Carol Cox

by Trouble in Store

  The object of her daydreaming looked up at that moment and met her eyes, and she averted her gaze. Neither of them had spoken about their waltz to the tune from the music box the night before, and she couldn’t decide whether that made her feel relieved or sorry. She had lain awake long after blowing out her lamp, reliving the warmth of Caleb’s hand on her waist and the feeling of security his arms gave her as he swung her around the floor. It had felt as if they fit together perfectly. And the name of the piece they danced to couldn’t have been more suited to the magic of that moment: “Liebestraum”—“Dream of Love.” Her breath whispered out on a fluttering sigh.

  What about Caleb? That was the question that plagued her through much of the night. Had he felt the same way, or did he now consider his impulsive invitation to dance a mistake?

  The bell jingled—finally—just before noon. Melanie looked up with a smile of welcome when she saw Marshal Hooper, but her smile quickly faded at the sight of his grim expression.

  The lawman walked over to the table where Caleb was working. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to impose on you.”

  Caleb got to his feet and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

  “I’ve been talking to people around town, trying to get any information I can about Charley and Lucas Weber—who might have talked to them, who might know anything about what happened to either one of them.”

  The marshal glanced toward the window. “Folks are starting to get scared, and there’s been a lot of talk.” He looked back at Caleb. “You’ve probably heard plenty of it already from your customers.”

  Caleb grimaced. “We haven’t exactly been overwhelmed with customers lately, so I’m afraid we’re in the dark.”

  “Rumors are flying, and I’ve seen what that can lead to. There’s no telling what a group of people will do once they get spooked, and I don’t want a lynch mob on my hands.” The lawman hooked one thumb behind his gun belt. “I figure it’s best to get things out in the open in front of everyone all at once, so I want to hold a town meeting. I’d like to use your store.”

  “Of course. When do you want to hold it?”

  “Tonight. Right after closing, if that’s all right with you.”

  Melanie saw the look of surprise that flashed across Caleb’s face, but he nodded his agreement. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll be glad to do it.”

  “Thanks. I thought I could count on you. I need to go out now and spread the word. I’ll send a couple men over this afternoon to help you set things up.”

  Melanie exchanged a look with Caleb after the marshal left the store. “A lynch mob?” Involuntarily, her hand reached up to press against her throat.

  Caleb’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m hoping that was an exaggeration, but if wild stories are circulating around town, a town meeting would be a good way to help calm everyone’s nerves. When people get upset, they can stir up a lot of gossip and do crazy things. This way, he’ll not only be able to let the whole town know what’s going on, but also make sure the word that’s spreading around is based on truth rather than rumor.”

  Melanie nodded. “It makes sense when you put it like that.” She caught her breath. “Caleb . . . he said people have been talking. If everyone knows now that the two men were brothers and assume their deaths have some connection with the store, maybe that’s why they’ve been staying away.”

  Caleb looked pensive, then nodded. “You may have something there. That could explain a lot.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense. That would mean . . .” Melanie caught her breath. “They can’t think we had anything to do with it, can they?”

  Caleb chuckled. “I don’t see how they could. Charley Weber died before I arrived in Cedar Ridge, and I’ve been here longer than you. Neither one of us had even heard of him before the marshal told us about him.” He paused a moment, and his smile faded. “On the other hand, there’s no accounting for the wild ideas people can come up with when they need answers and can’t find any. Let’s pray the marshal’s meeting puts all this to rest.”

  Melanie pondered Caleb’s words while she straightened a stack of canned goods. The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt that her theory about their sudden lack of customers had merit. And if that was the case, having the meeting in the mercantile could serve a dual purpose—to disseminate information and to help people feel comfortable about coming back in the store again.

  By the time people began filtering into the store that evening, the general air of tension, the nervous glances, the murmurs that fell silent whenever she or Caleb walked by, made Melanie feel more certain than ever that her assumption was correct.

  The sight of so many people packed onto the benches reminded her of the church service before Lucas Weber’s funeral. But this time, instead of Pastor Dunstan, it was the marshal who got up to speak.

  The murmurs died down as he took his place in the front of the assembly and stared around, looking into each face. “Folks, we all wanted to believe that Lucas Weber was killed by someone who was just passing through Cedar Ridge—maybe even someone Weber had been traveling with—who killed him here and kept on going. To be honest, I hoped that was the case myself.”

  His face grew stern. “But that was before I received a letter from his widow, letting me know not only who he was, but why he’d come here. He was Charley Weber’s brother, and he was here to look into Charley’s death. And it appears he may have had good reason for thinking there was something suspicious about the way his brother died. Now it seems we’ve had not one, but two murders here in Cedar Ridge, and they’re connected in some way.”

  A buzz of conversation swept over the crowd.

  On the far side of the room, Thomas O’Shea got to his feet. “This store is how they’re connected. Charley was staying here, and his brother was killed on the back steps.” He planted his hands on his hips and scanned the faces in the crowd. “Seems like all it takes to be murdered around here is to come to the mercantile. If you ask me, we’re all taking a risk just being here.”

  A ripple of murmurs met his statement. O’Shea’s skinny chest puffed up, and he opened his mouth to speak again.

  The marshal shut him down with a glare. “You’re out of order, O’Shea. I’m the one running this meeting.” He cleared his throat and began to speak again. “Since those deaths occurred several months apart, I have to assume the person—or persons—responsible is still around.”

  From her vantage point at the rear of the building, Melanie could see the others looking around, eyeing their fellow townspeople with a dawning of suspicion.

  The marshal continued. “I’m doing everything I can to find out who’s responsible for these deaths, but until that is known, you all need to be aware that this person is dangerous. You need to be careful.

  “And if anyone has information about either of these men, or knows something that could shed light on what happened to them, I want you to come see me without delay. No matter how trivial or meaningless it may seem to you, it might be just the thing I need to put all the pieces together and solve this case.” The lawman nodded. “Thank you for coming. That’s all I have to say.”

  Wendell Trask, whose land office stood next door to O’Shea’s Emporium, waved his hand. “Why are you only talking about the Weber brothers? Those aren’t the only deaths we’ve had around here lately.”

  Melanie stiffened as a fresh wave of whispers swept through the room.

  Marshall Hooper scowled and pointed to the speaker. “What are you talking about, Wendell?”

  The land promoter stood and thrust out his chest. “I’m talking about George Ross and Alvin Nelson, two of our own who lived right here in Cedar Ridge . . . and they sure as shootin’ had a connection with this store.”

  A connection with the store. Caleb tossed from side to side in his bed, unable to stem the echo of the words that had been running through his mind ever since he heard them at the meeting.

  Could there be
any truth to the notion that the mercantile had some link to the recent deaths? On the surface, the idea sounded like the ravings of a madman. But Marshal Hooper hadn’t dismissed it out of hand, as Caleb expected. And judging by the reactions of the townspeople, they hadn’t discounted it, either. It looked as if Melanie had been right about the reason for their business slacking off.

  But it didn’t make any sense. Caleb laced his fingers behind his head, trying to sort through his churning thoughts. He had heard stories of the Wild West throughout his growing-up years—tales of Indian raids and range wars. But the great migration of people moving into the West in recent years had brought civilization along with it. Such things belonged to the past.

  Or so he’d thought. If he had believed for one moment that kind of danger still existed out here, or that it could strike so close to home, he never would have considered moving to Cedar Ridge with Levi.

  But whether he wanted to believe it or not, people had been murdered. Strangers, though—people totally unfamiliar to him . . . until Wendell Trask brought up the possibility that George and Alvin’s deaths might not have been due to natural causes.

  Tossing the sheet back, he rolled out of bed and began pacing the dark bedroom, careful not to wake Levi, slumbering away in his little cot. Caleb had been with Alvin during his illness, was sitting at his bedside when he died. He hadn’t noticed anything questionable then, but could he have missed something? Could someone have murdered his kindly uncle? Or Melanie’s cousin? Bile rose into his throat at the thought. But now that the possibility had been raised, it had to be faced.

  Assuming it might be true, then why? Caleb knew the mercantile better than anyone else in town, having spent practically every waking moment there for the past four months. He knew for a fact there was nothing about the store that would drive anyone to murder. The idea was simply ludicrous. And yet, people around town seemed willing to accept it as the truth.

  Caleb scrubbed his palms across his cheeks. It seemed absurd to think that anything related to the store could be worth killing for. But absurd or not, somebody thought there was.

  And Melanie was over there. Alone.

  More restless than ever, Caleb went out into the parlor and looked out the window toward the mercantile. He could see no shadows lurking in the darkness, but a glow of light spilled out into the alley from the second floor. It looked as if Melanie couldn’t sleep, either.

  Worry knotted Caleb’s stomach. Was she all right? She had a gift for puzzling things out. Had she put two and two together and reached the same conclusions he had? If so, she must be frightened out of her wits.

  And maybe not without reason. If Trask’s wild assertion was true, if there truly was some connection between the store and the murders . . . how safe was Melanie?

  The question gnawed at him. His feelings had undergone a drastic change from their early days together, when he’d wanted to send her packing. Now he hoped the fear raised by the killings didn’t prompt her to pack up and leave on her own.

  Her presence made the store a better place, and he had to admit some of her crazy ideas had paid off. She seemed to have a knack for enticing people into the mercantile and persuading them to stretch their purchases beyond what they had intended.

  He stared at the glow of light, remembering the feeling of holding her in his arms last night when they’d danced. The smoothness of her skin and the soft touch of her breath upon his cheek. He hadn’t felt that kind of connection with another person since Corinna died, and he wasn’t certain he was ready to feel it again. He shoved his fingers through his hair. Was this new connection between them a blessing from above or a danger he should run away from?

  Maybe flight was the best option. Not physically leaving Cedar Ridge, but distancing himself emotionally, being content to have her as a partner in business, nothing more. But he didn’t want to run away. The realization struck him like a heavy weight.

  And he didn’t want her to make a run for it, either.

  If that was the case, he would have to find some way to make the store secure and give her peace of mind about staying there on her own. New locks, certainly. Maybe bars to drop across both of the building’s doors. He would see to that first thing in the morning.

  In the meantime, though, he felt a responsibility to make sure she had locked the doors and was safe for the night.

  He stepped back into the bedroom and pulled on his clothes. After checking to be sure that Levi was fast asleep on his little cot, Caleb slipped out the door into the alley that ran between his house and the store. He locked the door behind him, something he never did when just stepping out for a short time. But tonight was different.

  He crossed the alley with quick, sure strides, but his steps dragged when he neared the back stoop of the mercantile. Now that he’d come that far, what should he do next? The key to the back door rested in his pocket, but if he opened the door and called upstairs, he ran the risk of scaring her to death—or of finding out she had already armed herself with something more substantial than a broom.

  Stepping down off the stoop, he looked around for inspiration and saw the pebbles scattered across the surface of the alley, illuminated by the moonlight. Bending down, he scooped up a handful of the small rocks and flung one at Melanie’s window.

  Nothing happened. He raised his arm, ready to throw again, when he saw the curtain move.

  Melanie’s face peered out cautiously through the slit between the curtain panels. He waved to catch her attention. The moment she spotted him, she pushed the curtain to one side so she could raise the window and lean out over the sill. “Caleb? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He kept his voice low. “I just wanted to let you know I’m coming inside.” He trotted up the back steps and let himself in with his key, then locked the door behind him.

  Melanie stood at the foot of the stairs, holding the oil lamp in her hand. She peered up at him, her face anxious in the lamplight. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

  Taking the lamp from her, he set it on the counter, where its soft glow bathed them in a circle of golden light. Caleb took in the sight of her, at the bare toes peeping out from under the hem of her wrapper and the trusting expression on her face. His breath left his lungs.

  Melanie stepped toward him and laid her hand on his arm. “Caleb?”

  The heat from her fingertips seemed to sear right through the fabric of his shirtsleeve. He tried to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. Maybe coming to the mercantile hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I saw the light in your window. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  A tender smile lit Melanie’s face in a way that threatened to undo him. “That’s kind of you, but I’m fine, really. I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “I thought you might be worried about what Wendell Trask said at the meeting. I wanted you to know I’ll be watching out for you. Remember, I’m just a moment away. If there’s any problem, all you need to do is shout, and I’ll be here.”

  A sheen of tears filmed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I appreciate that.”

  Caleb leaned toward her like a moth drawn to a flame. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to take her in his arms and shield her from all harm. But if he stayed any longer, they both might face danger of a different kind.

  Summoning up all his resolve, he pulled away and edged toward the back door. “Tomorrow I’m going to do everything I can to make the store more secure. To begin with, I’ll put new locks and drop bars on both doors. I don’t ever want you to have to be afraid.”

  “That would be a comfort.” Melanie padded toward him in her bare feet. “Can I fix something for you before you leave? Some chamomile tea, perhaps, to help you sleep?” She half turned toward the kitchen, and the neck of her wrapper slipped a few inches to one side. Caleb’s gaze fastened on the creamy smoothness where her neck and shoulder met.

  As
much as he wanted to stay, Caleb recognized that accepting her offer would mean treading on dangerous ground—ground that threatened to crumble beneath him at any moment. It took all the willpower he possessed to shake his head. “No, thanks. I’d better leave.”

  He turned quickly to the door and fumbled to open it in the darkness. Stepping out onto the back stoop, he pulled the door shut behind him and drew in a breath of cool night air. He inserted the key into the keyhole and twisted the lock. Then he stood for a moment, resting his forehead against the smooth wood.

  The floorboards squeaked, and he heard Melanie’s soft voice through the door. “Thank you for checking on me. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Caleb pulled in a ragged breath and turned his steps toward home. Sleep was going to be a long time coming.

  21

  Three lanterns.” Melanie checked the count against the list in her hand, clicked her tongue, and penciled a quick note.

  Caleb emerged from the back room, carrying a bag of flour over one shoulder. He shot a curious glance in her direction. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you realize we have three of these big barn lanterns on this wall?” She tapped the list with her pencil for emphasis.

  Caleb set the bag down next to the flour barrel. A cloud of fine white dust puffed up around him. He brushed off his sleeve and shrugged. “Nothing surprising about that. We’ve had those ever since I came here.”

  “Exactly. I’ve been going over our inventory and comparing it to the orders Cousin George and your uncle made over the past couple of years.” She pointed to the lanterns. “We still have those three left, out of the five they originally ordered well over a year ago.”