“Does anyone else know?” Luther asked softly. His breath was decalescent against her hair.
Victoria shook her head. “Only Elena and Mr. Foswick.”
“Foswick was the man who came to the door?” he clarified, and Victoria nodded again, overtly aware of the soft cotton shirt rubbing against her cheek.
“He is under the impression that I was aiding Jaxsom in siphoning off the funds.”
“Does he have any proof?”
Victoria turned her face into his shoulder and took a deep breath. She needed this. She wanted to be told that everything was going to be all right. She wanted to be told that she wasn’t going to have to spend the rest of her life in prison for the mistakes of the man she had loved. She waited for him to speak, tension circling her belly. And then realization set in.
It was a cold, cruel thing. It stole her hope and left her somehow deadened inside. Even if Luther told her each of the things that she so desperately wanted to hear… they would be lies, and she had had more than enough of that. There was no relief from her situation. Any respite or peace of mind that she received from Luther Garrison would be temporary. She stiffened in his embrace.
“There’s a way around this,” Luther said quietly into the top of her head. “I know there is.”
Victoria pulled away from him. Her cheeks had heated suddenly at his words. She glared up at him through swollen eyes. “My apologies,” she said, straightening her checked bodice. “I—I forgot myself. This is my burden to bear, Mr. Garrison. I do not expect you to—.”
“I’ve a degree in American Law, Victoria,” he said solemnly, his light eyes fixing on her with a fierce intensity. “Please allow me to assist you.”
She stared at him.
“You’re a—?”
“Lawyer, yes,” murmured Luther. His good arm rose from Victoria’s back and rubbed uncomfortably at the long hair that was creeping down his neck. “Or I was… once. I think I can help you, if you will accept my help, that is.”
Victoria continued to stare at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“You’re not a lawyer,” she said at last, breaking into a small, sad smile and wiping at her nose with her sleeve. “You’re an outlaw!”
Luther sighed. “I assure you, I am a lawyer,” he said. “Although, to be very honest…” he grinned sheepishly at her. “I am likely a bit of an outlaw as well.”
Chapter Seven
He thought for a moment that Victoria was going to shout at him. Her pretty lips were pulled in a straight line and her swollen eyes were wide. Then, rather suddenly, she threw her arms around him once more.
He winced with the enthusiasm of her reaction as pain laced down his injured shoulder to his wrist, making his fingers twitch.
“Thank you!” she squeaked, and the sensation of her lips moving against his neck caused him pain of a different sort. He wanted to stand here and hold her against him forever. The warm softness of her was more pleasant than he ever could have imagined in the brief moments that he had allowed himself to think of Victoria as something more than the woman who had saved his life. He kept trying, desperately, to banish these thoughts. She couldn’t be more to him, she just couldn’t. His feelings for her would only put her in danger.
He tried to ignore the way she felt in his arms, but she fit there so perfectly. She was tiny against his bulk, and he quite wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her back up the stairs… he winced again as she tightened her grip, but his thoughts continued their decadent spin into the darker parts of his mind. Perhaps to the sofa in the other room, then. He could already imagine the feel of her lips against his…
She pulled away from him and looked up into his face. Luther jerked his mind away from the scene his thoughts had been painting, grimacing as her arm scraped his bandages.
“Careful,” he warned. “I’ve got a blasted hole in my back, remember?”
Her slender fingers shot up to press against her lips, and Luther suddenly noticed that his head was rather light.
“I am so very sorry,” she said, taking a hurried step back from him. “Oh. I’m sorry. What must you think of me? It is only that I would be so very grateful for your assistance. I wrote a plea for a lawyer, you see. I placed an advertisement in the Grooms Gazette. But—"
“The Grooms Gazette,” Luther repeated, distracted by the way the floor seemed to be tipping up to meet him. He gripped the counter top to hold the kitchen still. “Isn’t that a newsletter for men searching for available women to marry?”
She nodded, and Luther had a sudden vision of Victoria marrying a tall, handsome, unlikeable stranger. Thick anger clouded his thoughts.
“You thought you would marry the first man who came to you with a law degree? Offer yourself up like a slab of beef?” His irritation flooded into his voice and his gaze fixated on the line of freckles spattered across her right wrist. How had he not noticed them before?
Her pink flush crept down the neckline of her blouse. “What would you have me do?” she burst out. “It may have escaped your notice, Mr. Garrison, but upon my husband’s death, there is not a man in the world that I can turn to. I need someone that I can trust.”
“Trust me,” he begged.
Luther couldn’t understand where his anger was coming from, but he wanted to shake her, and his irritation only increased when she let out a mordant laugh. “I know absolutely nothing about you,” she said. “Why are you a better option than any of the other men that might have answered this advert?”
He opened his mouth to respond scathingly, and then caught his breath.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. All the joy had gone from her face. She looked indignant. Her right eyebrow was quirked sardonically above her penetrating hazel eyes, waiting. Luther thought he sensed a sort of latent hope behind her irritation with him, as though she truly wanted him to give her a reason to trust him over all others. He wished that he could give it to her. Instead, he felt his anger drain out of him. He sighed.
“I would not be a better option,” he said. He ran the hand of his good arm through his over-long hair and took a step back from her. “In truth, any man that might respond to your advertisement would be a better choice to aid you than myself.”
“Then you are in luck, Mr. Garrison,” she huffed. “At this moment, I have no other options available. If you would be so kind as to lend me your assistance, I would gladly accept.”
And so, they began. Leaning heavily upon her shoulders once more, Luther allowed Victoria to guide him back into the sitting room and situate him on the horrid sofa. He watched as she flitted about the shelves that lined the walls there.
American Law. An Anecdote of an Attorney. Lawful Practices of the 19th Century. She compounded a stack of six or seven books from the shelves, settling them one atop the other on the coffee table before him.
“If I only knew where to look,” she said. “These are all the law books that my husband possessed. It is quite the shame that he did not care to read them much himself.”
Luther cracked a small smile. “I think the main concern,” he began slowly, rolling his shoulders down away from his ears and reaching for the precariously balanced stack of books. “Is that the accounts—from what I gather—have all been emptied in your name, correct?”
“Yes!”
“And you’ve no idea who might have had access to them?”
She paused in the act of toying with a loose string on her blouse. “My husband was the only person that had access to our finances, and those of the town of Silverpines. He collected the taxes and set them aside for payrolls and repairs needed for the town…” she waved her hand. “Jaxsom seems to have placed my name on each of the accounts beside his own. To detract the blame from himself, I presume.”
Luther rubbed his chin in thought. “It seems strange for a man as organized as this not to have left behind a last will and testament.”
Victoria stared at him. “I— I never considered. His
solicitor never provided—”
Luther’s eyes widened with a sudden realization. “This solicitor. This Mr. Foswick…”
Victoria shook her head. “The man has been working with Jaxsom for more than ten years. They knew each other when they were young. I simply cannot picture him attempting to deceive me in such a way.”
Luther frowned. “A childhood acquaintance might seem of little importance when money is involved, Vicky.”
She glared at him again, but otherwise disregarded the misuse of her name. “You surely cannot think that Mr. Foswick had something to do with this? After all—” she bent forward and seized a pile of parchment from beside the books. “Every detail and every transaction from our personal accounts, and the towns’, have been listed here, in these documents. If Mr. Foswick were involved somehow, why would he provide me with this information?”
Luther reached out a hand for them, frowning. “This Mr. Foswick left these here for you?” he said doubtfully, flipping through the pages.
“Yes, he did. He also informed me that Jaxsom had balked at the idea of writing out his last will and testament. He said that Jaxsom had informed him that he found the idea rather morbid at such a young age.”
Luther glanced around at the perfectly coordinated sitting room. At the books on the shelves, all arranged carefully in alphabetical order. “That seems rather out of character,” he repeated. “Might I have a look into your husband’s office? Was it here in town?”
Her face paled slightly. She cleared her throat. “He— Jaxsom ran most of the towns’ business here, in our home.” She nodded the top of her head over his shoulder.
Luther turned to peer in the direction that she had indicated. He saw a dark wooden door standing opposite the foyer. It was clothed in shadows, as though the house had taken to hiding its presence with deliberate intent. “Have you—?”
She went paler still. “I am afraid that I have… been unable to…” she tugged uncomfortably at the corner of her skirt.
“I see,” he said, and feeling rather foolish, he reached out and patted the back of her hand once. His stomach gave a leap at the contact. “Why don’t I have a look then? Perhaps you could attend to some lunch?”
The tension dropped from her shoulders, and a look of relief spilled over her features. “Shall I help you—?”
“I can manage,” he said, and he got heavily to his feet as she scurried out of the sitting room and through the door that led into the kitchen.
It took him much longer than it should have to make his way through the foyer. He passed the stairs on his way there and, glancing up at them, recalled his moment of blind panic of only an hour ago. He had heard the glass shatter downstairs and leapt into action. His fear had shrouded his agony as he tumbled out of bed, down the stairs and into the kitchen.
He had been convinced, as he went, that he was about to find Victoria bleeding on the floor, just as he’d seen the last woman Mace Thorne had murdered. The thought had caused him more agony and terror than he would have thought possible.
Shaking his head, he caught sight of the portrait that sat at the top of the landing. The woman it featured was Victoria, of course. She was dressed in a fine, white, silken gown. A soft smile played at the corners of her lips. The man beside her had to be her husband, the Mayor. Luther tilted his head to the side. There was something deceptively likable about the man. Perhaps it was the amused twinkle in his eyes that was visible, even from the base of the stairs. Or perhaps it was the way his hand rested protectively on Victoria’s shoulder.
So, the Mayor of Silverpines was a thief, he thought, smiling wryly.
It was clear to him that Victoria’s opinion on the matter of embezzlement was nothing short of condemning. He smiled wryly. Here was, again, yet another reason that he could not let his growing interest in her become a reality. If her husband was a thief, then Luther himself was nothing short of a vagabond scoundrel.
He turned the door handle and stepped inside the Mayor’s office. More shelves lined the walls here, and Luther could tell, judging by the thick layer of dust that coated them, that they had not been disturbed for some time.
A large wooden desk faced him in the center of the room. It sat perfectly positioned before a large mullioned window. The colored glass cast red and gold shadows over the carpet as the sun slid lower in the sky. Luther examined the shelves he passed on his way over to it, leaving the door open behind him.
When he rounded the desk, he saw two drawers on either side of it, and a glance towards the door showed him a large file cabinet against the far wall. He sat down in the cushioned armchair behind the desk with a grunt and tugged open the first drawer. It contained a box of sharpened pencils, a few stray receipts, and a handful of perfectly organized pens.
Luther shut it, shaking his head. It was clear that, apart from their crooked pasts, he had very little in common with the man that had once sat in this chair. The second drawer contained a set of ordered files, each painstakingly labeled in a large, neat hand. Taxes, payroll, income, ongoing projects.
Luther tugged out a file labeled with Victoria’s name and flipped it open. He smiled. There, in large, block letters on a sheet of yellowed parchment, was written:
The Last Will and Testament of Jaxsom Owen Rhyan.
Here, I bequeath my estate and all of my personal belongings to be left in the care of my wife, Victoria Elaine Rhyan (Davenport,) to do with as she should see fit. My accounts shall hereby be transferred into her name only and divided to no other.
There followed a list of possessions, directions and vague intentions. The parchment had even been notarized. Luther shook his head. If he could be half as organized as this man had been following his death, he could die content. Although—Luther sighed— this man had had something altogether more wonderful than anything Luther had to live for.
Victoria poked her head around the door frame. She looked very uncomfortable. “Have you found—?”
“It’s here, Victoria,” Luther sighed. “But I am afraid that the document itself does little good.”
She took a hesitant step into the room. Luther wondered vaguely what she was thinking. Was she grateful? Or despairing at the sight of him sitting where her husband once had? He held out the paper to her, and she took it.
“It was on a file bearing your name,” he said, and he smiled. “Whatever his faults, your husband was an ordered sort of man. He did not wish to leave your well-being to chance.”
Tears filled her eyes as she gazed down at the slip of parchment in her hand. “Yes. He was that,” she whispered. She looked up. “Was there anything else in there?”
Luther flipped through the remaining sheets. “The deed to the house,” he said. “And a number of warrantees and receipts that you may wish to examine.”
She nodded, and then an idea seemed to strike her. Her hazel eyes grew wide. “I could sell it,” she murmured. “The house,” she clarified at his look of confusion. “I could sell the house to help pay off the debt I will owe to the town.”
He shook his head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. There is something else at work here, Victoria, and I intend to help you find out what it is. Someone has robbed you. You and the entire town of Silverpines.”
Luther spent the next few hours riffling through papers. Victoria reentered the room every half an hour or so, staying with him longer and longer each time until the evening found her sitting on the floor beside Luther’s feet.
It was the sound of her gasp that made him look up. Victoria’s neat hair had come down from its elegant knot at the top of her head; it was falling around her face in warm strands, the color of honeyed chocolate. The yellow light from the colored glass in the window behind her made her look as though she had been bathed in gold.
“I don’t understand it,” she whispered, and she held out a piece of paper to him. Luther glanced at the label on the file she was perusing. Employment Records. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
His eyes had grown tired in the last few hours. He squinted at the sheet that Victoria was brandishing at him and a red-lettered scrawl caught his eye. Employment Terminated. Reason for Termination: Unlawful Practices. Employee Name...
“James H. Foswick! He was fired months ago!” he declared, gazing at the date. “Victoria,” he beamed at her. “This is motive. If we can prove that Mr. Foswick had something to do with theft of the town’s finances…”
“Will it be enough?” she whispered. Her eyes were shining. Luther could tell that she hardly dared to hope…
“We need to make some inquiries at the bank,” said Luther. “We need to know who has been managing the finances in your stead and why they were able to do it under your name. Can you visit the bank tomorrow morning? You should speak to the manager straight away.”
To his dismay, Victoria’s face fell. She gripped the neck of her blouse very tightly, her loose hair all around her face. “I am afraid… that that will not be possible,” she said. She stood up and dusted off her skirts. “I shall attempt to contact Elena. Perhaps she can do it in my place.”
“Victoria… Vicky,” his hand reached for her of its own accord, but she tugged her fingers out of his grip.
“Please do not use that absurd nickname on me,” she bit out, and before Luther could call her back, she had stridden out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
He sat there in a state of numb disbelief. What had just happened?
He leaned back in the Mayor’s chair. His shoulder was aching something fierce, and he knew that he should be upstairs resting. He needed to feel well enough to leave Victoria’s house as soon as he could. She was in more danger than she could possibly understand. His guilt weighed heavily upon his mind as he got to his feet and stretched.
He would attempt to help Victoria put together a solid case to defend herself. He owed that to her in the very least. Then he would leave here. He could not ever hope to return to Silverpines. Not while Mace Thorne still hunted him.
Wanted_Lawyer Page 7
