than Goodwin disembarked with the Randolphs. Or if someone was waiting to meet them.
Sam gave the area another quick scan, frowned. It was odd Thomas wouldn’t meet his replacement. A twinge of unease reared. He quashed it. Thomas could be waiting at the office. Or he could be angry enough that he refused to meet Randolph and help him settle into his new position.
Three men and two more couples filed past. Sam glanced up. Eli Goodwin was at the top of the gangplank, the Randolphs at his heels. He studied James Randolph’s face, looking for clues to the man’s character, trying to decipher if he was expecting to meet someone. Randolph was young, very young, for such a responsible position. He looked to be no more than nineteen or twenty. Half Thomas’s age. Sam shifted his gaze for a quick look at Randolph’s wife and peered straight into her eyes. Brown eyes. Not dark. Medium—like her hair. And challenging.
Sam stiffened, told himself to look away—knew it was already too late. She had spotted him studying her husband. He watched them descend, let Eli Goodwin pass and stepped around the wagon into the path of the young couple.
“Mr. Randolph?”
“Yes?” The man stopped, looked up at him, dark blue eyes posing a question.
“I am Samuel Benton, Captain of the St. Louis police.” He glanced at Randolph’s wife, saw the coolness in her eyes, gave her a polite nod and looked back. “I bid you and your wife welcome to our fair city.” He offered his hand, received a firm clasp in return. “I will be calling on you tomorrow. There are a few rules, regulations and other matters about running a steamboat line in St. Louis that I want to discuss with you.”
James Randolph nodded. “I shall await your visit with interest, Captain.” He turned to the woman and grinned. “Come, dearest, Mr. Goodwin is waiting to show us to our new home.” He took hold of her elbow.
The woman laughed, changing her countenance from cool and austere to fond and amused. Her lips, which had been pressed into a firm line, curved upward in a soft smile. Honey-colored flecks sparkled warmth into her large, brown eyes fringed with long lashes. Sam stared, taken aback. How had he thought her not particularly pretty? She was—
“Stop it, James. Captain Benton cannot know you are teasing.”
Her voice was low-pitched for a woman’s, soft and easy on his ears. A bit husky. Intriguing. She glanced up at him from beneath her hat’s stiff brim and discovered him looking at her. The warmth in her eyes cooled.
“You have erred in your conclusion, Captain Benton. I am not James’s wife. I am his sister.”
“Forgive me, Miss Randolph, I assumed—”
“There is no apology or explanation needed, Captain. It was a natural assumption and of no import. I merely wanted to correct your error.” The river breeze blew the fabric adorning her hat into her face. She frowned and pushed it back, looked up at him again, all trace of warmth and humor gone. “Now, if you will excuse us—I am weary from the journey and anxious to reach our new home. And to remove this ridiculous hat.”
Her frosty demeanor killed his smile. “Of course, forgive my poor manners in detaining you.” He glanced over at her brother. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Randolph.” He gave them a polite nod and headed for the gangplank. If he hurried he could still catch Captain Lewis. James Randolph seemed open and friendly enough, but that did not mean he was above a little unscrupulous behavior. Perhaps on behalf of his boss? He would keep watch on his movements the next few days. As for his sister…what did that “ridiculous hat” comment mean? Women did not wear hats they considered ridiculous. Had she worn it by way of identification to Goodwin? Or as some sort of signal to someone else?
Sam frowned, stepped onto the Fair Weather’s main deck and turned to look out at the levee. Eli Goodwin was leading James Randolph and his sister up the incline to Front Street. No one had joined them. He scanned the area but could spot no one paying the Randolphs any particular attention.
He watched a moment longer, then satisfied he had missed nothing of importance, turned and strode toward the stairs leading to the captain’s quarters on the hurricane deck. He would not only ask about James Randolph’s activities on the journey, he would ask about Miss Randolph’s activities, as well. It was quite possible—in spite of that forthright look in those beautiful, brown eyes of hers—that she would help her brother if he was involved in this steamboat sabotage business. He took another quick glance over his shoulder at the tall, slender figure in the dark blue gown, then gripped the railing and, bucking the flow of the departing passengers, started up the stairs.
Chapter Two
Mary walked beside James, taking in the hubbub of sound and motion around them. Workmen streamed in and out of warehouses, carrying filled burlap bags on burly shoulders or swarmed over huge stacks of crates or barrels. Laborers loaded carts with firewood and hauled it to their boats. Animals, in gated farm wagons, lowed and snorted. Others grunted and squealed as they were forced up gangplanks. Chickens squawked while barking dogs circled their cages. Mary had never seen or heard anything to compare with it. It was organized bedlam.
“That is our warehouse, Mr. Randolph.” Eli Goodwin paused and pointed. “The one you see overtop the roofs of these smaller storage sheds. It was built on the higher ground because of flooding.”
Mary’s stomach flopped. She glanced from the large, brick building with “Mississippi and Missouri Steamer Line” sprawled in large, faded-white letters above the fourth-story windows to the muddy river, and was suddenly very thankful for the rising levee bank they were climbing.
“Does the river flood often?”
James’s question brought a flash of the flat, rolling land along the river’s banks into her head. Mary glanced at Mr. Goodwin.
The man nodded. “You can count on it in the spring. And if there are heavy rains upriver throughout the year, she will flood again. And there is no telling how high the river will rise. But business goes on. When floodwater covers the levee, the captains run their steamers in and moor them to the warehouses.”
“You jest!”
James’s challenge of the story gave her hope. It died when Eli Goodwin shook his head and started walking again. Mary tossed her brother a look of dismay, then followed the bookkeeper as he wove his way through the various piles of merchandise to the street at the top of the levee. Carriages, carts, drays and wagons of all sort rumbled over the cobblestones. Mounted men added to the traffic flow.
“This is Front Street. And that is Market Street across the way.” Eli Goodwin indicated an intersecting road a short distance from them. “And there, on the near corner, is the company office.”
Mary looked over at the narrow, two-story stone building. An oval sign bearing the company name held its place between a door and two mullioned windows painted red.
“A bank on one side, and an insurance company on the other corner. An excellent location.”
Mary smiled at the satisfaction in James’s voice. “And it is only a few steps away from the warehouse on the levee. Surely that is of benefit.”
The bookkeeper nodded and shoved his glasses higher on his nose. “Do you wish to visit the office now?”
James shook his head. “No, tomorrow will be soon enough. For now, I want to get Mary settled in our new home. Is it far?”
“No,
