Читать книгу Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe - Louise Gouge M. - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Grace eyed Dub Gleason and his friends, who sat outside the store and watched with smirking grins. She didn’t suspect them of the thefts. To a man, the four of them were the laziest polecats she’d ever seen. The most energetic thing they did was make fun of her when no one else was around.

“Let’s go inside.” She nodded toward the open door of the mercantile. No use broadcasting the details of the robbery. As stupid as Dub and his friends were, they’d blab anything they heard all over the place. The guilty party might hear them and figure out a way to hamper the investigation.

Mrs. Winsted turned in a huff and stormed back into her store. Grace didn’t fault her for being upset, but it seemed this usually levelheaded lady was becoming more like her daughter-in-law every day.

Behind her, Grace could hear the Rev’s footfalls. She turned and gave him a quizzing look.

He returned that bothersome attractive smile of his. “As I said the other day, I want to help.”

“Right.” She shrugged. “Come on, then.”

Inside the store, Homer Bean, the clerk, was straightening merchandise behind the counter.

“Hey, quit that.” Grace tried not to bark the order, but Homer jumped nonetheless. “Don’t be moving stuff around. I need to look for clues, and you might cover them up.”

“That’s just the thing.” Mrs. Winsted pressed trembling hands against her temples. “Nothing seems out of place. If I didn’t know my inventory like the freckles on my granddaughter’s nose, I’d say nothing had been stolen. Whoever took the items cleverly shuffled the other merchandise to fill the empty spaces.”

When Grace reached back to retrieve the pencil and pad of paper she kept in her hip pocket, her elbow met something solid. She glanced to the side and saw it was the Rev’s arm. A pleasant shiver slid up to her neck, but he seemed unmindful of the contact. Instead, he was staring around the large room, frowning thoughtfully like he was the deputy doing the investigation. Grateful for his help, she poised her pencil over the paper. “Now, ma’am, what was stolen?”

“Well...” Mrs. Winsted huffed a bit and stared off as though gathering her wits. “Several woolen blankets, a tan Stetson, a pearl-handled Colt .45, a Remington rifle and ammunition for both guns.” She gazed around the room. “That’s what we’ve figured out so far.” She tilted her head toward Homer to indicate he was the other part of we. “Last time it was a coffeepot, a bag of coffee, some tins of food and other such items a person might steal if he was needy. This time it’s much more serious, with guns being stolen and all.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grace listed the items on her pad. “Show me where they were displayed.” Even though she knew the store pretty well, she hoped to calm Mrs. Winsted down by keeping her occupied.

The locked gun case appeared just as the woman had said. Seven handguns were displayed in an orderly fashion with no obvious empty spaces.

The Rev bent down to study the lock on the front of the case. “It doesn’t look as though it’s been tampered with.” He straightened and looked to Mrs. Winsted. “Where do you keep the key?”

Grace felt a pinch of annoyance that he asked the question before she had a chance. She’d have to talk to him later about letting her lead the investigation. “Is it nearby?”

“No.” Mrs. Winsted walked toward the door to the back room. “I’ll fetch it.”

“Wait. I have an idea.” The Rev gave Grace an apologetic grin. “If you don’t mind?”

Grace answered with a scowl, but he’d already turned his attention back to Mrs. Winsted.

“I know this may sound odd,” he said. “However, it may help us to find the thief.”

Mrs. Winsted glanced doubtfully between the Rev and Grace. “Deputy?”

Grace hid her annoyance with a smile and a shrug. Oh, she truly must speak to the Rev about this. He was damaging her image of authority. “Go on, Rev. Anything you can do to help.”

“Very well.” His gray eyes twinkled with excitement, which considerably diminished her irritation. Not only was he way too handsome when he smiled, he seemed to be enjoying himself in a mighty big way. She couldn’t scold him for either one of those.

“I recently read Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi, which is a collection of his short stories. In one story, a murderer was caught because his bloody thumbprint was left on a piece of paper, and he was later identified through that mark. Recent research has shown that no two people have identical finger marks. Maybe we could find the thief’s prints on the key or this case.” He indicated the glass display. “Of course, we’d have to be sure no one else touches either one while we figure out how to capture the image. Then we can try to find the person whose prints match it.”

Grace stared at him with new respect shaded with just a smidgen of skepticism. If what he said was true, it would help law enforcement immensely.

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Winsted frowned in dismay. “I’m afraid we already dusted and wiped down everything this morning. It’s the first thing Homer does every day. Isn’t it, Homer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young, sandy-haired clerk had joined them by the gun display as soon as the Rev started talking about the Twain story. “And I’ve already handled the keys this morning when I showed Mrs. Bellows some items in the jewelry case.”

“Hmm.” Grace wrote brief notes so she’d remember to tell the sheriff about the whole conversation. She wondered whether he’d heard about finger marks. “Let’s have a look at the other places.”

Mrs. Winsted pointed to a plaster hat stand molded in the shape of a man’s head. “They stole the tan Stetson that should be here and put this porkpie hat in its place.” She leaned against the display case, and her usually friendly face drooped into a weary expression.

Grace patted the woman’s forearm. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Winsted. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Now, who were your last few customers just before you closed up yesterday?” She glanced at Homer to include him in the question.

They both offered names, and Grace wrote them on her pad, flipping to a second page to list them all.

“The last person out the door was Adam Starling,” Homer said. “He bought some flour for his mother and asked to put it on their tab.” He cleared his throat. “Not that this means anything...”

“Go on.” Grace kept her eyes on her notes. She’d had some concerns about sixteen-year-old Adam but would keep that to herself for now.

“Well...” Homer shuffled his feet. “The last thing Adam looked at was the pearl-handled Colt .45 that’s missing now. Said he sure would like to have one like it someday. I, uh, I took it out of the case and let him hold it. I don’t like to make judgments about folks, but if a man could look hungry at a gun, then I’d say that was how Adam looked at that revolver.”

A sick feeling rose up inside of Grace. She snapped her notepad closed and stuck it back into her pocket. “All right. I’ll report this to the sheriff. If either of you think of anything else, let one of us know.”

She strode toward the front door only vaguely aware that the Rev was on her heels. Outside on the boardwalk, he touched her arm to stop her. She did stop, but only because Dub and his friends had wandered down the street.

“Grace, I can see what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong about Adam.”

She shifted her gun belt and gave him her best deputy glare. “That so?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by her tough posture, which pleased her in the oddest way. “Why would such a hardworking boy risk everything—his family, his reputation, his jobs—for a gun? Or for any of those other missing items?”

“I’ll admit he’s always seemed like a straight-up fella.” She wouldn’t speak about the way Adam avoided her. Lots of men in town avoided her because they didn’t know how to behave around a female peacekeeper. She preferred that to Dub Gleason and his pals. “But you gotta admit a poor family like the Starlings don’t have much in the way of necessities. Maybe he needed the rifle to kill jackrabbits for their supper.”

The Starling family had been in town for about a year and a half. Adam’s father had yet to recover from injuries sustained when outlaws beat him and stole the payroll he was delivering for the railroad. Adam was still in high school, and he worked hard at three jobs to support the family. Mrs. Starling took in sewing and laundry, but the family still needed help from the church from time to time. Grace didn’t mind their receiving charity. Christians were supposed to take care of needy folks. But the way Adam had been avoiding her recently, refusing to look her in the eye at church or ducking around corners if he saw her during the week, caused her some concern even before the robberies. What could he be hiding?

“I’m sure the Starlings already have a gun of some sort for small game hunting.”

Grace eyed the Rev. “I suppose. But from what Homer said, seems like Adam wants something finer than whatever they have.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d steal to get it.” The Rev exhaled a sigh that almost sounded cross, not his usual calm reaction to troubles. “Adam comes from a decent Christian family. His father held a position of trust for the railroad, and Adam has always been a fine young man. Everyone in town knows how hard he works.”

“Maybe he’s tired of working so hard.” Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “I know he had to spend a lot of his savings to get that special medicine for his little sister last winter.”

“Now, Grace—”

“Now, Rev.” She held up a hand to silence him. “You don’t want to suspect him because you always see the best in everyone.”

“Is that a fault?” An uncharacteristic hint of defensiveness colored his tone.

My, he was getting peevish. Grace ignored the question. “You also preach that nobody’s righteous, that we’ve all sinned and come short of the glory of God. The Bible tells us how God’s judgment came on evildoers in a mighty way. Think about Jericho or Sodom and Gomorrah. Or the Babylonian captivity.”

His jaw dropped slightly, and he stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. “We certainly can’t discount those Old Testament stories, but through Jesus Christ, God extends mercy.” He took on his concerned preacher look, tilting his head slightly and stared into her eyes. “You know this, Grace. You’ve accepted Jesus as your Savior.”

“I have.” His gaze bored into her, and she stared off in time to see the sheriff enter his office down the block. “But even if a man’s trusted the Lord, he can still go wrong if he’s tempted bad enough. Adam may just be taking a wrong path. If he is, it’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”

“Make sure he doesn’t get away with it, or restore him to the right path?”

“Same thing.” She wouldn’t enter a war of words with him because she’d be sure to lose.

The Rev blew out another long breath. “Admiring a fine gun doesn’t make him guilty of theft.” He again tilted his head in an appealing way. “Neither does being the last customer of the day.”

Grace started to mention how Adam had been avoiding her of late but changed her mind. The Rev would only find a way to turn her suspicions around. “Well, I just saw the sheriff go into the office, so I need to go over and report the robberies to him.” She stepped down from the boardwalk onto the dusty street.

The Rev chuckled and called after her. “Does that mean you won’t be having dinner with me?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Aren’t you sick of my company by now?” It was a dumb thing to say. Even as rough-mannered as she was, she knew better than to say such a thing to a friend.

“Not at all, Grace.” Was that a trace of sadness in his eyes? “But I have a feeling you’re tired of my preaching. Thanks for the shooting lesson.” He tipped his hat and gave her a little bow. He was one of the few men in town who offered her such courtesies. “Good day, my friend.”

Her heart aching over their disagreement, Grace watched him walk away. This was best, of course. In a couple of months, the Rev’s guests would arrive, and that Miss Sutton wouldn’t want a plain, too-tall, gawky female deputy hanging around her future husband.

One thing was sure. Grace would get to know the lady to be sure she was good enough for the Rev. If she turned out to be a snob, Grace would... Well, she’d figure something out to discourage him from marrying the wrong woman both for the Rev’s sake and the sakes of all the good folks in the congregation. She chuckled to herself. If the lady truly was the uppity sort, Grace and her sisters, Georgia and Maisie, would teach her a thing or two about living in the West.

* * *

Feeling the loss of his friend’s company after a mostly pleasant morning, Micah stopped into Williams’s Café and purchased some sandwiches to eat at home. Odd how he’d only recently begun to understand what it meant to feel true loneliness. All the more reason to get married. Joel and his sister couldn’t get here soon enough to suit him so he could find out whether the Lord had chosen Miss Sutton to be his wife.

Seated at his kitchen table, he laughed to himself over the way Grace had irritated him earlier as they discussed Adam Starling. Micah rarely got irritated, so he’d been surprised by his own reaction to Grace’s unbending attitude about punishing the thief. This had been their first real disagreement, and he’d found himself bothered by her Old Testament legalism, which was clearly at odds with her name. He supposed her occupation affected her view of wrongdoers. Or perhaps she’d chosen her occupation because of her views. In any event, a series of sermons about how God’s grace and mercy were more powerful than vengeance might open her eyes and her heart. Besides, if Adam was the thief, he needed help, not punishment.

Micah briefly considered consulting Garrick Wakefield, who’d helped the Starlings when they came to town last year and now employed Adam at the hotel. Yet he didn’t want to cast doubt on the boy. It was probably best for him to speak to Adam himself to see if he could discern any guilt in his demeanor. For now, he would do some of his own investigating to find out whether Mark Twain’s assertions about finger marks were true. Further, the next time he was in Mrs. Winsted’s store, he’d advise her and Homer not to disturb that sort of evidence if the robbers struck again. Other than that, he would search for other clues about the thefts.

He finished the first roast beef sandwich and eyed the second one. “Miss Pam,” he murmured to himself, “your cooking is just too delicious. This should be my supper, but I can’t resist eating it now.” His appetite always increased in colder weather.

As he ate, he considered what had been stolen. No jewelry was missing, although the glass display held several valuable gold rings, watches, bracelets, watch fobs and assorted brooches and tie pins. If the thief needed money, he could sell such items in another town and word would probably never come back to Esperanza. The only missing merchandise appeared to be survival necessities. Micah couldn’t imagine the Starlings needing woolen blankets because the church had supplied them with quilts. Further, Mrs. Starling was an excellent seamstress and could make more if they needed them. As for the guns, no one in Esperanza would take such weapons because all of their neighbors would recognize them as stolen. When the time was right, Micah would tell Grace about his thoughts.

His dinner finished, Micah went to work organizing the bedroom he’d used as an office for the past seven years. Yesterday he’d purchased a single bed, bedding and a chest of drawers to accommodate Joel. His large oak desk took up too much space, so to give Joel some privacy, he’d need to move it to the small room behind the church sanctuary. After school let out, he’d find Adam and ask him to help arrange the furniture. He’d also use the opportunity to try to detect any signs of guilt in the boy.

Although Micah had appreciated Grace’s advice about hosting the Suttons, he decided to ask Mrs. Foster, as well. He walked the two blocks to the elderly lady’s boardinghouse, where he found her in the kitchen, as usual. She motioned for him to take a seat at the table, where she placed a piece of lemon cake before him.

After enjoying a few delicious bites, he explained his situation and asked her advice.

“Why, it sounds fine to me.” She poured Micah a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Just be sure Mr. Sutton is always in the house with you and his sister, and propriety will be satisfied.”

“That should be easy enough.” Micah spent more time away from the parsonage than in it. “Now, what do you advise for furnishing her room?”

Mrs. Foster thought for a moment. “I have a spare bedroom suite in storage left by a tenant who moved back East. You may have that.”

Micah sat back and grinned. Once again the Lord had provided before he asked. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, dear lady. You’ve solved two problems for me.”

He would need help to move the furniture. Since Adam would be in school until almost four o’clock, Micah returned home to review his sermon notes for Sunday. Satisfied with what he’d written, he retrieved his most recent manuscript from the top drawer of his desk.

He liked this story even better than the one he’d already sold, but he needed to work on his main character a bit more. He jotted down a few notes about his conversation with Grace regarding the thefts because the incident perfectly suited his fictional female sheriff. Following Charles Dickens’s custom of naming characters after their personality traits, he’d tentatively called his heroine Willa Ketchum, but today the name sounded a little silly. He tapped the end of his pen against his cheek and stared out the window beside him.

“Charity.” He said the name aloud, but it didn’t sound right. “Mercy? Grace?” He laughed. “That would give me away for certain.” The new name would have to wait.

He sat back and stared at the half-filled page. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the next scene for his story. In his mind’s eye, he saw Grace wearing that determined look on her fair face as she insisted Adam was the thief. Micah had intended for his heroine always to be clever at solving crimes, always successful at catching outlaws.

“Well, Miss Ketchum, maybe it’s time you made a mistake.”