Chapter 22 - THE SHADOW ON THE PLATFORM
Two hundred miles west of Lewisburg, the autumn wind whipped across the gravel platform of the Altoona station, carrying the bitter scent of wet cedar and approaching winter snow.
Marco Falcone stood near the far end of the wooden canopy, his gray wool coat buttoned to the chin, his wire-rimmed spectacles glinting in the pale afternoon sun. In his right hand, he held a leather-bound briefcase—not the red ledger of the Valente estate, but a standard black attaché case filled with the mundane tax filings of a small-town hardware supplier named Arthur Pendelton.
A local diesel bus hissed to a stop beside the curb, its diesel exhaust pluming gray against the weathered siding of the depot. Clara stepped down first, her hand guiding Sophie, who clutched the mended gray plush rabbit tightly against her chest. Her dark hair was tied back with a simple woolen band, and her coat was plain, devoid of the gold buttons and silk linings of the Philadelphia estate.
"The room above the hardware store is dry," Marco said without turning his head as Clara walked up beside him on the platform. "The stove works, and the owner doesn't ask for references if the rent is paid six months in advance."
Clara looked at him, her eyes searching his face with the quiet intensity of someone trying to read a cipher written in a dead language. "And the accounts in Camden? The federal investigation?"
"The investigation is closed," Marco replied smoothly, adjusting the brim of his hat. "A grand jury in Philadelphia cannot indict a ghost who never existed on paper. Arthur Pendelton paid his property tax in cash this morning. The receipt is in the bottom drawer."
Sophie tugged at the hem of Marco's coat, looking up with her wide, serious eyes. "Mr. Marco, did you bring the yellow thread?"
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Marco looked down at the child, a rare, faint softening touching the dry lines around his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden spool of bright yellow thread, placing it gently into the palm of her small hand.
"Always, Sophie," Marco said softly. "A seam should never be left open."
