Secrets In The Shadows

by Sheridon Smythe

  Rusty nodded. “And Noel? Did he remember anything?"

  His expression hard, Adam said, “Yes. He saw the mayor go into Colt's office before he died, but he's not sure of the time. He never saw him leave."

  Rusty rubbed his jaw. “Well, it had to be close to the same time, with him lightin’ the lamps and all. It was gettin’ dark when Lacy found him."

  "Right."

  * * * *

  The harsh clanging of the fire bells woke Lacy from a sweet dream. She groaned and buried her head beneath her pillow as she tried to recapture the image of Adam's passion-filled eyes. In her dream, Adam had been on the verge of kissing her.

  And she had thought to have nightmares.... She smiled a dreamy smile and snuggled into the mattress. Wonderful dreams, instead of nightmares.

  But the clanging continued, followed by shrill cries of “Fire! Fire!"

  The words finally penetrated the fog of sleep Lacy fought so desperately to lose herself in.

  She jerked upright, panic skimming along her nerve endings. The word ‘fire’ spread fear in the stoutest of hearts. Everyone helped out, no matter what time it was, or whose building was ablaze. She was no exception. Women, children, anyone who could haul a bucket of water was expected to answer the summons.

  The last fire had been several years ago, when the small general store had gone up like a gas-soaked torch. Luckily, the building had stood alone, unlike most of the businesses in town.

  Swiftly, Lacy threw back the sheet and scrambled into her clothes. She buttoned her dress as she hurried to wake Ben and Takola. When she was certain they were awake and dressing, she raced down the stairs to her grandfather's room, a small bedroom adjacent to the living room.

  It was empty. Spinning around, she tripped her way through the darkened living room to the sofa. Adam was gone, too. They must have already left to help put out the fire. How long had the bells been ringing before she awoke? she wondered, tugging her shoes on. And how was Adam getting around on that bad ankle? It sounded just like him, hobbling around trying to help.

  Ben and Takola appeared at the foot of the stairs, hastening after her as she jerked open the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The sharp smell of burning wood and tar stung her nose and eyes.

  The fire was close, she saw, watching the billowing black smoke pour into the dark sky. Flames suddenly shot upward, causing Lacy's heart to stutter to a stop.

  The fire was at the jailhouse and from the position of the flames, it had begun at the rear of the building.

  Adam's bedroom.

  Fear lanced through her before she remembered that Adam was not there, had in fact been sleeping on her couch. She raced down the road in the direction of the fire with Ben and Takola at her side, heedless of the mud from the recent rain splattering her skirts. Other townspeople began to pour into the street, moving in the same direction. Many were still dressed in their nightclothes, caps bobbing on their heads as they ran.

  Reaching the crowd, Lacy saw that two assembly lines had already begun. Buckets of water swung from hand to hand, taken from the nearest well. As they were emptied, they were passed to the second line to be returned and refilled. A third and fourth line were forming as more willing hands arrived.

  Lacy found Adam and her grandpa at the head of the first line, shouting for haste. She glanced quickly down at Adam's foot, frowning when she realized he wasn't favoring it at all. Perhaps the sprain had turned out to be minor bruising, instead. She thrust the worry from her mind and concentrated on the more important task at hand.

  Thank God, there would be no casualties, she thought as she took her place at the end of the line. Ben and Takola fell in with her. Takola looked serene, as usual, but Lacy noticed Ben's eyes were round with shock.

  The bucket swung her way and Lacy grabbed it and hauled it around to the next person in line, which happened to be Dr. Martin. She hadn't noticed when she'd taken her place, so intent had she been on locating her grandfather and Adam. She glanced over his shoulder. Her heart stopped.

  Adam was disappearing through the front door of the jailhouse and straight into the fire.

  Dear heavens, what did he think he was doing? He was insane! Without thinking, Lacy broke from the line and ran towards the jailhouse. She splashed through mud puddles and slipped her way to the door just as Adam came running back out.

  He nearly slammed into her. Furious, Lacy yelled over the roaring of the flames and the shouts from the men. “What are you doing!” And then she saw the painting he held.

  "Take this,” he shouted, and disappeared back inside.

  Stunned, Lacy caught the painting by the frame, feeling the heat from the scorched wood seep into her palms. Before she could gather breath to scream for him, he returned once again, carrying what looked like a photograph and a stack of papers. He thrust those into her already laden arms.

  "Put these somewhere safe,” he ordered before trotting back to the front line to resume his position.

  Mumbling beneath her breath, Lacy carried the items to the overhanging in front of the blacksmith's shop and set them down before rushing back to help.

  The entire population of Shadow City worked for over an hour, battling the flames as they continued to eat their way to the front of the building. The buckets of water seemed about as effective as spit on a roaring fire. Finally, Adam must have realized it was useless to try and save the jailhouse for he began directing the water to the buildings on either side. Lacy approved of his decision, knowing that if they didn't get the flames doused sufficiently, the fire would spread and eat those buildings, too.

  Her arms ached, so she could only imagine how Ben and the slender Takola felt by now. Soot blackened most of the faces she looked upon and she suspected her own was just as dirty. But no-one cared; they were all intent on saving their town.

  Morning wasn't far away before the fire ran out of fuel. The water-soaked buildings on either side of the jailhouse suffered smoke damage and a few charred patches, but otherwise remained standing. They hadn't saved the jailhouse, but they had all done the best they could.

  Weary, dirty, and depressed over the loss, people began to drift homeward. Lacy had the same thoughts, gathering Ben and Takola and glancing around for the men. She found them searching among the smoldering fire. Sighing, she turned away, deciding they could find their own way home.

  "Hey! We found somebody!"

  Lacy froze. The shout had come from her grandfather. Slowly, she turned back around, a feeling of dread adding to her weariness.

  It seemed she was wrong about there being no casualties.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rusty and Adam had discovered the body in the yard a few feet from what had once been the back door to the jailhouse. The man was lying face down with his arms stretched above his head as if he had been attempting to crawl away from the inferno.

  And he was wearing a gun.

  Adam used a shovel to turn the body as people crowded around to get a look at the gruesome find. Lacy gripped Ben's shoulder and turned his face away from the terrible sight, gasping as she saw the slightly burned features. Takola stood silently beside her, her small round face expressionless. She'd seen death in many ways—far more brutal than this.

  Rusty peered at the body, shaking his head. “That's not the one who was at the saloon,” he said for Adam's ears only.

  "Looks like Brody Peters,” Matt Johnson announced, stepping forward to get a better look. “He works for the mayor, doesn't he?” Several people nodded or murmured their agreement.

  Adam and Rusty exchanged a knowing glance, and Adam knew it wouldn't take much to convince the crowd that the mayor was responsible for the fire. All the evidence they needed was lying on the ground before them. Still, Adam hesitated before he said, “Guess this means another chat with the mayor.” He stared at the body through narrow, assessing eyes. Something wasn't right, he thought. If Brody had started the fire—on the mayor's orders—then why was he now dead?

 
; "You think he's behind this?” an astounded voice asked.

  Adam searched for the speaker, his gaze finally landing on the soot-blackened face of Dr. Martin. If not for his mutton-chop whiskers, Adam wouldn't have recognized him. “I'll need to find out what Peters was doing here at the time of the fire,” he hedged, adding, “Can you take the body to your office and take a closer look? Just for my peace of mind. I want to make sure this man died because of the fire."

  Dr. Martin looked puzzled, but he nodded, asking for volunteers to help carry the dead man to his office. Several younger boys came forward, eager to impress the sheriff with their brawn.

  Adam looked at the silent crowd, which consisted mainly of men because the women and children, with the exception of Lacy, Ben and Takola, had gone home. “I'll need a few extra men to go with me when I talk to the mayor.” He wasn't a coward, but neither was he a fool. “Anyone who volunteers will need to bring a rifle. If you don't have one, we'll get you one.” He passed a weary hand through his smoke-roughened hair as an impressive number of hands lifted, vowing their support.

  "You expecting trouble, Sheriff?” Matt Johnson asked after volunteering to go with Adam.

  Adam managed a weary grin. “I always expect trouble, Matt. That way I'm never surprised. Right now I suggest everyone go home and get some rest. We'll meet here at five o'clock this evening before headin’ out to the mayor's house."

  The crowd dispersed and by unspoken agreement, Rusty and Adam headed down the street in the direction of home.

  Home. Adam stumbled and Rusty put out a steadying arm. He mumbled his thanks and regained his balance. He was thinking of Lacy's house as home. Which wasn't really surprising, considering the way she made him feel at home.

  Along the way, Adam detoured to retrieve the items Lacy had placed on the boardwalk and away from tramping feet and smoke and fire. Someone had placed a stone on the stack of wanted posters to keep them from blowing away.

  "You'll have to make a new frame for that,” Rusty commented, pointing at the charred and blackened frame around the painting.

  Luckily, the painting itself wasn't damaged. It had buckled a few places from the heat, but otherwise remained untouched. Adam smoothed his hand over the canvas. He'd gotten it just in the nick of time. And the photograph of Colt Murddock had been in the desk, protected from the smoke and heat, as had been the wanted posters. He shook his head, still not sure why he'd grabbed the posters. If his suspicion proved true—and everything so far verified it—his job would soon be over and he'd be on his way out of town to Wyoming.

  Wouldn't he? The thought of leaving Shadow City didn't fill him with anticipation as it once had. In fact, he didn't like the prospect worth a damn. If Lacy had given him the slightest encouragement, he might have reconsidered.

  But she'd hesitated, telling him all he needed to know. She couldn't trust him, or any man. Relationships could not be built without trust. Adam absently widened his stride to step across a mud puddle, his thoughts deep and grim. If Lacy was with child, then she would marry him, whether she wanted to or not. Maybe in time she would learn to trust him.

  Love him, as he loved her.

  Adam startled Rusty by laughing out loud. If his face had not been black with soot, the blush would have given him away. He kept his eyes on the road and ignored Rusty's upraised eyebrows.

  He loved Lacy Ross. Damn. He, Adam Logan, had fallen for the most stubborn, ornery, and proud woman in Callaway County.

  * * * *

  Dr. Martin parted the dead man's hair and pointed to a bulging knot at the base of his skull. “Might have fallen trying to get out after he started the fire. Probably panicked and the smoke got to him.” He washed his hands in a pan of hot soapy water and dried them, looking at Adam. “Or that bump could have knocked him out and he never knew what happened."

  Adam continued to stare at the body, absorbing the doctor's words. “Or someone could have hit him with something,” he said slowly, lifting his eyes to meet Dr. Martin's startled ones.

  "But why?"

  Shaking his head in frustration, Adam growled, “I don't know, Doc, I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right, but I can't figure it out."

  But he would. He had too. “Let's gather up the others and go talk to the mayor. He's got the answers."

  Dr. Martin covered the body with a blanket and followed Adam from the room.

  The mayor was waiting for them. Adam tipped his hat at the housekeeper and followed her into the spacious parlor. The men fell in behind him. Rusty, Dr. Martin, Matt Johnson, Kent Middleton from the general store, and Lester Salvage were among the men Adam had brought along. There were ten of them altogether, but Adam knew that if the mayor balked at the arrest, ten—nine carrying rifles or guns because Dr. Martin had refused—wouldn't be nearly enough to ward off his dozen or so henchmen posted around the house.

  He didn't want any of these good men getting themselves killed, so he kept his expression cool and his hand far away from the butt of his gun. He had already advised the men to act on his orders and not before.

  Adam saw right away that the mayor wasn't alone. Graham Silverstone was with him, looking thin and elegant in a charcoal gray suit with a black and gray pinstripe vest. His aged, sharp-nosed face was somber as he met Adam's quizzical gaze. He was the first to speak as the townsmen filed in behind Adam, forming a solid barrier at his back.

  "I'm acting as the mayor's attorney, Sheriff Logan. Am I correct in assuming this is an informal questioning, and not a lynching?” The half smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes.

  Adam was surprised to see the attorney, although he probably shouldn't have been. Jamis Goodrich wasn't the type of man to just sit back and wait for someone to haul him to jail, and he'd had the entire day to pull in favors.

  Not that there was a jail any longer. The thought brought a grim smile to Adam's mouth. He bowed at Graham Silverstone, then focused his cold eyes on the mayor. Jamis looked smug and prosperous in his velvet burgundy jacket, but a nervous sweat beaded his forehead. His nose was swollen and bruised and he couldn't hold Adam's gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. So, Adam mused, the mayor wasn't as confident as he wanted them to believe. And he was scared.

  "Found one of your henchmen at the back of the jail—what's left of it, and him.” Adam taunted the mayor. “Guess he got too close to the fire. You wouldn't happen to know how he came to be at the jailhouse—and how he ended up dying there?"

  The mayor shot Silverstone a nervous glance. Silverstone nodded encouragingly. Goodrich cleared his throat before speaking. “I've ... I've had some trouble down at the mill and I had sent Peters to talk to you about it."

  "Awful late for that, wouldn't you say?” Adam drawled. He never took his eyes from the mayor's face, not even to blink. He could only pray the men behind him would remain silent. The mayor was doing a mighty fine job of digging his own trap.

  Goodrich looked to Silverstone again and received a second encouraging nod. It was almost comical. Adam thought he heard a snicker from someone behind him, and suspected Rusty was the culprit. He could hardly blame him; if the situation weren't so serious, he would have laughed too.

  "I ... I didn't think of it until late. Figured you'd be up until the saloon closed."

  Adam scratched his ear, feigning puzzlement. He could almost feel the tension radiating from behind him. “Wonder why he came around through the back way? Seems like a lot of trouble, climbing that old splintery fence when he could have came to the front door."

  At Adam's words, the mayor looked desperate. He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it when the distinguished attorney stepped forward. His sigh of relief could be heard by all. “Look, Sheriff,” Silverstone began in a professional voice, “Why don't you just come to the point?"

  "All right.” Adam, too, had begun to tire of the game. “I have reason to believe Brody Peters set fire to the jailhouse—following a direct order from Jamis Goodrich. I also believe that Peters got caught in the fire
before he could make it out.” With a mocking bow, Adam turned to the mayor. “In light of this evidence, I'm taking you in for further questioning."

  "You can't do that,” Silverstone said. “You don't have any concrete proof of anything, Sheriff Logan. There are laws in this country everyone has to follow, yourself included. Without evidence, without witnesses, you can't take him anywhere. He told you why Peters was there and unless you can prove he's lying...."

  He sounded confident, too confident. Unfortunately, Adam suspected he was right. No matter how much he believed that the mayor was behind the fire and the intent had been to roast him alive, he didn't have any proof, any evidence save his own instincts. As for witnesses—his only witness, Brody Peters—was dead.

  Damn and damn! At the time of the fire, he and Rusty had been watching the front of the jailhouse, never considering someone might sneak through the back way. Why? Why hadn't they thought of the possibility?

  But Adam knew why. Because he'd been thinking about his grandfather, and how he believed his murderer had walked through the front door with the confident belief no one would ever suspect him.

  A fine upstanding citizen like the mayor.

  Adam stared at the mayor's perspiring face. Dammit! The lamplighter had seen him, and the mayor had already proven he was capable of ruthless measures to get the results he wanted. They knew that from the way he'd set fire to Salvage's lumber mill a few months back. And finding one of his henchmen, no matter how dead he was, was too much of a coincidence after setting the stage the way he and Rusty had.

  Yet ... he couldn't forget how sincere the mayor had seemed before Adam had plowed his fist into his nose yesterday.

  Something wasn't right, as he had told Dr. Martin. It was obvious the mayor was guilty of something—lying about something—he just wasn't sure what it was.

  If he could get the mayor alone, he could make him talk.

  Slowly Adam looked around the room, silently counting the mean-faced men under Goodrich's hire. Five in the room, a dozen or so outside the door and more guarding the house. He swallowed a frustrated growl. Too many. He couldn't risk taking the mayor by force, not with the untrained men he'd brought along.