The Devil's Cold Dish (22 page)

Charlie's statement about his father: “He wanders” began running through Rees's head over and over like a bad dream. Had Sam wandered up to this room and tried to demolish Rees's loom? Before Sam's injury, he would have been Rees's first suspect. Sam had not troubled to hide his hatred, envy, and conviction that he deserved all that Rees possessed. But once his head had struck that granite block, he had seemed to be a different person. As foolish and happy and sweet as a child. Unless it had all been an act to allay Rees's suspicion. Rees stared blindly into the gathering shadows. Had Sam just been playing the village idiot? Rees realized with an unhappy shock that this was exactly the conclusion to which his thoughts had been leading him.

 

Chapter Twenty

By the fading light, and the shadows creeping into the bedchamber he shared with Lydia—oh, how he missed her and the children, the whole house seemed empty—Rees thought it must be after six o'clock. He had never questioned Elijah McIntyre about Sam. When Rees had tried to talk about Mac's murder, Elijah had been too distraught. But Sam spent a lot of time at the mill. He'd been there when Mac's body was discovered; Rees had seen him in the crowd. And who would suspect someone who seemed as harmless as a child? Rees nodded to himself, guessing that no one at the mill really noticed Sam anymore.

Would Elijah talk to Rees? “I'll have to chance it,” Rees said to himself. He needed to know if Sam had been at the mill the night of Mac's murder. If he hurried, he thought he could reach the mill, talk to Elijah, and still be home before dark. He raced downstairs and out to the barn.

When he arrived at the mill the yard outside was empty of wagons. But the mill wheel continued to turn and over the rumble Rees heard voices. He paused and listened. He thought he heard conversation. The McIntyre boys? He went into the mill, turning right instead of left and heading to the office once occupied by Mac. Elijah sat at the desk, resting his head upon his hand, and flipping the pages of a ledger. A fine white powder coated every surface including his breeches and hair. Rees must have made some sound; Elijah looked up and saw him.

“What do you want?” he asked with a scowl.

“You've known me since you were born,” Rees said. He held up his empty hands. “You surely don't believe I would ever harm your father.”

Elijah said nothing for several seconds. “I've heard a lot of strange things about you and your wife,” he said at last.

“Do you honestly believe a woman who is with child could murder a man, pick him up, and turn him upside down to tie him to the posts? Even with help.” Another pause, a longer one this time.

“Well, someone murdered my father.”

“Yes.” Rees cautiously took a few steps inside the office. “I knew your father since we were boys together. We were always friends. He helped my family…” His throat closed up and for a moment he could not speak. Seeing Rees's expression, Elijah's eyes moistened and he gulped. “Please let me help you find out who killed Mac,” Rees said. The pleading tone in his voice surprised him. Elijah wiped his eyes and nodded. Rees pulled out a chair and sat down. “I find it hard to believe anyone wanted to harm your father.” He didn't want to confess his suspicion—that Mac had been caught up in a plot targeting Rees and his family. “Was there anyone left here with your father, you know, on that evening?”

Elijah shook his head. “I was the last to leave. Me and Sam Prentiss.”

“Sam? Sam was here?” Rees almost felt like shouting. That was exactly what he'd suspected.

Elijah nodded. “But he didn't kill my father, if that's what you're thinking,” he said.

“How do you know? Sam probably has the strength to lift your father.”

“Maybe so. But we left together. I drove him home.”

Rees felt all his excitement drain away. “Perhaps he returned to the mill,” he suggested, knowing he was grasping at straws. Elijah now grinned openly.

“It would have taken Sam over an hour to go south on Duck Lane and then head west on the road to Bald Knob. Not only would it have been dark by the time he arrived, but my father would have already left for home.”

Rees sat in a glum silence. Elijah was correct. Whoever hit Mac had done so soon after Elijah and the other boys had left, committing the murder in the last of the daylight. “Well, thank you,” Rees said. He was not prepared to yield on Sam quite yet. Perhaps he'd had help? Even as he thought that, Elijah spoke.

“My father promised he would bring Sam home whenever possible. Otherwise, Sam gets lost. So I watched Sam go through his gate from the corner of Duck Lane and South Street.”

Rees sighed. “Did you see anyone approaching the mill as you went home?” Elijah shook his head.

“It was about this time, already growing dark.” He gestured to the wall as though Rees could see outside. He tried to think of another question but could not.

“My father liked you too,” Elijah said suddenly. “He said you may have been misguided sometimes but you always tried to do the right thing.”

Now Rees's eyes began to tear. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket as he stood up, he tried to wipe away the water in his eyes. Elijah fought to control his sobs and Rees went behind the desk to put his hand on the boy's shoulder. For several seconds they remained in that position, mourning Mac together.

Finally Rees squeezed Elijah's shoulder and started for the door. “Catch him,” Elijah said from behind him. “Please.”

Rees turned and nodded. “I will,” he said. “I promise.” He went outside but for a moment he stood in the yard holding his handkerchief to his eyes. The sky was streaked with purple and blue as the sun dropped to the horizon. He blew out a breath, realizing he would have to hurry if he was to make it home by nightfall.

There would not be enough light left to collect the pieces of the loom. Just thinking about the destruction made him shake, not just from anger but also from anguish. He grieved for his broken loom and could hardly bear to think someone hated him so much they would destroy it. By the time he reached home and unhitched Hannibal in the last few rays of light, he was too upset to think. He burned off some of his emotion by continuing to clean the kitchen. He wrestled the pot and its cargo of filthy water to the door and dumped the still steaming water off the back steps. Most of the leftover food sloughed off in a gritty charred mass. Rees inspected the inside of the kettle. A good scrubbing with a handful of rags and it should be clean again. Hopefully it would be spotless enough for Lydia; she was particular about her cooking utensils. He collected some old linen cloths, most of them worn to threads by constant use, and began wiping out the inside of the kettle. His thoughts turned again to the damage to his loom and to Sam. Would it do any good to speak to Caroline again?

The clatter of hooves on the drive attracted Rees's attention. He put the pot aside and walked around the house. It was David. He dismounted from Amos and began stripping off the saddle and bridle. “Where were you?” Rees asked.

“Helping Charlie.” David looked up. It was now almost too dark to see although a few streaks of pink and purple remained in the sky. “Is there anything for supper?”

“Pancakes,” Rees said. “And bacon.”

David grimaced. “I've had enough bacon, thank you.”

Rees went inside to start the meal while David walked the gelding around the yard to cool him. The shadows had crept out from the corners of the kitchen and if it hadn't been for the fire casting its red light into the room Rees would have been blind. He fumbled his way to the candles and lit a few. Then he pulled out the cornmeal and started mixing.

David came through the back door about fifteen minutes later. “Pancakes on the table,” Rees said as David took off his straw hat and hung it on the peg by the door. The boy sat down and took out his knife. He ate as though he were starving, devouring the food with single-minded concentration. When his plate was finally licked clean, he inhaled a deep breath and sat back in his chair.

“I've been so busy … and I've been up half the night guarding the farm.”

And that was the only apology David was likely to offer for the dirty kitchen, Rees thought as he sat down across the table from his son. “You kept up with that?”

“Had to, didn't I?” David forced his eyes open with an effort.

“Any trouble?”

“Not a thing.” He yawned. “Saw a couple of bears.”

“My loom was broken,” Rees said.

David's eyes popped open. “What do you mean?”

“Someone came into the house, went upstairs, and broke my loom into pieces, bent the reed.” Rees couldn't continue.

“Is it completely destroyed?” David asked in a hushed voice.

“No,” Rees admitted. “I think it can be fixed.” He paused a moment and then added, “It may be unfair but I don't want Sam Prentiss in this house. Ever again.”

David shot his father a quick look. “You think it was him?”

Rees hesitated. Although he believed Sam was the guilty party, there was no proof. Dislike and a history of conflict prompted Rees's conviction. “I do,” Rees said at last. “It's exactly what that bastard would do. But am I sure? No. Could I be wrong? Most certainly.”

David nodded. “Maybe you should just ask both your sister and her husband not to call upon us here.” Rees nodded in agreement. After a moment of silence in which David yawned convulsively several times, he said, “I'm going to turn in. I'll take the second watch.” As he went out of the door to the cottage, Rees began cleaning the kitchen once again.

*   *   *

Rees overslept the following morning, waking only when a burst of David's and Charlie's raucous laughter penetrated his bedroom from the kitchen below. He remained in bed for a few seconds, disoriented. After patrolling the farm until the early hours in the morning, he had finally gone to bed when David relieved him. But then, although dizzy with fatigue, Rees had found falling asleep almost impossible. The bed felt strange, cold and empty without Lydia, and he missed the sound of her voice. He even missed hearing the children's voices on the other side of the wall and Joseph's squeaks and mutters in his basket by Rees's bed.

Rees pulled his sluggish body out of the hot sweaty sheets and threw some water into his face from the ewer. Then he went down the steps.

Both Charlie and David had already gone outside. Rees peered into the spider. From the lacy brown remains left in the pan, Rees deduced the boys had eaten eggs. David had left the basket out for his father; there were a few eggs left. Rees decided to go into town and eat at the Contented Rooster. But first he would shave. His whiskers were beginning to form a ginger beard. He pushed the kettle over the fire and fetched his razor. While the water heated, he drank the rest of the coffee. It was almost too strong for him and, since it was the bottom of the pot, the coffee was gritty with grounds. It wasn't worth making another pot. Rees suddenly longed for Lydia with a physical ache. His eyes began to water. The house felt empty and unwelcoming and he now knew how much of his comfort depended upon her.

*   *   *

He arrived in Dugard midmorning. Buggies and farmers' wagons thronged Water Street but the coffeehouse was almost empty. To Rees's surprise, Caldwell was there, seated by the window, with the remains of a hearty breakfast in front of him. Rees crossed the floor, uncomfortably aware of the stares directed at him from the few other customers. Caldwell nodded at Rees without smiling.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Rees said as he helped himself to the chair across the table. Caldwell's usual roost was the tavern.

“I found I wasn't welcome at the Bull,” Caldwell said in clipped tones. Rees, who didn't know what to say, made a gesture meant to convey sympathy and an invitation to continue. “I see now some of those men cozied up to me, thinking I would forgive their petty crimes. 'Cause I knew them, you know. Now that I'm not the constable anymore they don't have time for me.”

“That can't be true for everyone,” Rees said, knowing his comment was foolish. He didn't know what else to say.

Caldwell nodded. “You're right. The others are in Farley's camp.” He paused. “You've heard, I suspect, that Mr. Farley,” he spit out the name, “has been appointed constable?”

“Yes,” Rees said. “I heard. And I'm sorry. If you hadn't come to my house…”

“You aren't to blame,” Caldwell said. “Not this time anyway.” He shot Rees a sharp glance. “You've made some powerful enemies.”

“Some friends too, I hope,” Rees said with a weak smile.

Caldwell stared over Rees's head and added, speaking softly as though to himself, “There's something sick here. Something wrong. I'm thinking I might move. Next town over maybe. Most of my brothers and sisters are gone from Dugard.” But the corners of his mouth turned down.

“I'd miss you,” Rees said. He felt both helpless and angry. Caldwell met Rees's gaze and nodded.

“I feel like I'm being forced out of town,” Caldwell said, rising to his feet. “That's the only thing keeping me here—I don't want them to win.” Rees inclined his head in understanding.

As Caldwell walked out of the coffeehouse, Rees moved to another table, sitting so he could watch the door. He noticed the furtive looks directed at the former constable as he left and a number of quick glances shot at Rees as well. Even Jack Anderson, a man Rees had known since they were schoolboys together, quickly looked away when he met Rees's gaze. Susannah said something to her husband, something sharp. Although Rees couldn't hear the words, the tone carried. Susannah pasted on a smile and approached.

“Breakfast, Will?”

“If Jack will permit it,” Rees said.

Susannah grimaced. “I'm sorry. It's not you. He's frightened. All the stories we've heard about Lydia; he doesn't know what to believe.”