“I do,” I said.

“When you finish your breakfast,” Cole said, “Everett here will escort you down and help you get settled.”

“Be my pleasure,” I said.

She finished her biscuit and slipped the other one into her carpetbag. Then she smiled and stood.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Cole, for your kindness.”

“No trouble at all, Mrs. French,” he said. “Everett, you will speak with Mr. Raines.”

“I will.”

Cole stood. Like all his movements, he seemed to go from sitting to standing without effort.

“Good,” Cole said. “I hope to see you again, Mrs. French.”

“Yes, Mr. Cole, that would be nice.”

I picked up her carpetbag, and we walked down Main Street toward the hotel.

“You have freckles,” Mrs. French said. “Sandy hair and freckles.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I think that’s so cute in a man.”

“Me, too,” I said.

I was more aware than I had been of the way her body moved under her skirts.

“How can Mr. Cole be so sure that they will give me a room,” she said as we walked along the plank sidewalk.

I smiled. “Because I’m going to tell the man who owns the place that Mr. Cole wants them to.”

“Does Mr. Cole always get what he wants?” she said.

“Pretty much,” I said.

Mrs. French played the piano very badly, but she played loud, and she was pretty and she smiled nice and wore dresses with a low neck and generated considerable heat and mostly nobody noticed. During her break she came over and sat at a table with me. I was drinking coffee.

I said, “Care for a drink, Mrs. French?”

“No, but I’ll have some coffee with you,” she said. “And, please, call me Allie.”

I nodded at Tilda and she came over with coffee for Allie, and a second cup for me.