glasses who seemed forever a beat behind the joke or conversation, blinking confusedly at the others from his seat at the end of the table. About half of the time there was one additional man, a serious-faced bureaucrat named Pennick. On alternating weeks, he traveled into the surrounding states for meetings, checking on the progress of distant projects. When in town, he spent his days at the drugstore, smoking cigarettes and waiting at the town’s one telephone. When the calls came he shouted his conversations while the locals stared, their errands forgotten. Had creatures from the sea or even Hollywood movie moguls arrived and taken to using the phone, the spectacle could not have more enthralled them than to see their government at work.
As they passed the food around, the men talked quietly about the goings-on at the dam, or, when Irma was out of the room refilling the serving plates, about the woman who had taken up residence in the downstairs bedroom. She had gotten herself into trouble, it was said, though none of them could agree on precisely what sort of trouble it was. Krebs guessed liquor, while Smithson told a story about a woman who had tried to stop a pregnancy by throwing herself down some stairs.
Nathan was enjoying the first bites of his chicken and dumplings when Pugh looked across the table to him and said, “Maybe it was this Miller fellow who knocked her up in the first place. That’s why they’re looking for him.”
Nathan suddenly had a great deal of trouble working down the bite of chicken in his mouth.
“What’s that?” he asked. Pugh smirked.
“The letter,” he prompted. When Nathan remained blank, he repeated himself. “The letter. The letter that Irma was asking about earlier.”
“I just got here in time for supper.”
“There’s a letter. Came in the post today for a Miller.” Pugh pointed a gravied fork in the direction of the entryway, where Nathan could make out an envelope on the mahogany end table. “Irma says she’s never had anyone by that name. Figures it’s some fellow who’s on his way. Asked us to keep an eye peeled.”
“Miller, you say?”
“Yeah, you know the guy?”
“No, no. I could ask in the engineering office, though.”
“There’s a sport. Only, there’s no room at the inn, so to speak. Irma says she takes anyone else in, they’re going to have to sleep in the broom closet. So tell Miller to try his luck elsewhere, if it suits him.”
Their talk drew Irma’s attention from the far end of the table. “Did you ask him about this Miller, Mr. Pugh?”
“Doesn’t know him,” Pugh said. “Nobody does. I’m thinking someone just got the wrong address.”
“Oh,” Irma said, “I was hoping someone had heard of him. I hate the idea of a letter going lost.”
“What’s the return address?” Nathan asked.
“It doesn’t have one,” said Irma. She retrieved the letter, brought it to the table.
“I say we open it,” Pugh suggested.
“You can’t do that,” Nathan said. “It’s against the law.”
Pugh shrugged. “It doesn’t look like it’s a bank draft or anything. Just a regular letter. If we open it, we might find out how to get it back to whoever sent it.” He nudged Krebs, beside him. “What do you think?”
“Don’t drag me into this mess,” Krebs said. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“This sounds like a bad idea to me,” Nathan said. Irma frowned, turning the envelope for some clue of its origin or purpose.
“Look, I’ll do it myself,” Pugh said, standing and taking the letter from Irma. “You all are exonerated when they send me to the gallows.” Ignoring their protests, he tore the seam open with his thumbnail and opened the envelope.
The others watched, waiting, but Pugh frowned, and turned the envelope on end. A scrap of paper fell onto his upturned palm.
“There’s nothing in it but this newspaper clipping,” he said.
“This Miller must be a newspaper man,” Smithson said. “Mystery solved.” He returned to his chicken and dumplings.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Pugh said.
“Maybe it’s research for something,” Smithson said. “Who cares?”
Krebs held out his hand for Pugh to pass the paper to him. “What’s the clipping about? Let me see it.”
Pugh scanned the article. “Some people died in Memphis. Fire of some sort. Look at this, someone has underlined the sentence ‘Pinkertons have been called in’.” He shook his head. “Screwy, if you ask me. I can’t make sense of it.”
Now Woodsmansee gestured for the clipping to be passed to him. “I remember this. A bank building burned down. There was a bit of a scandal after it came out the firm that built it had taken some shortcuts. It was all over the papers back home for a couple months.” Pugh passed it over.
“Are you from Memphis, Mr. Woodsmansee?” Nathan asked.
“Born and bred,” he said and smiled like he’d said something clever. He read the clipping through to the end. “Sad story. I remember this young woman. She kind of put a face to the whole thing.” He tapped the article’s photo and passed the clipping on to Nathan. Slowly, the clipping made its way around the table. Krebs took his turn and then returned the clipping to Irma.
“Well, we’d need to know more than ‘Memphis’ to get this back to whoever sent it,” he said.
Smithson looked up, chewing. “I say put it in the trash and let’s get back to supper.”
“We oughtn’t to have opened it, I’m afraid,” she said.
“Trash,” Smithson repeated, and this time Irma nodded, though with a solemn air she returned the letter to the end table in the hallway. Just as she was placing it, there was a loud rapping at the front door that caused her startled hands to fly up from her sides.
“Gracious,” Irma said, and went to answer the door. The hallway wall screened Nathan’s view of who the evening caller was, but Irma’s voice was hard when she spoke. “What do you want? There’s nothing for you here.”
“I want to talk to her,” an unseen man said.
“You can’t. You’ve been drinking, I take it?”
The answer was muffled.
“You go on out of here. You come back tomorrow sober, I might let you in if she wants you, but I can’t see how she would.”
Pugh got up from the table and went to the door.
“Friend, you’re not wanted here. Irma’s made that clear enough, so why don’t you leave?”
Irma released her hold on the door and stepped aside just before it burst open, and Nathan recognized the large man from the site: Travis. He had Pugh by the neck
