“All you have are stolen documents and a vivid imagination,” Reagan said. “You can’t prove we married for any other reason than the difficult situation we found ourselves in.”
“Oh, I can do more than that,” Derrick said. “If I were to show this to Amanda, I’m sure she’d find me the better man.”
Reagan was stunned. If Amanda, in her present state of upset, became convinced their marriage could be annulled, she just might heed the scoundrel’s advice. “So, what you’re telling me is you don’t really want Amanda,” he said. “You just want the money.”
“Oh, come now,” Derrick chided. “Don’t try to tell me you married the chit for any other reason. Although,” he shrugged, grinning lecherously, “I’d have to say, she would’ve been an enjoyable ride-”
In sudden fury, Reagan launched himself over the desk. Seizing Derrick by the throat, he yanked him to his feet while dragging him across the desktop. As the smaller man twisted in his hands, blood lust surged, pounding Reagan’s ears. “You swindler!” he ground out, “I ought to kill you!”
Pawing frantically, Derrick pried back Reagan’s thumbs and sucked air into his lungs. “It’ll d-do you n-no good,” he croaked. “There are others…” Finding himself flung away, he stumbled backwards. “That’ll cost you!” he wheezed, kicking his overturned chair.
Reagan’s fingers still twitched as he watched Derrick cough while rubbing his throat. Though beyond exasperation, he saw no solution other than to submit to the bastard’s extortion.
Reagan retook his seat with extreme restraint. Striking a match, he lit a cheroot before withdrawing a leather folio. “How much?” Poising his pen, he blew smoke in Derrick’s direction. “A thousand, perhaps? Two thousand?”
Derrick couldn’t believe his luck. Reagan was actually complying with his demands. In his arrogance, he believed he had drafted a strategy so flawless the lumberman was forced to acquiesce. With much bravado he picked up his fallen hat. “Nice try,” he said hoarsely. “I’d say Amanda’s worth at least fifty thousand.”
“Fifty-thou-are you out of your mind? My money doesn’t just sit in a bank; it’s in the lumber you see outside. Until it’s shipped, I don’t have access to those kinds of funds. Try again.”
“Very well,” Derrick said, putting on his hat. “I’m a reasonable man. I’ll take five thousand now and then I’ll accept installments until I‘m completely recompensed.” He retrieved his satchel. “Remember,” he warned, pointing a finger. “I’ve more evidence hidden away. And if you’re thinking to eliminate me, I have a partner who’ll expose you. By the way, make the cheque to ‘bearer’, it’s so much easier that way.”
Reagan pushed the draft across the desk. “I expect to have all stolen papers returned before you leave Cantonsville for good.”
“With every payment, I’ll return one of your contracts,” Derrick said, snatching up the cheque. “Consider that scrap of paper yours again.”
Reagan’s face darkened. “Stay away from Amanda. If I find you sniffing around my wife, I won’t stop the next time.”
“As long as you do your part, I’ll not interfere.” He paused when he reached the door. “But, if you try crossing me, I’ll destroy you.”
After he left, Reagan formulated a plan. He would pay a visit to the Simon and Helfrich Detective Agency. Their swift and tenacious ability during a land dispute had proven valuable once before. He determined they must repeat that success once again.
Chapter Eighty-One
Molly Carnes leaned against the inside of her door, at a loss as to what she should do. Downstairs, the revelry of drunken gamblers and wayward lovers reminded her of all she was missing.
Derrick, whom Molly knew as Orville, displayed his newfound wealth by showering her with baubles and fancy clothes. They ate sumptuously, drank the best liquor and ended the evenings with many a romp. Her happiness was short-lived however, as night after night Orville gambled while eager strumpets leaned on his shoulder. Within a fortnight, he’d resorted to his former self, becoming surly and handling her roughly at the slightest provocation. Lately, despite her growing belly, he began demanding she earn money so he wouldn’t have to use all of his.
Rubbing her arms, she fretted over this newest twist of events. She feared Orville would soon cast her aside. Last night, he had come to bed reeking of cheap perfume. She wondered if Phineas, her father, would take her back. If he refused, she could always take up washing clothes in another town. With the war under way, it produced enough widows she could hide the truth of her pregnancy. If she had to fend for herself however, she needed money.
Molly went to the wardrobe and unlatched Orville’s satchel. Her eyes widened at the large stack of bills still secured in bank wrappings. In a separate pocket she found the stolen contracts. She didn’t understand how they could be used for blackmail, but determined if they could secure wealth for Orville, perhaps she could profit from them as well. Hiding the documents under her shawl, Molly crept down the back stairs.
Later, she returned to her room and packed her valise. After stowing it in the wardrobe, she donned a nightgown and crawled into bed. By tomorrow, she’d decide where to go.
The moon had long since passed its zenith when she heard the door open. “Light the lamp,” Derrick ordered as he stumbled inside. It had become his practice to exit the saloon and reenter up the back stairs to avoid being observed from the barroom.
After lighting the wick, Molly watched him remove his shirt and throw it on the bed. “What are you looking at?” he sneered. He grabbed a whiskey bottle from the table. Tipping back his head, he drank deeply before tossing the bottle to the floor.
“Nuthin’,” she said. She knew Orville only drank when he lost at gambling. “If you lost all my money, you can pay me back when you get yours.” She scooped up the shirt but paused at a familiar scent.
“What money?”
“The money your gittin’ from your mission…”
“Good God, woman. Haven’t you figured it out yet? You were my mission. I needed a reason to hide out,” he said, his gaze raking her form. “And some amusement to pass the time.”
Shocked by his blunt admission, she let the shirt fall.
“Pick that up,” he snarled. “It’s French percale. I paid good money for that.”
Obediently, Molly plucked the shirt off the floor. “It stinks of Ruby,” she challenged as he snatched it from her fingers.
“What do you expect? The brat gets in the way.” He turned to hang the shirt in the armoire. “You don’t think I’m going to ignore my needs while you grow fat with that bastard, do you?” He looked over his shoulder, unperturbed at her stricken expression. “I’ve decided once the babe is born, you’re going to get rid of it. I won’t be a pappy to a whore’s son.”
Molly was stunned by his brutal words. “But, it’s-it’s most likely yours…”
“Now, I can’t know that for sure, can I?” When his fingers missed the hanger, he dropped the shirt. “Dammit! Now look what you made me do,” he said, fumbling through the wardrobe. But instead of finding the shirt, his hand snagged Molly’s valise.
She grew fearful when he kicked at the suitcase but it barely moved. “I’ll get it,” she said, jumping out of bed.
Derrick watched with curiosity as she knelt to straighten the valise. “Why my dear,” he said, brushing her hands aside to heft the bag. “This feels heavy. You aren’t thinking of leaving me, are you?”
Molly shrank against the wardrobe, her eyes wide. “I-I’m goin’ to visit my father. I don’t do nuthin’ all day, and-and miss my papa…”
“You said your papa threw you out when he discovered you whoring for money,” he spat, throwing the valise across the room. “I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.”
Molly cringed as Derrick grabbed her hair and yanked cruelly. “Your father won’t take back a soiled bitch like yourself. So how’d you plan on feeding your ugly face and the bastard you carry?”
When
she didn’t answer, Derrick shoved her away. He then pulled out his satchel, doing a quick calculation with his money. When Molly fell, her fingers brushed against the forgotten whiskey bottle. She gripped it tightly while Derrick searched the outer pocket of his bag, finding it empty.
“Where are the contracts?” he demanded, twisting in her direction. “What’ve you done with them?”
Terrified, Molly rose to her knees. She could only stare helplessly into his eyes as he dragged her to her feet. With deliberate slowness he slid his hand to her throat, shoving her against the wardrobe.
“There are ways to make you talk,” he said as his fetid breath filled the air. He braced an elbow under her jaw and dropped his hand to her belly. “I’ll hurt the baby,” he said, pressing until she groaned. “So, if you want the whelp to live, tell me where the contracts are.”
Twisting in pain, Molly swung the whiskey bottle. It struck his head with a sickening thud before falling.
As it splintered against the floor, a sharp explosion burst in Derrick’s brain. Stunned, he held her throat in a brutal grip until his vision cleared and his dazed condition passed.
With the force of a gathering storm, his anger turned to full-blown fury. “You bitch!” He slammed her head against the wardrobe with each word. “Tell-me-where-you-hid-the-contracts!”
Molly didn’t answer but instead grew limp. As she crumpled forward, Derrick caught her in his arms and eased her to the floor. “Molly!” he said, shaking her and then slapping her roughly. “Molly, wake up!”
When she didn’t respond, he placed an ear to her chest, finding no heartbeat. “You bitch!” he said, rising. “Where are they?”
Dumping her valise, Derrick found nothing but clothes. He then ransacked the room, even looking between the mattress and bedsprings. Unable to find the contracts, he paused to think. He knew Reagan would refuse to pay him if he couldn’t produce the documents. He viciously kicked Molly’s lifeless form. “Look what you’ve done!”
Yet, Derrick was nothing if not flexible. Whenever one scheme failed, he simply hatched another. If he could no longer use blackmail, then perhaps he could regain his wealth by other means. He began emptying Molly’s room of his belongings, leaving no trace of Orville Farnsworth. He would once more become Derrick Banning. If everything went right, there’d soon be a Mrs. Banning to assure he would never be deprived again.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Sheriff Hadley looked forward to Sundays for no other reason than he could be at home with his wife and kids. He had just sat down to enjoy his coffee when he heard a persistent rapping at the door. “Sheriff Hadley!” an excited voice called. “Sheriff Hadley, you’re needed at once!”
Opening the door, Jim retrieved his hat. “Slow down Joe, the sun’s barely up. What’s going on?”
“Sheriff,” Deputy Welch panted. “A body’s been found. You need to come quick.” He yanked off his hat as Mrs. Hadley emerged from the kitchen. “Morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Joe,” Jane said.
“It’s a-it’s a-woman,” the deputy said, lowering his voice while glancing at Jane. “They found the body of a woman at the new mill.”
Sheriff Hadley pulled up his suspenders. “Have you sent for the doctor? We’ll probably need a death certificate.”
“Ed fetched Doc Turner already,” the deputy affirmed.
Jim buckled on his holster before kissing his wife’s cheek. “Go on to church without me,” he said as he shouldered into his coat. “Timmy’s old enough to hitch the carriage. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
***
A gathering of onlookers parted to allow Deputy Joe Welch and Sheriff Hadley to enter the mill. Thomas and Reagan Burnsfield stood just inside the office while Deputy Edward McCrae and Doctor Artemus Turner knelt beside a body. Though the woman was obviously dead, the doctor was taking great pains to move her gently as he did an inspection.
“Hello, Thomas, Reagan,” Sheriff Hadley nodded before glancing at his deputy. “Ed, what can you tell me so far?”
Deputy McCrae motioned toward a man standing against a wall. “This woman was discovered when the clerk there, Mr. Harris, came in early this morning to retrieve his forgotten paycheck. It seems the office staff has keys to open on workdays, and Mr. Harris thought he could slip in and pick up his check, even though it was Sunday. When he arrived, he said the door was already unlocked.”
The sheriff looked at the clerk who was visibly shaken. “Mr. Harris, I’d like you to go with Deputy Welch, here, and give a statement of what you found. Can you do that?”
“Y-yes sir,” the clerk nodded, eagerly following the deputy out.
Doctor Turner stood after he had examined the body, prompting Sheriff Hadley to speak. “What do you think, Doc?”
Artemus looked at Reagan and Thomas before turning to the sheriff. “Well, the woman was clearly murdered. She has multiple bruises around her neck as well as a concussion.”
“Is she…?” The sheriff pointed to her bulging abdomen.
“I’ll have to do a more thorough examination,” Doc Turner said. “But it looks like she was pregnant.”
Sheriff Hadley turned to the Burnsfields. “Do either of you recognize this girl?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’ve never seen the lass.”
“How about you?” Jim asked, looking at Reagan. “Do you recognize her?”
“Yes, I believe I’ve met the woman,” he said, frowning. “Although I can’t be sure, she looks very much like the lady I assisted a couple of weeks ago.”
Thomas looked shocked. “You knew her?”
“A woman walking the path beside Old Mill Road had injured her ankle. When our driver spotted her, of course I insisted we stop. I gave her a lift to the dressmakers, where she said her brother would be.”
“And you’re sure that was the only time you met the young woman?” Jim asked. “You didn’t know her before or see her afterward?”
“Not that I can recall,” he said, staring at Molly’s lifeless form. “But, I know I didn’t see her afterward.”
Jim lifted a pencil and paper from Reagan’s desk. “Did she say who she was?” he questioned. “I’m borrowing these, by the way.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” Reagan said, smiling weakly. “If I remember correctly, I believe she said her name was Molly Carnes. And…there was something else…” He tapped his thumbs as he tried recalling their conversation. “She said she lived in one of the houses nearby, and her father’s name was…” here Reagan paused as he searched his memory, “…Fin-no-Phineas. Phineas Carnes.”
The sheriff rubbed his neck. “Carnes? I don’t know of any Carnes living in that area.”
“That’s what she said,” Reagan emphasized. “When I offered to take her home, she declined. Instead, she insisted I take her into town.”
“What else did she say?” Jim asked.
Reagan had been dreading this moment from the time he realized the girl appeared pregnant. Unlikely as it seemed, he wondered if in a drunken state, he’d had an encounter with her of the adulterous sort. He’d never been able to recall how he received those marks on his back. Even though the thought repulsed him, his mind kept screaming that these weren’t just coincidences. “She also mentioned something about having a room at the Rochester Hotel. And lastly, she also mentioned she frequented the same church as my family.”
“That’s an awful lot of conversation for two complete strangers,” the sheriff noted. “How is it those topics came to be raised?”
Reagan weighed whether or not to reveal the startling proposition he had received from Molly while in the carriage. If he did, it would surely seem strange that now, two weeks later, she suddenly appeared in his office, very pregnant and very dead. He remembered clearly he had done nothing to indicate he was interested in a tryst. “I was simply making conversation, trying to ascertain whether or not we’d ever met,” he explained. “In the course of our discussion, I determined we had not. She, in fact
, volunteered the information about the hotel.” Reagan lifted his hands. “I have no explanation why, and in fact, was quite taken aback by the revelation.”
Thomas suddenly took a seat and mopped his brow. “Why would this woman turn up in our office?”
“Not our office,” Reagan said gently. “My office. Your office is still at the old mill.” He looked at the sheriff. “If there’s a connection, it lies solely with me.”
Sheriff Hadley nodded grimly as he continued taking notes. “You say you picked her up in your carriage approximately two weeks ago?”
“There or about. I’ve been using my horse ever since, so that type of thing couldn’t occur again. As you can see,” Reagan said, gesturing toward the body. “All kinds of suspicions can spring from an innocent encounter.”
As the sheriff took notes, Reagan rubbed his brow, wondering how Amanda would take the horrifying news. Although she no longer mentioned the mysterious markings on his back, neither had she signaled her willingness to recapture the familiarity of their night spent in rapturous passion. To compound his troubles, he’d been consumed with finding a way to thwart the bastard, Derrick Banning. As a precaution, he had removed his important papers from both offices and stored them at home. Lastly, he had hired the services of detectives Simon and Helfrich. He’d decided it would be prudent to keep Derrick’s blackmail scheme to himself. As yet, Thomas knew nothing.
“Do you have the carriage here?” the sheriff asked. “It’s just a formality, but it should be inspected if the deceased recently used it.”
“Why, yes it is,” said Thomas, glad for a reason to step outside. “Although it didn’t look out of the ordinary to me.”
The sheriff turned to his deputy. “Ed, fetch my horse and bring it around. Then, stand guard until I return. I don’t want anyone tinkering with possible evidence.”
“Yes sir!” Deputy McCrae hastened to do his bidding.
Threads of Betrayal Page 38
