Nothing in Mrs. Baker’s demeanor suggested she’d found the terrible incident anything other than exciting.
“You and Mrs. Winslow?” Patrick asked. He smacked his chops, certain that he had discovered crucial evidence that Miss Parson needed.
Corey cut him off again. “Where were your husbands?” he asked. “It’s lucky that one of you wasn’t killed instead.”
Mrs. Baker waved her hand, dismissing Corey’s suggestion. “Not that they could have done anything. They’re not real men like you, Mr. Callaghan. They’re always around underfoot until you actually find a need for one of them.”
“So they weren’t there?” Corey asked. Perhaps Patrick really had found the information Miss Parson needed.
“Oh, John was around somewhere,” Mrs. Baker said. She didn’t appear to realize she had just slipped and called her husband’s employer by his Christian name. “But he probably had Eugene off running errands. He’s very good at giving Eugene orders.” Mrs. Baker’s expression turned wistful. “Sometimes I think there’s hope for John.”
All of a sudden, Mrs. Baker appeared to remember who she was speaking to. “But that has nothing to do with you, Mr. Callaghan. We already know you’re a man. Why don’t we meet by that tree over there after the funeral so we can go to the potluck together?”
Once again, Corey found his throat tightening with discomfort. He didn’t like the way Mrs. Baker was looking at him.
Patrick, on the other hand, clearly thought the situation was funny. “Oh, we’ll be there, Mrs. Baker. I’ll see to that.”
“You are such a treasure, Mr. O’Sullivan,” Mrs. Baker told him.
“And we’ll be bringing Miss Parson too,” Corey added.
All the joy and adulation dropped instantly from Mrs. Baker’s face. “Miss Parson?”
“The cute little redhaired lass who travels with us,” Patrick told her. “She’s around here somewhere. Let’s see if I can point her out for you.”
“Yes, do,” Mrs. Baker instructed him.
Corey began to regret having mentioned Miss Parson’s name. This sudden coldness in Mrs. Baker was even more unsettling than her gushing adulation. But there was nothing to be done about it now. “There she is,” he told her as he pointed into the crowd. “That’s her talking to Mr. and Mrs. Winslow.”
Mr. Baker stood beside the three, but he did not appear to be listening to their conversation. Instead, he was staring straight back at Corey with a noticeable frown.
“And there’s Mr. Baker,” Corey announced. “Are you sure he won’t mind you inviting the three of us to join you this afternoon?”
“Never mind him,” Mrs. Baker said. Her voice was still cold and flat. “He’ll take what I give him. He’s not man enough to do otherwise.”
“It’s Mr. Winslow,” Miss Parson whispered. “I’m certain of it. I had a very pleasant conversation with his wife. He didn’t approve of her growing friendship with Mr. Collins, and she remembers he and Mr. Baker stalking off to ‘take care of some business’ just before the fight. Of course, she doesn’t realize that I suspect him.”
“That’s great,” Corey told her. “Um, I’m not certain if this will help or not, but Patrick sort of accepted an invitation for us to join the Bakers at the potluck.”
“The Bakers?” Miss Parson asked, her eyebrow arching.
Corey felt the blood rushing to his face. “It wasn’t my idea! But as long as we’re going, I thought it might be helpful to you in finding the killer. Mr. Baker does work for Mr. Winslow.”
Miss Parson examined Corey, poorly concealed amusement twisting her lips. “I am quite certain that concern for my curiosity is the only thing that motivated you.”
Her expression turned pensive. “The Bakers appear to be a very odd couple. He’s rather mousy for a woman of her outspoken preferences. I wonder how they came to be together. Do you know if they have any children?”
“None have been mentioned,” Corey answered.
“It would be interesting to know,” Miss Parson said, “but it hardly impacts on the matter at hand. Perhaps if the potluck becomes too... crowded, you can slip out and tell Mr. Bullock we believe it to be safe to fight again.”
Much to Corey’s horror, Miss Parson got along just fine with Mrs. Baker. He wasn’t quite certain how she did it. One moment Mrs. Baker was staring daggers at the pretty redhead and the next, Miss Parson was taking Mrs. Baker by the arm and guiding her a few steps away from the men.
“Mr. O’Sullivan tells me you are Mr. Callaghan’s greatest admirer,” Miss Parson gushed. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that. You know that those two are the only family I have — just like my own father and brother. It does my heart good to see someone noticing their worth.”
Somewhere in the midst of that sugary speech, Mrs. Baker seemed to warm to Miss Parson. Her blond head dipped closer to Miss Parson’s red, and the two were off and whispering and all the while staring at Corey Callaghan.
A hand tapped Corey on the shoulder as he tried to figure out what to do now that he had lost what he had supposed was his sole ally in the struggle to evade Mrs. Baker’s attention. Turning about, Corey found the unsettling woman’s husband standing behind him.
“Mr. Callaghan,” Mr. Baker said, “I must insist that you stop encouraging my wife’s unfortunate infatuation with you.”
“What?” Corey could not have been more astounded by the accusation. Encouraging her? He’d been doing everything in his power to push Mrs. Baker away.
“I will not stand for it,” Mr. Baker said.
Mrs. Baker had evidently caught sight of her husband conversing with Corey, for she broke away from Miss Parson and came charging over beside them. “I warned you, Eugene, do not bother Mr. Callaghan!”
“And I told you, Alice, I will not stand for it.”
Corey retreated a step to let the couple bicker without him. Honestly, purse or no purse, he was ready to put Flat Rock behind him.
“And just what are you going to do about it?” Alice snapped. “Hit him? Fight him? Defend my honor?”
“I am your husband, Alice. You have no cause to be speaking to me this way.”
The marshal stepped up next to Miss Parson, watching the Bakers and Corey. In fact, everyone in Flat Rock seemed to be watching the three of them. Corey retreated further, looking for a way to get away.
“Don’t worry about it too much, son,” Mr. Winslow said as he stepped up beside Corey. “They were carrying on like this before she ever actually met you. It’s why I had to send Baker back to the bank to go over the ledgers. People came to see you fight — not the two of them.”
“You sent Mr. Baker away?” Corey asked.
“Sure enough, his pretty wife likes to make him jealous. It seemed the right thing to do to separate them.”
“And you didn’t go with him?”
“And miss the fight?” Mr. Winslow asked. “Not after I put all that money into it. I watched it with the marshal — what little there was of it.”
So Winslow wasn’t the killer after all, Corey realized, and Miss Parson’s theory was wrong.
“I can talk to any man I want to!” Mrs. Baker shouted.
Corey could see that it was well past time for him to leave, but Miss Parson would want to know what Mr. Winslow had told him.
“Would you do me a favor?” Corey asked the banker.
“If I can,” Mr. Winslow agreed, still apparently amused by the marital squabble.
“Would you go over there to Miss Parson and the marshal and repeat what you just told me about sending Mr. Baker to the bank?”
“I suppose I could do that,” Mr. Winslow agreed. If he had any idea that Corey’s request was connected to the murder investigation, it did not show on his face.