Love in the Balance (23 page)

“A woman living alone doesn’t like to be caught unaware.”

Sheriff Colton spoke up, requiring Molly to use a new symbol to designate him as the speaker. “And if you’re saying it’s legal to protect your property, you’re right. It’s also legal to shoot a man to defend yourself or another person, which you did last summer.”

“I was cleared,” Mrs. Tillerton said. “There were witnesses.”

“But when another dead man is discovered on your property, we wonder if you might’ve taken protection to a criminal level,” Colton said.

The bars of the cell rattled. “I know why the poor sap was sneaking to her place. It was probably his wife that done him in.”

Molly wrote the comment before she realized it was spoken by a prisoner.

Colton hollered at the man. “Stay out of this or you won’t get your supper until it’s nice and cold.”

“If it’s your wife’s cooking, temperature can’t help it, either way. A noose won’t kill me as fast as her succotash.”

“Strike that.” Colton said to Molly as he pulled a Bible from a shelf behind her. Molly scratched through the scurrilous critique while Mrs. Tillerton took the oath, her white hand looking fragile against the large black book.

“Did you know or had you ever met Saul Nimenko?” Judge Rice asked.

“I’ve seen him around. Never spoke to him.”

The pause allowed Molly to sneak a peek at the room. Sheriff Colton was sitting on the edge of his desk but wasn’t blocking her view of Judge Rice leaning against the wall or Anne Tillerton staring at the floor.

“Why was he on your property?” That was the judge speaking.

“Can’t answer that. As far as I know, he’d never been to my place before.”

The look Colton shot Judge Rice could only be described as skeptical.

“Mrs. Tillerton, where’d you learn to shoot?” the judge asked.

“At home in Ohio. I’ve got five brothers.” She paused. “Are you telling me no one else in Caldwell County knows how to shoot?”

“Besides your husband, have you ever killed anyone?” he continued.

“Yes, sir.”

The papers Colton was sitting on rustled as he leaned forward. “Who?”

“My mother,” she whispered, “when I was born.”

The room was silent. Even the jailbirds stilled. The judge pulled at his chin. “We realize that your actions last year saved Mrs. Weston Garner’s life.” His footsteps echoed off the thick stone walls as he came closer. “And yet your behavior since that incident has been erratic, to put it mildly. You’ve been through a traumatic experience, one of the worst imaginable. It’s possible that it’d leave an impression on your psyche, perhaps arousing furies you’re unable to control. Maybe you have fears that are irrational?”

Her voice didn’t grow an iota louder, but it sounded stronger. “My fears have never been irrational. I lived with a monster, and his last act proved it. If you’re on a hunt for uncontrolled fury, find other women with bruised faces and limps and ask them. They could point you in the right direction. You won’t find any misdirected anger here.”

Such pauses followed her pronouncements that Molly would’ve had time to write the conversation out longhand. She tapped her pencil on the desk, waiting for the next wave. Sheriff Colton launched first.

“Where were you December seventeenth?”

“I don’t know. Chances are at my farm.”

“Were you aware that your property tax is overdue?” Judge Rice asked.

“No. That’s going to cause me trouble. I haven’t done too well with the cattle. It seems like I’m losing them left and right.”

“Is someone stealing from your herd?”

Anne shrugged. “I’ve got my suspicions, but they had nothing to do with Mr. Nimenko.”

“Who do you suspect?”

She scanned the cells. “You think I’m going to say right now? In front of a dozen curious ears? That wouldn’t be wise, Your Honor.”

Sheriff Colton slid off the desk. “But you are about to lose your farm. You think someone is rustling your cattle. Would you say you’ve found yourself in a desperate situation?”

Mrs. Tillerton turned gray eyes on him. “Of all the situations I’ve been in during my life, this one feels the least desperate.”

“Explain, please,” the judge said.

Molly watched as Anne pushed her bandanna away from her face. “What’s money? What’s a ranch? No one is hurting me. No one is tormenting me. It’s peaceful.”

“Could that sense of peace come from possessing a Galand-Sommerville pistol? Belgian made?” Sheriff Colton asked.

“No. Why?”

“Mrs. Nimenko swears her husband carried that model, and it wasn’t on the body.”

Anne leaned forward. “You think I wrestled Mr. Nimenko’s gun from him and shot him with it? Me?”

Colton’s nostrils flared. “I don’t know what to think, but since we have no other leads, we’re hoping that you are connected in some manner. It’d make our job much easier.”

Molly about dropped her pencil.

From the looks of it, Judge Rice was shocked, too. “That’s not what he meant to say.”

“Easier?” Mrs. Tillerton interrupted. “You hoped I was the murderer? That’s not impartiality, is it? Bring someone in and hope they don’t have an alibi?”

Colton had nothing left to say, but the men behind bars did.

“Don’t be surprised, ma’am. That’s Texas justice for ya. They decide who’s guilty so they don’t have to find the real culprit.”

The judge sighed. Straightening off the wall, he rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head.

“All things considered, we’re going to insist that you remain in custody.”

Mrs. Tillerton sprang to her feet. “In jail? You’re keeping me in jail?”

“You have no family, no ties. It’d be too easy for you to disappear.”

“And you ignored our earlier summons,” Colton said. “You’ve not cooperated up to this point.”

Mrs. Tillerton’s tough façade was crumbling. She cast a doubtful eye at the jail cells and then caught sight of her gun belt on the desk.

Colton snatched it before she could think twice. He reached over Molly to set it high on the shelf and then took the large ring of keys off their hook. The iron door screeched. Mrs. Tillerton obediently entered the empty cell, jumping when the door closed with a crash. Even the other prisoners sobered, seeming to regret her imprisonment more than their own.

Judge Rice reminded Molly once more of her assignment and made his departure. But Molly stayed. How could she leave a woman here alone? She didn’t believe for one moment that the frightened girl was a cold-blooded killer. Had she been heartless, she wouldn’t have saved Rosa.

Before Molly could speak to her, a man’s voice rang through the open door.

“Sheriff! We need you at the cattle yard. Michael James drove a herd in with some sloppy rebranding. Someone called him on it, and he took off. They’re chasing him now.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t catch him,” he grumbled. “I’m running out of cells.”

Molly left his desk to give him access to his gear. “I’d think Michael James would be a more likely suspect for this murder than Mrs. Tillerton. You can’t hold her based solely on the location of the body.”

“Your job is to take notes, not to interfere with an investigation.” The sheriff jammed his hat on his head. He blustered to the door, took another look at Molly, and snagged the key ring before he left.

Anne had seated herself on the metal bed and turned away from the rest of the room. She wormed a shaking finger in and out of a buttonhole on her oversized coat.

Molly approached, feeling doubly foolish in her pink finery. How vain and frivolous her problems must appear to someone like Mrs. Tillerton. If only there was something she could do for her.

“I wonder if any of the cattle he brought in are yours,” Molly said.

“If Michael James rides a roan and wears a slouch hat pinned up at the side, those are my cattle. I’ve seen him lurking about.”

Molly grasped the cold bars as inspiration struck. “What if Mr. Nimenko saw him lurking about, too? What if he confronted him when he caught him rustling your cattle?”

Anne turned to face Molly, her gray eyes deadly serious. “Those are fair questions, but how are we going to prove our answer?”

19

P
RAIRIE
L
EA
, T
EXAS

Nothing Bailey had experienced while assisting Reverend Stoker had prepared him for what he encountered the next day at the sawmill. News of Michael James’s theft and flight were all over town. Posses had formed to hunt for him and posters were probably being printed that very morning. What did one say to a man whose son was wanted for cattle rustling? Should he offer his condolences, or would silence be more appreciated?

Russell was late arriving. Through the office window Bailey watched him pause at the crest of the hill overlooking the riverbank. He removed his hat and wiped a shaking hand across his high forehead. That walk to the mill had probably never seemed so long before. Bailey set aside the stack of orders he was assigning to the crew and went to meet him.

“Morning,” Bailey said.

“Are you here to ask why I’m late, or do you know already?” Sweat glistened on Russell’s brow even though the morning was still cool.

“I heard about the cattle. How are you and your wife doing?”

Russell’s chin puckered. “We tried our best with that boy, but it’s easier for people to think they could’ve done better. It’s easier for them to figure that we’re all cut from the same cloth.”

“People know you don’t condone what Michael did,” Bailey said. “You still have your reputation.”

“Not according to Thomas Lovelace.” Russell removed his hat for a second swipe at his forehead as they entered the lumberyard. “I’ve worked for him all my adult life, never shorted him a penny nor cheated him a minute, and it’s no use. Nothing makes his day like hearing about Michael’s crimes. The more my son disappoints me, the more Thomas is delighted. He’ll never allow me to live this down. It wouldn’t be any worse if I’d stolen those cattle myself.”

The looks coming from the men at the saw varied from curious to hostile. Bailey met every one, staring until they turned away.

“Don’t let Mr. Lovelace get to you. He hasn’t been down here since his spell. Whatever he’s thinking, he’ll have to keep it to himself.”

“Russell! Bailey!”

Bailey turned to see Thomas descending the ridge, recklessly gathering speed on the gravel path.

“So he finally did it, did he?” The man’s impatience prohibited him from catching his breath before throwing his barbs. “Cattle rustling? And I’m the fool who lets his father have access to my accounts.”

No wood screeched through the saw. Everyone had stopped to hear the exchange.

“Let’s go inside.” Bailey opened the door to the office to give Russell the benefit of privacy, but it was not to be found there. The customers in the waiting room leaned forward when they saw him walk in.

“The brawling, the drunkenness—I was willing to overlook your son’s faults because you managed to stay sober at work, but having a thief in the family is another matter. Makes me wonder if that’s why we’ve been behind all year. Maybe Michael was practicing what he learned from his old man.”

Didn’t Mr. Lovelace realize that Russell had nothing to lose? Why cross a man with an outlaw son on the lam? Sounded like a good way to wake up dead. But Russell didn’t respond. Instead of defending himself before his customers, he stood with feet spread broad and head bowed. Even Thomas seemed disappointed that the game had ended without a fight.

“Does he still have a job here or not?” Bailey asked and wondered why he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“If it weren’t for Dr. Trench and his doomsday predictions, I’d send him packing, but—” Thomas frowned—“but I guess out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll give him another chance.”

That Russell hadn’t done anything to jeopardize his first chance wouldn’t be debated. Giving the poor man an escape was the important thing.

“Russell, can you take Mr. Berg to his wagon? I bet the boys have it loaded,” Bailey said.

Russell allowed Mr. Berg to go through the door and then pulled it closed softly behind him.

“Are they sure it was his son?” Mr. Kimball asked from his seat on the bench.

A man released a stream of tobacco to ping in the spittoon. “Yep. Those cattle are from several different herds. He was even too lazy to disguise the brands, only burned over the top of them.”

“Now they wonder if he killed that man out on the Tillerton place. Maybe James got caught liberating Mrs. Tillerton’s cattle,” Mr. Meneley added.

“Maybe Mrs. Nimenko caught her husband liberating Mrs. Tillerton,” the spitter said.

Bailey cleared his throat. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you gentlemen?”

“Ah, industry.” Thomas inhaled long and hard. “I don’t know how I’ve survived without breathing sawdust. A rooster can’t spend all day in the henhouse.”

Guffaws erupted from the men. Bailey smiled. You wouldn’t catch him sitting inside for days, either. Perhaps if Thomas could leave Russell alone, the visit would do the man some good.

“Hey, Thomas. Saw your daughter in Lockhart yesterday. What’s that son-in-law of yours up to?” Mr. Meneley asked from the bench.

Bailey wiped his palms on his trousers and picked up a pencil, feeling all eyes on him. He pretended to fill out a receipt as Thomas Lovelace answered.

“Something significant, that’s for sure. We should’ve warned Molly that an important man doesn’t have time to coddle a new bride, but she’s a trooper. She’s playing house until he gets things ready for her. You know Molly. It better be fit for a queen.”

Bailey’s pencil snapped. Without raising his eyes he grabbed the next closest one and tapped the lead against the blank page.

Could hardly call Mrs. Truman’s boardinghouse a palace, and Molly was lucky she was allowed a room at all. But Mr. Lovelace forged ahead, letting his pride paint a victorious portrait of a spoiled wife and a doting husband.

“Come on, Mr. Meneley. Let’s look the yard over. Maybe you could help me decide which building I should update next. My new partner, Mr. Pierrepont, is looking for a project to spend money on.”