by Carol Cox
Without saying a word, he tilted his head, and Catherine knew he was going to kiss her again.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, just before his lips touched hers.
Fourteen
“Did you hear the news?” Enid asked the moment Catherine set foot inside Southwestern Land and Investments.
“Who could help but hear it?” Catherine marched down the hall to her office, where she took off her hat and stowed her purse in her desk drawer. Mrs. Abernathy had run in from the kitchen during breakfast, waving a copy of the Phoenix Clarion.
“Will you look at this?” She held the paper aloft so her boarders could read the headline: New Mexico Joins the Union.
The leaden feeling in Catherine’s stomach owed nothing to Mrs. Abernathy’s featherlight biscuits and everything to the knowledge that once again Arizona’s hopes had been dashed.
If their landlady’s announcement hadn’t been sufficient, Catherine and Mattie would have found out quickly enough during the few blocks’ walk to work. The streets were full of people, all talking in urgent tones, and all saying the same thing: New Mexico had beaten them in the race to win the coveted forty-seventh star on the American flag.
“But what does it mean for us?” Enid persisted.
“For us?” Catherine swung around and faced her coworker. “It means Arizona’s entry into the union has been delayed once again. But only that: delayed. We’ve weathered obstacles on the road to statehood before, but we kept pressing on toward the goal. We’ll do the same this time; never fear. The people of Arizona have their goal in sight, and they won’t be stopped.”
The sting of tears in her throat warned her she’d better quit talking. She turned back to her desk and pulled out the prospectus she needed to finish, hoping she could follow her own advice. She wasn’t afraid, she reasoned, while she lined up her pens along the desktop. Not really. More frustrated than anything.
Yes, frustrated was just the word. That described her feelings and those she’d heard expressed on her way to work that morning. The news of New Mexico’s success had everyone’s tongue wagging. While Arizonans recognized this as a major event and a sense of uneasy excitement pervaded the air, it was somewhat akin to being the bridesmaid at a sister’s nuptials instead of the one wearing the wedding gown.
That sense of frustration spilled over into office life, where the resulting tension became a palpable thing. Enid and Irene bent over their machines, typing diligently and trying not to attract their supervisor’s attention.
Mattie, though, failed to find a file quickly enough to satisfy Miss Trautman, who took her to task right in front of the other employees. Hearing the uproar, Mr. Showalter came out of his office and snapped at Miss Trautman. The supervisor made no response, but the angry glint in her eyes promised a tongue-lashing for the office workers as soon as their employer was out of earshot.
After finding herself on the receiving end of still more of her boss’s surly behavior, Catherine was perilously close to tears. Seeing her distress, Mr. Showalter reined his temper in with a noticeable effort and apologized. “I’m sorry I’ve been churlish. I’ll try to be more civil.”
Catherine dabbed at her eyes surreptitiously and concentrated on her work, not wanting to add to the stress that flooded the office throughout the entire day. She couldn’t hold his irritability against him. While all Arizonans shared the disappointment of coming in second to New Mexico, Mr. Showalter’s expectations had been even higher than most. After all his effort, all his hard work, it was no wonder he felt the frustration so keenly.
She put her files back in order, stacked the folders into a neat pile, and straightened the rest of her desk. Tomorrow would be better. Surely he would brighten up again with the passing of time, once he had a chance to get over the initial shock.
Having canceled the meeting planned for that evening at Mr. Showalter’s orders, she gathered up her purse and left the office only minutes after the other girls said their good-byes. When she spied Mitch leaning against the front of building, she felt the day’s burdens lift off her shoulders.
He smiled in response to her glad hello, and they strolled down Jefferson Street in the direction of her boardinghouse. Catherine enjoyed the companionable silence they shared as they walked along. With Mitch, she never had to worry about keeping up a conversation just to fill the air with words. She could relax with him, simply taking pleasure in his company.
What a difference she felt since making up with him on New Year’s Eve! Despite her gloomy expectations, 1912 had started out with a dazzling sense of hope after all. Pleasant thoughts filled her mind. Two blocks later, she glanced up at the object of her daydreams, startled to see a deep furrow between his brows.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
Catherine felt the corners of her lips tilt upward. “The last time you told me that, things didn’t go so well, remember?”
Mitch responded with a faint smile. “I had some news today that rattled me.”
“Your mother isn’t ill again, is she?”
“No, nothing like that.” He walked a few more steps in silence then added, “Do you remember me talking about that man I was waiting to hear from? His name was Edgar Wheeler. He promised to provide me with the information I needed to figure out who’s at the bottom of this land grab.”
His face took on a stern, cold look, and Catherine felt a sudden spurt of fear. “Has he changed his mind, decided not to give you the information after all?”
“He can’t give it to me. I just got word today that he’s dead.”
“Oh, Mitch! I’m so sorry.”
“That would be bad enough in itself. But it’s even worse: He was murdered.”
Catherine caught her breath. “Surely not! Are you certain?”
“His body was found out on the edge of the desert. He’d been beaten to a pulp.” Mitch’s lips drew together in a thin line. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”
“No, that’s all right. If it concerns you, it concerns me.”
“I can’t help but think part of this is due to my meddling.”
“You can’t blame yourself. You aren’t responsible for his death.”
“I’m not so sure. If I’d done something sooner, taken my concerns to the police, maybe he’d be alive today.” He pounded his fist against his palm. “He told me he was in danger, and I believed him. . .to a point. I just never believed they would go this far.”
“Who?” Catherine said. “You don’t still think—”
“At this point, I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that Edgar Wheeler died despite my efforts to put a stop to this thing. . .or maybe because of them.”
❧
Mitch cranked up his roadster and headed out toward Edgar Wheeler’s property. Now that the old man was dead, it couldn’t do any harm. He clenched his teeth. Could he have prevented Wheeler’s death if he’d followed through on the impulse to visit him earlier? Or would that merely have hastened matters? The questions haunted his every waking hour, but he would never know the answers now.
Following the directions he’d gotten from the clerk at the county recorder’s office, he drove east, leaving the city behind him. The road dwindled to a narrow track that led up to the top of a hill. Mitch stopped the car when the path petered out and looked around, frowning.
This had to be the right place. He’d followed the directions exactly. But instead of Wheeler’s house, only a pile of rocks adorned the hilltop.
He got out of the roadster and poked through the rubble. Tin cans, a tattered almanac, the remnants of a lonely life. He pulled a crumpled envelope from beneath a chunk of rock and looked at the address: E. Wheeler. He had the right place, no doubt about it.
Someone didn’t waste any time tearing it down. Mitch looked away from the pile of debris and gazed out across the landscape, entranced by the view this spot commanded. From this vantage point, the hillside dropped away to the level valley floor.
The buildings of Phoenix lay to the west. At night, the view of the city lights would be breathtaking. Not bad for an old sourdough. Some people would go to great lengths to acquire a prime building spot like this. Maybe someone already had.
Circling to the opposite side of the hilltop, Mitch halted when he spotted a flurry of activity on the flat below. Teams of horses pulling Fresno scrapers dug a broad cavity in the ground. A series of stakes outlined what appeared to be a building site. Stacks of lumber lay piled throughout the area.
Something is going on. But what? Mitch hopped back into his car and retraced his route down the hill, then circled around behind it to the far side. Close at hand, the signs of hurried building were even more evident.
Mitch stepped from the roadster and approached a group of men who appeared to be poring over a set of plans. Before he crossed half the distance, a burly worker blocked his path.
“Afternoon,” Mitch said. “What’s going on here?”
The brawny man folded arms the size of fence posts across his chest. “Who wants to know?”
“Mitchell Brewer of the Phoenix Clarion. It looks like you have quite a project under way here. I’m sure my readers would be interested in knowing more about it.”
One of the men stepped away from the group. “What’s going on?” he called to the man barring Mitch’s way.
The worker eyed Mitch. “Wait here,” he ordered. He trotted over to the man in the checkered vest. The two conferred for a moment, casting glances at Mitch from time to time. Finally the man in the vest turned back to the others, and the workman walked back to Mitch.
“You’re on private property,” he said without preamble. “You need to leave. Now.”
Mitch sized the fellow up. At about six feet tall, they stood eye to eye. But even though he kept himself in good condition, Mitch knew he would be no match for this bull of a man. “Nice talking with you.” He sketched a wave and headed back to his car.
Pointing the roadster’s nose in the direction of town, he eased it down the rutted track, barely able to contain his excitement. He was on to something. He knew it; he could practically taste it. Edgar Wheeler might not be around to give him the last bit of information he sought, but he felt sure the building project he had just left would provide the evidence he needed.
He pulled his gaze from the road long enough to glance at his watch. His lips pressed together in a grim smile. He had just enough time to get to the courthouse if he hurried. If there had been a recent transfer of Wheeler’s property, and if the name there matched up with the name on the records of the land adjacent, he would be within a hair’s breadth of establishing a connection between the property’s new owners and those responsible for Wheeler’s death.
He pressed down on the gas pedal, and the little car spurted forward. Mitch gritted his teeth against the bone-rattling jolts as the roadster bounced over the rough road. A little discomfort didn’t compare to the necessity of tracking down this information. He owed Wheeler that much.
A flash of light caught his attention. Mitch glanced at the rearview mirror in the upper corner of his windshield and saw a touring car pulling up close behind him. It must be someone from the construction site; he hadn’t seen anyone else around.
He pulled over to let the larger car pass. It drew up alongside him, but instead of going by, the other driver kept pace, edging the roadster closer to the side of the road. Mitch tooted his horn and waved at the driver to give him more room.
Instead, the touring car inched nearer. Is he out of his mind? Mitch turned his steering wheel farther to the right and stepped on the brake. He would give them all the space they needed.
The right front wheel caught in the sand at the road’s edge and spun the car around. Mitch gripped the wheel and held on tight until the roadster came to a shuddering halt. One by one, he pried his fingers off the wheel and stepped outside to survey the damage, seething at the other driver’s gall.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the touring car pull to a stop a short distance ahead. Good. I’d like to give the fellow a piece of my mind. He knelt down to examine the wheel. No cracks; that was a relief. He ought to be able to dig it out of the sand and be back on the road in a matter of minutes.
Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he stood and turned. The face of the workman who had run him off the construction site met his gaze. This time he was accompanied by a flat-nosed man, this one even larger than the first. The two took a stance a short distance away.
The burly man spoke first. “The boss doesn’t like people sneaking around.”
Mitch glared at him. “I’d hardly call stopping by in broad daylight sneaking. But you made it pretty clear back there that your boss doesn’t welcome visitors.”
The flat-nosed man stepped forward. “He didn’t know whether you were bright enough to figure that out on your own, so he sent us to make sure you got the message.” He flexed his arms and cracked his knuckles.
Fifteen
Mitch lowered himself into the straight chair in Dabney’s office with infinite care. He was still prone to get dizzy if he stood for too long. “I don’t know what I stumbled across, but it’s obviously something they don’t want made public yet.”
The older man looked at him and shook his head. “Apparently not, from the looks of you. I’m glad nothing’s broken, but you aren’t going to win any beauty contests for a while. Not with those shiners you’re sporting.”
Mitch managed a grin, but he didn’t dare laugh. He’d already found out what that did to his bruised ribs.
Dabney leaned forward, a somber expression on his face. “Does this have any connection to your other investigation?”
“You know, boss, I’m honestly not sure. My gut feeling is that the whole thing is all wrapped up in the same package, but I can’t give you solid evidence of anything.”
“If these are the same people and they’re willing to kill an old man. . .” Dabney tapped his pen against his desk blotter. “We may be biting off more than we can chew. Do you think we ought to turn this over to the authorities?”
Mitch shifted cautiously in his chair. “At this point, who do we trust? Someone highly placed has to be involved in order to make all this work. Without any idea who that might be. . .” He spread his hands wide. “Who would we go to?”
Dabney nodded and chewed his lower lip. “Do you want to drop the whole thing?”
“No!” Mitch shot up straight in his chair and bit back a cry of pain. “No,” he repeated when he could speak again. “Let them get away with murder besides whatever else they may be planning to do? Not likely. I started this investigation, and I mean to see it through.”
“All right. But be careful, will you? And I mean very careful. I don’t want to lose my star reporter. And take a couple of days off first.” Dabney’s lips curled up in a grin. “With those bruises, you’re liable to scare all your informants away.”
❧
“You really ought to be home in bed, not taking me out to lunch.” Catherine squeezed Mitch’s arm but loosened her grip in a hurry when she saw him flinch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Mitch waved off her apology. “Other than looking like a punching bag, I’m not doing so badly. I still needed to eat, and it was a lot more pleasant being able to look at you across the table. I’m just glad you were willing to be seen with me, considering the way I look right now.”
Catherine warmed to the compliment, but her heart twisted in sympathy. “I still think you ought to talk to the police. Whoever did this to you ought to be horsewhipped.”
“Are you volunteering? I’m not sure I’m up to it at the moment.”
“I just might.” Catherine laid her fingers against his cheek with a feather touch. “Why don’t you go home and relax? I’ll get Mattie to come with me, and we’ll check up on you this evening.”
Mitch chuckled. “I’m not quite an invalid, but I’d enjoy the—” He broke off and gripped her arm with a pressu
re that made her wince. “Who is that?”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“That man coming out of your office building. The one wearing the checkered vest.”
Catherine rubbed her arm. “I don’t know his name. I’ve seen him there a couple of times, but I’ve never actually met him. Why?”
Mitch quivered like a hunting dog on a scent. “He was out there at the construction site. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who sent those two thugs after me.”
“The ones who did this to you? And you think he’s somehow connected with. . . No, Mitch. I still can’t believe that. I thought you’d gotten over the notion that Mr. Showalter has something to do with whatever ugliness is going on.”
“But I’ve already explained—”
“Even if that man did have something to do with what happened to you, that still doesn’t prove Mr. Showalter is involved in any way. Assuming that’s the case, I’m sure he doesn’t have any idea of the man’s true character.” Catherine brightened. “You want proof? I’ll get it for you. I’ll ask Mr. Showalter about him right now and show you how wrong you are.”
She felt Mitch’s whole body tense. “That might not be wise. Whether Showalter is involved or not, if that man is willing to use violence, I don’t want you to do anything that could put you in danger.”
Irritation at his overprotectiveness warred with appreciation for his concern. Catherine laughed. “All right. I’ll keep myself out of trouble, just for you.”
❧
Catherine jotted a last note on her stenographer’s pad then started to leave Mr. Showalter’s office. She stopped in front of his desk, as though a sudden thought had struck her. “I meant to ask you,” she said casually. “Who was that man I saw leaving when I came back from lunch? I think I’ve seen him here before, but I don’t know his name.”
Mr. Showalter’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure who you mean.”
