Secrets In The Shadows

by Sheridon Smythe

  "My guess would be, no. Unless he's a better actor than I give him credit for, he didn't know what the hell I was talking about.” Adam paused once again, squinting at the sun. It was only mid-morning and already the day was unnaturally hot. He glanced to the west, then to the east, wondering if a storm was brewing. Damned humidity made the air seem thick, hard to breathe. He unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt and pitched it aside.

  Rusty began to stack the split logs into a neat pile. “Well, if you're right, we got us a bigger problem."

  Their eyes met. Adam nodded. “Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't?” he guessed accurately. It wasn't difficult, since Rusty often spoke in broken, miss-matched clichés.

  "Something like that,” Rusty muttered sourly. “So what do we do?"

  The ax fell, the log split, sending splinters flying in every direction. They reminded Adam of the splinter he'd pulled out of Lacy's arm. He set the log upright and hit it again, hard enough to embed the ax into the chopping block. There was nothing he hated worse than not knowing something—especially when it involved his hide, or that of someone he cared about.

  "We watch our backs and keep investigating. Could be something to do with all this snooping I've been doing about Murddock. And if the mayor's not behind this...."

  Rusty looked startled. He rubbed his chin, removed his hat and scratched his head. Finally, he nodded. “You could be right, son. Hadn't thought of that.” His frown deepened. Hesitantly, he said, “If you're right, that means—"

  "Someone in town is watching us,” Adam concluded somberly. “Aside from the mayor."

  "Need to find out who, before they get too antsy."

  Adam halted the ax mid-swing, casting Rusty a dry glance. “You mean, before they get antsier? Seems we've already got them a mite worried."

  "Got any ideas in that wooden head of yours?"

  "Maybe. But it'll be dangerous."

  Rusty grunted. “And it ain't dangerous now?"

  "You know, for an old fart, you're pretty smart.” Adam dodged Rusty's swinging fist with ease, laughing at the sour look on his face.

  * * * *

  The sound of Adam's rich laughter reached Lacy inside the house. With a thudding heart, she raced to the kitchen window overlooking the backyard.

  The sight that met her eyes nearly buckled her knees.

  Adam stood like some magnificent Greek god, completely bare-chested. Sweat glistened on his broad shoulders. The hair on his chest had darkened and clung damply to his skin. She watched, her mouth slack, as he lifted the ax in the air. The muscles in his back tightened, bulged, gleamed. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard as thrill after thrill shot through her body.

  She was shameless, a wanton, to feel such wild hunger just looking at him. But it was a sight that held her frozen at the window, for she had imagined him like this, his body slick with sweat, his chest and shoulders bare for her hands to slide across and around.

  He turned as he bent his head close to Rusty's and her eyes dropped to the ridges along his hard stomach, remembering the feel of each one as her fingers had explored his tightly drawn flesh. They had followed the thinning line of hair and muscle down ... down to—.

  Lacy swallowed, trying to bring moisture back to her suddenly dry mouth. He was beautiful, she thought with a sigh. She smiled to herself as she imagined what he'd say to that feminine description.

  But as she turned away from the window, her smile faded and tears blurred her vision. Heavens, she would miss him. If only she had the courage to try to win his love. Ha! Not that she believed she could. Adam had said nothing about staying, and everything about leaving. After last evening's close call, she couldn't blame him. She was proud that he had stood up to the mayor, but now she wasn't so certain it was the smart thing for him to do.

  And she—she had encouraged him. That made her indirectly responsible for anything that happened to him. Lacy brushed a stray tear from her cheek and set about finishing her pies. But as she turned a pie pan upside down and cut a circle in the dough around it, her thoughts strayed once again to Adam. Could she bring herself to try and convince him to leave before he got himself killed?

  She would, she told herself firmly. She loved him, but she couldn't love a dead man. They'd been foolish to think they could fight the mayor and win. Jamis Goodrich didn't fight in the open; he hired his henchmen to do the work. Someone would sneak up on Adam one dark night and slip a knife between his ribs. Lacy lifted a trembling hand to her throat. Or they'd find him hanging by the neck in the jail cell.

  Quickly, she thrust the horrible thoughts away and slipped the last pie in the oven, then began setting out a lunch of cold chicken and potato salad for the men. They'd be hungry after all that chopping, she thought. And yes, she was eager to see Adam again. She had lain awake most of the night, thinking about that magical time spent in his arms. Try as she might, she could not find an ounce of regret.

  And if she had conceived, she would bear his child. Victoria had been right; Adam made her want to have his babies. Lacy held a trembling hand to her flushed cheek at the thought of holding a baby in her arms. Adam's baby. When she was married to David, she had longed for a child, but after two years she'd given up hope. Then Ben had come along, easing the emptiness inside of her. And Takola. Takola had helped fill that empty spot, too.

  Yet now she ached again. Felt empty again.

  Yes, Victoria was wise, but unfortunately the Indian woman didn't know all of the facts. Lacy didn't want Adam to stay unless he wanted to. Certainly she didn't want him staying and marrying her because of a baby.

  She straightened her shoulders and brought her chin up. The best thing all around would be for Adam to finish his business and leave. Get out of town before someone succeeded in killing him, or before fate could interfere and hold him here against his will.

  She didn't want him to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life wondering if he loved her, or stayed with her because of the baby.

  With a choking sound that was a cross between a laugh and a cry, Lacy sat down in a chair and covered her face in her hands. How silly she was, worrying about something that probably wouldn't happen anyway. She hadn't conceived in the years she was married to David, so it wasn't likely she would after one night with Adam.

  Was she hoping? Had she lost her mind? Well, if it was something she wished for, she needed to get a grip on her sanity and set herself to the task of helping Adam solve the puzzle of Sheriff Murddock's death.

  And she knew what she had to do.

  * * * *

  It was evening. They stood on the porch and watched the sun sink slowly behind a low-lying blanket of storm clouds still miles away. In her hand, Lacy held a heavy china plate covered with a cloth napkin.

  The plate was empty, but her mind was not.

  "It was a blackberry winter,” Lacy began softly. She frowned at the clouds blotting out the dying sun. They were out of place. It should be clear and cool, just as it had been on that awful day she'd found Sheriff Murddock.

  "Blackberry winter?” Adam queried, watching her intently. Her eyes looked dazed, as if she were in another place and time.

  Lacy's gaze remained fixed on the far horizon. “Yes. It's a time in May when the blackberries blossom. For several days it stays cold, then summer resumes. I remember hating it because I had to wear shoes.” A nostalgic smiled tugged at her lips, but it faded as uglier memories intruded. “Grandma usually took Sheriff Murddock his dinner, but on this particular day she asked me to. I thought I was so grown-up, taking that plate to the sheriff.” A sudden breeze rustled her skirts and Lacy lifted her face to capture the freshness. “It had rained the night before and there were mud puddles all over the place. I almost dropped the plate a couple of times, stepping around them."

  Carefully, Adam tugged on her elbow, urging her to move as she spoke. Lacy went willingly enough, her eyes straight ahead now. They descended the p
orch steps and stepped out onto the road, Adam hanging back, but staying close enough to hear.

  He didn't want anything to break her concentration.

  Lacy crossed the road and he followed. “There was a mud puddle here"—she pointed with her elbow—"And there. I met Lucille Marchbanks right about here.” She paused in the middle of the road, eyes closed as she allowed the horrible memories to surface.

  "Marchbanks?"

  "Dead now,” Lacy said. She moved on, not stopping until she reached the boardwalk on the other side of the road. She began to pause often as they walked along it. “Trudy and Horace Fimblton passed by me on their way to dinner with the Tidwells—the Tidwells are my neighbors.” She walked a few steps, eyes half-closed, then stopped again. “I was here when Allen Graves whistled by, probably on his way to the blacksmith's shop. He's a farmer—was a farmer south of town."

  Adam frowned, but kept silent. He couldn't ask a dead man questions.

  "There used to be a small general store here, but it caught fire a few years back.” Lacy indicated a tiny vacant lot between the blacksmith's and the telegraph office. “Ida and Kent, they built a new one there on the corner after they lost this place. That evening, they were already closed and gone for the night."

  "Lacy.... “Adam touched her elbow very lightly. He hated to risk interfering with her remarkable recall, but his curiosity was eating him alive. “How is it that you remember everything so well? Right down to the mud puddles?"

  Lacy slowly turned her face to him, allowing him to see the pain in her eyes as she confessed, “I thought Sheriff Murddock was the greatest man who ever lived and he wasn't my grandfather. Would you be able to forget?"

  He shook his head, still astounded by her detailed memory. “I don't think I could have remembered everything, as you have."

  "I've had fifteen years of dreamin’ about it,” she said huskily. Without another word, she started walking again, drawing abreast of the telegraph office. “Mr. Hyatt waved at me through the window and I waved back, nearly dropping the plate for the second time.” She hesitated, staring at the window. “While my attention was on Mr. Hyatt, someone bumped me. I remember thinking he was rude, but all I saw of him was his back. He appeared to be in an awful hurry."

  "You didn't know this person?” Adam asked as faint thunder rumbled in the distance.

  "No.” Lacy shook her head. “No. I didn't recognize him at all, but I didn't see his face. After that, two more men I didn't recognize came my way. But I saw their faces. They had heavy coats on, dusty coats. Everyone was dressed warmly because it was so cold."

  "Blackberry winter,” Adam mumbled to himself.

  Lacy heard him. “Yes. Blackberry winter.” She almost smiled at him. “These men looked like cowboys. Their spurs jangled when they walked and they looked like they hadn't shaved in weeks. One had a scar right in the corner of his eye—and it made him look like he was winking.” Lacy gave an embarrassed shrug. “Nine-year-old girls think silly thoughts like that, I guess."

  "Not so silly,” Adam murmured. He continued to be amazed at the vivid detail in which she described her short walk to the jailhouse on that fateful day. Amazing. “And the other man?"

  "He was—sort of regular looking. I think his eyes were dark, and he was older than the other one. His hair was long and scraggly, unwashed.” She wrinkled her nose. “He stank."

  "Rusty mentioned there was a cattle drive coming through that week. He thinks that's how the fire started."

  Lacy nodded. “I remember. Yes, I'm sure they were trail hands, or had something to do with the cattle, because I could smell it on them.” They reached the door to the jailhouse. Lacy turned to face it, taking a deep breath. “Did you follow my instructions?"

  "Yes. The lamp's out.” He hesitated, concerned with the unhealthy pallor of her face. “I hung the sack of dirt in the cell, like you asked, but if you're not sure—"

  "No!” She hadn't meant to shout. She shook her head and said more quietly, “No. I need it there to remind me.... “Her voice trailed away as her courage suddenly flagged. Oh, God, what had she done? She was reliving the nightmare all over again, as if her occasional sleeping nightmares weren't enough! But Adam needed her. She squared her shoulders and clutched the plate until her knuckles whitened. She balanced the dish in one hand and reached for the door, halting as Adam spoke. Relief rushed through her at the temporary reprieve.

  "Are you certain you didn't see anyone else, Lacy?"

  A moment of tense silence passed before Lacy said, “Yes. I'm certain. You're talking about the mayor, aren't you?"

  Adam nodded.

  "I didn't see the mayor.” She saw the disappointment in his eyes before he masked it.

  Lacy turned the knob and opened the door. A damp, musky odor invaded her nostrils and Lacy thought it smelled like old age and death, a blast of air from the past. She shivered, glad Adam was behind her even while she knew she must ignore his presence.

  Everything looked the same, or almost the same. Along with the musky smell of mildew, she smelled the tang of fresh cut wood. The new shelves, she thought, the scent momentarily distracting her. She thrust the intrusion from her mind and slowly approached the desk, her eyes searching the room. Her gaze lingered on the painting of Shadow City Adam had re-hung, chilled by the realization that he had placed it in the exact same position....

  The shadows were there, maybe darker and more sinister than before because this time she knew what she would find—or what she was supposed to imagine she would find. She set the plate on the desk and resisted the urge to turn and assure herself Adam was behind her. He hadn't made a sound.

  The matches were in the small top drawer where Adam had put them at her request. She took them out with hands that shook and lit the lamp. Slowly, she twisted around in front of the desk and peered into the shadows of the cell.

  It was so much like before that she couldn't stop a small gasp of fear from escaping. And she wasn't really thinking when she reached around and fumbled for the lamp, finding the handle and dragging it forward. She just knew she had to have the light to see what was in the cell, what was causing those frightening swinging shadows.

  She thrust the lamp forward and screamed, her eyes glued to the garish silhouette of the harmless sack of dirt strung from the ceiling of the cell in the exact same spot Colt Murddock had died.

  When her scream died away, she swallowed hard and said in a raspy whisper, “He was swinging back and forth. His face was all mottled, swelled-looking.” Her voice dropped even lower as she added, “His eyes were open and it was like he was staring at me, begging me for help. But he was already dead.” She turned and set the lamp onto the desk, her mind grappling with the unforgettable image her words had created. Not that she had ever forgotten.

  Adam reached out and touched her and she gave a startled shriek before her sanity returned. With a sob, she flung herself into his waiting arms. He held her tight and murmured soothing, praising words. But he didn't say the words she really wanted—needed to hear. She wanted him to say he loved her and he would be with her the next time she awoke with Colt Murddock's sightless eyes staring into her soul.

  Finally her sobs ebbed. She stirred in his arms, grabbing the cloth from the empty plate and wiping her eyes. Adam was staring at her, his blue eyes dark with concern.

  "Did—Did any of this help?” God, she prayed it had so what she had done would not be in vain. Because of this recreation, the nightmares would come tonight, she knew. If only Adam could be there. He could hold her and remind her that it was just a dream, a nightmare that would fade with the morning light. She'd fall asleep in his arms, or maybe he would make love to her, blot out the awful images with his lips and his hands....

  "You said he was swinging,” Adam mused, placing comforting kisses on her nose, her lips, and her cheeks. Licking away the last traces of her tears. Lacy shivered, beginning to notice how tightly he held her against him. She'd never felt anything so wonderful before in her l
ife. Never. And his tender administrations made her feel like a child again, a loved, cosseted child.

  The rest of her felt all woman.

  "Yes. He was swinging. I remember how the shadows from his ... body danced around the walls. That was why I picked up the lamp, to see what was causing them."

  Absently, Adam rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders. “So that means he hadn't been hanging long, if he was still swinging."

  Lacy's eyes widened. “I hadn't thought of that."

  Adam nodded, more confident now. “Yes. This means you probably came close to bumping into whoever killed him. They must have just left before you arrived."

  His deduction sent a cold chill down her spine. Oh, heavens, if she'd been a few moments sooner, she might have saved Sheriff Murddock!

  Adam took one look at her horrified face and quickly shook his head. “No, darlin'. You couldn't have done anything. They would have killed you, too.” He shook her gently when her expression didn't change. “Do you hear me, Lacy? They would have killed you, and you wouldn't be here to help me now."

  Lacy's eyes snapped to his, the horror slowly receding as his words sank in. “But—But I haven't helped you at all! What good does it do to know Sheriff Murddock hadn't been dead long?"

  "Damn! I don't know, but there's got to be something, some clue hiding among this rubble!"

  Abruptly, he dropped his arms and began pacing the floor. A fierce frown drew his dark brows together as he contemplated everything she had told him.

  Lacy watched him walk back and forth, thinking he looked dangerous and vulnerable all at the same time.

  Her knees began to tremble and she reached a hand out to steady herself against the desk. Reaction, she thought. She felt drained of emotion, sucked dry of spirit. Even her voice, when she spoke, lacked strength. “Can I go home now?"