She walked to the kitchen. The cast-iron stove was warm, but the room was empty. She stepped out onto the back porch. The wind blew softly through the orchard. She saw Tess, the housekeeper, carrying a basket of wet laundry toward the clothesline.
"Tess!" Molly called out, keeping her voice light and casual. "Have you seen my husband?"
Tess stopped. She was a hardened woman who had buried a husband and raised a child alone. She wiped her hands on her apron. "No, Miss Molly. I haven't seen Mr. Arthur since yesterday evening. I thought he was traveling today."
Molly smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "He is. He must be out at the stables. Thank you, Tess."
Molly walked quickly toward the main gate. The dirt crunched under her boots. The fake driver looked down at her from the high seat.
"Where is he?" the driver asked. His voice was indeed deep, carrying the rough grit of road dust.
"He went for some papers," Molly said, her heart beating a little faster now. "He hasn't come out."
The driver's eyes narrowed. "I checked the stables. His gray horse is gone. So is the foreman."
Molly froze. The quiet ranch suddenly felt vast and threatening. "Did he see you?"
"I don't know," the driver spat. "But he didn't get in the carriage."
Molly closed her eyes. The plan was fraying. But she was a woman who had clawed her way out of poverty, and she was not going to let a million dollars slip through her fingers because of a delayed schedule.
"Take the carriage back to town," Molly ordered. "Leave it at the livery. Act perfectly normal. If anyone asks, say the trip was canceled. Find out where he went."
In the back office of Valentine, the telegraph machine clicked furiously. Hosea tore the paper strip from the machine and read it over. His face, usually a mask of calm professionalism, grew tight. He walked back to his desk and looked at Arthur.
"Joel found him," Hosea said. "The ledger matches a handwriting sample from a case in Saint Denis three years ago."