by Kit Morgan
She blanched. “What?”
He nodded and went back to shuffling through the papers. “Her betrothed was stabbed on the station platform right before she got off the train.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “How horrible!”
He looked at her. “She wrote letters too. Only someone else wrote some back.”
Katie stood. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m saying there may be more to this case than I first thought. I never answered any advertisement for a mail-order bride. I’ve had no contact with any matchmakers. Which matchmaking service in Denver did you use?”
“The Pettigrew Bridal Agency.”
He sighed as his hands went to his hips. “I thought so.”
Katie’s heart beat faster. It was one thing to have to deal with a groom with cold feet, but this? “What’s going on?”
“You said you saw an application from me?”
“With my own eyes. All your information was on it. General, perhaps, but it was there.”
“Did it include a description of me?”
She looked him up and down. “More or less. You were a lawman, tall, dark hair …” Her eyes met his. “… I don’t remember an eye color mentioned.”
“Did it list what I was seeking?”
“A wife, what else?”
“What sort of wife?”
She shrugged and massaged her temple. This was giving her a headache. “Just the usual, I suppose – cooking, sewing, family …”
“Family?”
“Children.”
She caught a flash of something in his eyes. Did he want those things? When a man sends for a bride, he usually did. Only he hadn’t. “Miss Haverdash, I’m sorry you came all this way …”
She shut her eyes against the tears that threatened. “Not half as sorry as I am.”
“I’d like to see that application if you have it.”
She opened her eyes and a tear escaped. “I don’t have the application, only your letter.”
“May I see that?”
She wiped the tear away. “Certainly – it’s in my bag.” She went to her carpetbag, hefted it onto the chair and began to dig through it. She found the letter and handed it to him.
He took it, his eyes not leaving hers, and nodded before examining the letter. “This isn’t even close to my handwriting.”
“I would imagine not,” she said tersely. How could she help it at this point? She was angry, sad, disappointed. She thought something might happen to thwart her attempt at happiness and escape, but she didn’t expect this. Now what would she do? If she went back to Denver, her father would force her to marry to keep her under control – and most likely to Ronald Finch. She shuddered at the thought.
“I know you’re upset,” Sheriff Diamond said.
She looked at him and momentarily considered slapping his face. But this wasn’t his fault. Instead she turned away as fresh tears stung her eyes. What a disaster! What should she do?
A large hand squeezed her shoulder. “Miss Haverdash, I must ask you some questions. Are you up to it?”
She swallowed hard, wiped her eyes again and turned to face him. “Yes, of course.”
He smiled warmly, let go of her shoulder, went to the chair she’d occupied and brought it to the desk. “Please, have a seat.” He went around the desk to take his own seat. “Now, when did you first see this letter?”
“The end of June. My friend Beryl and I went to see Mrs. Pettigrew together.”
“Is this Beryl a mail-order bride too?”
“No, she and her family were in Denver on business. We always visit when they’re in town. It was her idea I do this.”
“I see.” He took out a notepad and pencil and jotted a few things down. “What is your friend’s last name?”
“Branson.” She leaned forward, curious as to what he was writing. “She and her family reside in Baltimore.”
He wrote that down too. “Why did she suggest you become a mail-order bride?”
Her heart sank. She didn’t want to get into the whole Ronald Finch ordeal. “I wanted to get married.” It wasn’t the best thing to say, but it was all she could think of.
His eyebrows rose. “I’d think there are plenty of men in Denver?”
She drew a shaky breath. “None to my liking.”
He tapped the pencil against the notepad a few times. “Mail-order brides,” he said with hesitation. “From what I know, women become one because there’s either no men around to marry, they’re financially destitute or, in some cases, on the run.”
She gasped. “Sheriff Diamond, I’ll have you know I’m none of those things.” Okay, the last one was close to the truth. But she’d convinced herself she genuinely wanted to marry a perfect stranger. Anyone was better than Ronald.
“Fine.” He jotted a few more notes. “But someone wrote the Pettigrew Bridal Agency in my name.”
“As a joke, perhaps?”
“I don’t think so.” He put the pad and pencil into his vest pocket. “I need to speak with Fletcher Vander. He’s a lawyer who helped me with the Jasper Munson murder. He also married the late Mr. Munson’s mail-order bride.”
She gasped and set her coffee on the desk. It was too hot to be drinking it. “Really?” For some reason the news made her feel better. If Sheriff Diamond wasn’t interested, perhaps some other man in Independence was. It sure beat going back to Denver.
“I realize this is a horrible imposition for you.”
She looked at him as her heart sank. He was so handsome, big and strong-looking. What a pity they weren’t on their way to see a preacher right now. “Indeed.”
“The best I can do is offer to pay for a hotel room and your train fare back to Denver –”
A chill went up her spine. “No.”
“I insist.”
She swallowed again. “No, Sheriff, that’s not …” She shook her head. This was turning into a nightmare. “I don’t want to go back.”
“All right. Then what do you propose to do?”
She turned away, not wanting him to see her cry but no longer able to stop the flood. She put her fist to her mouth and took a deep breath. “I have to think about this,” she sobbed.
“Of course you do.” He came around the desk to stand behind her. “I’m sorry, Miss Haverdash, I truly am. Do you have money?”
“Some.” But not much.
“My offer to put you up at the hotel still stands. At least let me pay for a few days – that should give you time to decide.”
She wanted to laugh in his face. Did he really think she could decide her future in a few days? But she’d have to if she wanted to survive. She could send a telegram to Beryl, have her secretly wire some money. She couldn’t let her family know – Father might send men to fetch her back to Denver. If he found out, she couldn’t stay in Independence – she’d have to run if she wanted to avoid marrying Ronald and being stuck in a comfortable, boring, purposeless, loveless life. She’d rather die than live like that.
“Miss Haverdash?”
She turned to face Mr. Diamond. “Where’s the hotel?”
“Main Street. I’ll walk you there.”
She nodded. What else could she do? At least he was willing to put her up for a few nights. She only had a little money because she wasn’t sure if her betrothed would want her when she showed up – she’d heard stories of that happening. But this was worse; he didn’t want her to begin with. It was nothing but a big fat mistake.
“Miss Haverdash, are you all right?”
She’d been staring into space like a dolt. “Of course not,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Let’s go.” He motioned toward the door.
He probably couldn’t wait to get rid of her – to him she was just an unexpected headache. But what was all this about a murder case and a mail-order bride? And why would she have anything to do with it? She stopped at the door and turned around. “Who would do this to you?”
He met her g
aze and his face softened. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” He nodded at the door. “I’ll get your bag.”
She’d forgotten all about her carpetbag. She was more upset than she thought. “Thank you.”
He grabbed it off the chair, went to the door and opened it. “After you.”
Katie stared at the boardwalk outside, the quaint town, the people going about their business. Stepping through that door meant the end of a dream, and her disappointment doubled. Sure, she thought , there could be a snag, but she never expected this. Worse, she was too upset to think straight, trying to hold herself together long enough to make it to the hotel for a really good cry. But she’d have to.
She took a deep breath, left the sheriff’s office … then turned right around and went back inside.
“What are you doing?” Sheriff Diamond asked.
Katie shook her head as she walked past him to the cell where she’d previously lay, fell onto the cot and let the tears come.
Chapter Four
Jace stood like a poleaxed steer. He had a beautiful woman crying in one of his jail cells and all he could do was stand there and watch. But finally he roused himself enough to call out, “Miss Haverdash?”
She didn’t answer, just continued weeping.
“I understand how upsetting this must be, but …” Oh, for crying out loud, he was sympathetic to her plight, but a crying woman always set him on edge. His protective instincts came out, but what could he actually do? She was a perfect stranger and not in any physical peril, so holding her was out of the question. He still needed to go to Fletcher’s office and ask him some questions, and he wanted to bring Miss Haverdash along, but not in this state. If Fletcher’s wife Sophie was there, she could calm the woman, but she’d sure be a sight on the way there.
He sighed and stood in the doorway, swallowing his annoyance. “Miss Haverdash?”
She turned, her blue eyes brimming with tears. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she said, then hiccupped.
“No need to apologize – I know you’re upset, and probably angry as a rattler. I know I would be in your shoes.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped her eyes. “Thank you for – hic – understanding.”
He pulled his own handkerchief out and handed it to her, for what it was worth. She looked at it, then at him. Her eyes were red, her nose redder. He was now even more annoyed – that someone had done this to her, and to him, by filling out an application in his name. He’d have to wire Mrs. Pettigrew and ask her a few things too …
“I’m ready to go,” she suddenly declared.
He looked at her. She was tiny – the top of her head barely reached his chin – and her brown hair was beginning to come loose from its pins, but she clearly had some sand. He had to remember she just got off the train, expected him to meet her and he never showed. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said gently, hoping it would help.
“For what?” She wiped her eyes again. “It’s not your fault. But I’d sure like to get my hands on the person responsible.”
“Would you now?” He smiled. “Then come with me. We’ll speak with my friend Fletcher, then I’ll buy you some lunch …” He thought of the time. “… er, make that dinner … and get you settled at the hotel.”
She nodded, then blew her nose. “That would be nice, thank you.”
He ushered her back to the main door, still fighting the urge to hold the poor dear. He normally wasn’t like this when dealing with upset women – his usual urge was to pass them off to someone else with all due speed – but this one was different. Through no fault of his own, he was the reason she was upset. She deserved to know what happened, and he would need her help to catch the scoundrel who did it. “Fletcher’s office is in City Hall.”
“Oh?” She sniffled.
“He’s running for mayor, so he set up an office there.” He was making idle chit-chat in hopes it would keep her from crying again, but she appeared recovered. He led her across the street and down a side street to Main. From there they went to the main square and City Hall.
“Independence is a lovely town,” she commented stoically. Was she still trying to hold herself together, or just numb from the day’s events?
“Yes, it is. Always has been.” She glanced at him, and he added, “I grew up here.”
“You did?” She looked him over. “You don’t look like the small-town type.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Really?”
“No, you’re more the …” She cocked her head. “… more of a mountain man. You’re certainly big enough.”
“Mountain man? Like a fur trapper?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. A … rugged sort …”
“Well, I was a Texas Ranger briefly. But otherwise, I’ve always lived in one town or another.”
She smiled. “That probably explains it.”
He had to admit that he liked how she associated him with that “type” of man. It made his chest swell. He thought of Mr. Markhel’s offer to join the Knights of the Prairie. From the sound of it, the organization was a tougher lot than the Rangers. But he’d never have a family so long as he was with them. How long did a Knight serve, anyway? Was there a certain amount of time one was contracted for? He’d forgotten to ask and hadn’t had time to look through all the paperwork yet.
They reached City Hall, went inside and up to the second floor and the mayor’s office. Fletcher, newly married, was doing his best to keep his campaign organized. The town would vote in the fall, and given the support of his grandfather, the current mayor (who wanted to retire), he was the clear choice. Frankly, Jace didn’t know why Fletcher bothered with a campaign at all – he was running unopposed at present.
“Jace,” Fletcher said when he saw him enter. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Really? Were you also thinking about Jasper Munson’s murder?”
“What?” Fletcher set the stack of papers in his hands on the desk, then noticed Miss Haverdash. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“Fletcher Vander, this is Miss Katie Haverdash.” He cleared his throat. “My, uh, mail-order bride.”
“Whaaat?” Fletcher smiled at Miss Haverdash. “Well, I never thought I’d see this day.”
“You haven’t seen it,” Jace stated. “I didn’t send for her.”
Fletcher’s face fell. “You didn’t?”
“He didn’t,” Miss Haverdash said forlornly.
“Someone sent for a bride in my name,” Jace told him. “I want you to help me figure out who.”
Fletcher shoved his spectacles up his nose. “Wow.” He sat behind his desk. “I mean, wow.”
“Less wow, more answers,” Jace said. “I’m wondering if it’s a joke, but who would be coldhearted enough to make it?”
“Indeed,” Fletcher agreed. “Let’s face it, no one wants to deal with you, Jace. None of us that know you, at least.”
Miss Haverdash looked worried. “Really?”
“Never mind him,” Jace said. “He thinks he’s funny.”
Fletcher was still smiling. “It might interest you to know, Miss Haverdash, that Sheriff Diamond used to be a Texas Ranger.”
“Yes, he mentioned that. I’d pictured him as more of a fur trapper.”
Fletcher laughed. “Hardly.” He took his spectacles off, rubbed his eyes, put them back on. “But seriously, what makes you think this has anything to do with Jasper’s murder?”
Jace shrugged. “Only that it involves another mail-order bride from the same agency in Denver. Could it be someone sent one along as a distraction? Insurance, if you will?”
Fletcher wagged a finger. “That’s an idea. I could take the train up to Salem and question Sebastian Cord.”
“Who’s Mr. Cord?” Miss Haverdash asked.
“He was involved in the Munson murder,” said Jace. “He was arrested and is being held in the state prison in Salem awaiting trial.”
“When did all this happen?”
“
A few weeks ago.”
Her eyes widened. “And you think someone ordered you a mail-order bride to distract you from the case?”
“It makes sense,” Fletcher said. “If Cord and his cohorts didn’t try to get out of town when they did, you might still be investigating. A distraction would allow them to slip away unnoticed.” He nodded to Miss Haverdash. “And let’s face it, a pretty young lady is a mighty big distraction. No offense intended, of course.”
“None taken,” she said. “I almost hope it’s true – it would make me feel better.”
“It’s also possible that someone out there is playing a practical joke,” Fletcher conceded. “Or the Mad Matchmaker is back.”
“Mad matchmaker?” Miss Haverdash said in shock.
Jace and Fletcher nodded. “It happened years ago, before we were born,” Jace explained. “Someone took it upon themselves to order brides for a few gentlemen in town. The first victim was Julian Smythe – or was it Morgan Tindle?”
“My parents would know.” Fletcher looked at Miss Haverdash. “My father was good friends with Julian Smythe, still is.”
“What happened?”
“Well, Julian married the girl. Morgan did the same.”
“Just because they showed up?” Jace heard a hint of hope in her voice. Or was his guilt making him hear it? And why would he feel guilty anyway? This wasn’t his fault.
“I don’t remember the whole story – we’d have to ask the Smythes and the Tindles,” Jace said. “What I do know is, whoever did it had the town in an uproar. No one ever found out who it was.”
“Oh dear.” She patted her hair. “But it sounds like that was a long time ago. Maybe the matchmaker isn’t even in town anymore.”
“Who knows?” Fletcher said. “Maybe they just rested awhile. Maybe someone thought to pick up the torch and try their hand at it. My grandmother told me what a dither the whole business put Grandfather in. He was fit to be tied.”
Jace laughed. “My folks told me the entire town got involved. There was even some kind of a reward for whoever unmasked her – or him.” He smiled at her for good measure. She smiled back, and his heart warmed. At least she wasn’t about to cry anymore.
