Carol Cox (26 page)

Caleb waved his hand. “No, I didn’t mean to imply any negligence on your part. But on top of suspicions about what happened to Charley, now there’s talk going around about the way my uncle Alvin died.”

“And my cousin,” Melanie added.

Doc gave her a brief glance before turning back to Caleb. “You were here when Alvin passed away. You saw how it happened.”

“Yes, but I’ve been doing a little studying.” Caleb pulled a book from his inside jacket pocket.

Melanie’s eyes widened when she recognized the reference on poisons the Professor had loaned them the day before.

Caleb thumbed through the pages, then spread the book open and handed it to Doc. “Ipecac. It says right here that it causes extreme gastric upset. That sounds a lot like what happened with my uncle. You remember how we all thought he was getting better, and then he couldn’t keep anything down at all.”

Doc murmured a response, his eyes still fastened on the book.

Melanie moved forward a step. “Neither Caleb nor I were here when my cousin George died. What happened to him? I always assumed it was something to do with his heart, but could someone have done something to harm him?”

Doc lowered his head as if deep in thought, then he looked straight at Melanie. “George Ross died of heart failure. His symptoms were perfectly consistent with that diagnosis, and I have no reason to attribute his death to anything else. The other two, however . . .”

He turned to Caleb. “I didn’t have any reason to look for something other than death by natural causes at the time, in either of those cases.” He held up the Professor’s book. “But now that you’ve drawn this to my attention, I have to admit it’s a possibility.”

He closed the book and turned it so he could study the
cover, his brows dipping low on his forehead. “Where did you get this?”

“The Professor loaned it to me,” Caleb said.

A shadow flickered across the doctor’s face, barely discernible in the moonlight. “The Professor? That’s interesting. I knew he was a man of varied interests, but I wasn’t aware he was a student of poisons.” He handed the book back to Caleb without further comment.

“We need to take this information to the marshal.” Melanie’s voice shook when she spoke. “If it’s a real possibility that Charley Weber and Caleb’s uncle were poisoned, he needs to know.”

Doc Mills tilted his head and looked at her from beneath his brows. “Are you sure you want to do that?” Seeing her shocked expression, he went on. “It might confirm the possibility that those two deaths were murder, and it might give him an idea of how it was done. But it still doesn’t tell him who did it. With all the accusations flying around town, it would be easy for people to jump to assumptions and decide to take things into their own hands.” He pointed to the book in Caleb’s hands. “I believe you need to think very carefully about whether or not to make your theory known.”

He turned away and ambled toward his buggy. Caleb, Melanie, and Levi walked back to their wagon in silence, with Doc’s news—and his admonition—ringing in their ears. They settled a sleepy Levi on some blankets in the back of the wagon, and then Caleb clucked at the horse and they set off for home.

Melanie checked to see if Levi was asleep, then she scooted closer to Caleb on the wagon seat, drawing comfort from his nearness. She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “So Alvin’s and Charley’s deaths really might have been murder?”

“It appears so.” In the moonlight, Caleb’s face looked as if it had been chiseled from marble.

“Do you think Doc has any idea who might have done it?”

“I’m not sure. If he does, I don’t think he’s going to tell us. We’ll have to find that answer ourselves.”

“Us? How?”

“Whoever the murderer was, and whatever he used, he had to get his hands on that poison somewhere. What’s the mostly likely place for him to get it from?”

Melanie pursed her lips. “I suppose he would have had to order it from somewhere.” Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “From our store. It could have come from the mercantile.”

Caleb nodded. “It would have been the easiest thing to do. Starting tomorrow, we need to check through all our records.”

C
an we go fishing, Papa? It’s gonna be a beautiful day.”

Caleb checked the lock on his front door and pocketed the key. “Not today, son. But if you’re a very good boy, we’ll plan on going fishing again someday soon.” He glanced skyward. Levi was right about the weather—the morning was beautiful, but with the way the clouds were building up in the north, he suspected it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Besides, he and Melanie needed to start checking their records to find out who might have purchased or ordered the substance used to poison Charley Weber and Uncle Alvin.

Levi scuffed a rock out of his way as they walked along the alley. “I guess after last night, you don’t want me to make anymore fireworks, right?”

Caleb ruffled the boy’s hair. “Right. No more fireworks, no more matches.”

“Can I still play with my soldiers?”

“Sure, that’s fine.” Caleb slanted a look at his son. “As long as you don’t—”

“I know. As long as I don’t line them up on Mrs. Pike’s—”

“That’s right,” Caleb cut in. “You’ve got the idea.”

Levi picked up a pebble and flung it down the alley. “Can Miss Ross come with us? When we go fishing, I mean.”

“I don’t know about that,” Caleb said. “We’d have to close the store.” Even as he spoke, a picture formed in his mind: The three of them on the grassy bank overlooking Walnut Creek. Levi with his fishing pole in the water, or chasing grasshoppers and butterflies up and down the bank, and Melanie leaning back against the smooth bark of a sycamore trunk, the breeze stirring her hair, and the sun dappling her cheeks through the glossy green leaves.

His mood lifted. Maybe Levi had a point. Why not close the store up so they could all go together? It would only be for an afternoon—or maybe even a day. Once the marshal captured the murderer, there would be reason to take some time off to celebrate. He would have to pose the idea to Melanie and see what she thought of it.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he walked along the alley toward the store’s rear entrance, with Levi skipping ahead of him. When Levi reached the back stoop, he turned and called to Caleb. “She’s not here—and the porch isn’t swept.”

“What?” Caleb quickened his steps, his thoughts racing. Surely no harm could have befallen her, not with those new locks he had installed. Not with drop bars on both doors to keep intruders out. He reminded himself to breathe. The last time he had flown into a panic about her not being outside, it turned out she had been upstairs because she wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she had another headache.

But what if she hadn’t opened the door because she had fallen or hurt herself? The new worry gnawed at him as he
hurried toward the stoop. If she was upstairs, sick or incapacitated, how could he get to her? He had the key to the lock, but the bars Melanie dropped across the doors each night would be just as effective at keeping him out as they were at barring trespassers.

He trotted up the steps, trying not to let his concern show so as not to frighten Levi. A bit of his worry ebbed away when the doorknob turned under his hand. He pushed the door open. Relief washed over him at the sight of Melanie standing before him, a sheet of paper in her hand. His relief faded when he saw the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“This.” She waved the paper at him. “It’s the list I’ve been making, the one with my ideas for new items for the store. It was over on the table next to the catalogs when I came down a little while ago. But I know I left it right here on the counter before we left for the celebration yesterday afternoon.”

Caleb shrugged. “We were in a hurry yesterday. Maybe you just thought you put it on the counter before we left. You might have set it down on the table and just forgot.”

Melanie tapped the paper. “I could almost make myself believe that—but I didn’t imagine this.” She beckoned him into the office.

Caleb stopped short in the doorway. The small room looked as if one of Arizona’s dust devils had swept through it, leaving chaos in its wake. Desk drawers stood open, and their record books, normally lined up neatly on a shelf near the window, now lay strewn across the desk and floor.

Melanie turned to face him. “We did not leave this room in this condition.”

“You’re saying someone came in while we were at the picnic? But we didn’t notice any sign of a break-in when we
returned. And there are only two keys to the new locks I put on. You have one, I have the other.”

Melanie shook her head. “It didn’t happen when we were at the picnic. I double-checked the locks on the doors and windows before I went to bed. Last night, this room was just the way we always leave it.” She pointed toward the room’s only window. “But this was open a crack when I came in here this morning.”

Caleb stepped to the window and pushed it up a few inches.

Melanie moved beside him. “What are you looking at?”

“The lock. Do you see those scratches?” Before she could answer, he pivoted and went back outside. Melanie caught up with him while he was busy examining the lock from the alley side.

“See there?” He pointed out a series of gouges in the wooden frame around the lock.

Her forehead puckered. “I see them, but what do they mean?”

“Somebody slid a thin blade up between the two parts of the window frame and used it to work the lock open.” He stepped back and frowned, trying to reason it all out. “The only reason someone would have needed to come in through the window”—realization hit him like a sledgehammer as he finished his statement—“is if they broke in during the night. With the bars in place on the doors, they couldn’t get inside that way.”

She nodded without saying a word, but Caleb could see the sheen of fear in her eyes, mirroring his own panic at the thought that someone had been inside the store in the darkest hours of the night while Melanie slept upstairs . . . alone and vulnerable.

A roll of thunder rumbled in the distance. Melanie watched the play of emotions on Caleb’s face while they walked back into the mercantile.

When he spoke, his voice sounded taut and strained. “It’s almost time to open. We’d better—”

A loud knock rattled the front door, and they both jumped. When Caleb went to open it, Will Blake rushed inside. “You’ve got trouble comin’, Caleb. There’s no time to lose.”

Caleb stared. “What are you talking about?”

Will grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the back of the store, where Melanie stood next to Levi, who had scrambled out of his fort at the sound of Will’s voice. “You know all the wild talk that’s been going on around town? I was just down the street waitin’ for the bank to open, and there was a bunch talking out in front of O’Shea’s. It sounded like they’re forming a vigilance committee right now. You need to get Melanie and Levi out the back door and take them someplace safe. That crew may be here any minute.”

The front door crashed open before he finished speaking. Melanie shrank back as a group of hard-faced men burst inside. She looked from face to face: Thomas O’Shea, Rance Yeary, Wendell Trask, and several others she didn’t recognize. She pulled Levi against her and held him tight.

Caleb spoke sharply. “Levi, get upstairs now.” Without taking his eyes off the intruders, he jerked his head in Melanie’s direction. “You too.”

Melanie pushed Levi toward the stairs but held her ground. She spoke just loud enough for Caleb to hear, trying to keep
her voice from trembling. “This is my trouble, too. I’m not going to let you face it on your own.”

Caleb didn’t take time to argue. He stepped forward to put himself between her and the threat looming before them. “What are you
gentlemen
here for?”

His forceful stand seemed to take the group aback. They didn’t answer but fanned out across the store like one of Levi’s skirmish lines.

O’Shea, who seemed to fancy himself as the group’s leader, looked at the others, then moved to the front.

“The boys and I been talkin’, Nelson. We don’t need your kind in this town.”

Will moved over and stood shoulder to shoulder with Caleb. “These people have done nothing, O’Shea. Why don’t you all just simmer down and go about your business before we have to call in the marshal?”

While the mob’s attention was focused on Caleb and Will, Melanie cast a frantic glance around the store, looking for anything they could use as weapons to stand the vigilantes off. Pick handles. Pitchforks. What would work best?

O’Shea scoffed. “The marshal hasn’t done anything but talk. But we’ve heard enough to believe these two aren’t as innocent as you want to think they are. If the marshal isn’t going to do his job, we’re ready to take it upon ourselves and run these undesirables out of town.”

Caleb hooked his thumbs in his belt and widened his stance. “What is wrong with you men? You’re willing to jump at shadows and look at anyone as guilty without the slightest bit of proof.”

O’Shea didn’t back down. “You were at the meeting at my place the other night. You heard what Wendell asked—who’s
profiting from all these deaths? Follow the trail and the answer is clear enough.” He stretched his arm toward Caleb and Melanie. “It’s the two of you.”

Caleb stared at the man without flinching. “If that’s the line of thought you want to follow, let’s take it one step further. What’s the real reason
you’re
so eager to get rid of the two of us? If you manage to run Miss Ross and me out of town and this mercantile goes under, who’ll be the one to profit from that?”

A rumble of murmurs rippled through the rest of the group. Rance Yeary rocked back on his heels and eyed O’Shea thoughtfully. “He has a point there. You’ve had your mind set on running this store out of business ever since you moved here from Denver.”

One of the men Melanie didn’t know nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re always complaining about them having more customers than you do. If you cut out the competition, everybody in town would have to do business at the emporium.”

Caleb’s lips thinned. “Was setting those oily rags on fire in our office part of your plan to drive us out?”

O’Shea’s mouth dropped open.

“And those hateful anonymous notes.” The words came out before Melanie could stop them. “Are you the one responsible for them?”

Wendell Trask’s eyes narrowed. “I remember Alvin talking about getting threatening notes. You mean it’s still going on?” He took a step away from the storekeeper. “Maybe it’s time to take a second look at all this. These two have only been here a few months, but the trouble started long before that. . . . Not too long after you came to town. What happened, did you decide if George and Alvin wouldn’t turn tail and run, you’d step in and take care of things yourself?”

The blood drained from O’Shea’s face, and he held up his hands. “Wait a minute, fellas. I don’t know anything about that. I never left any notes or set any fire . . . and I sure never killed anyone.” He shot a desperate look at Caleb. “You’ve got to believe me.”

Rance Yeary moved toward him. “I don’t know, boys. I think we may have found our killer. What do you say?”

The other vigilantes closed in behind the saloonkeeper and advanced on O’Shea.

Caleb brought his hand down on the counter. “Stop!” The group froze and stared at him.

“Do you see what you’re doing?” Caleb shouted. “You’re ready to convict O’Shea with no more proof than you had against Miss Ross or me. Now, get out of here, all of you, and leave it for the marshal to figure out who the real criminal is.”

O’Shea didn’t hesitate a moment. Shouldering his way through the knot of men, he bolted out the door. After a brief moment, the rest slunk after him.

Will turned to Caleb with a broad smile on his face. “Nice job, my friend. I don’t know anyone who could have talked a group like that down better than you did.”

Melanie rushed to Caleb and clung to his arm. “You were wonderful. I didn’t know what they were going to do.” She turned to Will. “Thank you for the warning and for standing with us. What on earth would make anyone behave like that?”

“Mostly, they’re just scared.” Will eyed the two of them for a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you ever seen a bunch of cows get spooked? It doesn’t take much—a gust of wind, or a tumbleweed skittering in front of them. Or maybe the tarp on the chuck wagon flapping. All of a sudden their ears go up, their eyes get big, and they all take
off at the same time, each one tryin’ to save itself and not caring what it runs over.”