Samuel Benton stood at the edge of the river, narrowed his eyes and drifted his gaze over the Fair Weather’s main deck. A few frowns, a few curt nods revealed that his purpose in coming to the levee had been accomplished—the crew knew the law was present and watching them. Perhaps it would be enough to discourage anyone who might intend to damage the ship. Though it could be that such danger no longer existed since the line had changed owners.

      Sam scanned the deck again, paying particular attention to the firemen and engineer. He did not believe the mishaps on the three previously destroyed or heavily damaged boats of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line were all accidental. Boiler explosions and shipboard fires were common occurrences on the river, but not to three of one line in such close succession. He had a hunch someone had helped the “accidents” along. And, after his talk with Thomas last week, it had seemed possible that the new owner of the line had a hand in it. It would not be the first time sabotage had been used to drive down the purchase price of a business. And the secrecy of the buyer’s name was a possible indication of his involvement in the crimes. As Thomas said, what other reason could the new owner have for keeping his identity hidden? Of course, being replaced as manager of the line, that could be Thomas’s anger talking.

      Sam frowned and raised his gaze to the steamboat’s promenade. He would have a clearer picture of the situation after he talked with James Randolph, the man taking Thomas’s place as manager of the M and M line. Randolph was somewhere in that milling throng of people and he wanted to meet him, find out what sort of man he was. But first he wanted to ask Captain Lewis who, if any, of the crew Randolph may have met with during the trip. And it would be interesting to know who Randolph would speak with on his first afternoon in town.

      Passengers began to file down the Fair Weather’s gangplank in a steady stream. Sam glanced their way, automatically checking faces for known criminals or gamblers with bad reputations. A flutter of blue on the promenade deck caught his attention. He looked up, saw a woman brush at the material adorning her hat. His policeman’s mind registered facts—the woman was taller than average, and thinner, with dark hair. Not particularly pretty—at least not in a conventional way. But there was something arresting about the woman, about the way she held herself.

      He watched her wend her way toward the stairs leading down to the main deck, noting her graceful, but purposeful way of moving. There was nothing simpering or clingy about her. And he guessed she did not need the protection of the man guiding her through the crowd. She looked quite able to manage without an escort. The way she followed in the wake of that man in front of her, bespoke—

      Goodwin! Why was he here? To meet the new manager?

      Sam scowled. He had been wondering if Goodwin had a hand in the M and M steamer disasters, though Thomas said no. He tracked the progress of the three of them with new purpose. Yes, the woman was definitely staying close to Goodwin. So the fellow with her must be the new manager. Thomas had not mentioned James Randolph was married. Sam shifted his focus to the man, catalogued the facts. Tall, dark, well-groomed. Fit, but on the slender side. He could not see his face. The three disappeared in the crush of people at the top of the stairs.

      Sam pivoted and loped toward the gangplank. He would talk to Captain Lewis later. “Pardon me, sir.” He gave a polite nod to the fellow coming off the walkway, stepped in front of him and held out his hand to stop the couple beside him. “Pardon me, please.” He hurried past them, leaned against a wagon loaded with firewood and riveted his attention on the flow of people. It would be interesting to see if anyone other 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.