Page 10 of The Cobbler and His Elves

I listened as Jack smoothly steered the conversation, his charm working its magic on Mr. Thompson just as his brother’s had with Mr. Adler. Before I knew it, the old tanner was pulling out his ledger, spreading it open on the desk between us. Jack’s fingers danced over the pages, pointing out figures and trends while he kept up a steady stream of industry jargon that made my head spin.

I watched in awe as Jack swiftly tallied a row of numbers in the account book. The depth of his knowledge about the leather industry and shoe business far surpassed my own, despite my years of experience. A twinge of inadequacy twisted in my gut as I realized just how much I still had to learn compared to the Sterling brothers.

“Frank Adler mentioned your daughter earlier,” Jack said, his tone casual, “I didn’t realize you had children.”

Thompson’s face hardened. “I don’t,” he said flatly. “Frank must be mistaken.”

Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue.

While Jack wrapped up our visit with Mr. Thompson, I lingered by his desk, pretending to adjust my shoe. My eyes darted to the photograph, studying it intently. The little girl’s face tugged at my memory. Her features seemed achingly familiar.

Then it hit me—those eyes. Wide, bright, and full of promise. They were Martha Sawyer’s eyes, before life had dimmed their sparkle. The Martha I knew drifted through town like a ghost. Though demure and polite, her smile never quite reached her eyes.

This photograph of a smiling little girl felt like a relic from another time, preserving a moment of joy that had long since faded.

Leaving the office, I casually sidled up to Jack. We exchanged final pleasantries with Mr. Thompson, my voice steady despite the tension coiled in my chest.

We stepped out of the tannery. The crisp air hit my face, a welcome respite from the pungent leather and chemical odors that had clung to my nostrils inside the tannery.

Jack let out a low whistle. “Well, that was interesting. Did you see how he clammed up at the mention of his daughter?”

I nodded, my mind whirling. “That girl in the photo—she looked just like Martha.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You think Martha Sawyer is Thompson’s daughter?”

“I do,” I said.

“But why all the secrecy, I wonder?” Jack mused.

I nodded. “Something’s definitely not right.” The image of Martha’s trembling hands as she’d handed over her shoes for repair flashed in my mind. Her darting eyes, the way she’d flinched at every noise. Come to think of it, she’d been jumpy from the moment she’d stepped into my shop up until she practically bolted out the door…

Jack and I hurried back to Sterling’s Fine Footwear, where Elijah waited. As we filled him in on our suspicions, I couldn’t help but notice small details about the brothers I’d never paid attention to before.

The way Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. How Elijah absently tapped his fingers against his thigh as he listened. The differences in their scents—Jack’s spicier, Elijah’s sweeter.

I pushed the observations aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

“If Martha is Thompson’s daughter,” Jack said, “what does that mean for our investigation?”

“It means we need to talk to her,” I said firmly. “Tomorrow morning, first thing.”

Elijah nodded in agreement. “We’ll go together. Safety in numbers.”

4

The morning air bit at my cheeks as Jack, Elijah, and I made our way to Martha Sawyer’s house. Frost crunched beneath our feet, and our breaths puffed out in small clouds. Despite the cold, my palms sweated inside my worn gloves.

“Remember,” Jack said, his voice low, “we’re just here to ask a few questions.”

I nodded. We couldn’t risk spooking Martha with heavy-handed questioning. My fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on my glove, betraying my nervousness despite my efforts to appear at ease.

As we rounded the corner onto Martha’s street, Elijah suddenly stopped short.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

Martha’s front door stood ajar, swaying slightly in the breeze. We exchanged glances and quickened our pace.

“Martha?” I called out as we approached the porch. “Miss Sawyer?”