The Case of the Great Land Grab (Agent Thorn Book 1)

by Brandy Golden

  Boxcar helped him to his feet. “Are you Mr. Garvey?”

  “Yes, I'm Randall Garvey. Who are you?”

  Thorn waved his gun at the door that was ajar and leading into the street. “Whoever was here is gone.” He holstered his gun and turned to the man leaning heavily against his desk. “What happened here, Mr. Garvey?”

  “I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind,” came a voice from behind them and Boxcar and Thorn turned to see the Sheriff standing there, his gun drawn and covering them.

  The old gentleman eased himself into a chair, still holding his head where a large lump was coming up.

  I had just having a coffee break,” began Mr. Garvey, his hand shaking, “when I heard the back door open. Something hit me over the head and I heard a shot. Then they left with the contents of the safe, as you can see. That's all I know.”

  “Looks like whoever it was used the shot to open the safe,” remarked Boxcar, hunkering down in front of the small steel safe.”

  “I hate to disagree with you, Mr. Garvey, but I think you know a lot more than you've said,” contradicted Thorn quietly. Mr. Garvey's eyes were darting from one man to the other like he was thinking on his feet and it made Thorn suspicious.

  “How so?” asked the Sheriff, recognizing Thorn and holstering his gun. He held his hand out to Thorn. “Sheriff Cantrell...and you're the one they call Thorn...works for Wells Fargo, right?”

  Thorn eyed the Sheriff and nodded, shaking the man's hand in a firm grip. Apparently his reputation preceded him, even in a small town like Silver Springs! He'd been through here before, but never met Sheriff Cantrell.

  “This here is Boxcar Worthington,” Thorn replied, with a nod in Boxcar’s direction. “We're here working on a case together and was told Mr. Garvey could help us out.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Mr. Garvey suspiciously.

  “Slim,” replied Boxcar, watching the man's reaction. “But he's dead now, got shot by his partner Hank. Hank took all the money they got from you for the sale of Mrs. Clausen's property. Can you tell us who bought that ranch?”

  Mr. Garvey's face went even paler with shock as he absorbed this information.

  “Did you recognize the man who robbed you?” asked the Sheriff, chiming in.

  Thorn watched him speculatively. “Or maybe that knot on your head is just a ruse? You needed to pass on the money that didn't get taken off you on the stage to El Paso?”

  Mr. Garvey looked fearful suddenly as he faced the three men, indecision written all over his face.

  “Or maybe Hank is being used to clean up and move on? Slim's out of the way; who's next?” drawled Boxcar, putting the pressure on. “You or your so called robbers?”

  Mr. Garvey broke, the sweat beading his upper lip. “All right, all right! Yes, the stagecoach robbery was faked and but it didn't work. I just get paid to pass the money on and to pay Slim and Hank for cementing the land deals hereabouts. They made sure Mrs. Clausen got to town personally to sell her ranch. I don’t know how they accomplish it and don't want to.” He rubbed his head where the lump was turning bluish purple. “And I don't know who stole the money out of my safe, I didn't see whoever it was...that wasn't faked!”

  “Who bought Mrs. Clausen's ranch and the other properties in this area?” asked Thorn.

  “The properties have been bought by a corporation back east, that's all I know. Written contact from their company keeps me informed of what I'm supposed to do.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I need your paperwork, Mr. Garvey,” said the Sheriff. “And you better give me everything you have because it sounds like your life could depend on it. If it was Hank that knocked you out, he may be back to make it more permanent.”

  None of them noticed the little bank teller as he scurried out the front door in an awful big hurry!

  Chapter Six

  Mr. Garvey chose to cooperate fully with Thorn and the Sheriff, and then Thorn telegraphed the information back to Wells Fargo personally, passing on everything they knew. They figured once they found out who owned the corporation, they would have the person or persons behind the land grabbing.

  Garvey revealed that he did indeed pass money to the four men to pay them for their work. What their assignments were, he didn't know. That wasn't part of his job. He handled the sales for the corporation and made sure the money from the sales was given to Slim and Hank to deliver. Beyond that, he didn't know anything else. It seemed whoever was behind all this liked to divide the jobs out so no one knew what anyone else was doing.

  “Did you have a personal contact from the corporation?” asked the Sheriff as he eyed the papers.

  “No, it was all done by correspondence,” replied Garvey. “Even the cash was sent by mail.”

  “Somebody wanted to be extremely private,” mused Boxcar. “Looks like you could be an accomplice to murder, Mr. Garvey. A few landowners have lost their lives over this.”

  “I didn't kill nobody!” spluttered Mr. Garvey, the sweat breaking out on his forehead again. “All I did was pay out the cash!”

  “You didn't have to. You aided and abetted someone who ordered folks to be cheated out of their homes. The judge will have to decide your innocence or guilt when it all comes to trial. But I suggest that if there is anything you aren't telling us, you best come clean. It's in your own best interests in the long run.” Thorn stared at him, the steel in his voice brooking no refusal as he watched Garvey squirm like a night crawler on a fishhook.

  “I don't know anything else!”

  The sheriff grunted and stuffed everything Garvey gave him into a gunny sack and then motioned for Garvey to precede him out of the office.

  “Keep an eye on things, Cecil,” Garvey said to the little teller who seemed awfully nervous to Thorn. He supposed the idea of a bank robbery might have made him a bit shaky.

  “We're taking Mr. Garvey into custody,” said the Sheriff.

  “Oh dear, I better get in touch with Mr. Randall then, the bank owner,” supplied Cecil.

  “I suggest you do that,” agreed Thorn, feeling like something wasn't quite right.

  The men stopped at the door and drew their guns. The sheriff put Mr. Garvey behind him and Thorn and Boxcar brought up the rear. He opened the door and looked carefully around. Who ever had taken a shot at Garvey once before might still be around. He probably would try again.

  As they were stepping off the boardwalk, Thorn caught the glint of sun off a rifle barrel and he yelled for Garvey to duck as he launched himself at the man to knock him to the side. A shot rang out and splintered a piece of wood off the porch post behind his ear.

  Garvey crawled behind the watering trough as the other three split up and took cover, returning fire at the rooftops. He saw a man fall over the railing of the hotel across the street and he quickly scanned the other buildings, looking for accomplices. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding the ground behind the hotel told him that someone was leaving. The element of surprise was obviously gone!

  He stood up slowly, his gun still drawn. Another shot rang out and he ducked down, then realized it came from Boxcar just down the boardwalk. He turned around to see the Indian laying face down on the planks, a knife clutched in his fist. So that's who was after Garvey! In that case, two of the four suspects were dead...but were the other two gone? He kicked the Indian over just make sure he wasn't playing possum.

  “Looks like the fight’s over,” drawled the sheriff as he stood up. “You can come out now, Garvey.”

  Thorn walked across the street to look at the body of the man who had fallen off the roof. Yes, it was one of the four men, the one with the golden spurs and the jewel in his hatband. He looked uneasily around him. The feeling that he had missed something wouldn't go away. Instinct told him there was something else going on...but what?

  * * *

  “You fool,” hissed Cecil as he stared at Hank with his pale blue eyes. “Why didn't you kill Garvey when
you had the chance?”

  “I figured I'd shoot him after I got the money out of the safe,” protested Hank, looking rather sheepish. “But I heard those two out front, so I grabbed the money and ran.”

  “The money wasn't even the important part,” Cecil replied angrily. “It was supposed to look like he was killed in a simple robbery! He's not some worthless hired hand you can just ambush and dump the body! His death needed to be plausible so he wouldn't be investigated, but it’s too late now. Not only did you botch that job, but those idiots you run with couldn't take care of the job outside the bank!”

  Hank's eyes narrowed, not liking the insults the little man was pounding him with, but he held his tongue. The pay was better than anything he'd been involved in so far; he could handle a little ranting.

  “Sorry.”

  “Get out there and find those other two simpletons and find a way to take care of Garvey, then get rid of them. I want this cleaned up as soon as possible. Don't come back to me until you're finished.” Cecil waved him out the back door of Garvey's office and formed a telegram to his brother.

  Stop...Sell...stop...Stocks are coming down...stop...Cleanup in process...stop.

  Satisfied that his brother would interpret that clearly, he made preparations to turn in his notice to Mr. Randall and retire back east. His last task in this territory would be to take care of Hank.

  * * *

  Thorn stood outside the hotel where he and Boxcar were spending the night, smoking on a cheroot. They had decided to stay in town and were going to spell the sheriff with a divided watch to keep an eye on Garvey in case someone tried to kill him again. His sharp eye studied the bank, the niggling at the back of his brain at work. He looked over when Boxcar joined him.

  “Thinking again?” asked Boxcar with a grin.

  “Yep.” The fire in the end of the cheroot glowed cheerfully as Thorn took a deep drag before knocking the ashes off against the post he leaned on.

  “Me too.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Boxcar looked over at the bank. “I'm thinking there's something odd about Garvey being ripped off in the middle of the day like that. Something doesn't add up. If those men were being paid by Garvey anyway, why rob him? And who else would it be if it weren't them? Why fake that robbery, if it was a fake. Garvey isn't saying so if it was, he maintains it was a real robbery.”

  Thorn nodded. “I'm thinking along those lines myself. Let's suppose for a minute, that someone has figured out that we are getting too close.”

  “Right, thought of that,” replied Boxcar.

  Thorn went on. “And what if someone wanted to shut Garvey up without arousing suspicion concerning this whole affair?”

  “If that’s true, why didn't they just kill him today while they had the chance?”

  “Maybe because they didn't have time?” suggested Thorn, his eyes gleaming. “Maybe they knew they would only have time for one shot when they realized we were in the bank.”

  “So why not just shoot Garvey?”

  “Because then they wouldn't have time to get the money,” Thorn replied.

  “Greed wins out,” murmured Boxcar. “So they tried to finish the job when we came out of the bank.”

  “Yes,” said Thorn slowly, “but why only one man in the bank and three in front? Why didn't the four just kill him and take the money all at once? It would have all been over very quickly.”

  “Too many people involved?” suggested Boxcar.

  “I don't know, but that's what's bothering me... something doesn't add up.”

  “Well, there goes Cecil,” said Boxcar, as the little man came out of the bank and jammed his hat down on his balding head. “Wonder where he is off to in such a hurry? Maybe cowering behind the desk wore him out and he's off to take a nap.” He chuckled at the scurrying antics of the subject of his derision.

  Thorn's eyebrows narrowed to a pucker as he watched Cecil hurry along the boardwalk and turn in at the telegraph office. “Maybe...then again, maybe not.” He took another drag on his cheroot. “You been to a telegraph office lately?” he asked Boxcar.

  “Not lately, no,” replied Boxcar, following Thorn's gaze.

  “Well, as soon as our friend over there comes out, I think I'll mosey on over and see what he's been up too.”

  A few minutes later, Thorn and Boxcar were talking to the rotund telegraph operator whose ruddy cheeks were bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I can't give you the message that Mr. Henderson just sent out,” he protested. “That would be a breach of privacy!”

  “If I have to, I'll have the sheriff come over here and get it,” Thorn replied as he showed the man that he worked for Wells Fargo. “You have to show it to him, don't you?”

  “Well...yeah...if he asks, I'd have to,” he replied.

  “Boxcar, would you mind getting the sheriff?” Thorn asked mildly. “I'll just wait here.”

  A few minutes later Boxcar was back with Sheriff Cantrell. “You better show me that message, Thaddeus,” he said firmly. “If Thorn thinks we need to see it, then chances are we do!”

  Reluctantly, Thaddeus handed over a copy of the message Cecil had sent to Jeremiah Henderson in New Orleans. The three men read it.

  Stop...Sell...stop...Stocks are coming down...stop...Cleanup in progress...stop.

  “Gentlemen,” said Thorn slowly. “I think we might just have found out who is behind the big land grab.”

  * * *

  It took three days to wrap up the job Thorn had been assigned to do, but finally all the proper authorities had been notified. The local gang had been rounded up, including Hank, and put in the Silver Springs jail and Jeremiah Henderson had been arrested in New Orleans.

  It turned out that Jeremiah, Cecil's brother, worked for the railroad and was aware of the future plans to build a track from El Paso to California and where it was going to be through Arizona. Hence his plan to get as much of the land as he could so he could turn around and sell it at an inflated price to the railroad. Thorn's case being settled meant Boxcar's was settled as well and the Indians had been calmed once more...at least for a little while. Now all that remained for Thorn was to settle things with Clary.

  Thorn had the telegram in his pocket from Senator Deeds of Arizona, requesting him and Boxcar to work together for the good of the government on future cases. Normally, joining Boxcar once again would have thrilled Thorn, but since the advent of Clary, everything had changed. Now he was going to be a married man and married men didn't take dangerous jobs. That meant his career in detective work was finished. But what was he going to do? Maybe he should think about buying a cattle ranch and set up housekeeping. He frowned as his restless mind ran down the possibilities while he and Boxcar made their way wearily back to Potluck.

  Boxcar glanced sideways at his longtime friend and grinned slyly. “Don't tell me that frown means you're thinking of my sister?”

  When Thorn didn't answer, he went on. “You still thinking of making her go back east?”

  “It's too late for that,” growled Thorn resignedly. “We'll be getting married shortly and I'm trying to decide where to go from here.”

  “Married!” Boxcar was aghast at the news. “I thought you didn't want to get married yet? When did this happen? And what about the job offer from Senator Deeds to work with me?”

  “Actually, it's a decision that was taken out of my hands,” said Thorn grimly. “I've got no choice now. She could be pregnant as we speak.”

  Boxcar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Well, by all rights I should be calling you out, seeing as how you've so obviously impugned my sister's honor, but all I can say is are you planning on moving back east? Because I know without a doubt that Clary doesn't want to go.”

  “What she wants is immaterial. She'll do as she's told now that she made her choice.”

  Boxcar was troubled at Thorn's tone. “That doesn't sound very romantic, old buddy. Weddings are supposed to bring out the bliss in a man. You sound more like a
hog going to the slaughter.”

  “I reckon I kind of feel that way,” agreed Thorn with a nod. He lapsed into silence once again as they made their way along the well-trodden road and Boxcar didn't disturb him again.

  Boxcar's own thoughts were troubled as he glanced sideways at Thorn occasionally, studying the stern set of his profile against the morning sun. Something was very wrong between his two favorite people, but he felt helpless to do anything about it. Something was going to have to give. They were both hardheaded as the day was long and he hoped one didn't break the other against the hard wall of resistance.

  * * *

  Clary huffed and puffed as she moved the four-poster bed across the room to a different spot than Fanny's men had left it. When it was finally in place, she collapsed on the bed, her arms flung behind her head and rested for a minute. Her thoughts wandered to Thorn as they always did when she had a spare minute and she wondered when he would be back.

  After catching her breath, she sat up and looked around, feeling happier with the borrowed furniture from Fanny well in place. It made her feel more secure. Like perhaps Thorn couldn't make her leave if she was already set up here. She had spent the afternoon yesterday mailing out orders for materials and equipment for the milliner and dress shop she intended to open downstairs. The wheels were rolling now and she couldn't just get on the stage and leave, no matter what Paddington Thorn had to say!

  Besides, there were some things he needed to know that might effect the outcome of their future together. He might not want to marry her after all, not when he knew her closely guarded secret. Her heart felt depressingly bereft at the thought and she chewed on her soft lower lip nervously. If only there was a way to make him listen to her for five minutes!

  Restlessly she paced the floor, starting abruptly when there was a knock on the door.

  “It's me, Fanny,” came the muffled voice from the door to her upstairs quarters.