“Take forty dollars for a third night,” Nathaniel said, pulling two bills from his wallet.

Martha pressed her palm against his fingers and pushed the cash back toward his coat.

“If I take your money, Mr.

Whitmore, then Arthur Vance is right about why you’re helping us.”

“Arthur Vance doesn’t know a thing about why I’m helping you,” Nathaniel said.

“I know,” Martha said softly.

“That’s why I’m paying my own way.”

Daisy looked up from the passenger seat of the sedan, holding her small tin box of paper stars against her coat.