“When I talked to his father earlier this afternoon, he said he doesn’t know where Mr. Richards has gone or when he might return.”
Stephen hadn’t told his father of his plans either? She’d never gotten the sense Stephen and his father were overly close, but it was odd that he wouldn’t share his intentions with his family.
“Can you tell me where he’s gone?” Mr. Timmons’s brows rose.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know. He was going west to talk to some potential business partners about an opportunity.”
The hopeful look fell to disappointment. “I see. When do you expect him back?”
“He said …” She swallowed, as much to rid herself of the lump that rose in her throat as to soothe the lingering pain. “It could be months before he returns.”
Mr. Timmons stared at her as if she’d grown a second nose. “You don’t know where your intended has gone, and he won’t be home for months?”
Need he drive that point home so soundly? Awash in embarrassment, she untucked her legs and crammed her feet into her shoes. “I’m sorry, what exactly did you say your business is with Stephen?”
“I didn’t.”
“Please do so now, Mr. Timmons. Perhaps I can help you in his stead.”
The man ran a palm over his mouth, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “I told you that I work for the government.”
“Yes?”
Both Mama and Papa entered.
“Specifically, I work for the Secret Service, investigating counterfeit money that’s been passed.”
Emma might have been impressed by that bit of information, except that she didn’t like the direction the conversation had turned. She pinned Mr. Timmons with a glare. “What in heaven’s name does that have to do with Stephen?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I have reason to believe he’s in possession of some of the counterfeit money I’m tracking.”
“Stephen is?” Papa boomed from across the room.
From the way Mr. Timmons jerked at the sound, he must not have realized anyone had entered. “I believe so, sir.”
Mama slid past their guest and handed Emma the glass of water. She gulped a third of it, hoping to settle her quickly fraying nerves.
“You didn’t say anything earlier.” Papa’s tone fell somewhere between incredulous and offended.
“I make it a practice not to discuss the details of my cases too openly.”
Emma set her glass aside. “I assure you, Stephen’s done nothing wrong.”
Mr. Timmons faced her again. “I didn’t say he had, miss, but I do need to speak with him. Any information you might provide would be of help.”
“I’ve told you, I have no information to give. Stephen left in hopes of beginning a new business, but he chose not to share the details with me.” Or with anyone else, apparently.
“I was told he had a traveling companion. Any idea of who that might be?”
She furrowed her brow. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“That doesn’t really matter, Miss Draycott. Please, have you any ideas who Mr. Richards was traveling with?”
It mattered to her. Perspiration dampened her skin. “No.”
Surely Stephen would’ve told her such a detail. Wouldn’t he?
Cynthia and Saundra entered, Saundra carrying a tray with all she’d need for a soothing cup of tea. “Here you go, Miss Emma,” the plump woman almost sang as she set the tea tray on the table beside her chair.
“Emma,” Papa said. “Please, child. Tell Mr. Timmons what you know. If Stephen has any complicity in this scheme, he must be stopped.”
Her father’s words cut deep, leaving her sick at her stomach.
“Now hold on.” Mr. Timmons lifted his hands. “We all need to—”
“Why do you assume he is involved in this, Papa?”
“Who’s involved in what?” Cynthia bounced into the fray and plopped down in the chair beside Emma.
“Well?” Emma shoved to her feet, glaring in Papa’s direction.
“Can we all please settle down a bit?” Mr. Timmons said, though neither she nor her father looked his way.
The stern expression etched across her father’s face told her plenty.
“Because you don’t like him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
No, but his attitude and expression screamed it. And Mr. Timmons hadn’t seemed to like Stephen either, after their brief encounter at Melcher’s.
Whether apart or together, the two were working to sully Stephen’s good name.
Emma grabbed the tray and slipped through the suddenly crowded library. “Excuse me, please.” Time to escape to the safety of her bedroom. She wouldn’t enjoy much of anything here.
“Forgive me.” Clay turned to Mr. and Mrs. Draycott. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I assure you, Mr. Timmons, no one thinks you did.” Mrs. Draycott offered him a pinched smile. “She’s been quite upset since Stephen announced he was leaving yesterday morning, and my husband doesn’t always help matters.” The stern look she sent Draycott’s way would wither any man’s fortitude.
Mr. Draycott huffed, though rather than rebut the statement, he looked at his younger daughter. “Your mother said Emma nearly choked on something?”
“Yes, sir.” Cynthia produced a white paper cone from her pocket and unbound the top to show him the contents. “A lemon drop.”
Mrs. Draycott turned that withering glare Cynthia’s way. “Where did you get those?”
“Walsingham’s.”
“How did you pay for those, child?” Mr. Draycott fiddled with the gold watch chain draped cross his belly.
The girl pressed her lips together as she looked from one to the other. “I used the dollar Stephen gave me the other day in town.”
The older gentleman pinned his daughter with a stern look. “You paid for them with a one-dollar banknote you received from Stephen?”
“Yes, sir.” Her timorous voice shook. “Did I do something wrong?”
Clay cleared his throat. “Would you allow me to ask Cynthia a couple of questions?”
When Mr. Draycott consented, Clay faced the girl. At the sight of her fearful expression, he smiled his most reassuring smile. “Please rest easy, little lady. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not in any kind of trouble.”
She gulped a breath and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Timmons.”
“You said your sister’s intended gave you a one-dollar banknote?”
“He gave one to me and one to Thomas after I found the kittens.”
“Is that all he gave you? As far as banknotes, I mean.”
She nodded.
“What kind of place is Walsingham’s?”
Almost bashful, she dipped her chin. “A candy store. Their lemon drops are my favorite, but their peppermint sticks are good too.”
“I always liked gumdrops best myself.”
Her demeanor brightened. “They have tasty gumdrops.”
“Reckon I’ll stop by there tomorrow, then.” If her conspiratorial look was any indication, his comment put her even more at ease. “You said Mr. Richards gave Thomas a banknote as well?”
“Yes, sir. One dollar, just like me.”
“Why’d he give the two of you each a dollar?”
“I think because I was upset over the kittens. He asked me to stop crying, and when I wouldn’t, he pulled a big stack of banknotes from his coat pocket, handed us each one dollar, and said to go to Melcher’s to wait for him and Emma.”
Now that was an interesting detail. Most folks weren’t prone to carry a big stack of banknotes with ’em.
“How big a stack?”
The young lady indicated the size, at least the height of his thumb to the first joint.
“That’s a lot of banknotes.”
“I thought so too.” She bit her lower lip.
“What’d Thomas spend his on?”
“He doesn’t spend his money very often. He saves up for somet
hing special, but right now, he doesn’t know what that is.”
“A wise young man.” He could tie Richards to the counterfeit note given to the waitress. He could place him in Melcher’s Emporium where a twenty-dollar note was passed. If they’d not given it as change, a visit to Walsingham’s Confectionary might turn up a falsified one-dollar note in the morning. And Richards was reported to be carrying a large stack of banknotes in his pocket. If Thomas held a counterfeit one-dollar note as well, Clay would feel confident that Richards was passing the bad money. How had the man come by it? And just how hated would he be for casting aspersions on Emma Draycott’s intended? He’d take no pleasure in that, but such questions had to be asked.
“Thomas still has that banknote?”
“I imagine so.”
“Thank you, miss. You’ve been real helpful.” Clay looked at Mr. and Mrs. Draycott. “Is Thomas here right now?”
Mr. Draycott nodded. “He was outside when I arrived home a short time ago.”
“I’d like to question him and take a look at that banknote, if I could. And I’ve further questions to ask the elder Miss Draycott.”
“If you’re finished with Cynthia, she and I can call the others for you.” Mrs. Draycott held out her hand to her daughter, beckoning the girl.
“That’s real kind of you, ma’am. I’ll speak to Thomas first, then Miss Emma.” He looked at Cynthia, who’d gone to stand beside her mother. “And please don’t tell either of ’em the kinds of questions I was asking.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you, little lady.”
Once the Draycott gals departed, Emmitt Draycott heaved a breath. “How involved do you think Stephen is in all this?”
“Too soon to say.” He’d be likely to believe Stephen had received the money innocently enough—so often how it went in his cases—except for that big stack of banknotes. That was an irksome detail that called into question just how innocently he might have come by the notes. But Clay wasn’t ready to share that thought.
Mr. Draycott took a conspicuous look around, then stepped nearer. “My daughter said, before she stormed out, that I don’t like her intended.” Concern etched his features. “That isn’t the truth. We’ve known his family for many years—not well, but we’ve always been cordial. As a child, he was a rather scrawny thing. Emma used to stick up for Stephen when they were in school. I was always proud of her for defending him against the bullies.”
“It’s an honorable thing, defending those who can’t defend themselves.” Why did the stoic patriarch feel compelled to share so freely, all of a sudden?
“The young man has attended Sunday school off and on for years. He’s been pleasant, respectful. A good student, from all Emma and Thomas ever said of him. By all outward appearances, he works hard.” Again, the man took a discreet look toward the entrance to the library, then back to Clay. “But between us, something about that young man has never sat quite right. I can’t put my finger on what, but it’s been a nagging feeling from soon after we met the family. I don’t dislike him, but I don’t completely trust him, either.”
Clay dropped his voice to a confidential tone. “Are you sayin’ you’ve reason to believe he might be part of something illicit, like a counterfeiting scheme?”
For several seconds, the man stood completely still. “No. I’ve no reason to think that. I bring this up for two reasons. First, Stephen has captured my eldest daughter’s heart. While I don’t trust him, I love my daughter dearly and want what is best for her, so I beg you, be absolutely certain before you press charges. Follow every lead before you publicly ruin his life and break her heart.”
The admonition rankled, though Clay wouldn’t show how much. “And second?”
“Second, I also ask that if you find he’s doing anything concerning—anything illegal or immoral—keep me apprised.”
“Since your bank notified us of the counterfeit notes, you’d be entitled to know the broad strokes of my investigation.”
“I’m not asking as a bank owner. I am asking as a father. I have tentatively given my blessing for my daughter to marry Stephen. Man to man, I ask that if you discover he’s doing anything illegal, immoral, or unethical, tell me. I don’t want my daughter’s reputation and good name ruined.”
In his four years with the Secret Service, that request was a first for him. “When are they to be married?”
“They’ve not set a date yet, and they won’t until Stephen can support her. That’s why he left—to explore a business opportunity he’s working on.”
He tucked that detail away. “Where my job is concerned, I am meticulous and thorough, sir. I might follow my hunches, but I won’t accuse anyone before there’s proof to hang those accusations on. You can bank on that. That said, if there should be a need, I’ll let you know what I can of Richards’s dealings.”
“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”
“I do have a question for you, sir. Stephen was introduced to me by your daughter as Stephen D. Richards. Just for my notes—what does the D. stand for?”
Draycott fiddled with his pocket watch. “It’s not an initial. It’s a name. Dee. D-e-e.”
Clay grinned at his mistake. “Thank you. That makes it easy, then.” He extracted the papers from his coat pocket and jotted that down.
Their conversation turned to other more innocuous topics until Thomas bustled in, breathless, clutching the banknote. At that point, Mr. Draycott slipped out.
Clay’s questioning of Thomas followed the same thread as Cynthia’s, and his answers confirmed the story she’d given. A quick inspection of the banknote turned up the usual discrepancies.
“I’m afraid I need to hang on to this, Thomas.” He held up the falsified note.
“Is there a problem?” Thomas’s grim look perfectly summed up the way Clay felt.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about.” He tucked the one-dollar note in his pocket. “I’ll see if I can’t return it to you quickly, though.”
The young man snorted and shook his head. “Mr. Timmons, I’m fifteen, not five. I’ve overheard enough to know you’re investigating something, though I don’t know what. If keeping that money will help you, don’t worry about returning it. Not sure I want it anyway. Just tell me, is Stephen wrapped up in something bad?”
The young man was asking good questions. “I don’t know. For now, don’t judge him too harshly. He may be perfectly innocent.”
“I hope so, for Emma’s sake.”
“Me too.” More than he cared to admit. “Would you ask her to come in.”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas left.
A moment later, Miss Draycott entered, irritation evident in the way she carried herself, as if she knew Clay himself was out to poison her. “Mr. Timmons.”
“Miss.” He motioned to the seat she’d occupied earlier. “Please, sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
His own irritation clawed his spine, but he shrugged as if her words weren’t a burr under his saddle. “Suit yourself. I was attempting to explain to you earlier that I need to speak to Mr. Richards.”
“And I told you I can’t offer any help.”
“Perhaps you can now. Your sister said that he has a large stack of banknotes with him.”
As he indicated the size Cynthia had showed him, Miss Emma’s eyes grew wide. “He showed her the banknotes as well?”
“So you already knew about them.”
“I saw them in Melcher’s the day you and I met.”
“Do you know how he came by that money?”
“It was his inheritance after his great-aunt passed away.”
Relief flooded him. That could easily explain how he’d come by the falsified notes. “Did he tell you where he received the money—a bank, a lawyer, at the reading of the will, another family member?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Was it here locally or somewhere else?”
“Somewhere else, but I don’t know where. He left fo
r a week, returned home over the weekend, then left again yesterday. We’ve had little time to speak since he left on the first trip.”
“I understand.” Only he didn’t. If Emma Draycott was his intended, he wouldn’t leave her twice within days of each other if he could help it. And he wouldn’t disrespect her by keeping secrets the way Richards seemed to.
But then, Emma Draycott wasn’t his intended—and he sure as shootin’ needed to stop thinking such thoughts or he could find himself in a heap of trouble.
Chapter 7
Near Kearney, Nebraska
February 9, 1876
Saddlebags in hand, Stephen knocked at the door of the dilapidated soddy. A woman toting a smudge-faced toddler boy on her hip with a slightly older girl clinging to her leg answered.
“May I help you?” She stroked the girl’s hair lovingly.
A twitchy, unsure feeling swept Stephen. “Might I assume you are Mary Harlson?”
Distrust in her eyes, she looked him over from head to toe. “If you’re sellin’ something, we ain’t buyin’.”
He chuckled. “I’m not selling anything.”
“Then get to your point and move on.”
Discomfited, Stephen blinked, then found the words he sought. “I don’t know if your husband has mentioned me, but I’ve been corresponding with him for some years. Stephen Dee Richards.” He held his breath, waiting for the ridicule he was sure would come.
She bounced the child on her slender hip until recognition lit her pretty features. A wide grin grew on her lips. “Stephen Richards! Yes, he’s mentioned you.” Her cheeks reddened. “Forgive my rudeness. Usually, a stranger shows up at our door, and it’s never for good purposes. But then, after all Jasper’s shared from your letters, it feels like we do know you.” She hoisted the boy higher. “What brings you to our doorstep?”
Relief flooded him. She’d not turned him away after all.
“I hope you don’t mind the unannounced visit, but I’ve come west, and I was hoping to meet Jasper while I was here.”
“Of course! He’ll be so surprised. He’s gone to collect our oldest, Daisy, from school, but I expect them both directly. Do come in.” She extricated herself from the girl clinging to her leg and, with a groan, backed out of the doorway. As Stephen entered the tiny house, shed his coat, and dropped his things in a pile near the door, she once more hefted the boy into a different position. “Son, you’re already getting too heavy to carry.”
The Scarlet Pen Page 9
