Iron Cast(55)

“Don’t be stupid. Why wouldn’t he?”

Saint adjusted the sketchbook and dropped the pencil again. It rolled more slowly this time. He waited until it hit his lap to reply.

“Bad blood.”

Ada instinctively looked for something to throw at him. Saint had never been one to talk riddles before. Maybe Corinne had rubbed off on him. Finding no suitable projectile, she pressed forward.

“What have you ever done to Johnny?”

Saint held the pencil in both hands, pushing his thumbs against the middle as if to snap it in half.

“Not me. My dad.”

“Your father died saving Johnny’s life—and half the troop. And you told me they’d been friends for years before the war.”

Saint’s eyes flickered to hers. There was a crinkle between his eyebrows, but Ada couldn’t tell if it was anger or determination or something else altogether.

“They were friends, but my dad didn’t save anyone.”

Ada frowned. The priest had told the story at the funeral: how the small Allied troop had come across a German squadron. Seeing that they had stumbled into a slaughter, Temple had drawn fire to himself, giving eleven soldiers—including Johnny—enough time to retreat. Johnny had been one of the pallbearers at the graveside.

“Johnny got drunk at the wake,” Saint said. “He told me what really happened.”

The color had faded from his cheeks, and his shoulders were hunched. Before she could convince herself otherwise, Ada moved to sit next to him on the sofa.

“Tell me,” she said softly.

“They did run into a German squadron on the highway, but the troop hid in some trees before they were seen. Johnny said it wasn’t the best position, but chances were good that the Germans would just pass them by.” The pencil snapped in Saint’s hands. “My dad lost it and ran. The Germans heard him, and that’s when they opened fire.”

Saint turned his head toward Ada, his eyes damp.

“Johnny was the only one who saw what really happened. He told the survivors that my dad had been trying to draw fire. Everyone believed him. My mother, my sisters, everyone. I’m the only one he told.”

He had the jagged end of the broken pencil against his thigh and was driving it downward. Wordlessly, Ada pried it from his grip. It felt irreverent, talking about Johnny like this, like he couldn’t at any moment throw open the door to his office and holler at them to keep it down.

“I asked him why he lied,” Saint said. It came out like a gasp. He was struggling against tears. “He told me that debts have a way of being paid, in time.”

Ada retrieved the other half of the pencil from the floor and set them both on the coffee table.

“If Johnny was holding it against you, then why has he let you stay?” Ada asked. “The bad blood was between him and your father. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. Johnny would never have left you to the bulls.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered about that day?” Saint asked, turning to face her. “You and Cor have run that money a hundred times before without a problem.”

Ada bit her lip. She’d had plenty of time to wonder while in the asylum, but she’d spent most of it wondering why Saint had betrayed her, and when Corinne was going to show up. It was true that the errand had been routine. Once a month, she and Corinne would drop off money on the Common for one of the clerks at Johnny’s bank. It wasn’t a large sum—just some grease money to ensure that whenever the Bureau of Internal Revenue got nosy, they wouldn’t find anything amiss with Johnny’s accounts.

But two weeks ago, three cops with earplugs had shown up instead of the clerk. Ada and Saint never even had a chance to run.

“The clerk ratted on us for reward money or something,” Ada said. “Johnny didn’t have anything to do with it. Why would he?”

Saint didn’t have an answer for that. He lowered his head again. Ada could see the lines of a building taking shape in his sketchbook, but there wasn’t enough detail yet to identify it. She thrust her palms together in her lap, trying to relieve the frustration in her chest.

“If you didn’t trust Johnny, couldn’t you have at least trusted me and Cor?” she asked at last.

He was quiet for a while, running his fingers across the page, smudging the lines slightly.

“I was scared,” he said. “Just like my dad. I’m sorry, Ada.”

Ada considered standing up and leaving him there. She considered letting those words be the last between them. In some ways, maybe it would have been easier. But she couldn’t stop thinking about his father’s funeral, how she had held his hand, and how he had trembled during the three-volley salute. She couldn’t walk away now.

“I forgive you,” she said.

Saint looked at her through his shaggy auburn bangs.

“Really?”

“Only because I need help reining in Corinne. After cracking Haversham, she thinks she’s some kind of mastermind.”

After a moment of hesitation, a smile crept across Saint’s face. Ada smiled back.





CHAPTER TEN



When Corinne woke up, she was shivering so hard that she almost couldn’t make it to her feet. The pocket watch clutched in her hand had no warmth, and her toes ached. She got dressed in as many layers as possible, including her coat and ankle boots. Ada’s bed was empty, her blanket gone. Bleary-eyed, Corinne stared at the space above the bed, where Saint’s painting of the tree and wildflowers now hung in pride of place. Despite her discomfort, she couldn’t help but smile.