by Kit Morgan
“Are you tired?” Fletcher asked her.
“Yes, I admit I am.” She looked at him and gazed into his mesmerizing eyes. Their gray depths made her feel better. What was it about this man that so comforted her?
He scooted his chair back and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let Betsy know you’re ready to retire.”
She smiled, nodded and watched him head into the kitchen. For a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine him as her husband, the Vanders her family, this house her home. It was heavenly … but impossible. True, she was innocent and everyone at the table (at least so far) believed her to be. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in the middle of what could only be called a scandal. And what man in his right mind got involved with someone embroiled in such a thing? No one.
With a sigh, Sophie picked up her spoon and started on her pudding.
Chapter 6
The next day Sophie awoke to the sound of Betsy knocking on her door. “Rise and shine, Miss Baxter,” she said as she entered and approached the bed with a tray in her hand. She set it on the bedside table and proceeded to pour a cup of coffee. “Do you use cream and sugar?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sophie pushed the covers back and sat up. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Ain’t no trouble for a guest in this house. If Fletcher was here, I’d be doing the same.”
She watched the maid mix the cup. “You’ve known Mr. Vander all his life, haven’t you?”
“Sure have. That boy was a monster when he was little.”
Sophie tried not to giggle as she took the cup and saucer from her. “Surely he wasn’t that bad.” She took a sip and let the hot brew trickle down her throat. It was delicious.
“Oh, he was – worse than his father, and his father was naughty indeed.”
Now Sophie did giggle. “Do you always disclose so much about your employers?”
“Employers? Honey, I’ve been part of this family for ages. Wouldn’t trade them for the world. It saddens me that Horace and Mercy are getting on in years, but then so are Cecil and I. True, we’re a little younger than them, but we feel our age coming up those stairs.”
“We all get older, don’t we?” she asked absently. One of her last thoughts before falling asleep last night was about growing old … with someone like Fletcher Vander, for example.
“If we’re lucky, we do. Eventually Cecil and I’ll likely be taking care of Mercy and Horace. Of course, you never know – maybe they’ll be taking care of Cecil and me.” She pulled a lid off a plate. “I’ve got your breakfast here if you’d like it.”
Sophie took one look at the eggs, bacon and potatoes and began to salivate. “Oh, Betsy, that smells wonderful.”
“Cecil whipped this up. Though I taught him everything he knows.”
“You two make quite a team,” Sophie commented as she took the tray. “I hope I can meet someone that makes me as happy.”
Betsy smiled at her. “Cecil and I are happy. That story Mr. Garrett told you last night about Cecil being unjustly accused? Well, I’m happy he got framed – if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be married.”
“Sounds like it worked out for good.” She took a bite of eggs. Mmmm, they were wonderful!
“Exactly. Which is why you needn’t worry about this whole nasty business. Fletcher will take care of you. He’s a good man, forthright. And once he sets to work on something, he doesn’t stop until it’s done.”
Sophie stopped chewing and noticed the admiration in her eyes. She swallowed her food and smiled. “You believe in him.”
“Of course I do. Oh, he messes up like everybody else, but in the end he gets the job done. Don’t you worry – just let him work and he’ll get you out of this.”
“The way everyone talks, I feel as if I have nothing to worry about – at least about being framed for a murder I didn’t commit. On the other hand, I have a lot of other things that worry me.”
“Like what?”
Sophie poked at the potatoes. “I planned on getting married yesterday afternoon, not spending it in jail.” She looked up at her. “I have no money, and few possessions. What am I going to do when all this is over?”
Betsy’s brows knit as she sighed. “Best we all start praying the good Lord opens a few doors for you. That, and tell Martha Tindle down at the mercantile – then it’ll be all over town that you need a job. Someone should catch wind and hire you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’m embarrassed enough as it is over my situation.”
“Embarrassed? Why, you wouldn’t be the first mail-order bride to show up here, lose a husband and find work within a day or two.”
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
“Oh, honey, I have stories! But you and Fletcher have a murder to solve. Best eat up – snooping takes a lot of energy.” She headed for the door. “I ought to know!”
Sophie laughed as Betsy left, closing the door behind her, then went back to work on the eggs. Maybe Cecil could give her some cooking lessons while she was there. Not that she was a bad cook, but she couldn’t prepare eggs nearly as well as him. What would it have been like to cook for Jasper Munson if he’d lived? She shook her head and attacked the potatoes.
When she finished, she got out of bed, washed, got dressed, fixed her hair and went downstairs. She didn’t own many clothes, just a traveling dress, a day dress and her Sunday best. The day dress was becoming careworn, and her Sunday best wasn’t much better, so the traveling dress would have to do for today.
If she found a job right away she might be able to save up money for a new day dress, she thought as she left the room and went downstairs. She’d have to think about how to broach the subject of finding employment while helping Fletcher look for clues. (She felt odd about thinking of him by his Christian name, but with three Mr. Vanders to contend with, she had little choice.)
Truth be told, she was still frightened about the search. What if the murderer was still in Independence? What if while they were looking, he jumped out from some dark alley and stabbed them both? She’d read about the Whitechapel murders in London and that madman Holmes in Chicago, and what was that about the old couple who’d been killed with a hatchet in Massachusetts? That killer was still on the loose – the police had tried to pin it on the couple’s daughter, but a jury had found her innocent. Could the real villain have come to Oregon to continue their reign of terror …
“Good morning.”
Sophie yelped in surprise, jumped and spun around.
“There now, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Fletcher said as he put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit excitable.”
He smiled gently as he gazed into her eyes. “Understandable, considering the circumstances. Did you sleep well?”
She gazed back. That familiar sense of comfort, of knowing everything would turn out all right, crept back into her bones as she kept her eyes on his. “Yes, thank you. You?”
“I always sleep like a baby when I’m home. Independence is quiet at night – one of the things I love about this place.”
“It wasn’t very quiet in Portland? Isn’t that where you came from?” Her eyes were still locked with his. She hoped he didn’t move and break the contact.
“I rented a room in a building on a busy street. I had an easy walk to work – my office was in the building opposite.”
She smiled. “That was convenient.”
“Very. But hardly peaceful.” He looked away for a moment and took a deep breath. When he looked back he asked, “Are you ready for this, Miss Baxter?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she said with a shrug, ignoring her disappointment at his glancing away. “Why?”
“We’re on the trail of a murderer. Who knows what we’ll find?” His eyes roamed her face.
It sent a tingle up her spine. “I know I’m safe with you.” Her eyes flashed as she realized she was thinking aloud. Oh heavens!
He watch
ed her a moment and smiled. “Yes, you are,” he said gently.
His soft tone made her melt. Oh heavens, indeed. Why was he affecting her like this? She smiled shyly. “Shall we go?”
He offered her his arm. “By all means.”
She took it and together they left the house.
Betsy and her employer Mercy Vander watched them go from the parlor. “Mm-hmm. That grandson of yours has a spark in his eye if I ever saw one.”
“Well, of course he does, Betsy. Anyone can see it.”
Betsy looked suspicious. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you and Mr. Vander were setting those two up.”
“Up for what?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Mrs. Vander. I know the two of you would like nothing better than to see him married.”
Mercy patted her white hair and nervously fiddled with some flowers in a vase. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mm-hmm. I just bet you don’t.”
“But Fletcher, Sheriff Diamond already searched Mr. Munson’s room,” Mrs. Bee said with dismay. “I wanted to straighten it up and get it ready to rent out.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Bee, but it’s imperative that I examine the space for more evidence. Sheriff Diamond should be along any moment to assist me.”
Mrs. Bee, a thin, elderly spinster with silver hair piled on top of her head, sighed in resignation. “Oh very well. I suppose the two of you would like a cup of tea?”
“Again, I’m sorry,” Fletcher said. “We won’t be long. But yes, tea would be lovely.”
Mrs. Bee shook her head and frowned. “I’m sorry too, Fletcher – I’m being rude.” She glanced at Sophie. “You’re not catching me at my best – I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. I’m just tired.”
“Are you not feeling well?” Sophie asked.
“I’m fit as a fiddle otherwise.” She glanced up the staircase, then looked around to ensure they were alone. “Some of my boarders snore something awful. I have several different barbed wire salesmen that come through on a regular basis and sometimes rent the room next to mine. Thank goodness they don’t come all at once or I’d never get any sleep!”
Sophie and Fletcher exchanged the same look of amusement. “Yes, that’s a tough one,” Fletcher agreed. “How long do they each usually stay with you?”
“It varies,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “The loudest one usually gets the room at the end of the hall. At least when he’s down there it’s just a low rumble. Next to my room, it’s an outright squall. Like last night.”
“Does he come to town often?” Sophie asked.
“Often enough – these salesman have their routes, you know. Mr. Cord – he’s the loud one – comes through a few times a year, is here for up to a week selling his wares, then moves on. This time though, he was here a lot sooner than normal – must’ve changed his route.”
Fletcher nodded and was about to comment when Sheriff Diamond came through the front door. “Morning, Fletcher, Miss Baxter, Mrs. Bee.” He looked at the latter. “I’m sure Fletcher has explained to you why we’re here.”
“Yes, and I’ve explained to him that I’d like to clean that room and get it ready for another boarder. I’m full up, Sheriff.”
Jace smiled in understanding. “We’ll be as thorough as we can, then let you to it.”
“Much obliged. Coffee?”
“Of course,” he said. “You make it just the way I like it, Mrs. Bee.”
She blushed and headed for her kitchen.
Fletcher stared after her. “We got a grumpy offer of tea – you get coffee and a smile.”
“It’s the star, Fletch.” He gave his sheriff’s badge a little rub with the back of his fingers. “Shall we head upstairs?”
Fletcher glanced at Sophie, rolled his eyes, then took her hand and followed Jace to the second floor.
Sophie tried not to giggle. This was serious business, but the more time she spent with Fletcher, the more at ease she felt. If this kept up, it would be hard to concentrate on anything else. She’d have to remind herself of that. She had more important matters to think about than a handsome man with mesmerizing gray eyes. And he was handsome, spectacles and all.
She swallowed hard and let him lead her down the hall to Jasper Munson’s former room – the room Mrs. Bee’s noisy patron Mr. Cord usually occupied, she surmised. Mrs. Bee hadn’t bothered to lock it, so Sheriff Diamond simply walked in. “Where did you find the letters?” she asked, her heart fluttering as she noticed Fletcher was still holding her hand.
“Mr. Smythe said he found them on the dresser.”
“In a neat little bundle wrapped up with string,” Fletcher added, tapping his thigh. He let go of her hand and went to the dresser, and Sophie unconsciously held it to her chest, as if it were some treasured possession. Her heart was beating faster than normal, and she tried to keep her breathing even.
“Jasper didn’t seem the type keep things neat and tidy,” the sheriff commented. He stood, hands on his hips, and surveyed the room. “You do realize I checked everything myself once already, don’t you?”
“So you’ve told me,” Fletcher said as his eyes wandered the room. “But sometimes a person can miss things – even an ex-Texas Ranger.”
The sheriff smirked. “Thanks a lot, pal.”
“No offense intended.” Fletcher smiled back.
Sophie enjoyed their banter, having noticed it the day before. They must’ve known each other for a long time. “Did he leave any belongings?”
“He didn’t have much,” the sheriff said. “Extra pair of denims, an extra shirt, some shaving things. Half of what he owned he was wearing when he died.”
“Did you check under the mattress?” Sophie asked, feeling a little silly. “They do in novels.”
“This is not a novel, Miss Baxter,” the sheriff reminded her. “However …” He exchanged a quick look with Fletcher, went to the bed, flipped back the coverlet and started to check under the mattress.
Sophie put a hand to her mouth to suppress a smile and gave Fletcher a look of amusement. He smiled back and bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.
“Nothing.” He straightened. “Satisfied?”
“Perfectly,” she said, and coughed into her hand.
They heard footsteps coming down the hall. Mrs. Bee entered with a tray laden with cups, saucers and a coffee pot, and set it on the dresser. “I hope you all like coffee. I didn’t see the point in making tea as well.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bee,” the sheriff said with a bright smile. “Coffee all around is fine.”
Mrs. Bee ignored him, shook her head in disgust and made a beeline for the bed. “Who messed this up? Now I’m going to have to make it up again!”
The sheriff raised a hand. “That would be me. I had to check under the mattress.” He glanced Sophie’s way.
“Well, there’s nothing under there now. I’ve a right mind to have you remake it, Sheriff.”
The sheriff started to smile, then froze. “What do you mean, nothing under there now?”
“Mr. Munson had a newspaper under it. Thought it kind of odd, but he was a lazy sort. Probably too much trouble for him to get up and put it on the dresser when he turned in, so he stuffed it under the mattress. He wouldn’t be the first to do that. I don’t always check when I remake the beds, but happened to notice it poking out the other day.”
“Do you still have it?” the sheriff asked.
“It’s downstairs in the kitchen. I was going to use it to start my morning fires in the cook stove.”
“Is it the Independence Gazette?” Fletcher asked.
“No, it’s a Portland paper.”
“Would you mind fetching it for us?” Fletcher asked.
“Not at all.” She turned to leave.
“I’ll come with you,” Sophie said. “I can bring it back upstairs so you don’t have to.”
“Thank you, dear – that’s mighty kind of you,” Mrs. Bee said over her shoulder
and continued on.
Sophie caught the suspicious gleam in the sheriff’s eyes as she followed. “Would you like to come?”
“Mmm, no.” But he studied her closely.
She nodded, her good mood suddenly quashed. “From the look on your face, Sheriff, I thought perhaps you didn’t trust me.”
“Jace doesn’t trust anybody,” Fletcher said. “Part of the job. But to make him feel better, I’ll go with you.” He tossed the sheriff a wink, took Sophie’s elbow and ushered her out.
Downstairs, Mrs. Bee pulled a folded paper out of her kindling box next to the stove. “Here you are. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like it back when you’re done. Saves me having to buy a copy of the Gazette.”
Fletcher smiled. “Not a fan of the local paper, Mrs. Bee?”
“Hardly. Perhaps one day that silly Tindle boy will write something worth reading.”
“Don’t the Tindles own the mercantile?” Sophie asked.
“His parents and grandparents do,” Fletcher informed her. “Morgan’s son Chance, however, didn’t want to go into commerce, and has always been fascinated with the written word.” Fletcher took the paper from Mrs. Bee, unfolded it and looked at the front page. “Odd – this paper’s over a month old.”
“I told you, I don’t always check under the mattresses,” Mrs. Bee said defensively. “I just noticed this a few days ago.”
“I didn’t mean to impugn your thoroughness in cleaning, Mrs. Bee. But I am curious as to why Jasper was reading such an old paper … especially since he couldn’t read. How long did he have that room?”
Mrs. Bee thought a moment. “Maybe six weeks? At first he was in the room next to mine, but he complained it was too small. When the bigger one at the end of the hall became available, he took it. Said he needed some room at night so he could walk around – man used to pace something awful. No wonder he was too lazy to do anything else after supper.”
“Did he pace around in his room every night?” Sophie asked.
“Not every night. He didn’t do it much when he was next door to me, or I’d have heard it. Then again, that room isn’t much bigger than a closet.”
