“I see.” Deputy Earp made a note on a sheet of paper in front of him.
“May I ask more details of the case? We know very little.”
Abigail did her best to be inconspicuous as the two men talked, trying to keep the promise that she’d made to Gabe that she wouldn’t get in his way. However, as Deputy Earp spoke, he frequently looked her way to include her in the conversation, and she liked that.
“The victim was Mrs. Smith’s husband, Edward Smith. The body was discovered by a Mrs. Nellie Thomas, the next-door neighbor of the Smiths. According to her statement, she had come over to borrow some eggs, knocked on the door, and found it to be ajar. When she pushed it open, she found Mr. Smith lying on the floor, a large butcher knife protruding from his chest, and Mrs. Smith nowhere to be found.”
“I see,” Gabe said. “And how was it determined that Mrs. Smith was the main suspect in the case?”
“As I questioned other neighbors, one man stated seeing Mrs. Smith running down the street toward the train station. He called out to her, but she didn’t reply. He said she was in a great state of agitation.”
“Surely there are other reasons why a woman would be agitated, Deputy Earp,” Abigail said, unable to hold back her comment. “She might have witnessed the murder, rather than being the murderess herself.”
“Mrs. Thomas also stated that she’d overheard the Smiths arguing earlier in the day while she was out in her yard,” Deputy Earp continued.
“That would be consistent with what Mrs. Smith told me herself,” Gabe replied. “There was a row.”
“I take it there are aspects of this case I don’t know about?”
“There are. I haven’t had the chance yet to write up a full report of Mrs. Smith’s statement to me. I’ll do that tonight at the hotel and bring it by in the morning, if that’s all right, Deputy. Then, with your permission, I’d like to speak with your witnesses, and see the Smith home.”
“That suits me, and I’ll make our reports available to you as well. Our objective is to make sure the right person is punished, and if you feel that person is not Mrs. Smith, we’ll do what we can to assist you in that investigation.”
“I haven’t quite made up my mind yet as to what I think,” Gabe replied. “She seemed very sincere as she told me her side of the story, but we have a lapse in memory to consider.”
“And you, Miss Peterson?” Deputy Earp turned to Abigail with sharp eyes.
She hadn’t expected this question. She was there to be quiet, after all, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in her answer. “I believe Mrs. Smith is innocent,” Abigail said after taking a deep breath. “I’ve spent a little time with her since she arrived, and I believe she has a kind and gentle heart.”
Gabe looked annoyed. “Sometimes even those with the purest of hearts can do evil things, if they are given the right motive,” he said.
Abigail raised an eyebrow. “Motive or not, pure-hearted people can’t do something truly evil,” she replied. “It would go against their very natures.”
“And because it went against their natures, perhaps it caused them to become so upset that they blocked it from their memory,” Gabe retorted.
Abigail blinked a few times. “Just what is this motive, Deputy Hanks, and why are you so eager to disagree with me? You sound positively angry.”
Gabe pressed his lips together. “I apologize. I’m rather tired from our journey, as well as hungry, and I let my fatigue overtake me. Deputy Earp, I believe we’ll go rest for the night and meet you here in the morning to share statements and evidence, if that’s all right with you.”
“That’s more than all right. I was starting to fancy some dinner myself.” He paused. “There’s another thing to mention. A horse seems to be missing from the Smith farm.”
“A horse?”
“That’s right. It was noted by a Mr. Gilbert Quincy, who volunteered to look after the Smiths’ animals until everything’s put to rights with Mrs. Smith. Seems he’s been wanting to buy the place and wondered if doing this Christian duty would put him in the running for purchase should Mrs. Smith go to jail. At any rate, he claims there used to be a bay mare on the property, and it’s not there now. He’d like to know what happened to it because he hoped to purchase it as well. We’ve investigated it, although to a lesser degree than the murder, and we’ve found no traces of it. I’m not asking you to find the horse, but rather, I’m informing you of it, if it should turn out to be important.”
“Thank you, Deputy. We appreciate it.”
Gabe and Abigail collected their bags and walked back up the street toward a hotel they’d passed earlier. Abigail waited until they were somewhat alone on the sidewalk before asking, “What was that all about back there? You know of a motive, and yet, you won’t speak of it?”
“I thought it best to write everything out in a detailed report. That way, my facts will be straight.”
Abigail stopped walking and stared at him. “You’re hiding something from me.”
He stopped too. “What do you mean?”
“You’re withholding evidence because you don’t want to talk about it in front of me. Must I keep reminding you that I have Colonel Gordon’s full confidence? I can even shoot a gun, even though I’m not currently carrying one. Just what is it that you’re trying so hard not to tell me?”
Gabe sighed and took a step closer. “Mr. Smith was having . . . relations . . . with the neighbor’s wife, and Mrs. Smith found out about it the day of the murder. I didn’t think you’d want to hear about that.”
She gave him a look that spoke of her exasperation. “And why not?”
“Because you’re a lady, and it’s not polite conversation.”
“Oh, good heavens.” Abigail waited until an elderly couple passed them and they were relatively alone again. “You honestly think I don’t know about such things? I’ve never been sheltered, Deputy—not one day of my life. Do you believe that all the men and women who check into the hotel together are legally married? I know full well that a good percentage of them are not. Being a lady doesn’t mean that I don’t know these things—it means that I don’t do them myself. And if you’re withholding evidence because you’re worried about wounding my sensibilities, that’s just . . . that’s just silly.”
“Do you see? Do you see why this won’t work? I can’t even do my job because I’m so busy thinking about you.” Gabe turned and began walking up the street again. Abigail picked up the hem of her skirts and chased after him.
“I’ll tell you what, Deputy. Stop worrying about me. Stop thinking about me at all. I’m just an associate, like you told Deputy Earp. I’m not a woman—I’m not even here at all. So you can talk about infidelity and you can discuss the blood on the murder weapon and you can even burp, all without wondering how I’ll take it. I’m not a china doll, and I refuse to be treated like one. Furthermore, I fully intend to eat an extra slice of pie with my dinner, which may or may not be a ladylike thing to do, but I’m going to do it anyway.” She marched up the steps of the hotel, leaving a rather befuddled-looking deputy frozen at the bottom. She turned back and looked at him. “Well? Are you coming?”
***
When Abigail descended the stairs for dinner, she felt considerably better. She’d shaken the dust from her traveling clothes and hung them up, washed at the basin in the corner of her room, and put on a simple blue sprigged dress of light cotton. She’d brushed and rebraided her hair, sure that it, too, held pounds of dust, and wiped her face until it no longer felt gritty.
She felt eyes on her as she entered the dining room, and she moved to Gabe’s side as quickly as possible. “Is something wrong?” she whispered. “People are staring at me.”
“Those are looks of appreciation,” he whispered back. “Or at least, they’d better be.”
They sat and placed their orders, then Abigail took a deep breath to give the little speech she’d been preparing for the last ten minutes. “Deputy, I owe you an apology. It must h
ave been horribly frustrating to find yourself saddled with me, as it were, and I know I’m complicating things. But we can find a way to make the best of this, right? We’re both stubborn, but we can put aside our stubbornness and work for the common good, which is to learn the truth about Margaret Smith. Shall we call a truce?”
“I’ll consider it, Miss Peterson.”
She studied him for a moment. He’d obviously washed up and changed as well, and she could smell the scent of his soap from across the table. It was unique, as though herbs had been stirred into the mixture. She liked it, and wondered if he’d brought his own. The soap the hotel had given her didn’t have that particular scent.
“Which brings me to another point. I’d like it very much if you’d call me Abigail. We’ve known each other long enough by now to be on a first-name basis, haven’t we? Except for when you’re angry with me, and . . . I can see that’s the case now, so I’ll stop talking.” She looked down at the table, as embarrassed as she’d ever been in her life. The way he’d clenched his jaw just now had told her everything she needed to know. He couldn’t stand her, and she really couldn’t blame him.
They ate in silence. The food was quite good, and Abigail spent a little time studying the flavor of the gravy to see if she could replicate it back at the hotel. Miss Hampton had been saying she’d like to add some new things to the menu, and had been delighted to hear that Sarah also enjoyed cooking. Abigail ate two slices of pie, as she’d promised she would, and picked up on just a hint of ginger in the apple pie and some lemon in the berry pie. Hmm. More things to try.
Glad that she’d been able to occupy her mind perfectly well while her dinner companion pointedly ignored her, she wiped her mouth, stood, bid Gabe good night, and made her way back through the dining room. She had just reached the top of the stairs when she heard her name.
She turned and rested her hand on the railing. “Yes, Deputy?”
When Gabe reached the top of the staircase, he said, “You asked if there was any way for us to call a truce, to find a way to work together. There’s only one way I can think of.”
“By all means.”
“There’s something I have to know, and until I know it, I won’t be able to move forward.”
She sighed with exasperation. “And what might that be? Just tell me.”
He reached out, caught her wrist, and tugged her into a dark alcove of the hallway. Still grasping her arm, he took a step closer, and then another step. His eyes studied hers, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. Sage. That was the herb in his soap. Like standing outside in the rain and smelling the moisture hitting the sagebrush that grew all around her house when she was a little girl. It was one of the few happy childhood memories she had.
Then Gabe’s arm came around her waist and pulled her close, and he kissed her. This was no shy, hesitant kiss—this was a kiss that said he knew what he wanted, and in that moment, he wanted her. She couldn’t help it. Her spine went limp and her knees buckled. He caught her and kept kissing her until she was near breathless, and then he set her on her feet and stepped away.
“That didn’t help at all,” he said. “Good night, Miss Peterson. I’ll be by at eight o’clock, and we’ll go see Deputy Earp after breakfast.” He tipped his hat and walked down the hall, leaving Abigail flustered and more than a little shaky.
Chapter Seven
Gabe growled as he yanked off his boots. He’d thought that if he just gave in and kissed her, he’d discover that he’d imagined the connection between them, and he’d be able to get her out of his system. But no—now that he’d kissed her, it was even worse. It was everything he’d imagined and more, and when she went limp in his arms, he knew she felt it too. How was he supposed to do his job now? Remembering her soft form nestled in his arms, just like it had been made to fit there—it was enough to drive him mad.
He’d just have to maintain his distance. That was the only solution. It wasn’t what he wanted, not by a long shot, but right now, his focus had to be on this case.
He loosened the top few buttons on his shirt and then settled down to write. He’d gotten some paper, ink, and a pen from the front desk of the hotel, and he dated the top of the first page. Then he allowed his mind to wander back to his conversation with Margaret Smith, and he wrote down everything he remembered her saying. He did this dispassionately, not allowing any of his personal feelings to color the narrative. It took him over an hour, and when he was finished, he laid the last page out to dry and leaned back on the bed. Who was this woman, Margaret Smith? Was she an unfortunate victim of circumstance, or a very convincing actress?
***
What on earth had Gabe meant, kissing her like that and then walking off and leaving her in the hallway? Abigail fumed as she got ready for bed. She’d never met anyone so high and mighty and full of himself and arrogant and strong and handsome and . . . no. She wouldn’t allow those thoughts to interfere with her perfectly good ranting and raving. He had absolutely no right at all to take her in his arms—none whatsoever! They certainly weren’t engaged—they weren’t even courting. And this after she’d been so sure that he’d be a perfect gentleman during their trip.
Except . . . except . . . she’d liked it. And he hadn’t done a single thing that she hadn’t been dreaming about for days. If he were being ungentlemanly, that would mean he did something against her will, but since kissing her was very much her will, had he then been even more of a gentleman, giving her what she wanted?
Argh! She pounded her pillow before she lay down on it. Infuriating man.
By the time morning came, she’d convinced herself that he was a total lout. So much so, in fact, that when he came by the next morning to fetch her, the first thing she did when she opened the door was to say, “You are a lout, Deputy.”
It didn’t seem to affect him at all. “Good morning to you too, Miss Peterson. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“I . . . I . . .” She spluttered. “That was for kissing me last night.”
“Oh? I would have thought that a thank you would be more in order.”
Of all the conceited, arrogant . . . oh, the gall. “Thank you for assaulting me in the middle of the hallway? I should think not.”
“Unless I miss my guess, which rarely happens, that was hardly an assault, Miss Peterson. But in either case, it won’t happen anymore, so you have nothing to fear. Come now, let’s go eat. I don’t want to be late to meet up with Deputy Earp.”
It wasn’t going to happen anymore? Did that mean he had no intention whatsoever of kissing her again . . . ever? That wasn’t what she wanted, was it? The problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted. He was a total lout . . . and maybe she wanted a total lout.
They ate breakfast in the same sort of silence that had prevailed over their table at dinner, and then they walked over to the marshal’s office. Deputy Earp was waiting for them, and he took Gabe’s pages with interest. Then Gabe settled in to read the documentation Deputy Earp provided. All was quiet in the office for several minutes. Abigail amused herself by glancing around at the pictures and making up stories to go with each.
“Thank you,” Gabe said as he read the last page. “I believe we’ll head over to the Smith property now. Has it been touched since the murder?”
“Except for the removal of the body, everything is the same. I wish I could accompany you, but I have another urgent case. Can you find your way?”
“I believe we can. I’ll be in touch with any further questions.”
The two men shook hands, and Deputy Earp nodded at Abigail. Then Gabe and Abigail stepped back out into the bright sunshine.
“We’ll need to rent a carriage,” Gabe said, looking up and down the street. “From the location given in the documents, the Smith home is a good distance from here.”
“But the witness said Margaret ran toward the train station,” Abigail pointed out. “How could he have known what she was running toward in particular? I imagine there are any number of b
usinesses or friends’ homes that could just as easily have been her intention.”
“He probably heard that she’d ended up taking the train, and filled in the gaps,” Gabe replied. “That’s an excellent question, though, and we’ll be sure to follow up on that.”
Abigail’s chest warmed at his use of “we.” Perhaps he was starting to see her as a viable member of this team after all.
“I think it also speaks to her mental state that she went the full distance on foot,” Gabe mused. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s rent a carriage and head out to the property, and then see if we can retrace her steps. I want to talk to the manager at the train station, I want to talk to the owners of the businesses along the way, and I want to ask the conductor a few more questions. With this situation shifting from a Jane Doe case to a murder investigation, my line of questioning will be different.”
“I’m sorry—Jane Doe?”
“That’s the term we use for an unidentified woman. A man would be John Doe.”
“Oh, I see.”
After asking around, they were able to find a carriage for hire, and they were on their way. As they drove, Abigail took note of the distance. The farther they drove, the more she marveled that Margaret could have come all this way on her own.
“No wonder she was so worn out and dehydrated,” Abigail said. “She’d not only been through . . . who knows what, really . . . but she’d walked all this distance and taken that long train ride. I’d probably pass out in your arms too.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what she’d said, remembering how she very nearly did pass out in his arms just the night before, but for very different reasons. “I mean, from exhaustion,” she clarified, even though it was now too late. Gabe was already grinning.
“My point, Deputy, and I do have a point, is that the longer we drive, the more I doubt that’s how she arrived at the station.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5) Page 5
