by Kit Morgan
“Was he a nervous man?” Fletcher asked.
“Not until the last couple weeks.”
Fletcher stared into space, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sophie watched him, fascinated. His gray eyes darkened as his mind worked, the determination in them hard to miss. Finally he looked at her. “We’d best get back upstairs.”
She nodded and followed him out of the kitchen. “What is it?” she asked when they reached the staircase. “What are you thinking?”
He stopped and turned to her. “Why would a man who can’t read have a newspaper stuffed under his mattress?”
“Couldn’t it have been left there by another boarder?”
“Maybe, but from the date on the paper, it was published while Jasper had the room. That means he must have had a visitor. The question is, who?”
Chapter 7
To solve the mystery of the newspaper, Fletcher, Sophie and Jace decided to nose around and see what they could find. They also decided to split up to cover more ground – Fletcher and Sophie would talk to folks in town, while Jace rode to the nearby farms and ranches. After all, as the town blacksmith, most people would’ve crossed paths with Jasper at some point in the last few months. Someone had to know something.
It amazed them that Mrs. Bee was uncertain if he’d had any visitors or not. Then again, the woman wasn’t at the boarding house all the time – Jasper’s mysterious guest could have shown up while she was out shopping or attending the ladies’ quilting bee, or after she’d gone to bed. Who knew?
Fletcher and Sophie thought the best place to start would be with the elder Mrs. Tindle. There were two, and Daisy, the younger, wasn’t one to gossip, but Fletcher knew Martha was a wellspring of information.
Actually, more like a geyser. “… I don’t know what folks will do now that Jasper’s gone on to glory. At least I hope that’s where he went. Morgan took the horses to him a few times, but like most folks, he just dropped them off and picked them up later in the day. No time for small talk when you run a mercantile, you know. We are very busy these days – why, even my husband’s had to come out of our semi-retirement to help the younguns out …”
Fletcher and Sophie could only stare. The woman had been talking nonstop since they walked through the door, and it was hard to get a word in edgewise. Fletcher finally saw a chance and jumped in. “What about strangers in town? Did you happen to notice any over the last few weeks?”
“Of course – when I’m not stuck in the back taking inventory or knitting something for my future great-grandchildren. If I live long enough to be blessed with any …”
“Patience, Mother,” her son Morgan replied. He’d had his back to them while stocking shelves behind the counter, but now he turned. “Our middle son hasn’t come back from college yet and our daughter is too young to marry. Chance, as you know, is too busy running the Gazette to look for a wife – not that there are any women around here for him to marry.”
Sophie smiled. “Mr. Vander was telling me about you and his father and someone named Julian, that the three of you grew up together?”
“They’re still close,” Martha said with a snort. “And still getting themselves in a heap of trouble if you let them. Now, back to your question about strangers. There’ve been a few come through here over the last month or so. I remember one in particular – older fella, gray hair, dark eyes. The others were a family passing through.”
Fletcher reached into his pocket, pulled out a small notebook and pencil and scribbled a few things down. “Do you remember anything else about the older man?”
“Hmmm, let me think … Morgan, do you remember? He came in here and purchased some candy and rope, as I recall.”
“Mother, I haven’t your unique talent for extracting information from every stranger that comes into the store. Surely you can remember what you managed to wheedle out of him.”
“I know I should,” she said, tapping her temple with her finger. “But my memory isn’t what it used to be. Consarnit, I do seem to be losing details.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Tindle,” Fletcher said. “You’re the first people we’ve spoken with. We’ll make our way down the street and talk to as many as we can. I’m sure someone else saw him.”
“Check the café and Professor Hamilton’s bookshop,” Morgan suggested. “I remember seeing him too, but I didn’t wait on him. However, I remember seeing him loitering in front of the bookshop later in the day. Maybe he went inside for a while.”
“Thank you, Morgan,” Fletcher said. “We’ll speak with the Professor next. Give my best to Daisy, will you?”
“She’ll be back later – she’s at the planning meeting for the Fourth of July celebration. You’re staying for that, aren’t you?”
“I plan to.” He offered Sophie his arm and looked into her eyes. “The Fourth of July is a big deal around here – we have fireworks and everything. You’ll love it.”
“Oh you poor dear,” Martha said, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten you were Jasper’s mail-order bride. What a shock.”
Sophie smiled weakly. “That hasn’t been the only shock I’ve endured since I’ve been here. But I’ll survive.”
“At least you didn’t know him,” Martha pointed out. “Would’ve been far worse if you’d gotten yourself hitched, and then he, well … I can’t say it.”
Fletcher patted Sophie’s hand as he looked at Mrs. Tindle. “It’s a terrible thing, to be sure. Thank you for the information – you’ve been most helpful.” He turned to Morgan with a nod.
Morgan returned the gesture. “Fletcher, Miss Baxter.”
Fletcher steered Sophie to the door, then stopped. “Do you need anything?”
She blinked a few times. She hadn’t expected him to ask such a question. “What do you mean?” Then, what else could he mean asking such a question in a mercantile? Of course she needed a few things, but how could she afford them?
He released her arm and faced her. “Do you need a few things while we’re here?” he clarified.
The look of concern in his eyes was hard to miss. What could she say? She opted for shaking her head.
“Sophie.” His voice was soft and gentle, and she was stunned to hear him using her Christian name. “I know you don’t have any money. I also know you didn’t bring much with you. I’d like to purchase you a few necessities, whatever you need.”
“Oh no,” she said with a little shake of her head. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Yes, you can. And I want to, I really do. You’ve been through enough without worrying about not having any tooth powder.”
He had her there. She did need tooth powder, among many other things. “Fletcher … I mean, Mr. Vander …”
“Fletcher will do.”
She stared into his eyes, so full of concern, and felt something deep inside her melt.
He put a hand at the small of her back and turned her toward the counter. “While we’re here,” he told Morgan and his mother, “Miss Baxter would like to get a few things. This way she can save herself a stop.”
“Oh, of course,” said Martha. “Tell me, dear, what do you need?”
She gave Fletcher a pleading look, as if to say, no, don’t make me do this. They’ll know I have no money. This is so improper!
But Fletcher wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He sauntered up to the counter, Sophie at his side, and leaned against it. “Miss Baxter will give you her list while I pop next door and talk with the folks at the café. By the time I come back, you should be done.” He smiled at Sophie, gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and walked out the door.
She stared after him, realizing she’d either have to follow him, which at this point would be rude, or stare at the man and woman behind the counter like a blithering idiot.
“Well?” Martha asked. “What can I get for you?”
With a sigh of defeat, Sophie turned to her. “Tooth powder – definitely tooth powder. I could use some hairpins too …”
&nbs
p; By the time Fletcher came back, Martha had a neat little pile of goods wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, awaiting payment. Under her urging, Sophie now had tooth powder, a toothbrush, hairpins, hair ribbons, some scented soap for bathing, a small sewing kit, two pairs of socks, some slippery elm tablets and what felt like a permanent case of mortification. Sophie had no idea how she could repay Mr. Va … well, perhaps she should get used to calling him “Fletcher.”
Fletcher showed no concern about repayment, however. He marched right up to the counter, pulled out a billfold and handed Martha some money. Sophie blanched – he didn’t even ask how much it was!
Martha brought him his change and smiled. “I hope you had better luck at the café.”
“I’m afraid not. Miss Baxter and I will speak with Professor Hamilton next. Would you mind if we left these things here? After we speak with the Professor, she and I can have lunch, pick them up, then I’ll escort her back to my grandparents’ house.”
Martha’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “You’re not staying at the boarding house, dear?”
Fletcher exchanged a quick look with Morgan. What that was about, Sophie wondered, then remembered Martha’s reputation for gossip and swallowed hard. Oh no …
“It’s much safer for Miss Baxter to stay at my grandparents’,” Fletcher explained. “You must remember, Mrs. Tindle, Jasper was murdered in cold blood in broad daylight. We don’t know if the murderer is a threat to Miss Baxter or not, but he’s quite bold. If he’s still in the vicinity, he might try something.”
Martha gasped in shock and turned to her son. “Morgan! Is this true?”
“It’s common sense, Mother. I told you Jasper was stabbed on the train platform. Whoever did it probably stuck poor Jasper as everyone was getting off the train. I heard the platform was crowded that day – isn’t that right Miss Baxter?”
Sophie’s stomach clenched at the morbid subject, but what could she do? “Yes, quite. Mrs. Johnson and I were some of the last people to get off the train. By the time we did, a crowd had gathered at the other end of the platform.”
“Broad daylight,” Martha said with a frown. “How does a man kill another man in broad daylight and just disappear?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Fletcher said. “Among other things. We’ll be back soon.” Without another word, he took Sophie’s arm, wrapped it through his and left the mercantile.
A few doors down was the bookshop. An old man with wispy white hair was sitting on a bench out front, smoking a pipe. “Hello, Professor,” Fletcher said with a smile.
The old man peered up at him, his blue eyes bright. “Well, well, well – if it isn’t young Fletcher Vander! I heard you were back in town. Here to solve a murder, are you?”
“That’s not what brought me to town, but that’s what’s keeping me here.” Fletcher put a hand over Sophie’s. “Miss Baxter and I have come to ask you a few questions.”
“About the case?” the professor asked hopefully. “Nothing like a little mystery and adventure. Though I’d rather it not be in so gruesome a form,” he tacked on.
“As would the rest of us,” Fletcher replied. “Mrs. Tindle told us a stranger was in town a few weeks back – an older fellow with gray hair and dark eyes. Did you see anyone like that over the last few weeks?”
“I seem to recall a gentleman fitting that description. Never came into my bookshop, but he sat right here on this bench for a while. I invited him in, but he wasn’t interested, even though he looked the bookish type.”
“What do you mean, the bookish type?” Sophie asked. Questioning him took her mind off Fletcher’s generosity, even though he was probably just being gentlemanly. It still didn’t feel right.
“He sat here for the longest time, scribbling in a notebook,” the professor explained. “Like the one you always carry, Fletch.” Sophie smiled unconsciously at the old man’s use of the nickname. Maybe everyone in town used it, not just close friends and family. She liked it.
“Hmmm … I wonder what that was about,” Fletcher mused. “Did you happen to see him around town on any other occasion?”
“Sure did. I saw him and Jasper Munson having breakfast in the café.”
“You did? I was just at the café, but Darcy couldn’t remember seeing anyone that fit his description.”
“Maybe Darcy wasn’t there that day – she only works part-time. And poor old Clara’s eyesight is so bad, she shouldn’t work anymore. She up and married a year ago, but she likes to keep her hand in.”
“She got married? Strange Darcy didn’t mention that.” He turned to Sophie. “Clara’s worked at the café for as long as I can remember.”
“Since before you were born,” the professor added. “As to Darcy, it’s nearly lunchtime, so the poor thing’s too busy to think about anything but getting ready for the rush.”
Fletcher sighed. “Darcy Templeton isn’t much older than Morgan’s daughter,” he told Sophie. “She and her family have a farm about a mile out of town.”
Sophie wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain all that, but it did make her feel like she was a part of things. “Why does she work at the café? I thought farms required all the hands they could get.”
“Normally that would be true. But Jess and Sarah Templeton have seven children. Trust me, they have enough hands. It’s cash they need, so Darcy’s helping with that.”
She smiled as she remembered his mentioning something about his father wanting ten little ones, but only got five, Fletcher being the oldest. She hadn’t met the others yet – his two younger brothers and a sister were off at college, and the other sister was spending a few weeks in Seattle with some relatives and wouldn’t be home until after the Fourth of July.
“You know, I’m no Pinkerton,” the Professor said. “But if it were me, I’d be inclined to search around the train station.”
“The sheriff already did and came up empty-handed,” Fletcher said.
Professor Hamilton chewed on the end of his pipe. “Mmm, just a thought. Sounds like you and the sheriff are handling things. Best of luck to you.”
“Thanks, Professor. I hope we aren’t going to need it.”
“This is a murder, son. Of course you’ll need it. Either the man who killed poor Jasper is incredibly stupid, or incredibly clever. You’d better watch your back.”
“I agree,” Fletcher said grimly. He turned to Sophie. “Let’s have some lunch.”
Despite his tone, her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn’t realized so much time had gone by.
They went next door to the café, found a table and sat. Sophie caught a glimpse of a petite dark-haired girl with cornflower-blue eyes flitting around like a bird. “That must be Darcy Templeton.”
“Yes, that’s little Darcy.”
“She doesn’t look little to me. She looks to be about seventeen or eighteen.”
“I suppose she is now,” Fletcher said. “How time flies. The roast beef sandwich here is excellent.”
Before he could say anything more, Darcy bounced to their table. “Fletch, you came back! But I still don’t know anything.”
Fletcher laughed. “I’m not here for information this time, Darcy. I’m here for lunch.”
She glanced at Sophie, then back to Fletcher. Her cheeks grew pink, and Sophie didn’t wonder if she had a crush on him. “Oh, I see. What can I get for you?”
Fletcher looked at Sophie and smiled. “Do you trust me?”
Yes! her heart shouted before she could speak. Good heavens, where did that come from? She took a fortifying breath. “Of course.”
He turned to Darcy. “We’ll each have the roast beef sandwich, iced tea, and apple pie with ice cream for dessert.”
Darcy scribbled the order down. Her eyes flicked between them one last time before she bounced off to the kitchen.
Fletcher watched her go. “She’s a good kid. Different, though.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know
– no one can really put a finger on it. She has a beautiful soprano voice. Sings in the church choir.”
“Do you attend church?” Sophie asked without thinking. In truth, she just wanted to keep him talking – she enjoyed the sound of his voice. She enjoyed the way he looked at her even more so.
He was giving her that look now. “Of course. The pastor here’s wonderful – I’ve missed his preaching since I’ve been away.”
“Did you like the church in Portland?”
“It was all right, but nothing like home. Pastor Adams is funny, for one, and he always seems to have good insights. Not sure how he’s doing putting up with my grandmother at the moment. Gran’s been heading up the Fourth of July celebration committee ever since I was born, and she can get up quite a head of steam. I’m surprised Martha wasn’t over there helping too – maybe she passed on the torch to Daisy.”
Sophie laughed. “It must have been nice to grow up here, seeing the same people all the time and everyone knowing you.”
Fletcher studied her a moment. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Where did you grow up, Sophie?”
He’d done it again – used her Christian name without thought. She swallowed hard, not sure of what to think. Technically it was improper, since they weren’t courting or anything. But times were changing, and things in the West were less formal. “I was born in New York state – a town called Westchester. But I’ve lived in Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Chicago and most recently Denver.”
He sat back in his chair as Darcy brought their iced tea. She set the glasses on the table without a word and flounced back to the kitchen. He smiled. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He laughed. “Don’t look so alarmed – it’s a perfectly innocent question. Especially as we’re having lunch together and I would like to know more about you.”
And they were trying to solve a murder case together. But maybe to him it didn’t make any difference. “My parents died when I was young, which is how I wound up in Philadelphia with an uncle. After he died I went to another set of relatives in Chicago, and after they died I went to yet another set in Denver.”
