“Terrible people.”
“Accurate people.”
They needed county records.
Which meant Silver Hollow.
Which meant Fletcher.
They traveled two days later.
At the clerk’s office, Eleanor found the original deed index.
The parcel mismatch existed there too.
More importantly, an amendment had been filed six months after Caleb’s father signed the purchase option.
The amendment attempted to “correct” the parcel number.
No witness signature.
No notary seal.
Invalid on its face.
The clerk became nervous.
“Where did this come from?”
Eleanor asked.
He swallowed.
“Filed through Harland & Rutherford.”
Fletcher’s father’s firm.
Caleb’s expression became cold.
The clerk looked toward him.
“I was twelve when this happened.”
“We know.”
Eleanor’s voice remained calm.
“Who was recorder?”
“My predecessor.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Sacramento.”
Caleb looked at Eleanor.
She nodded.
Their fake marriage had uncovered something much larger.
They returned to Ridgeline Tavern for lunch.
Fletcher was there.
Of course.
He saw the papers under Eleanor’s arm.
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Eleanor smiled.
Caleb noticed.
He leaned down.
“What?”
“He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That we found something.”
Fletcher approached.
“Mrs. Morgan.”
“Mr. Rutherford.”
“Enjoying married life?”
“More every day.”
Caleb glanced at her.
That answer had not been planned.
Fletcher noticed that too.
His smile thinned.
“You know the review board will interview you separately.”
“Yes.”
“They may ask intimate questions.”
Caleb’s face hardened.
Eleanor touched his wrist under the table.
Wait.
She looked at Fletcher.
“How intimate?”
“Sleeping arrangements.”
“Daily habits.”
“Anything proving whether the household is real.”
Eleanor smiled.
“How interested you are in my bedroom, Mr. Rutherford.”
Several nearby diners looked over.
Fletcher flushed.
“That isn't what I meant.”
“It sounded exactly like what you meant.”
Caleb lowered his face, hiding a smile.
Fletcher stepped closer.
“You’re clever.”
“My husband says so.”
“I've said difficult.”
Caleb corrected.
Eleanor kicked his boot.
He continued calmly:
“And clever.”
Fletcher stared between them.
For the first time, uncertainty entered his face.
Their marriage no longer looked entirely false.
Perhaps because it was becoming less false every day.
That night at Margaret’s tavern, there was only one room available.
One bed.
Caleb looked at it.
Then at Eleanor.
“I’ll sleep downstairs.”
“No.”
He went still.
Eleanor closed the door.
“We have slept ten feet apart for two months.”
“Six.”
“Were you measuring?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks warmed.
Caleb realized his mistake.
“Furniture placement.”
“Of course.”
She looked at the bed.
“It's large.”
“Yes.”
“We are adults.”
“Yes.”
“We've kissed.”
His eyes darkened.
“Yes.”
“Unless you plan to attack me in your sleep—”
“I don't.”
“Then stay.”