Two hours later, Franklin Dean entered the bank he’d inherited from his father. A review of the day’s business showed Adie Clarke’s payment. Irritated, he summoned Horace, his driver, and left for the Denver Gentlemen’s Club.

      As usual, he’d eat supper alone. He blamed the unfortunate state of his evening on Pearl. Didn’t she know how much he loved her? He’d die for her. Sometimes, like this afternoon when he’d seen the foolish preacher at Swan’s Nest, he thought he could kill for her.

      He hoped the circumstances wouldn’t come to that. He knew from experience that dead bodies raised questions. He hadn’t meant to strangle Winnie Peters, but she’d started to scream. Why had she done that? Frank didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He’d left her body in a ravine and paid Horace to remove her belongings from the hotel. No one missed her. She’d come to Denver alone and hadn’t made friends.

      As the carriage passed through town, Frank considered today’s visit to Swan’s Nest. It hadn’t gone well, and he’d missed Adie’s visit to the bank. If it weren’t for her, Pearl would be living at the parsonage. By now, her father would have forced her to marry him. Instead she’d found refuge in a mansion that should have belonged to the bank.

      Frank scowled at his father’s shortsightedness. Swan’s Nest was on Seventeenth Street, a dirt road that led to the outskirts of Denver. As the city grew, that street would fill with businesses. In a few years, the land would be worth thousands of dollars. Frank’s father had sold the mansion for a song, and Frank wanted it back.

      He had to get rid of Adie Clarke and he had to do it soon, before Pearl had the baby and his son was born without his name.

      “Horace?”

      “Yes, sir?”

      “Do you recall the job I asked you to do last month?”

      “Of course, sir.”

      Frank had asked his driver to send Miss Clarke a message, so Horace had thrown a rock through her bedroom window. Miss Clarke had replaced the glass and said nothing, not even to the sheriff.

      “It didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped,” Frank said.

      “Another plan, sir?”

      He thought of the garden he’d seen on the side of the house. A smirk curled his lips. “I believe Miss Clarke’s vegetables need attention.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Horace stopped the carriage in front of the Denver Gentlemen’s Club. Frank exited the rig, then pressed a shiny silver dollar into his driver’s hand.

      Horace’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, sir.”

      With his walking stick in hand, Frank entered the club where he’d find fine food and drink. Tonight he had everything he needed…except Pearl. Only Adie Clarke stood in his way.