Maggie pulled her tin shield out of her waistband and held it up.
Aunt Hetty discounted her badge with a shake of her head. “That tells me nothing.”
“Then what will?” Maggie asked.
“Proving my nephew innocent!”
Sighing, Maggie repinned the shield to her waistband. “The evidence is stacked against him. The money—”
“Anyone could have put it there. It’s not like the barn was under lock and key.”
“But that would make no sense. Why would anyone hide the money in the tree house and forget about it?”
Aunt Hetty sniffed. “Why would Garrett? He would never do anything to bring harm to his children. And that includes exposing them to stolen money.”
She couldn’t blame Aunt Hetty for not wanting to believe Garrett guilty. She was having a hard time believing it herself. And what she said about the children was right on target. It made no sense that he would hide the stolen cache in the playhouse. He had to have known that the satchel would be irresistible to a curious mind like Toby’s.
“I guess we just have to hope the truth comes out in the trial,” she said vaguely, her thoughts still on the playhouse.
“You know as well as I that the jury has already made up their minds, and it has nothing to do with truth.”
“Aunt Hetty—”
“Do you know what Garrett told me after he was released from that awful prison? He said the one good thing that came out of his stay at Andersonville was that it kept him off the battlefield. That’s how much he hated the thought of killing. Do you honestly think him capable of killing that guard in cold blood?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, I don’t think that—”
“How much do you charge?”
“What?”
“I want to hire you to prove Garrett’s innocence. How much do you charge?”
“I can’t take your money.”
Aunt Hetty’s eyes sharpened. “Can’t or won’t?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” Maggie said.
Aunt Hetty studied her. “Are you absolutely one hundred percent certain of Garrett’s guilt?” She waited for an answer, and when none came, nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Without another word, she ambled away.
Garrett’s defense began the following day. A tall, thin man with a sweeping mustache, attorney Robert King had done a great job in rounding up people willing to testify on Garrett’s character.
Customers testified that he was a fair and reasonable businessman.
Panhandle took the stand without removing his ever-present pompadour cap. With every question put to him by the defense, he blinked like someone who just woke from a long slumber or stepped out of a cave.
“Yessir,” he said. “Mr. Thomas is a good employer and pays my salary on time. And nope, he never overworked me. No, sir, never did.”
Next to take the stand was Miss Nancy Riden, the children’s teacher. She testified that Garrett was a caring parent who always saw that his children arrived for class on time and turned in their assignments.
A long line of witnesses followed, all testifying to Garrett’s good character.
Just before noon, Aunt Hetty was called to the stand. She walked up the aisle with her cane and took her place in front of the court. “My nephew is innocent of all charges lodged against him,” she announced.
The judge’s scowl deepened. “You can’t say anything until you’ve been sworn in.”
“Then hurry up and do it,” she ordered. “It’s nearly time for my medicine.”
The clerk hurried to her side with the Bible. “Raise your right hand…”
After Aunt Hetty had been sworn in, she immediately restated her earlier contention.
“You’re here to answer questions, not give your personal opinion,” the judge said.
“That’s not my personal opinion,” Aunt Hetty argued. “That’s the gospel truth.”
Aunt Hetty spent more time arguing with the judge than she spent answering questions. Apparently thinking she was doing his client more harm than good, Garrett’s attorney quickly dismissed her.
That night, Maggie sat with Rikker in the hotel dining room. It was their custom to go over every bit of testimony at the end of each day.
“I give up,” he said in answer to her question. “Why would Cotton pay Linc to lie on the witness stand?”
Maggie set her fork down and reached for the napkin on her lap. Her run-in with Aunt Hetty had bothered her more than she cared to admit, and she’d thought about it ever since. Was she a hundred percent certain of Garrett’s guilt? Not by a long shot.
“You’re not helping,” she said.
“And you’re letting your feelings color your judgment.”
She dabbed her mouth. “If that’s true, I’m only doing what you taught me to do.”
“Me?”
“Do you remember when we were shadowing Jason Wells?” Wells was suspected of being the notorious Black Hooded bank robber. “Everything indicated he was about to rob the St. Louis Bank.”
“I remember. We had all our men in place to nab him when he did, but you were certain it was a trick.”
She nodded. Finding that map in his hotel room had seemed a tad too convenient. “When I came to you with my concerns, do you remember what you said?” He shrugged, and she continued. “You said, ‘follow your instincts.’”
“Which was probably the last time you took my advice,” he said.
That wasn’t true, but she let the comment pass. “Because of your good counsel, we caught him trying to rob a bank in the next town.”
He pushed his plate away. “All right, you made your point. What’s on your mind? And it better not involve my wearing a dress.”
She laughed. Rikker still hadn’t recovered from having to disguise himself as a woman to infiltrate a group of female outlaws.
She leaned forward. “I need to see Garrett. I want to talk to him.”
“Then talk to him.”
“I can’t. The sheriff won’t allow visitors.” Summerhay was up for reelection and wasn’t happy that two Pinkerton detectives—one a woman and the other a man in his fifties—were credited with solving the Whistle-Stop train robbery.
“Only his lawyer can see him.”
“So what do you plan to do? Disguise yourself as one of his legal mouthpieces?”
“Not exactly.”
Rikker mopped the last of the gravy up with a piece of bread. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to break into the jailhouse.”
“Not me. You.”
He groaned. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“It won’t be that hard. And just think, you won’t even have to wear a dress.”
Chapter 33
It was almost midnight when Maggie and Rikker walked from the hotel to the sheriff’s office. The saloons were in full swing on what the locals called Likker Row. The screech of fiddles kept up a steady whine in the distance, but the main part of town was quiet.
A silent prayer fell from her lips. Even if Rikker managed to break in, there was no guarantee that Garrett would have anything to do with her.
Directly overhead, the crescent moon seemed to mock them with its yellow smile. A laughing moon Elise called it, and the memory made Maggie ache. How she missed those little pumpkins.
“Shh.” Rikker paused in front of the door of the sheriff’s office and pressed his finger to his mouth. “I hear something.”
Maggie heard it, too. It sounded like a whole army of horses, all heading their way.
“Hurry!”
Rikker reached into his pocket for a piece of wire. “I am hurrying.”
The sound of hooves grew louder, and Maggie glanced up the street. The horsemen were now in view.
She tugged on Rikker’s sleeve. “We better hide.”
Together they dashed to the alley at the side of the building. Thinking the horsemen would continue down the street to Likker Row, Maggie was surpr
ised when they stopped in front of the sheriff’s office. She peered around the corner. The riders dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post then stormed up the porch steps. There were five men in all.
“Looks like a lynch mob,” Rikker whispered.
Icy fear twisted her heart, and she reached for her weapon. “What do we do? There’re only two of us.”
“On the outside chance they can count, we better keep that information to ourselves.”
“They’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Rikker shrugged. “I’ve got a plan.”
“It doesn’t involve fire, does it?” Last year in Alabama, when she and Rikker were held captive by a couple of outlaws, he’d started a blaze in hopes of creating a diversion. It turned into a three-alarm fire, and they barely escaped with their lives.
“Don’t worry. I’m all out of matches.” Rikker pulled a knife from his boot. “Keep me covered.” Bent low, he moved stealthily toward the horses.
Gun in hand, Maggie cast a quick glance around the corner. The men crowding around the door were arguing among themselves and didn’t appear to notice Rikker cutting their mounts loose.
She recognized the brown and white horse and frowned. Unless she was mistaken, that was Cotton’s horse.
She chanced another peek at the knot of men, but it was too dark to pick out any one individual. If she was right about Cotton, that opened up a whole lot of new questions. He missed no chance to blame Garrett for his sister’s death, but why take the law into his own hands? The chance of jurors ruling in Garrett’s favor were slim if not altogether zero. That meant Garrett would face the gallows without any help from Cotton or anyone else. So why bother with a lynch party? Or bribing Linc to lie? It made no sense.
Rikker straightened and slapped a brown gelding on the rump. He then took cover behind a barrel. The horse let out a loud whinny and galloped away. One of the men yelled, but this only spooked the animals more. With a flip of their tails, the rest of the horses raced away, their pounding hooves churning up dust.
The men jumped off the porch and ran down the street shouting and cursing and waving their arms.
Maggie slumped against the building with a sigh. She shuddered to think what might have happened to Garrett had she and Rikker not been there to stop them.
“Psst.” Rikker motioned to her. “Hurry, before they come back!”
Maggie slipped her weapon into her leg holster and joined him in front of the sheriff’s office.
Rikker greeted her with a chuckle. “Our friends did us a favor.” He pushed the door open with the tip of a single finger and waved his arm in a gentlemanly manner. “After you.”
It was dark inside the sheriff’s office and it took a moment for Maggie’s eyes to adjust. “Garrett?”
A movement in back made her hesitate.
“Maggie?” A short silence followed before he spoke again, this time in a cold, hard voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Talk to him,” Rikker said, nudging her forward with a hand to her back. “I’ll stand guard.”
She moved through the dark office until she reached the steel bars of Garrett’s cell. A strong whiff of alcohol floated from the cell next to his, along with loud snores.
A scraping sound preceded the flare of a match, and Garrett bent to light a candle in a candlestick holder on the cell floor. The wick flickered into a steady flame, spreading a circle of light around them.
He frowned in cold fury. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk.” She hoped her low, unsteady voice could be heard over the loud thumps of her fast-beating heart.
“I have nothing to say to you.” His gaze bored into her like a dagger. “I want you gone.”
After all that had happened, including her testimony in court, his anger was no more than she deserved, but it hurt. It hurt a lot.
“I’ll go,” she whispered. “But not till you hear what I have to say.” She tightened her hold to steady herself. “I want to help.”
“Help?” His cruel laugh slashed through her. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.”
“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.” Once a person was unfortunate enough to land in Pinkerton’s orbit, there was no escaping him or his detectives. The agency never slept, and neither did it give up.
“I wish to God it had been someone else,” he said. “Maybe then it wouldn’t—” She heard his intake of breath.
She pulled away from the steel door and curled her hands into fists. If she had any chance of saving him, she must put her personal feelings aside. But it was hard—harder than anything she’d ever done.
“Let me help you. If you’re innocent—”
“If?”
“It looks bad, Garrett.” Her voice broke. “Real bad.”
He stared at her, his eyes too dark to read. “Then why bother? You got what you came for. Your job is done.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Rikker’s large form outlined in the doorway renewed her courage. Turning back, she lowered her voice. “I care because—” I love you. Startled by the thought that so easily came to mind, she hesitated. She couldn’t say that; shouldn’t even be thinking it. Aloud she said, “The children—”
“The children?” he said with a note of sarcasm. “You weren’t thinking of them when you wormed your way into my household under false pretenses!”
“I know you’re angry—”
“Angry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. You wore my ring. You wrote me letters. You…” His voice shook with rage. “How can I believe anything you say?”
She swallowed, but the lump in her throat refused to budge. If only she could touch him, maybe he’d know she spoke the truth when she said she cared. But even as she longed for these things, something snapped inside.
“You want to know the truth?” This time she didn’t care who she woke. “I’ll tell you the truth. The day I found the money I planned on leaving town. I told Rikker I couldn’t do it anymore. I could no longer lie to you.”
“But you did lie!” he retorted. “Not only to me but to everyone.”
She reached her hand through the bars touching him briefly on the arm. “Please, Garrett. Your children need you.” When he made no response she continued. “You say you’re innocent.”
“I am innocent.”
She withdrew her hand. “If that’s true, let me help you. I’m good at what I do. And Rikker—Detective Greenwood—is the best. If you really are innocent, you’ll let us help you.”
“Help me how?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way.” And that meant having to think and act like a detective.
Training and experience had taught her the art of interrogation. Ninety percent of the time people will answer a direct question; not always truthfully, of course, but sometimes even a lie was revealing.
“First you have to tell me.” It wasn’t good enough to hear him declare his innocence; she needed it spelled out in clear and precise language. “Did you do the things they say?”
How could she in good conscience ask Rikker to put his career on the line if there was so much as a shadow of doubt that Garrett was guilty?
“Did you rob that train?”
“No!”
Encouraged by his quick, emphatic reply, she asked the next question. “Did you kill the guard?”
He thrust his hands through the bars and grabbed her around the waist. Barely able to control her gasp of surprise, she started to protest, but the words stuck in her throat. As if taking her silence for consent, he yanked her closer.
“Do you really think I did those things?”
His ragged, hot breath on her cheek made her tremble—not from fear, but from the overwhelming nearness of him. For a moment she didn’t answer, but neither did she pull from his embrace.
“Do you?” he demanded with a gentle shake.
“No,” she said. “I don’t!”
Hi
s arms around her made it hard to breathe, let alone think, but she knew the moment the words left her mouth that she spoke the truth.
She longed to push away the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. Smooth away the frown. Touch his mouth with her fingers if not her lips. But something held her back. Perhaps it was pride. Maybe it was shame for the way she’d tricked him. Or simply fear of rejection.
His face blazed with sudden emotion, and with a groan, he let her go.
Her senses whirled and her mind went blank.
Rikker’s voice cut through the silence. “Everything all right back there?”
Reality hit her with a thud. “Yes,” she called over her shoulder and took a step away from the cell. She tried putting her thoughts in order as she had been trained to do.
“The train robbery occurred more than two years ago. In January. I have to ask, Garrett. Where were you on that day?”
“That’s a long time ago. How can I remember?”
“It was a Sunday.”
“The shop’s closed on Sunday, so I guess I was home.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I don’t know. Katherine—” He hesitated. “She always took the children to church and—” He stopped and combed his fingers through his hair. “No, I can’t prove it. I guess this is my punishment for refusing to attend church.”
“God doesn’t work that way,” she said. Silence stretched between them for a moment before she asked the next question. “How do you think the money got into the tree house?”
“Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that question a dozen times since my arrest?”
“This isn’t helping. I need you to think!”
“Anyone could have put it there,” he retorted.
“Shh,” Rikker cautioned from the doorway. “You’ll wake the dead.”
She glanced at the cell next to Garrett’s, but the loud snores confirmed that the drunk was still in a stupor.
“The children said the money was yours. Why would they say that?”
“They think everything at the house that’s not theirs is mine.”
That made sense, so she moved to the next question. “When’s the last time you were in the tree house?”
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