, but there were other things—addresses, and a map, some private papers . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the brocade curtains.
“I’m sure Mr. Beasley would be willing to—I could help you out if you need anything.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” Her voice was cold. She couldn’t risk becoming dependent in Knob Knoster. It was only a launch point for her quest. But now she would be seriously hampered by her lack of funds. How would she afford to purchase the things she needed for the journey into Scree?
Jimson was