Deep in the Heart of Trouble

by Deeanne Gist

  “Fort Smith?” Russ replied, spinning his chair around and straddling it. “Isn’t that where Hanging Judge Parker presides?”

  Tony hesitated. “You know, I think it is. But Melvin didn’t mention it.”

  “Well, that’s not good. Darius is still dead. He was killed with your knife. You’re the only one with a motive. So how exactly do ya figure this judge—or any judge, for that matter—will let ya go free?”

  “Because I didn’t do it.”

  “Sure looks like ya did, though.”

  Tony rubbed his eyes. “There’s talk now that Darius was poisoned and the knife was just a decoy.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. I also heard it weren’t true. Heard instead, the sheriff made the whole poison thing up on account of his niece.” He shook his head. “That Howard fella’s done nothing but harp about how Dunn treats ya more like a guest in here than a prisoner, and there’s plenty of roughs who are willing to listen to him.”

  Tony looked around his cell—the pillows and quilts on his cot, his shaving implements on a stool, the table covered with books and papers, a basket of cookies from the women, the cell door wide open. The only things lacking were curtains for the barred window and a rug for his feet.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I dunno, Tony. I just got an uneasy feelin’, is all. There’s a trace o’ unrest in town. And Finch ain’t helpin’ any, either, what with the way he’s making Darius out to be a candidate for sainthood.”

  Tony sighed. “That can’t surprise you.”

  Heavy footfalls clumping up the stairs outside drew Tony’s attention. An oilman with skin leathered from the sun stepped into the jailhouse, the slush from his boots leaving imprints. He was one of the men brought up from Beaumont to begin work on the new piece of land Darius had bought. Crossing the room, the man glanced at the sheriff, looked Tony up and down, then turned to Russ.

  “The boss is lookin’ fer ya.”

  “Finch?” Russ asked.

  “Yep. And he ain’t gonna be none too pleased to find out yer in here with Mr. Darius’s killer.”

  Russ rose slowly to his feet. “Finch isn’t my boss or yours. Mr.

  Morgan here is. And he’s no murderer. Once he’s had a trial, that’ll be clear enough.”

  “That ain’t the way we see it.” He lifted his hand to keep Russ from speaking. “Now, we ain’t holdin’ it against ya, Russ. Not with you and Tony goin’ back as fer as you do. But ever’body knows he done it.”

  The sheriff rounded his desk, stepping between the oilman and the cell. “You’ve said your piece. Best move on outta here now.”

  The man pushed a plug of tobacco from one cheek to the other with his tongue. “The boys don’t like it, Sheriff. Man like him killing his own blood. He don’t deserve to live, much less be treated like some highfalutin guest.” He spit, missing the spittoon by a good foot. “Don’t imagine they’re gonna put up with it fer much longer.”

  “They’re gonna put up with it until the law takes its due course, and you can tell ’em I said so.”

  He took Melvin’s measure, then spit again. “Whatever you say.”

  Moving his gaze past the sheriff’s shoulder, he locked eyes with Russ. “You comin’?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Russ and Melvin didn’t move until the oilman retraced his steps and was well out of sight.

  Melvin let out his breath.

  “How long’s that been going on?” Tony asked.

  “Been like that since I arrived in town and is only gettin’ worse.”

  Russ turned to face him. “So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stick around awhile. Keep my eye on things.”

  “What about the wells back in Beaumont? What about Iva?”

  “Iva and the kids’ll be fine. And don’t you worry none about Morgan Oil. Archie’s top-notch. He’ll keep everything going back home.”

  Dearest Essie,

  I dream of the girl in big hats.

  Who hunts frogs and snakes but not rats.

  Will she slide down the rail And visit the jail,

  And stay for a nice little chat?

  Forever yours, ABM

  chapter THIRTY-TWO

  ESSIE SAT with the other members of the Velocipede Club, content to let Shirley run the meeting. Being the banker’s daughter had always given the young woman a place of distinction within town, but it wasn’t until she married Jeremy that she had gained the confidence she displayed now.

  Gone were the frilly ruffles and flounces and oversized bows. In their place were sensible and modest shirtwaists and skirts. Some of that, Essie knew, was due to the fact that Jeremy refused to take money from his father-in-law, so Shirley couldn’t afford to dress as she had before. Yet Shirley had never been happier. And there was no denying she was still the prettiest girl in the county.

  Essie glanced at Anna sitting beside her in her mourning attire. If there was ever anyone to rival Shirley’s beauty, it would be Tony’s sister. But she was so different from Shirley. Her brown hair and olive complexion were in stark contrast to Shirley’s blond hair and pale, pale skin.

  Anna looked at Essie and smiled. They’d spent quite a bit of time together this past week. Enough for Essie to recognize that the girl came alive as soon as Ewing appeared on Mrs. Lockhart’s doorstep. It hadn’t gone unnoticed in town, either, that he’d become a frequent visitor of the elderly woman now that the girl was staying there. Essie slipped her hand into Anna’s and squeezed.

  Perhaps the girl would one day become Essie’s sister by marriage.

  That is, if Essie and Tony reconciled. And with the poems he’d sent, a kernel of hope had begun to stir within her.

  Even if he was willing to forgive her indiscretions, however, they had the murder charge to face. What if the new judge pronounced Tony guilty?

  Please, Lord. Even if he doesn’t marry me, I don’t want to see him condemned for something he didn’t do. Please help us find the culprit, Lord. Please.

  She drew her attention back to the meeting at hand.

  “Do you have a report for us, Mrs. McCabe?” Shirley asked, nodding to the coroner’s wife in the second row.

  Mrs. McCabe stood. “Mrs. Gulick and I both checked again with our husbands and we are quite certain now that Mr. Morgan was poisoned. When he and our Tony Morgan got into fisticuffs, Dr. Gulick was called in to treat Darius Morgan’s injuries.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Gulick. “But my husband said he spent more time treating things that weren’t the least bit related to the fight.”

  “Like what?” Shirley asked.

  “All kinds of things,” Mrs. Gulick answered. “The man complained of severe stomach cramps, burning pains in his hands and feet, dizzy spells, and irritating rashes. My husband didn’t know what to think of it at first.”

  “But after he was killed,” Mrs. McCabe said, “and my Percy brought up the yellow color of his skin and the swollen stomach, that’s when they started to suspect poisoning.”

  Shirley frowned. “Then he died of arsenic poisoning?”

  “No, no,” Mrs. McCabe answered. “The stabbing is what killed him. But Dr. Gulick said that even if he hadn’t been stabbed, he wouldn’t have been much longer for this life.”

  A sudden outburst of conversation buzzed throughout the room.

  “Do you suppose it was the same person who did both?” Mrs. Vandervoort asked over the noise, silencing the exchanges.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. McCabe answered.

  The women once again began to discuss the possibilities amongst themselves.

  Shirley hammered with her gavel. “Does the sheriff know about this?”

  “He does.”

  Mrs. Blanchard stood. “I suggest we try to find out how the arsenic was administered. That may give us a clue as to who was doing the poisoning.”

  Aunt Verdie rose, her simply cut gown highlighting her exaggerated hourglass figure. “I had the same thou
ght earlier this week. Melvin rarely discusses his work with me, especially when it concerns such unpleasantness. But now that Deputy Howard is no longer about, I was able to look through Melvin’s desk at the jailhouse.” She slipped her hand into the hidden pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small bound book. “I managed to find his notes.”

  A smattering of applause circulated.

  “He made a list of the items he’d found in Mr. Morgan’s hotel room. I tried to narrow it down to items that might have had arsenic in them. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a thing. No cup, no whiskey bottle, no food, no nothing.” Aunt Verdie licked her finger and flipped through several pages. “Would you like me to read what all he found? The list is quite lengthy.”

  Shirley bit her lower lip. “Before you do that, let’s consider the different ways arsenic can get into a person’s body, other than swallowing it. Anyone have any ideas?”

  “What if it gets on your skin?” asked Miss Davis. “I mean, could the murderer have put it in Mr. Morgan’s shaving cream?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Shirley. “Do you know, Mrs. Gulick?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. I know it can be inhaled, though.”

  Shirley turned back to Aunt Verdie. “Is there anything on the sheriff’s list that could be inhaled?”

  Aunt Verdie bent the sides of the book back, cracking the spine.

  “Well, let’s see. There were cigarettes in the ashtray.”

  Shirley’s expression lit up. “Couldn’t someone have mixed arsenic with the tobacco?”

  Essie and Anna exchanged a glance as several of the members murmured with excitement.

  “No,” Aunt Verdie said. “No, that isn’t possible. Says here they were those new mechanically rolled cigarettes. There wouldn’t be any way to get the poison inside those.”

  “Mechanically rolled?” Anna asked. “But Darius didn’t ordinarily smoke pre-rolled cigarettes, at least not unless Finch was around to offer him one.”

  Squinting, Aunt Verdie held the book out at arm’s length. “Well, Mel’s notes say there was not only an ashtray, but a silver case full of ’em inside the pocket of a jacket that was slung across a chair.” She looked up. “According to this, it was your brother’s jacket.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Anna continued. “Are you certain there’s nothing about a pouch of tobacco?”

  Aunt Verdie flipped back and forth between some pages. “ ’Fraid not. It does say that Mrs. Morgan and Finch stayed by Mr. Darius’s side throughout the doctor’s exam, and both she and Finch stayed with Darius until he was resting peacefully—making them the last ones to see him alive.”

  “Excuse me,” said Mrs. Zimpelman, the silversmith’s wife. “Does it say what the cigarette case looked like?”

  “Why, yes.” Aunt Verdie ran her finger down the page, then stopped. “It says the case was: ‘silver, engraved scrolls, crest with lion with ax in raised paw.’ ”

  Mrs. Zimpelman gasped. “Why, that’s the case I sold to Mr.

  Morgan—Mr. Finch Morgan—on the day of the bicycle race. I remember because we don’t have very many cases, since very few people smoke mechanically rolled cigarettes. So when he came by our tent looking for one, I had to sort through several of our crates to find it.”

  “Why would Finch need another cigarette case when he already has one?” Anna asked. “And what was it doing in Darius’s coat pocket?”

  The women sat in silence, trying to decide if what they’d discovered had any significance at all.

  “What if you rubbed the arsenic on the outside of the cigarette?”

  Mrs. Vandervoort asked. “You know, the part he puts in his mouth and inhales?”

  “Mrs. Gulick?” Shirley asked.

  “Well, I don’t see why that wouldn’t work,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t he notice the powder?” Anna asked.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Is it possible,” Shirley said, “that Mr. Finch Morgan poisoned Mr. Darius Morgan?”

  “I can’t imagine him doing such a thing,” Anna said. “He and Tony have never seen eye to eye. Finch would never want Tony to inherit anything.”

  Disappointment assailed Essie, then she felt guilty about it. She harbored no ill will toward Finch Morgan. She simply wanted to find the real culprit.

  “Wait a minute.” Anna slowly straightened. “Now that I think on it, both of Finch’s late wives died of gastric fever.”

  “Gastric fever?” Shirley asked. “Both of them?”

  “Yes, and their sicknesses were very similar to what Darius had been experiencing these past couple of months—dizzy spells, headaches, yellow skin, a pain in their stomachs. That kind of thing.”

  “Well,” Shirley said. “What do you think, Mrs. Gulick?”

  “Sounds an awful lot like arsenic poisoning to me.”

  “But why?” Anna argued. “What possible reason could Finch have for wanting his wives or, more to the point, Darius dead? He and Darius were practically attached at the hip.”

  “I don’t know,” Shirley answered. “But I’d sure like to have a look at the cigarettes in that case. Is there any way you can get your hands on it, Mrs. Dunn?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Melvin keeps everything like that locked up. He’s already frantic about his notes being ‘misplaced.’ I haven’t any idea how I’ll get them back to him without him finding out I took them. Mr. Morgan—our Mr. Morgan—already knows I have them. He, of course, was there while I was searching Melvin’s desk. He hasn’t said a word, though.”

  “Nor will he,” said Mrs. Lockhart. “Give the book to me. I’ll tell the sheriff I picked it up by accident with a stack of novels I’d laid on his desk.”

  “Do you think he’ll believe you?” Essie asked.

  “What choice does he have?”

  Shirley nodded. “All right, ladies. We’re getting closer. I just know we are. Your assignment for today is to see if we can determine where Mr. Darius Morgan’s pre-rolled cigarettes came from.” She slammed the gavel onto the lectern. “Meeting adjourned.”

  Dearest Essie,

  I love you with all of my heart,

  There are things I would like to impart.

  You mean so to me.

  I beg leniency,

  For acting a fool and an upstart.

  Please come back to me.

  Yours alone, ABM

  The brisk wind whipped the treetops and made steering Peg a challenge. But Essie persevered. She’d wanted to look her best the next time she saw Tony, but after reading the sweet limerick she had waiting for her upon her return from her meeting, she’d simply turned right around and remounted her bike.

  It wasn’t until she reached town that the clouds began to gather and the wind played havoc with her hair. Her navy skirt slapped against her legs. Her hat strained against its pins. Increasing her speed, she tucked her head down, hoping to reach the sheriff’s office before the rain began. She’d just dismounted when a raindrop plopped onto her sleeve.

  She rushed up the steps and across the threshold, then pulled up short.

  Tony jumped to his feet. “Essie. You came.”

  She had an unobstructed view of him through the open cell door. My, but she’d forgotten how handsome he was. So tall. So broad. So much a man. His brown hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled. Bluish shadows beneath his eyes pointed to his weariness and the strain he’d been under.

  A pang of guilt rushed through her. She should have come sooner. She should have realized what a shock her revelation had been and extended him some latitude—particularly considering all he was going through.

  He took a step from behind his table and tentatively opened his arms. Lifting her skirts, she ran to him. He caught her tight against him, holding her, kissing her, murmuring to her.

  “You came,” he whispered. “You came.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Shhh,” he replied, kissing her again.

  He slowly let
her down, so that her toes touched the floor, but he didn’t release her. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “I won’t.” And this time, she kissed him.

  Uncle Melvin cleared his throat.

  Good heavens. She hadn’t even realized he was there. Hadn’t so much as greeted him. She tried to pull back, but Tony wouldn’t let her go.

  “Would you excuse us, Sheriff?” he asked.

  Uncle Melvin stiffened. “Now, just a—”

  “Please, Uncle Melvin?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder. “Please?”

  Red filled his face. “Essie, I don’t …” He searched her expression, then sighed and pointed a finger at Tony. “You will act with the utmost decorum?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Essie?” he barked, turning his frown onto her.

  “Of course.”

  After a slight hesitation, he shuffled over, closed the door to the cell, locked it and left.

  Tony scooped her up, sat on his chair and settled her in his lap. Now that the initial rush was over, his next kiss was slow and, oh, so sweet.

  He pulled the pins from her hat, removed it and set it on his desk. “I have missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “I’m sorry I said those things.”

  “It all came as a shock to you. I completely understand.”

  “Forgive me?” he asked.

  Nodding, she brushed his cheek with her palm. “Do you forgive me?”

  He tunneled his fingers into her hair, holding her head firmly and bringing his eyes close to hers. “Yes. Yes, I do, Essie. It is forgotten and we will never speak of it again.”

  Moisture filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I was in no position to throw stones.”

  She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. Desire poured through her. She squirmed.