Note: Prologue omitted. Title previously published as Temperance.

The little boy died again, the same way he always died, night after night. Wide, dark gray eyes stared up as disease finished consuming the frail body. A young doctor in a starched white coat stood at the side of the bed, watching impassively as the child’s body trembled uncontrollably.

The parents stood nearby. The mother looked young, probably in her twenties. She was as pretty as any movie star, with soft blonde hair and a willowy but voluptuous body. There was something in the way she dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief that told Will her grief wasn’t going to be long-lived. She kept darting glances at the doctor, as though verifying she was acting her role correctly.

The father was tall and broad-shouldered. He was turned slightly so it was hard to see the man’s face, but Will saw the man’s grief in the bowed back and the gentle way the man held the little boy’s hand. All of the man’s energy was focused on the child. The little boy’s black hair was damp and pushed back from his face and dark circles rimmed his gray eyes. All of his attention was focused on the man leaning over him. The man was intent on the child, as though he could infuse his strength into the small child to combat the disease.

“Daddy.” The child breathed out the single word as he stared up at the man who watched him.

The man straightened and turned to look at the mother. His face was almost visible in the dim light next to the small bed.

Will Taupert jerked upright in bed, sweat drenching him.

Problems? Theo murmured from the foot of the bed where she was curled tightly against his legs.

“It’s that dream again,” Will muttered. He slid his legs, moving away from Theo’s compact cat body.

She took the hint and stretched, the movement pushing her off of his calves and away from his body. Will hated to be touched and Theo had long ago learned to only snuggle with him when he was deeply asleep.

He’s starting to remember, her Guardian Angel whispered deep in Theo’s mind, using their private mode of telepathy.

It’s probably because we’re here, Theo replied. She swiped at her face with a velvety white paw, rubbing at an itchy spot on her dark golden cheek. Perhaps that’s making the dreams stronger. This was where and when it all happened.

“I don’t know why I’m having that dream,” Will said, sitting up. The boardinghouse bed creaked in protest, the sagging mattress bowing under the weight of his broad-boned, six-foot frame. He scrubbed at his face then flexed his shoulders, the thin cotton fabric of the undershirt clinging to him. The recall beacon he wore around his neck dangled on its chain. “It’s so warm. I didn’t think it would be this hot in April.”

1934 set all kinds of weather records, Theo reminded him. There was an abnormally warm spring then the drought got worse. Remember all those pictures of the Dust Bowl? It looked like parts of the country were just one big litter box, there was so much sand and dirt flying around. She yawned as she dug her claws into the flimsy bedclothes and pulled back to give herself the full effect of a good stretch along her spine.

Will glanced over his shoulder at her and almost smiled. His dark brown mustache, flecked with gray, twitched and she saw humor quickly hidden in his dark gray eyes. “Interesting analogy.”

Theo padded across the bed and jumped lithely to the floor. I may have been a woman in my past, but right now I’m a cat. We tend to look at life a bit more pragmatically than humans do. She glided noiselessly across the wood floor to the water dish near the dresser. Although I have to admit, even when I was a woman, I was far more realistic than most of the men around me.

Nice touch, her Angel whispered. Set him up for the reality of what he’s going to face.

Theo felt Will watch her through the pearly light of almost-dawn. “Does it bother you?”

It was the first time in the four years they were together that he asked her such a question. Theo took a sip of water before looking up to meet his eyes. Does what bother me?

“Do you miss being a woman?”

Theo took another sip, giving herself time to reply. There are parts I miss, I guess, she finally said. There are times when it’s far more convenient to be a human, but there are times when it’s useful to be a cat or a dog. She walked away from the dish to the window. Or a bird. Perhaps I should go out and do a fly-about, see what’s happening in town.

“Do you miss him?” Will asked.

Theo paused. What do you mean?

“The man,” Will said. He sat on the edge of the bed, his big hands clasped between his knees. His straight brown hair, liberally flecked with gray, was cropped short around his neck and ears but a bit longer on top, as was the style of the times. Now it was mussed with sleep and sweat. He wore boxers, of course. Will never went naked around her. Theo remembered that from their first life together. He’d been shy around her and she only saw him fully naked once.

“You were in love with someone, right? That’s why you’re here.”

His causal tone didn’t fool Theo. Who told you that?

“The Guides talk about it sometimes. All Companions are doing penance. Do you miss him—the man you betrayed?”

That’s not quite true, Theo said slowly. Can I tell him about this? she asked her Guardian Angel.

Within reason, it replied. You can’t reveal details, but you can discuss it…generally. Don’t forget the rules.

It’s true that penance is involved, but I didn’t necessarily betray him, Theo said, choosing her words with care. She sat down and opened her paw, nipping delicately at her pad. It may be that I have to see him again and help him attain his own penance.

Will stared at her, perplexed. “I don’t understand. I thought all Companions—”

Theo sat up and flicked her tail dismissively. You don’t know the whole story. Suffice it to say I didn’t betray anyone, except perhaps myself. The words surprised her. Perhaps that’s why I’m doing penance. She changed to robin-form and flew up to the windowsill. I’m going to do a fly-about. In case you’ve forgotten, we were sent here to find a time tourist who’s gone astray. I’ll see if I can spot him.

“Theo.”

As always, Will’s voice was quiet and low but there was a quality to it she couldn’t quite identify. What? she asked.

“We’re in a strange place. Be careful.”

He stood up slowly. “You know I am.”

She paused on the sill. Thank you. She could feel his eyes on her as she dropped out of the window.

That was an interesting conversation, her Angel observed as Theo flew through the neighborhood. She and Will were staying in a large boardinghouse off Grand Avenue, one of many old Victorian mansions that were converted to rooming houses when its owner went bankrupt after the stock run of 1929. It was a beautiful part of St. Paul, with wide tree-lined streets, grassy boulevards and stately homes with big yards.

Yes, it was, Theo replied. It’s the first time he’s ever expressed curiosity about my past.

Will has a soul, Theo said indignantly. He’s just a little reserved.

Her Angel made a rude noise in Theo’s mind. The man’s an iceberg. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

I know all about his life, her angel retorted. Remember? Will Taupert, born in 1893. Served in France in World War I, left the service in 1919. Married Betty Bolt in 1923, had a son, Danny, born in 1925. Taupert worked for Capone’s mob in Chicago until his son died in 1933. I know the whole story. I was fully briefed.

Theo settled on an elm branch and ruffled her feathers. Then you more than anyone should know how hard it is for him to share, how hard it is—

You had it equally hard, her Angel pointed out. Now here you are, back where it all took place. You’ll have to watch it happen again, watch yourself fall in love with him again. There are no more second chances for him. This is it, Theodora. This is his chance to prove he’s worthy of your love and your penance. Are you ready?

Theo tried to shake away the icy feeling those words invoked. Will’s changed. Why, just a year he wouldn’t have said he was worried. He’s changing.

Hmm. Her Angel sounded unconvinced. I hope for your sake he has.

Theo privately hoped the same thing.

* * * * *

Will stared into the distance, watching the small bird wing through the gray light of dawn. He was worried about Theo and he couldn’t shake the feeling. He watched until the bird disappeared from sight then he turned back to the room and sank down into the armchair, turning on the lamp and picking up last night’s newspaper.

Why was he worried about Theo now? They’d been together for four years and been on dozens of time trips together, observing history as they tracked down tourists who traveled back in time from the future. She proved herself to be a capable Companion, someone he could count on in a pinch, someone he could trust. There was no reason to be worried about her now. He stared at the words on the page in front of him but his mind was with the small bird he watched fly north through the sunrise.

They arrived the day before in early morning on the outskirts of a nearby town where a time portal briefly opened. Will walked to the train station, Theo in mouse-form to be carried in his pocket on the brief train trip to St. Paul, where he followed instructions from headquarters and reported in for work at the St. Paul Daily News as a reporter on special assignment. He was told to come back on Monday for a meeting with Holton Jamison, the associate editor.

Then he took a trolley to the Grand Avenue residential district and found the boardinghouse where a room was rented for him by the History Patrol proctor who was on site the previous week, preparing Will’s cover story. Theo slipped out of his pocket and changed shape. She then appeared at the kitchen door where the boardinghouse owner, Donna Peterson, a widow who collected strays of all kinds, immediately welcomed the little calico cat into the house.

The whole boardinghouse was full of strays, Will thought. The motley collection of people staying there all had one thing in common: an existence shaped by the Great Depression. John Parsons lost his farm to foreclosure. Mavis Buckley fled her rural life and crushing poverty to seek excitement in the big city while working as a shop girl at a department store. Bobby Canfield was a mechanic who read avidly about St. Paul’s gangster underworld. And the Deerfields…

Will let the newspaper drop to his lap. Paul and Helen Deerfield were the most pitiable of all Donna’s strays. Paul stayed in St. Paul on the weekend, going back to their home in Duluth during the week to earn what money he could as a bank assistant. Helen stayed in St. Paul to be near their son, Jimmy, who was being treated at a nearby hospital. From what Theo gleaned during her eavesdropping, Jimmy’s prognosis was grim. He had a disease that sounded like a form of Hodgkin’s that wouldn’t even be discovered for forty years and which was untreatable until well into the 21st century. The little boy was dying and there was nothing anyone could do for him.

Will got up and crossed restlessly to the window. What had him on edge? Was it this place? When he stepped off the train he had the unshakeable feeling he’d been here before, even though he knew he’d never been in 1930s St. Paul, Minnesota. As he and Theo got their bearings, Will knew they needed to take the 4th street trolley and he knew immediately where the St. Paul Daily News office was located.

How did he know that? They didn’t get that level of detail in their briefings prior to time traveling. He picked up his shaving kit and towel then walked down the hall to the bathroom he shared with the other men and did his morning routine. When he came back to the room he glanced at the bed, but no small calico cat was there. Where was Theo? She seldom left his side, staying nearby whenever possible. This trip had her nervous, far more so than on the other trips they shared. She seemed skittish and less self-assured. Despite what she said earlier, he sensed this time and this place were special to her. Was this where her lover died?

Will scowled at the thought. It was impossible to believe kind-hearted Theo betrayed someone in a previous life. But the fact she was here, with him, was proof she had. All Companions were reincarnated beings doing penance of some kind, participating in time trips until they could revisit the site of the betrayal and obtain forgiveness.

Will clenched his hands, surprised at the twist of jealousy the thought evoked. He heard a car outside and went to the window, watching the milkman walk up the sidewalk, the milk bottles clanking in his metal carrier. Donna opened the porch door below him and greeted the milkman in a low voice. He saw a lithe form dart from the shrubs in the back to the porch and heard Donna’s laughing greeting. “Hello, Miss Sweet.”

Will pushed away from the window, relieved. Theo was back. He pulled on his starched white shirt and gray flannel trousers and quickly knotted the necktie that was part of what he thought of as his uniform. Then he hurried downstairs, the carpet runner on the steps masking his footsteps. He paused in the dining room and listened at the swinging door to the kitchen.

“…why I do it, since I doubt he even notices,” Donna Peterson said.

I think he notices, Theo replied. He’s just out of practice with showing his emotions.

Will smiled at this common sense statement. In the day since they arrived, Widow Peterson had gotten in the habit of having long chats with Theo, unaware the little cat was offering her opinion as they talked. He stumbled on them last night and eavesdropped on the two women, listening to the little hints of her past Theo shared. He could imagine her sitting next to the big gas stove now, paws tucked under her pristine white chest while her sharp green-gold eyes watched Mrs. Peterson.

“It’s a tragedy about his family,” Donna said, her voice rife with sadness. “He got married so late in life and started a family late, then his wife dying like that and him losing the farm. It’s hard times for everyone, of course, but it’s hard on a man when he can’t provide a home for those he loves. Mr. Parsons is so out of place in the city. Anyone can see that. A man like that, to lose his farm to the bankers—it’s a tragedy, that’s what it is. Then his wife died and he had to leave his children with his mother to care for. It must be so hard.”

Will easily visualized Mrs. Peterson’s plain face creasing into a frown, her slender body quivering with outrage. Donna championed everyone, a trait that was as annoying as it was endearing.

I think if you’d give him a chance, he’d show that he cares for you, Theo said. But you never give him a chance. You’re always taking care of someone, either your father or one of the other boarders. You should give John an opportunity to court you.

Will quirked an eyebrow at that comment. Theo, playing matchmaker? John Parsons was a quiet, solid man in his fifties with thinning black hair who had the room next to Will’s. They met briefly last night in the hallway outside their rooms.

“If what I hear on the radio is true, this new President might be able to make a difference. He’s started those programs—the CCC and the WPA and all—and finally put some people back to work. Even though he comes from old money, I get the feeling he knows what it is to struggle, to feel an obligation,” Donna continued, unaware of Theo’s excellent advice. “When Gilbert died I felt I had to care for his mother as best I could until she passed on last year. Then Daddy got ill and I have to care for him. There are times when I wonder where my life has gone and wonder what would have happened if I’d made other choices. ”

Will pulled back, startled. He had that feeling often enough himself. It surprised him to hear it from Donna, though.

You bother because you care, Theo murmured. You bother because you love.

“These are such hard days for everyone. I shouldn’t complain. I’m better off than many. I have this house and it’s paid for. And I can put food on the table. That’s more than many can say.”

Will nodded. Theo had been here before. She did remember these times. She sounded so sure of herself.

“Good morning, Mr. Taupert.”

Will turned. Mavis Buckley regarded him with frank curiosity. She was a hard-looking girl in her twenties, dressed in her Sears-Roebuck uniform of calf-length brown linen skirt and white linen blouse with her name embroidered above the pocket. A cheap-looking imitation leather handbag was slung over one shoulder and a worn blue sweater was draped over her arm. “Don’t tell me you’re another man who’s fallen under Widow Peterson’s spell.”

“I beg your pardon?” Will put a hand on the swinging door to make it look like he was pausing as he entered the kitchen.

Mavis shrugged, one thin shoulder bobbing up and down in indolent dismissal. “John Parsons can’t keep his eyes off her. I can’t see why, myself. She doesn’t do much to smarten herself up.”

“She’s busy. Running this house, caring for her father, cooking, doing laundry, baking. She probably doesn’t have much time for beauty shops or primping.”

“A woman should make time,” Mavis said with conviction. “No man wants to be with a woman who looks frumpy.”

Will regarded her carefully waved blonde hair, dense makeup and painted nails. Mavis may have to wear a uniform, but she made certain she wouldn’t blend into the crowd. “I doubt you have anything to worry about in that department.” He went into the kitchen, a big room with a worn table in the middle under which Theo sat, careful to stay out of the way of Donna Peterson’s busy footsteps. She glanced up as Will entered.

He nodded to Donna Peterson, who was putting a coffeepot on a tray. “Morning, Mrs. Peterson.” He looked down at Theo. “And cat. It looks like it will be another warm day.”

“Good morning, Mr. Taupert.” Donna pushed her curly brown hair back from her face. It was only seven in the morning, but the kitchen was already building up warmth. Her face was flushed and there were lines of worry around her hazel eyes. “I can’t remember a spring as dry as this one or as warm. It hasn’t rained last month or this month and here it is April 15th already.” She turned to the stove and picked up the platter of toast, bacon and scrambled eggs sitting there. “I don’t know what the farmers will do if we don’t get rain soon.”

Will followed her out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where Mavis sat at the rectangular walnut dining room table talking across the empty seat between them to Bobby Canfield. John Parsons sat opposite her, helping Donna’s aged father, Oscar Fielding, unfold his napkin. Donna set down the platter of food as Will put the coffee tray on the buffet sideboard. John looked up at Donna and smiled shyly then returned to helping Oscar.

Donna smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you, John.” She regarded the eight-foot-long table with a puzzled frown. “Oh, shoot. I forgot the milk.”

“I’ll get it,” Will volunteered. He re-entered the kitchen before Donna could protest and went to the electric refrigerator, an appliance that was the wonder of this lower-middle-class neighborhood. “Find out anything interesting?” he muttered to Theo as he got out the glass bottle of milk.

Will shot her an enquiring look.

The glass bottle slipped in Will’s hand and he managed to catch it before it dropped to the floor. What? he demanded. John Dillinger? The gangster?

You know a lot about it, Will said.

Theo sat up to regard him with sleepy green eyes. Yes, she said quietly. I do.

“Find the milk?” Donna called out from the dining room.

“Found it fine,” Will called back. “Are you all right?” he asked Theo softly.

Theo looked away from him. It’s part of my penance, she said. To be here and to be now. It has to be borne. She looked at the milk bottle in his hand. You’d best get in there.

Will hesitated, but she didn’t say any more, just led the way to the door and sat down expectantly in front of it. He swung it open and Theo darted between his legs to settle under Donna’s chair. Will put the milk bottle down near Donna, who murmured “thank you.”

Share with me? Theo purred, looking up longingly as Donna poured a glass of milk for herself.

“Oh, you’re such a pretty pest,” Donna said with a smile.

Will rolled his eyes and took the seat on the left of John Parsons, across from Mavis. She frowned at Theo, who was sipping milk from Donna’s saucer, but when she saw Will’s glance, she smiled prettily. “Donna’s a kind-hearted person,” she said warmly, but Will could see it didn’t reach her eyes.

Donna straightened up. “She’s such a sweet kitty. I don’t mind sharing with her.”

“Like that kitten you had out on the farm,” Oscar said loudly. “He was a scamp, wasn’t he, Dee-dee?”

Donna patted her father’s hand. “He surely was, Daddy.” She put some eggs and toast on his plate then passed the platter to Bobby Canfield, seated on her right. He was a small man in his thirties who said little but who watched everyone with an intense, focused gaze.

They all ate in silence for a few minutes then Mavis said, “I heard on the radio that there was another terrible dust storm down in Oklahoma yesterday.”

The dust storms from last year are continuing, Theo commented. A month from now a two-day dust storm will blow topsoil from Nebraska all the way to the East Coast. And a year from now, the worst dust storm in American history will hit on Black Sunday, killing dozens of people. She wove her way between human feet under the table to emerge next to Will’s chair. They have no idea how bad it can be.

“The newsman said it was as black as night even at noon.” Mavis glanced at the wide window, the ecru lace curtains swaying with the gentle breeze. “Imagine that.”

“Farmers won’t be able to recover from that,” Parsons said. “Or from the dust storms they had last fall.”

“I read where Roosevelt wants to pay farmers not to plant crops,” Canfield said, not raising his eyes from his plate. “Sounds like a good deal to me, getting paid to sit around and not work.”

Theo touched Will’s ankle gently. Share with me?

He looked down at her upraised triangular face. Beggar.

“I believe you’ve made a friend,” Donna said, darting a nervous glance at Parsons.

“It’s the only way to get prices back on track,” Parsons said, shooting Canfield an angry glare. “Prices have been inflated for years because of surpluses. The only way to regulate them is to back down on production.”

“Why aren’t sharecroppers and tenant farmers getting any aid?” Canfield shoveled some eggs onto a piece of toast. “What I read said that only landowners are getting a piece of the pie. Makes me wonder if Roosevelt isn’t taking care of the rich at the expense of the poor.”

Will broke off a piece of bacon and Theo took it with a delicate nip.

He looked sideways at Parsons, whose tanned face had flushed a darker brown. “Seems to me that Mr. Roosevelt has got so many regulatory agencies in place it would hard to take care of one group at the expense of another,” Will said.

“Isn’t that what brought you to town?” Canfield asked, finally raising his eyes to regard Will over the rim of his coffee cup.

Will frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You were brought here to write about government, weren’t you? I heard that’s what you did out East.”

Will took a long sip of coffee. Where had Bobby “heard” what he did? No one outside the newspaper office should know Will’s cover was based on a series of articles written by an “Anonymous Truthseeker” in the New York Post. His false credentials and fake letters of recommendation helped him get a short-term job on the St. Paul newspaper but no one else was supposed to know that. Supposedly, Will was simply a visitor to St. Paul, there to settle the estate of an elderly relative and possibly look for a permanent job. “You must have me confused with someone else. I’m just in town on personal business.”

Canfield shrugged. Like Mavis, he wore his work uniform, dark blue overalls with his name stitched on the left breast. John Parsons wore a similar coverall in gray for his factory job. “Heard it around town, I guess,” Canfield said. “I hear a lot of folks talking while I’m working on their cars.”

Will glanced down at Theo. Her green eyes regarded him with intelligent curiosity. He swung his gaze to Canfield. “I’m not here to write about the government,” he answered. “I’m here to settle my Aunt Hilda’s estate and look for work.”

John Parsons stood up suddenly and Oscar struggled to his feet. Will followed their gazes and saw Helen Deerfield entering the room from his left.

Get up, Theo said Men stand up when women enter the room in this day and age.

Will stood as Helen crossed the room to take her seat between Bobby Canfield and Mavis Buckley. To Will’s surprise, Bobby stood up and held Helen’s chair for her, carefully sliding it in for the young woman as she sat down and unfolded her napkin. The attentive look he gave her spoke volumes.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured, smoothing the linen napkin on her lap. “I must have overslept.”

“Not a problem, dear,” Donna said. “I believe we saved some food for you.”

The men all reseated themselves with a scrape of chairs and a swish of fabric as napkins were replaced on laps. Will took advantage of the activity to study Helen Deerfield. He was introduced to her and her husband, Paul, as they left the house the day before but it was a brief meeting. Helen was a slender girl with brown hair cut in a bob and pale, almost translucent, skin. Her thin face was pretty and still youthful, although the lines of strain around her hazel eyes and mouth told him what a toll her young son’s illness and her husband’s weekly absences were taking. She was probably only in her mid-twenties, but she had an air of dignity and resignation that was suited to a far older woman.

“We don’t keep much of a schedule here,” Donna said, handing Helen the platter of food. “And we all know how busy you are.”

Helen’s frail wrist didn’t appear strong enough for the big china platter. Bobby took the dish and balanced it for her as she took a miniscule amount of eggs and a small wedge of toast.

“You need to eat, child,” Oscar said gently. “You need your strength.”

Helen’s shoulders drooped in her pale blue linen dress. “I know,” she said softly. “But food just doesn’t seem important anymore.”

“I’m sure nothing seems important,” Bobby said in a low, sympathetic voice.

She gave him a tentative smile. “That’s right.”

Mavis abruptly pushed her plate away. “I need to get going,” she announced. “I have a job to get to.” Her disdainful look down at Helen’s bent head told everyone what she thought of women who didn’t have to work for a living.

Bobby shot her a disgusted look. Mavis ignored it. Helen focused on her plate, moving around her cooling eggs with small dabs of her fork.

Her son is dying, Theo whispered. There’s nothing they can do.

Will remembered the glimpse he caught of Paul Deerfield’s face yesterday as he and Helen left the house, presumably to go to the hospital to be with their son. He was a handsome man in his early thirties with pale, almost white-blonde hair, brown eyes and a strong, lean body. He put a protective arm around Helen’s shoulders and she briefly leaned against him. Something about the pose made Will’s throat tighten. Then Paul turned and put a tender kiss on Helen’s forehead, his face twisted with grief.

I can’t imagine, he murmured.

Theo looked up at him. Try, she said intently.

He looked down, startled. Theo slipped to one side as Mavis stood up, her chair scraping on the wood floor.

“I’d better be going, too,” Parsons said, putting his napkin on the table. “Another fine breakfast, Mrs. Peterson.” He stood and smiled briefly at her before moving toward the doorway. “As always.”

Donna blushed at the compliment. Parsons’ departure seemed to signal a general exodus from the table. Oscar stood, as did Canfield and they left, Oscar leaning heavily on his cane.

Time to leave, Theo prompted him. This is an eight-to-five world. Folks will expect you to get out there and look for work.

Will thought of the 22^nd century and people who seldom, if ever, “went into the office,” preferring instead to work via computer-link. “Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” he said as he stood, taking his suit coat from the chair back.

“You’re welcome. And you let me know if you need a lunch packed. I pack one for John—Mr. Parsons and Mr. Canfield. I’d be happy to do the same for you. It’s a mite less expensive than eating out in the city.”

Will nodded his thanks. “I appreciate that and I’ll consider it for the future.” He nodded once to Helen Deerfield. “Ma’am. It was nice to see you.”

She smiled faintly in return then resumed pushing her food around on her plate. Will exchanged a look with Donna, who shook her head worriedly.

Will went into the front foyer, hearing voices on the far side of the parlor ahead of him. It sounded like John Parsons was leaving by the side door that led to a graveled driveway, which led in turn to an alley behind the house. Since Parsons didn’t own a car, Will assumed he was either walking to work or taking a streetcar.

Will pulled on his suit coat and was straightening his tie when there was a knock on the front door. “I’ll get that,” he said to Donna, who waved thanks to him. He pulled open the heavy oak door.

Going out, Theo announced, darting in front of him and dodging the big, burly man on the front porch.

“May I help you?” Will asked. He looked past the man and saw Theo racing along the wraparound porch, disappearing from sight around a corner.

“Yeah. Is Bob Canfield here?” the man asked, staring around Will into the house. He wore a dark fedora that shaded part of his face. The part that Will could see appeared pock-marked.

“I’ll see if he’s available. May I tell him who’s asking?” The man’s abrupt tone raised the hackles on Will’s neck. He looked like a prizefighter or a day laborer, with thick muscles barely disguised by his dark blue suit.

He looked past the man in front of him and saw Theo at the bottom of the steps, her face poking up through a clump of daffodils there. She sniffed deeply then swiveled to look behind her, at the street.

He followed her gaze and saw a low, dark sedan at the curb, parked under the big oak tree with the engine running. A man sat on the front passenger side with his window open, watching Will talk to the man on the porch. As Will stared, the back window in the big sedan rolled down.

John Dillinger looked out at him.