Chapter 7

William Wainright looked up as Alexander Beall wiped his boots on the scraper by the door and entered his office.

"Good day," the constable said, pushing back a short forelock that had escaped from under his brown tie wig. "Terrible run of weather we've been having."

Beall hung his coat on a peg. "Yes, hard on the roads, and I think my roof's got three new leaks this week."

"I talked with that store clerk, Sparks," said Wainright as Beall sat down across the desk from him. "Interesting man. Seems to have pursued every unattached female within the town's limits and seduced most of them, according to his boastful story. But claims he never met Mrs. Nolan or Miss Miller, the dead woman. Says he leaves married women alone."

"Did you tell him that his name's on her list of customers?"

"Indeed," Wainright said, glancing at a paper on his desk. "He explained that some of his lady friends are not loath to buy things on his account and often without his say so. Says that must have been the case here."

"You believe him?"

"Not sure. Do you think the dead needlewoman kept any other records? I haven't had a chance to see her husband-of-sorts. Why don't you look into that, if you will. I have a very busy highwayman on my hands at the moment, robbed two stages and a peddler in the past week, right on the edge of town, the scoundrel."

"All right. My wife's not with me today. I'll see if I can find Nolan again." Beall scratched at an eyebrow, "Say, do you know who sells small stoves in town. I remember seeing some a while back but can't recall where."

"Try that place over by the creek. They usually have a lot of iron goods. Fellow's a good smith. Has the best cut nails in town, I know that."

"Thanks," said Beall as he shrugged into this coat. "I'll stop back on my way out of town."

"Fine, fine," replied the constable, turning his attention back to the reports on his desk and drawing a quill from the holder.

Beall again looked for Nolan at the tavern near the docks. Before his eyes grew fully accustomed to the gloom, he saw the man wave at him from a corner table.

"Buy you a beer?" asked Nolan after Beall pulled up a chair. "Think I owe you one. Been some real big fish running this week. Haven't made a fortune, but I've done all right."

"Thanks," said Beall as Nolan signaled the barman. "Think that would taste good." When his beer arrived, Beall asked for a plate of bread and cheese. "Long time since breakfast," he said.

Beall examined Jamey Nolan over his tankard rim. His clothes and face were cleaner, his hair was combed back, and he was freshly shaved. When he put down his beer, Beall said, "I've been up to the constable's. He's still looking into your wife's murder you know."

"Don't expect much from him. Damn Tory. He's in the pocket a'the Cherry Hill rich and the bloodsucking Scots."

"Anyhow, he's still out asking questions. Since I saw you a week or two ago, he asked if I'd find out if your good woman kept any records of her customers, more'n that list you gave me."

Nolan closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead. "Yes, think she did. She had like a big folder, tied with a ribbon and full of thin paper patterns and such. Measurements and notes she'd made. Did I tell you she could read and write?"

"Do you still have it?" Beall asked as he cut a slice of hard, yellow cheese.

"No, the lady she worked with asked for it, and I give it to her right after we buried Betsy, the whole kit and caboodle. She calls herself a 'sempstress.' Fancy that. Purdom's her name. Has a little bitty shop over near that old inspection warehouse that was Gordon's. You know the place? But like Betsy, she goes out as often as her custom comes t'her. She might not be there."

"So you gave this folder to her. Was there anything else your wife had, any other records?"

"Don't think so, sorry." Nolan said with a small sigh.

"You think of anything that might help, or hear anything, tittle tattle, rumors and such, go and tell Wainright up there. He ain't so bad."

Beall finished his cheese and beer and left the Anchor with the end of a small loaf stuffed in his pocket. He walked down toward the mouth of Rock Creek in the steady rain with his hat pulled low. At least, Beall thought, Georgetown smells better when it rains. Where the street curved toward the bridge, he saw the ironmonger's sign and headed for that shop's doorway. He shook off his hat and went in to a large store with a floor of wide pine planks. Bins of iron bars and roughly bloomed pigs of various sizes lined one wall, and big, black cooking pots dangled from the rafters. In front of the counter, small kegs held several types and sizes of nails and on the counter was a scale to weigh them as well as several hammers, ax heads and other tools. Three anvils of different sizes sat against the far wall, which was hung with examples of gridirons, other fireplace cooking gear and the fancy wrought iron work the storekeeper could provide. Beall did not see any stoves.

"Help you?" said the beefy man behind the counter. He wore a heavy leather apron and his hands bore the purple scorch marks of the smith's trade.

"Looking for a small stove to heat a room or cabin. Didn't have to be fit to cook on," said Beall, looking around.

"Come in the back," said the smith. "I got a few."

Beyond the doorway was a room as big as the front of the store. It held a huge brick chimney and a working forge with the fire banked low. Several stoves of varying designs and sizes were arrayed near the opposite wall and out of the way of the smith's working area. The man showed Beall three of the smaller ones and described the virtues of each stove including a fancy French item that had been painted white with gilt trim.

"How about this one?" Beall asked with his hand on a square, black, iron box on short legs with a hinged door in its flat front.

"Nice piece, a six-plate stove. Made down in the Valley by the Quaker that makes most of those pots you saw out front there. That would do the job."

"I do like that Franklin stove, but it's too big."

"I've got a smaller one sort'a like it that I hain't uncrated. Make you a good price to save me some work."