by Lisa Harris
He pointed his hand at her. “Now, Tara. That’s a lovely name. Do you know what it means—”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t.” She held up her gloved hand. “What about Mr. Schlosser?”
“Yes…yes…just one more place to look…Yes! Here it is. Mr. Richart Schlosser.” He pulled a dusty file from the bottom of the stack and plopped it on the table in front of her.
A cloud of dust enveloped the stack of paper.
Tara sneezed again. “What does it say?”
“It looks to me as if Mr. Schlosser moved away after the war in sixty-six. Sold it to a man by the name of…” Mr. Lehrer turned his head to the right and squinted. “I can’t quite read the writing.”
Tara tapped her foot. “Who took notes on the transaction?”
“I did, but unfortunately my handwriting isn’t nearly as clear as my memory.”
Tara fiddled with the rim of the Stetson behind her back and prayed that he would come up with some sort of lead for her to follow up on.
“Yes, yes, now it’s clear.” Mr. Lehrer beamed. “It looks as if Mr. James Martin now owns that piece of land. Isn’t far out, either. I’d say no more than five miles out of town to the west. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Now Jim isn’t always the most hospitable man, but hopefully he’ll know something about the whereabouts of Mr. Schlosser.”
“So you have no idea what happened to the man?”
The land agent shook his head. “I remember the transaction between the two men. Met right here in my office to sign the deed papers. Mr. Schlosser seemed to be in a hurry to get out of town.”
“What else can you remember? Anything that might have seemed insignificant at the time might prove important to finding him.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m sorry, but that was four years ago, and I’ve had a lot of people go through this office.”
“But your memory for names…details.”
“Names.” Mr. Lehrer shot her a weak grin. “Mr. Martin might know something. They appeared to be friends, though I can’t say that for sure. I know that Mr. Schlosser planned to include the majority of his furniture in the sale of the property.”
“Is that a common thing to do?”
“Happens from time to time. All depends on the circumstances, I’d say.”
Tara gripped the back of a wooden chair with her hand. “So that’s all you remember?”
“I’m afraid so, but if you’re interested in a nice piece of land—”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Lehrer. You’ve been a big help.”
Tara strolled into the bright afternoon sunlight, glad to be out of the dusty office, and hurried to the hotel. She hoped to find Mrs. Meddler before returning to the Carpenters’ farm. While the woman’s attire had been rather plain and, frankly, out of date, the lobby of the hotel exhibited a bit more taste with its warm terra-cotta walls and walnut furniture. Not that it could begin to compare with Boston’s Parker House or any of the other luxurious East Coast hotels, but for someone needing a place to stay overnight, it would surely be a welcome sight.
Much to Tara’s relief, Mrs. Meddler sat behind the front desk of the empty lobby reading a dime novel with its recognizable orange cover.
“Why, Miss Young.” The older woman greeted her with a broad smile. “I was hoping you’d stop by for a cup of tea. I’ve been wanting to know how you were faring in your new place.”
“It’s good to see you, as well, Mrs. Meddler.” Tara set the Stetson on the counter, debating what she should do. “And while I greatly appreciate the invitation, I ought to get back to the Carpenters. They sent me to town with a letter to mail after lunch, and I’m afraid I’ve taken advantage of their time. What I really need—”
“Nonsense. There’s always time for tea.” Mrs. Meddler snapped the book shut and hopped down from the wooden stool. “Don’t tell my husband I’m reading this. I keep my stack of dime novels hidden away, because he’s always telling me what a waste of time and money they are.”
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.” Tara echoed the jolly woman’s laugh, realizing just how nice it was to see a familiar face even if she barely knew the woman.
Mrs. Meddler shoved her book beneath the counter and waved her hand. “Come. You must stay for tea. We have so much to talk about, such as the shootout this afternoon. Were you in town at the time?”
“Yes.” Hat in hand, Tara followed her into the large, airy kitchen where Mrs. Meddler began filling the kettle with water.
The older woman placed her hands against her heart. “Such a fright that gave me. I hid behind the front desk until my husband assured me it was once again safe to come out. What is this world coming to is my question.”
“I have to agree.” Tara leaned against a wooden cupboard and shuddered. “I was in the post office and found the whole experience quite terrifying.”
Mrs. Meddler set the kettle on the stove and motioned for Tara to sit at a small table in the corner of the room. “Then trust me when I say that a cup of tea will help soothe both our nerves. Most appropriate, if you ask me. It will be ready in just a minute.”
Tara placed the hat on a table covered with a white lace cloth, then made herself comfortable in the padded chair. Mrs. Meddler was right. She needed some time to recover from the ordeal. She took in a deep breath and made herself relax. Her stomach growled as her senses filled with the fragrant scent of meat and spices mingling with rising yeast bread.
“Perhaps I need to stay until dinner.” Tara laughed. “Whatever you’re preparing smells wonderful.”
Mrs. Meddler pulled a sugar jar from the cupboard, as well as a small container of cream. “It’s my own mother’s recipe for gumbo. She was French and lived in New Orleans for most of her life. Believe it or not, it tastes even better than it smells.”
Tara’s mouth watered, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be offered yet another jar of pickles tonight.
Mrs. Meddler set two floral-patterned china cups on a tray. “Isn’t Mrs. Carpenter a decent cook?”
Tara cocked her head. “Yes, though I have a feeling that I will have eaten my share of homemade pickles before I leave.”
“Every social, picnic, and holiday isn’t complete without a jar of Mrs. Carpenter’s infamous pickles.” Mrs. Meddler placed her hands on her hips and chuckled. “But don’t you worry. Most of us have found various ways to avoid actually eating them.”
“Then I suppose I’m going to have to get creative on this one.”
Mrs. Meddler picked up the black Stetson. “Whose hat is this, by the way? You seem far too stylish to don one of these with your outfit.”
Tara noticed the older woman’s wink and laughed. “That’s why I stopped by. You see, I’m not sure whose it is. A man left it behind at the post office during the shootout, and all I know about him is that he just arrived in town last night. He’s tall with dark hair—”
“I know exactly who you are referring to.” Mrs. Meddler spun the hat with a wide grin on her face. “Tall, solidly built with eyes the color of—”
“Toffee?” Tara felt a warm blush cover her cheeks. Something that was beginning to occur far too frequently.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Meddler placed the hat back down and hurried to take the whistling kettle off the stove. “If I wasn’t married, I’d consider snatching him up myself. Such a gentleman he is, too.”
Tara giggled. “So you’ll give him the hat, then. I don’t even know his name.”
“At a slight disadvantage then, aren’t you?” Mrs. Meddler folded her hands across her chest and shook her head. “His name is Mr. Jefferson. Aaron Jefferson.”
“Aaron Jefferson,” Tara repeated.
“Now, have some tea. And who knows, perhaps Mr. Jefferson will come downstairs while you’re here, and I can make the proper introductions.”
❧
Aaron opened his eyes with a start. Sunlight shone through the small window of his hotel room, casting a golden glow across the wor
n bedspread. He’d have to hurry if he was going to make it to the land agent’s office before it closed.
His joints complained as he sat up. His own father had died when he was thirty-five, a seemingly ancient age for a boy of six. Now thirty-five didn’t seem near as old as he’d once thought, but even though he still felt young at heart, that didn’t mean he was as agile as he used to be. Slamming a ruffian into the mud and getting swiped across the jaw wasn’t something he wanted to do for a living anymore. A gunshot in the shoulder two years ago had cured him of that. This latest assignment was supposed to be straightforward detective work. Not a stint in capturing criminals in the streets.
Aaron searched for his Stetson, then remembered he’d lost it at some point. Maybe she had found it and had left it with the postmaster in case he stopped by looking for it. Feelings of guilt rushed over him. He should have gone back and made sure she was all right. The sheriff hadn’t really needed his help escorting the prisoner to the jail, and their conversation could have waited.
You’re a coward when it comes to women, Aaron Jefferson.
Shaking his head, he locked his room and headed downstairs. How could he have spent half his life fighting crime, taking down criminals, and risking everything to make this country a better place to live, yet become tongue-tied when standing next to a beautiful woman?
When standing next to her.
There was something about this particular blue-eyed woman with the auburn hair that left him feeling like an inadequate greenhorn instead of seasoned lawman. He couldn’t help it. Her soft voice…the sincerity in her eyes…the way she smiled at him…had him completely captivated. Part of him hoped he ran into her again before he left town, while the other part of him preferred to finish his work as quickly as he could and avoid any such encounter
He headed outside, pausing only to nod his greetings at the young woman working the front desk.
“Mr. Jefferson?
Aaron stopped near the entrance to the hotel. “Yes?”
“Is this yours?”
Aaron retraced his steps across the carpet, this time stopping at the desk where he picked up his Stetson. “Where did you find it?”
“Mrs. Meddler had wanted to give it to you herself, but she went to help with the delivery of Mrs. Acker’s new baby. Anyway, before she left she said that a woman brought it by who thought you might be staying here.”
Aaron fiddled with the brim. The faint scent of roses mingled with his own shaving soap. She had brought it by.
He had to know who she was. “Do you know the name of the woman?”
“No. Mrs. Meddler just said to be sure to give you the hat and tell you that the woman’s name was…” The young woman’s smile faded. “Perhaps she did tell me the lady’s name, but…I can’t remember.”
“Was she young or old—”
“All I know for sure is that Mrs. Meddler said that a woman brought it by. I never saw her.” She shrugged and turned back to her magazine. “Sorry.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Aaron set the hat on his head and started outside.
He was disappointed that he’d been so close to finding out who she was, just to come up against another brick wall. He’d have to speak to Mrs. Meddler once she returned. He shook his head. Whoever this woman was, she’d become a distraction. And he couldn’t afford that. The government was counting on him to find the money. Which brought him back to his real concern.
Aaron crossed the street and headed toward the land agent’s office. Truth was, rumors were always plentiful, especially when a large amount of money was involved. He had no doubt that there would always be others looking for the lost gold, but this person seemed to have information that was keeping him a step ahead. How could this person potentially know more than he did?
Unless the person had somehow uncovered specific information leading to the location of the missing gold.
Six
Aaron glanced down the street, looking for the woman who’d delivered his hat. It had to have been her. Who else would have known where to find him? It appeared that she’d done a bit of detective work herself—but not a difficult assumption considering he was new to town and would most likely be staying at the hotel.
He tipped his hat at an older woman coming out of the mercantile and smiled in passing. Truth was, if he wanted to, he could do the same kind of investigation. In a small town like Browning City, it would be easy to find out where the Carpenters lived and, in turn, learn where she was staying.
Aaron pressed his hand against his front pocket and felt the crinkling letter of introduction signed by the chief himself. In his chosen career, when lives often hung in the balance, duty had to come before pleasure. In turn, thoughts of love and a family kept getting put off until after the next assignment came along.
Or until I prove I can live up to my own family’s expectations for me.
Aaron pushed aside the thought and quickened his steps. This wasn’t about his family. He simply didn’t need the distraction from his work, especially when he had competition. The government would prefer not to pay the hefty reward money, but that could only be done if he found the gold first. And they were counting on him to do just that.
He stepped into the land agent’s office and held back a sneeze. A layer of dust covered a desk piled high with papers and ledger books. The only two chairs in the small office were also covered with stacks of papers. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could work in such an environment. Even the windows appeared as if they hadn’t been cleaned for months, with their accumulation of grime from outside.
“Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Lehrer.” A thin man appeared from the back of the room, held out his hand, and offered a broad smile. “How can I be of service to you today?”
“Name’s Aaron Jefferson and I need some information.” Aaron decided to get right to the point. “The sheriff said he sent someone to see you as they were tracking down either a person or perhaps the owner of a piece of land?”
The man shoved his wire spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Today certainly is turning out to be quite a busy day for information.”
“So someone did stop by?”
“About an hour or so ago. I answered a few questions, and we had a nice chat.”
Aaron worked to conceal his interest. Finding this man might not be the ticket to finding the gold, but he wasn’t going to ignore any leads.
“I need to know exactly what this person wanted.”
Mr. Lehrer sat down at his desk and took out a steel nib pen as he shook his head. “I am sorry, but all transactions are private. You have to understand—”
“Not when it comes to the law.” Andrew withdrew his badge from the front pocket of his vest and held it where Mr. Lehrer could see it.
Mr. Lehrer dropped his pen. “Who exactly are you?”
“I work for the United States government.” Aaron shoved the badge back into his pocket. “I need to contact the person who was in here asking questions. He has some information I need.”
“She—”
“She?” Aaron dipped his head. “I was under the impression that it was a man.”
“Then you obviously haven’t seen this woman. She was beautiful. Wide eyes, smooth skin, hair pinned up neatly, smartly dressed…”
An image of her filled his mind at the description. Aaron closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to push away the vision of the lovely stranger. The whole thing was ridiculous. How could he have become so enamored of someone he’d never properly met? He knew as much about Mr. Lehrer as he did about the woman. He had to forget her. Time to focus on this lead, not on a woman he very well might never see again.
“What else about her description?” Aaron leaned against the side of the desk. “What color was her hair?”
The land agent held up his pen and winced. “That, I’m afraid, I can’t tell you. I’m color-blind.”
“You’re color-blind?” Aaron let out a sigh. All he needed were a few details, and he couldn’t
even get those. “Certainly you can tell me what she was looking for.”
“Of course.” Mr. Lehrer nodded. “A man by the name of Richart Schlosser.”
Aaron worked to keep his frustration in check. In an office this unorganized, he wasn’t sure he could trust the man’s memory. “Are you sure that was the name?”
“I’m quite sure. I might be color-blind, but I never forget a name.”
“And what did you tell her?”
Mr. Lehrer tapped his pen against the desk. “The man moved away about four years ago. James Martin now owns the farm.”
Aaron stood up straight and tapped his Stetson against the palm of his hand. There was only one more thing he needed to know before he left. “Last question. What was the woman’s name?”
“Her name is Tara Young. And if you’re looking to find her, she was pretty persistent. I wouldn’t be surprised if she heads out to Mr. Martin’s the first chance she gets.”
❧
Tara finished reading aloud the last few verses from Psalms, chapter nineteen, then paused to take a peek at Mrs. Carpenter. The older woman sat sound asleep in her slat-back rocker. Tara yawned and wondered if she could sneak a few minutes of sleep, as well. Getting up at five thirty for the second day in a row, followed by boiling a new batch of brine for the pickles, had her longing for the quiet mornings back home where no one ever wakened her until the decent hour of eight or nine. And pickles were something they purchased from the shelves of the local grocer, never sweated over in the kitchen.
Her gaze rested once again on the weathered Bible with its thin pages. Her father had often read to her from the Psalms and other books of the Bible, but she didn’t remember this particular one and its pronouncement that the Word of God was far more precious than gold. An interesting comparison, considering her own quest. While the thought was convicting, and she believed it to be true, her desire to track down the missing government gold had only intensified. Surely God would overlook her search for earthly treasures if He knew that her motives were in the right place.
How she was going to find the gold, though, was proving to be more difficult than she’d first imagined. Even now, she debated whether or not she should borrow the wagon this morning and pay a call on Mr. Martin. Not only did she worry about shirking her duties with the Carpenters, but obviously, a single woman such as herself paying a visit to a man she didn’t know would never be considered appropriate. She wondered what Aunt Rachel would have done. There had to be a way to achieve her objective without tarnishing her reputation.
