Herald of Death by Kate Kingsbury Page A

he said and did for her. Still, if only she could hear the words, just once, she’d know for certain, and all these nasty feelings about Doris would go away for good.
    Dejected now, she plodded back to the kitchen, silently cursing the snow at every step. Would she ever be sure of Samuel’s love? Right now, it didn’t seem too likely.
    Staring back at the sky, she changed her prayer. Let it snow. Hard. Piling up six or seven feet. That way, Doris wouldn’t be able to come, and she could have Samuel all to herself for Christmas. Hunching her shoulders, she opened the kitchen door and went inside.
     
     
    “His name is Lester Salt,” Cecily said, as she climbed up onto the creaking, cold leather seat of the carriage. Shivering, she drew her scarf tighter under her chin. “He’s the new manager of Thomas Willow’s shoe shop.”
    “In the High Street,” Samuel said, nodding. “I know where it is. It’s going to be busy down there today, m’m. You might have a bit of a walk to the shop.”
    “That’s all right, Samuel. I’m sure the shopkeepers will have cleared the pavements.” She heard the big bay snorting as Samuel took the reins. She felt sorry for the poor animal. It wouldn’t be easy for it to drag the carriage through all this snow.
    If only the rain would start and wash the cold mess away. She was really becoming quite anxious about her guests. This had to be the worst Christmas season weather she could remember in many years.
    The carriage jolted forward, sending her back against the seat. Her hat tipped in front of her eyes and she straightened it, securing it more firmly with a hat pin. Bracing herself for another rough ride, she thought about the questions she would ask Lester Salt. She needed answers and as soon as possible.
    The gentleman who filled the doorway at the shoe shop was nothing like the assistant she had imagined. Dressed in a loudly striped suit with a red waistcoat, starched white collar, and bow tie, he looked more like a circus ringmaster than a shoemaker.
    He extended a massive hand as if about to take her fingers in his, which Cecily managed to avoid by pretending to brush snowflakes from her cape.
    Seemingly unaffected by the slight, Lester Salt boomed, “Welcome to Willow’s shoe shop! How may we assist you this bright morning?”
    Considering the sky was dark gray, Cecily thought the greeting a bit pompous. “I’m Mrs. Baxter, of the Pennyfoot Country Club,” she announced, forestalling Samuel, who was about to introduce her. Judging from Lester Salt’s demeanor, she decided, the man would not stand on protocol, and she had no time to waste. “I am here to ask you a few questions about Thomas Willow.”
    The shoemaker’s change of expression hardly registered before it was wiped away by an effusive smile. “By all means, Mrs. Baxter! Come this way!”
    He ushered her and Samuel into a small parlor at the back of the shop, leaving a couple of young lads to take care of any potential customers.
    “It is indeed an honor to greet you, Mrs. Baxter,” he gushed, as he beckoned her to sit down. “I know your husband well. Such a nice man. Very well-spoken, if I may say so.”
    Cecily wondered what Baxter would make of that. “Thank you, Mr. Salt. My husband would appreciate your kind words.”
    “Not at all, m’m, and please, do call me Lester. Everyone does.” He laughed, a rather harsh sound that grated on her nerves.
    “Thank you, Lester.” She chose a chair by the fire, where a pair of muddy boots sat next to a half-filled coal scuttle.
    Samuel hovered near the door, looking anxious as always. Mindful of his sacred promise to take care of her, no doubt. Cecily was quite certain that Baxter had promised all sorts of dire consequences if Samuel failed to keep her safe.
    She couldn’t help noticing that the sofa and armchairs were of poor quality brocade, though the faded curtains at the window had once been very fine velvet. The sideboard and mantelpiece were