The Devil's Cold Dish (33 page)

“Maybe we'll just take you in, since you're helping him escape justice.” Farley raised a hand as though to strike David, and Rees, without thinking, stood up and ran around the corner of Winthrop's shack. He had to protect his son, even if it meant risking his freedom. Anyway, there were only three men here and one of them was still inside. Maybe David and Rees together could defeat them, even though the other side had the advantage of numbers.

Since both Farley and his deputy had their backs turned, they didn't see Rees. But David did and he held up his hands. “No,” he said emphatically. “No.” Rees stopped, paused, and then moved back, out of sight around the cabin wall. But he remained poised to run out again if David needed him.

“Don't want to go to jail, eh, boy?”

“Tell us the truth. Is your father here?”

“I have been meeting someone,” David admitted, reluctance in every line of his body. “But it's not my father.”

“Who then?” demanded Farley.

“It's a girl,” guessed the man standing beside him. “Isn't that right? Nice and private up here.”

“But it's haunted,” Farley said. “Only the most desperate of men would risk angering a ghost.”

“Oh, this boy here wouldn't let a ghost get in the way of a little bundling,” the deputy said with a coarse chuckle. “Would you, boy?”

The third man appeared in the doorway. Laughing, he said, “There's a quilt on the bed. And look at the initials on this basket. S. B.: Solomon Bristol. Right, David? Didn't one of Mr. Bristol's daughters work for your mother?”

“Stepmother,” David said automatically.

“I suppose we'll be hearing the banns called any day.” Even Farley laughed.

Rees could see the tension in David's body and guilt swept over him. Although he was not happy that David had been meeting Abby here, the secret was his and he should not have to confess it to protect his father.

“Yes,” David admitted. “I've been meeting Abigail Bristol. She rode her horse up here today, just this afternoon. She brought the basket. I don't want her father to know. Please don't tell him. Please.” The plea sounded thoroughly genuine to Rees's ears.

“I should tell him,” Farley growled. “A man has a right and a duty to safeguard his daughters.”

“He'll find out soon enough,” said one of the men, nudging David with rough suggestion.

“If you hear from your father,” Farley said to David, “I want to know about it. You hear me?”

“Yes,” David said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.” David sounded as though the honorific was choking him.

After a few moments spent collecting their lanterns, and a few more jokes at David's expense, the men began walking away, toward the road. Farley picked up his sticks and the sound of them banging together gradually faded.

Rees came out of the sheltering shadows. “I am so sorry,” he said.

“What were you thinking?” David demanded. “They could have seen you and then all of this would have been for nothing.”

“I wasn't going to allow anyone to hit you,” Rees said.

“I can take care of myself,” David said angrily. “Or I could if I didn't have people trying to help me and spoiling everything when they did it.”

Rees clamped his tongue between his teeth. He understood that David's anger stemmed not so much from his father putting himself in danger, but from the sudden and very public reveal of his most closely guarded secret.

“I hope Abby will still speak to me after this,” David added.

“I'm sorry,” Rees repeated.

“Huh.” David turned and stomped away, toward home. The clearing settled back to darkness and silence. Rees stood outside until the faint glow of David's lantern disappeared. Then he made his way back into the shack by touch. He might as well try to get a little more sleep before morning, although he doubted he would be able to close his eyes at all.

 

Chapter Thirty-one

Rees spent a fitful night starting awake at every sound. The sudden thud of footsteps outside sent him rolling under the bed. But when no one entered the cabin and he heard nothing else, he rolled back out. When he stood up and looked out into the gray light of early morning, he saw a herd of deer, cropping grass and standing on their hind legs to reach the low-hanging fruit. No wonder Winthrop's family never seemed to run short of venison. When Rees appeared at the window, the deer took flight, their hooves hitting the ground with the same sound that had awakened him.

Rees lay down but knew he would not sleep again. The world outside was waking up. A catbird mewed in the trees and the mournful cry of a mourning dove sounded close by. Besides, the light was growing stronger. Finally he rose and went into the main room. He used the last of the fresh water for washing and inspected the remaining food in the basket. The bread had hardened and he wasn't sure about the ham. He sniffed it cautiously and wondered if he dared light a fire. But no, he did not; that was why Farley had come to this shack in the first place, despite his fear of Winthrop's ghost. Someone had seen smoke from the chimney. With a sigh, Rees picked up the kettle and headed for the stream. It looked like stale bread and cheese and water for breakfast today.

As he followed the path to the water, the sun peeked over the horizon, sending shafts of golden light through the trees. Despite his fatigue Rees felt his spirits rise. He would unravel this knot, he was certain of it. And everything would return to normal.

The placid old nag seemed content where she was, tied up within reach of the stream and with plenty of forage around her, so Rees left her there. From the shelter of the trees, the cabin still looked abandoned. But Rees paused and examined the dilapidated structure carefully. It was possible Farley or one of his deputies would return, despite David's sacrifice the night before. Rees approached cautiously, slipping in around the back door that hung tilted upon only one hinge. He smelled coffee. His heart began to pound. Then he thought that Farley would certainly not bring coffee. David's lanky form stepped into view.

“I thought you might be missing coffee,” he said with a shy smile, pointing to the pot burning a circle into the table.

“You are a saint,” Rees said fervently, and covered the final distance to the wooden slab in two bounds. He squeezed David's shoulders, moved that his son should make this effort to please him.

David had also brought two mugs and a pail of fresh, foamy milk, still warm from the cow. He poured out the coffee. It was as black as ink and Rees could smell it, potent and slightly burned, but he was not going to complain. David took a chunk of sugar from his pocket.

“I hope it tastes all right,” he said, eyeing the dark beverage uncertainly. “I don't often prepare it. In fact, this is only my second time.”

Rees poured out a cup and added milk from the pail, slopping a white puddle on to the table. He used the handle of his pocketknife to hammer off a chunk of sugar and drop it into the coffee. He took a careful sip, but the coffee had already begun to cool. Even under the sweetness of the sugar, he could taste a faint scorched flavor. David poured himself a cup and added milk and a hefty chunk of sugar but he pulled a face when he sipped it. “How can you drink this stuff?” he asked. Rees grinned and took another healthy swallow. After several days without coffee, drinking it again felt like greeting an old friend.

“When you get to my advanced age, this beverage will taste like nectar of the gods.”

David snorted and for a moment they drank their coffee in a companionable silence. “Did you mean what you said yesterday? About the farm?” David asked. Rees looked at his son. He couldn't meet his father's eyes but stared at the table, his lean, tanned fingers tapping nervously at the cup.

“I did. Why?” An unwelcome suspicion crossed Rees's mind. “Abby isn't with child, is she?”

David's face flamed with color and he shook his head vehemently. “No. But I know people will believe so.” He shot his father an angry look. “And some will quiz her with nasty jests.”

“They will anyway, even if you and she are planning to marry,” Rees said with regret. People always wanted to believe the worst.

“Perhaps. But once we're wed, that will end. I hope so, at least. I don't want her to feel ashamed.” He paused and then added in a rush, “I don't care about the farm for myself. But I want to have something to offer.”

“I meant it. Mr. Potter should have the papers waiting and you need to sign them.” Rees paused and then continued. “Even if I didn't, I'd support a marriage between you and Abby. And you could still live at the farm.”

“Don't you worry,” David said, raising his gray eyes to his father's blue. “You and Lydia and all the kids will always have a home here.”

The sight of his first wife's eyes in David's face sent a pang through Rees. What would Dolly think of everything that was happening? He wondered what her brothers and sisters, most of whom still lived in Dugard, believed. They had kept themselves away from him. But at least they weren't among those calling for his hanging.

Rees sighed. What would he and Lydia do? Move to the weaver's cottage? With all those kids? Abby would want her own kitchen and home, and she should have it. But so should Lydia.

“Do you know who is doing this?” David asked, breaking into Rees's thoughts.

“Not exactly.”

“I think you should look at Aunt Caroline.” David flushed when his father looked at him but did not lower his eyes.

“I have,” Rees said carefully. He didn't want to say too much to David and worsen an already terrible relationship with his aunt, just in case Rees was wrong about her guilt. “I just can't imagine her climbing to the top of Bald Knob to shoot Zadoc Ward. And anyway, she's no marksman. You know that.” He thought of Caroline firing at him and shivered. She might not be a marksman, but she'd tried to shoot Rees anyway.

“But Uncle Sam was,” David said, interrupting Rees's thoughts. “What if she told him to do it and he did and then she killed him later?”

Rees stared at his son and then nodded slowly. If Caroline and Sam had been working together, well, that would explain how they'd managed to tie McIntyre to the beams in his mill. Or if Caroline and Farley had been working together. But would Farley kill the miller just on Caroline's command? “Mac was hit in the head by something, probably a shovel,” Rees said aloud. “And I already know from Elijah that Sam couldn't have done it. Elijah drove Sam home.” He paused, recalling with a shudder the sound of the bullet hitting the tree next to him. “I don't want to think of Caroline smacking someone in the head with a shovel, but I know she has the passion to kill.”

“Mr. McIntyre wouldn't have been expecting a woman to hurt him,” David said in a rush. “And Uncle Sam, well, he would need someone to tell him what to do, wouldn't he?”

Rees shook his head, not contradicting David but expressing his unwillingness to accuse his sister. Rees would rather believe Sam or Farley—anyone else—was the captain of this plot and Caroline the cat's-paw. “Maybe the murderer is someone I haven't thought of at all,” Rees said in a final gasp of hope.

“Maybe,” David said, avoiding his father's eyes. “I have to go. I haven't finished the milking yet.” He pushed his half-empty cup of coffee across the scarred table. “Today I'm helping Charlie at his farm.” He added, only half-jokingly, “I hope Aunt Caroline doesn't try to kill me.”

“Of course she won't,” Rees said. But the protest sounded weak to his ears. Caroline had shot at him. Would she hesitate to shoot David? Probably not, if she were angry. “Be careful.” The words were wrung from him. David nodded solemnly and went out through the front door.

Rees drank the remainder of David's coffee, although it was rapidly cooling, and moved the coffeepot to the hearth. Then he tried to decide what to do. In other circumstances, he might return to some of the people of interest in the investigation and ask further questions. But this time he was afraid to do so. He didn't dare drive to Dugard and chance revealing himself. That was likely to bring Farley after him—if someone else didn't shoot Rees first. He risked being shot even speaking to Caroline. So what could he do? Already the walls of this little cabin were beginning to close in.

After a moment, Rees picked up the bucket. But he didn't have any of his tools or leather straps with which to repair it, and he put it aside again. He went outside to the back and sat on the top step. From here, all he could see was the orchard, rows and rows of apple trees. Behind them was the sky, the clouds boiling up over the red of sunrise, so it looked as though the sky was on fire. He thought it might rain today. He hoped so; the fields needed it.

Realizing his thoughts were drifting, Rees pulled them back to the problem at hand. Oh, how he missed his loom! Weaving always made it easier for him to think.

As Rees considered all those who might be involved, he found it painful to realize how many people disliked him enough to want to do him harm. Why, his own sister was probably involved. Rees didn't want to believe she hated him that much but he knew that she could be so utterly consumed with anger that she just reacted, damn the consequences. Yet
she
could not have shot Ward, that much was certain. The climb up Bald Knob would be impossible for a woman in skirts and she was inexperienced with guns. Would Sam take this kind of direction from his wife? And, if the command did not slip out of his disordered brain, would he actually shoot another man without hesitation or remorse? Rees nodded. The old Sam certainly would have and he had the experience with a rifle to accomplish it. Would Farley? Rees slowly shook his head. He was less convinced of Farley's ability than of Sam's.

Rees turned his attention to the second murder. Caroline would have needed help, but if she'd had it? Well then, that could explain the manner of Mac's death. Rees pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to will away the burning in his eyes. What had Caroline done? But Elijah had claimed he'd driven Sam home. Sworn, in fact, that he'd seen Sam go through the farm gate. So, unless he was lying, Sam could not be guilty. Rees shook his head and scattered his thoughts. While the boy might have wanted to murder his father—the relationships between fathers and sons could be difficult—the possibility that Elijah murdered two other men was too much for Rees to swallow.