Manitowish Waters, WI
December 18, 1929

“Miss Pryce, a word.” Judge Cavanaugh opened and closed the door to his chambers only long enough to rumble those words.

Fingers flying over typewriter keys, Eira Mae Pryce finished transcribing her notes before smoothing her serviceable gray skirt. The older man could be gruff, especially after an hour spent cloistered away with the woefully young interim Sheriff Wilburn. The man was attempting to replace the judge’s own nephew, Casper Yarwood, the rather handsome man who saved her life last Christmas.

Christmas. Her gaze darted to the garland she had strung over the door to the judge’s chambers. He didn’t approve, of course, but his wife sided with her. What harm could a bit of Christmas cheer do before meeting with a judge?

She adjusted the collar on her white blouse. She planned to stop by the general store on her way home today, see how far she could stretch a dollar in order to get an extra gift for each of her siblings. They would devour penny candy too quickly, so if she could find a toy that would last longer, she would bring it with her when she returned home for Christmas.

A consideration for when she reached the store. For now, she knocked lightly on the judge’s door before entering. The scent of pine from the garland overhead followed her inside. “Your honor?”

Both the judge and the sheriff looked at her from where they stood behind the judge’s massive oak desk, then exchanged significant looks with each other. Cold crept down Eira Mae’s back. They were discussing her. Why?

Her eyes roved the room until they landed on the brown basket the sheriff had carried in when he arrived. The side bowed suddenly, as if something moved within. Her attention darted back to the gentlemen.

“Do you have any prospects, Miss Pryce?” Judge Cavanaugh fingered his gavel. “Any gentleman callers?”

“Sir?” Eira Mae stammered, gaping at him. Sure, she’d fended off her fair share of flirtatious men, from criminals to lawyers to spectators watching a trial. She’d allowed a few to call on her, especially in the early days of her job with the judge. But, to a man, when they realized she was the sole breadwinner for her widowed mother and six siblings, they left rather quickly. “If you require references, sir, my landlady would provide you with information. I do not stay out late. I do not entertain male visitors. And I do not engage in vices.”

“I’m not concerned about that. I know your reputation.” The judge gave her a smile. The one he gave her the occasional times when their conversation turned personal. Like when he asked after her mother, or questioned whether she earned enough to support her family, or passed along an invitation from his gregarious wife to join them for supper.

“Miss Pryce.” Sheriff Wilburn tugged at his tie. “Don’t you wish to be a mother? With so many siblings, surely you have plenty of experience with … babies.”

“Pardon?” She stared at the red-faced sheriff, her own cheeks heating at his impertinent question. What was the purpose? Her gaze shot toward the basket, a low hum of fear vibrating across her shoulders. “I love children, sir, but what does that have to do with me?”

The sheriff tilted his head toward the judge. “We have to tell her.”

Tell her what?

“Miss Pryce. Eira Mae.” Judge Cavanaugh rounded the desk and took her hands as a grandfather would. He’d never strayed so far from the professional before, even when she joined him and his wife for a meal. “I have an assignment for you. It is not to be undertaken lightly, as it will permanently end your job here and likely affect the hope of any future marital prospects.”

Dread dropped her heart into her stomach. “My family, sir.”

“I will see them cared for.” The judge inhaled as if preparing to issue a sentence. “As I’m sure you will care for your friend’s baby.”

Her friend’s baby? Molly’s baby? Cold numbness spread from her fingertips up her arms. Molly had confided that her brother-in-law was none too happy about things her husband had been doing to grow the Bayfield family business, while keeping it on the right side of the law.

The sheriff crossed the room to the basket, and the bundle cried as he picked it up. She recognized the blue blanket and her legs turned to jelly. Please, Lord, let Molly be all right! Her dearest friend had married the wealthy Mr. Bayfield a little over a year ago and had recently delivered her first baby. A precious little boy named Lewis, after his father. The blanket was a gift Eira Mae had knitted for her godson.

“Please sit before you collapse.” Judge Cavanaugh hooked his arm around her waist, escorting her to the cushioned leather chair behind his desk.

Eira Mae couldn’t take her eyes off the bundle. Molly and Lewis Senior loved their son and Eira Mae couldn’t help but love the little one, too. So small and innocent. The baby in the sheriff’s arms mewled. Then Eira Mae remembered her last visit to see Molly. She’d made Eira Mae promise that if anything happened to her, Eira Mae would become Lewis’ mother.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Something happened, didn’t it? Something happened to Molly.”

“The babe’s parents were found murdered this morning.” Judge Cavanaugh patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eira Mae.”

“How?” A sob strangled her, but she reached for the bundle. Sheriff Wilburn set Lewis in her arms and Eira Mae held the little one close. Smelled the rose and lavender from the sachets she and Molly had made together this summer. Her tears dripped onto his pudgy little cheeks.

“This was your friend, so do not speculate. You’ve heard worse from my cases. I assure you it was not gruesome, but it was definitely murder.” The judge let baby Lewis wrap his little fingers around his big one and the child tugged it into his mouth. “What’s important right now is that the child is Lewis Bayfield Senior’s only child, which means he is the heir to the Bayfield empire.”

This sweet little orphan? Molly had loved entering her husband’s society. She was grace itself, with a humility that wouldn’t allow her to abandon her oldest friend even after their economic statuses became so different. She would have been a wonderful mother. And baby Lewis, oh, he must be so confused. Missing his mother. Her tears turned to sobs, and she bent over her best friend’s child. His other fist tangled in one of her curls. Images of Molly’s face, tired and yet joyful, washed across Eira Mae’s mind. Her friend was gone.

“Miss Pryce,” Sheriff Wilburn cleared his throat. “I hate to rush your grief, but this is an urgent matter.”

Eira Mae lifted her head with a nod and a sniff. She needed a hankie, but it was in her purse, back at her desk. Judge Cavanaugh must have realized, because he pulled his from his pocket, his monogram perfectly stitched into the center of the folded square.

Sheriff Wilburn waited a moment for her to clean her face, then folded his arms and continued. “Lewis Bayfield’s brother wants the inheritance. The two have been at odds for months now and it’s no secret he lost significant holdings in the market crash this past October.”

“I know.” Her mind tumbled through the conversations she’d had with Molly during her confinement. Had she missed something that could have saved Molly’s life?

“Then you also know,” Sheriff Wilburn continued, “that Mr. Bayfield set up a contingency in case something happened to him. The babe is to go to an unrelated guardian who will also manage the company until the child comes of age. Then he can inherit. Mr. and Mrs. Bayfield chose you.”

“Molly said …” She looked between the two men, details snapping into place. Bayfield’s brother. Unrelated guardian. Managing a company. Murder. Her tears dried up. “There is more, isn’t there?”

Sheriff Wilburn nodded. “Legally, you are the baby’s guardian now, and even if the babe’s uncle wishes to contest the will, Judge Cavanaugh and I plan to uphold it. However, we suspect the uncle is involved in his brother’s murder, which puts the child in immediate danger. If the child dies, the uncle would inherit.”

A shiver shook Eira Mae’s body, and she held the baby tighter. Lewis sucked on his fist, blue eyes watching her. Nothing could happen to Molly’s baby. She wouldn’t allow it.