The sky over the roof line of the city was awash with evening's hazy mix of purples and pinks when Henry finally arrived back at the shop. He looked haggard and filthy. Securing the front door and locking it for good measure, Henry was surprised to find Jacob watching him from the apartment doorway with a smirk.

"Well look what the cat dragged in! I take it Wickman let you get into it a bit then?" Jacob quipped.

"You have no idea," Henry replied as he flopped into the chair to remove his boots.

He was about to run his hands through his hair, but was happy to have the good sense to stop himself. Despite all the soap and scrubbing, a trace of fine, black filth clung under his fingernails. He tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Dear god, I don't feel as if I will be clean ever again," he moaned.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense. What did the old bird conclude about your little bug man?"

"Wickman thinks wants to put drowning as the official cause of death. Lazy jackass just doesn't want to deal with the paperwork and all the questions."

"He's not wrong you know," Jacob replied. "There's already enough mayhem in the news these days to worry a dead shop keeper. Besides, we aren't likely to make any money on this little venture of yours, so why bother?"

Henry sat up and stared at Jacob, not sure if he should speak his mind freely or not. Jacob was so young when their parents perished, he didn't remember much of the night it happened. But Henry remembered. The image and sounds of it were seared in his psyche in a way that permeated all of his thinking.

The image of his father at the threshold of their farm house, engulfed in flames.

The roar of the fire drowning out any other sound while his father just stood there with that dreaded book clenched in his arms.

Henry remembered being shocked that his father didn't look afraid as he turned and walked back into the house, receding into the white hot flames until he was gone.

Jacob shoot his fingers in front of Henry's face.

"Hello? You're drifting away again," Jacob snapped. "Good gracious, you're getting as strange as Uncle Ben some days."

"Don't say that," Henry replied, shaking himself out of the fog. "What I was thinking was that, regardless of the money, Big John asked this as a favor. I don't care about the money."

"Sure, just a favor," Jacob said, folding his arms "I can't help but notice the two of you have been about as thick as thieves since Mrs. Marshall died."

"John is a good friend," Henry replied flatly.

He was not sure what Jacob was poking at, but he knew whatever it was would not be worth arguing about when he was so tired. Sometimes Henry figured Jacob looked to pick fights merely for entertainment. "No matter what you think about the matter, I still feel like the decent thing to do is help figure out who or what killed that man."

"Or what killed that man? You sure you're feeling alright?"

"I can't really articulate it, but there was nothing natural about the way that man died."

 He found himself trapped in the same simple question that dogged him all day long: how? He'd pulled buckets upon buckets of mud from the man's body, each scoop filled with grit and sticks and leaves. It was as if the man had been dragged behind a boat in the brackish marshes, collecting the stuff in his open mouth like a sack.

"I know you told me I'd have to pull my own weight around the shop-- and I will! But you have to understand that I won't rest until I have an answer to this."

Jacob nodded.

"Can't say I'm surprised. Robert isn't much better. Since returning from the library he's been worse than a caged animal! Mercifully he went to bed about an hour ago so I can finally get a break from his infernal questions," Jacob replied with a wry smile. "Do us both a favor and wait until morning to tell him about the body?"

Henry laughed. "I can do that. But for now, I'm going to wash up and head to bed myself."

As Henry pushed past Jacob, he caught his shoulder with a concerned expression.

"Faye came into the shop  today."

Henry felt his stomach in his chest for moment. ""She did? Was there something the matter?"

"You may not believe this, but she stopped in to invite me to a dinner party at Mary Swift's home this weekend," Jacob said, batting his eyelashes. "Obviously upgrading to the more handsome and clever brother."

Bless her heart, she'd actually gone and done it! Henry thought with relief.

"That's wonderful! Not to dampen your enthusiasm, but I do hope that she explained the reason for the invitation."

"That clever woman has it all planned out, doesn't she? Even gave me a false name and everything for my performance," Jacob replied. "She was a little light on the details, but what is the scheme here?"

"It's just like any regular job," Henry explains. "Faye believes that Ms. Swift's adherence to mysticism has her father swept up in all that nonsense. We hoped that if Rolland came to his senses, well then, perhaps he would allow our engagement after all."

"Seems like a bit of a gamble, and I should know," Jacob replied. "I don't know if I've ever met a more bullheaded man than Rolland Marshall."

"Right now, I'm willing to try just about anything if it means Faye and I can be together," Henry sighed.

"Except go back into medicine?" Jacob added.

Henry's face turned red. He'd made it abundantly clear when he moved in with Jacob and Robert that the details of his recent departure from medicine was not a discussion point, but Jacob could never help himself for long.

"All I'm saying is that secrets aren't healthy," Jacob continued, patting Henry on the shoulder. "You can't carry all that weight by yourself forever."

Henry smiled a sad smile. He'd carried the weight of many secrets for many years, and he knew what Jacob said was true. Some days the weight of it all felt as though it might crush him completely. But instead of saying more, he just shook his head and went off into the apartment.