Under Starry Skies

by Judy Ann Davis

  ****

  The Sarowski barn was filled with noise, laughter, music, and gaiety when Maria and Tye arrived later in the evening only a few minutes before Abby and Brett. Outside the air was still warm, but growing cool and damp with the scent of fall. Their group had dispersed later in the afternoon, the women returning home to get ready for the big evening ahead. And it appeared the entire town had come to the outing.

  Maria looked across the crowd and picked out her Aunt Emma with Lang Redford, Patrick March, Frank Norwell, Will Singer, and Charlie Haney. Even Big Jake was whirling some little gal effortlessly around the dance floor. Now, standing beside Tye who was leaning against the doorframe of the barn, Maria tapped her foot in time with the music.

  “You seem more cheerful than I would’ve expected.” Tye tipped his hat back to peer down at her face.

  “You mean for someone who might not have a place to live?” She smiled and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

  Abigail and she had discussed their dilemma only hours ago. Brett had told them he was working to get the Irene M opened up to mine come spring. The two stage roads and a rail line were almost completed into Cripple Creek and Victor. There was no reason why they couldn’t make a new life in Golden, the sisters decided. They were young, strong, and capable, and if Aunt Emma decided to sell the Mule Shed Inn, Abby would find other employment. They would not starve, and they would not bend to the silly will of their obtuse, unkind aunt or anyone who threatened them and wanted them to leave.

  “We’ve decided to look for a larger house with some land near town where I can raise chickens and have an apple orchard,” Maria said. “Our father had one when we lived in the East, and it was filled with McIntoshes, Winesaps and Northern Spies. Abby is itching to have a real barn to house some horses and a buggy. We might have to wait a year or more, but we plan to save our money. If Aunt Emma throws us out of the cottage, we’ll manage with a room at the inn.”

  Tye smiled down at her and pulled her close, her back to his chest. He kissed the side of her forehead. “I love you, Maria,” he whispered in her ear. “You know, it’s time for me to settle down. You don’t have to live in a room at the inn or a house with your sister. My ranch house is too large for one man. Let’s get married. We could raise some cattle for me and some chickens for you. And a passel of kids for both of us.”

  “And I’d lose my job. You know the school board is opposed to having a married woman for a teacher.” She twisted her head up to look at him.

  “Forget the dang school board—”

  “Tye—” Maria glanced at the dance floor and spotted Millie moving toward the door on the other side of the barn. She wiggled free from his embrace, turned toward him, and pulled his face down to meet hers, her lips touching his. She kissed him soundly, brazenly. “Hold that thought, Rancher Ashmore. We need to discuss this, but there’s something I have to do right now. Right this minute.”

  “What? Hell’s fire! Where are you going?”

  To catch a murderer. Maria smiled. “I need to talk to Millie Hanson. It’s really important.”

  “For the love of Pete! Why now?” he asked in disbelief. “Maria, I’m trying to propos—”

  “Please, Tydall. Not now. I’ve waited all evening to corral Millie and talk to her alone, away from the clutches of Aunt Emma.” Before he could utter another word, she slipped away and disappeared across the barn floor, threading her way among the dancers.

  “Millie,” she called out.

  Millie whirled and moved to the edge of the far doorway and waited. Maria saw a flicker of apprehension course through her. Earlier, Abigail had told her about Millie’s trip to the barroom’s safe.

  “You did a wonderful job with the children’s final musical presentations,” Maria said sailing up. “I don’t know how I can thank you enough.”

  Millie smiled. “It was a pleasure. Children are so easy to work with. So full of laughter. So full of excitement.”

  “Yes, they are.” Maria took Mille by her forearm and pulled her outside, around the corner of the barn, out of earshot of others. “Millie, I need a favor. A huge favor.”

  The woman looked at her warily.

  “Do you have any idea what happened to the button found alongside Uncle Henry when he was killed?”

  Millie nodded. “It’s still sitting on the top of the spinet.”

  Maria heaved a sigh and pushed away wisps of hair falling in her eyes. “I need you to go get it and meet me at the stables.”

  A look of tired sadness washed over Millie’s face. “You’ll only stir up trouble, Maria, if Emma finds out. It’s not good to be on the wrong side of that woman.”

  “I don’t intend for her to find out. This is the ideal time while she’s at the festival.” She paused. “Look, Millie, I know you loved Uncle Henry. I suspect it has been you who has been regularly putting flowers on his grave, hasn’t it?”

  Millie’s voice broke miserably. “She never loved him. Never! All she did was harp at him and demand more money, more jewelry, and fine clothes. He was a good man, Maria. He didn’t deserve to have a shrew for a wife.” She hung her head. Her eyes filled with tears and splashed down her cheeks.

  “All the more reason to find the answers we need about Uncle Henry’s death.” Maria gripped her arm firmly and pushed her toward the manse. “Hurry, let’s get this over with,” she urged. “Meet me at the stables while there’s still some daylight.”

  Minutes later, when Millie returned to the stables, Maria had already picked the lock to Lang Redford’s trunk and removed the Confederate coat. She took it to a window and looked closely at it in the fading light. The thread holding the lost button to the material had been severed clean with a knife or scissors. Maria took the button Millie handed her and compared it to the others on the coat. A soft gasp escaped from her throat. “It’s a match,” she said. Their eyes met and widened in surprise and fright.

  “I never trusted that man,” Millie admitted and shook her head.

  Behind them, the door opened and they both jumped. Abigail slipped silently inside. “What are you doing?”

  “Goodness gracious, Abby, you scared us,” Maria said. She showed her the coat and unattached button.

  “You mean Lang Redford killed Uncle Henry?” she asked, her expression grim. “Now what do we do?”

  Millie looked at Abby with frightened eyes. “This time maybe we’d better get the sheriff.”

  “No, I suggest we all take a little walk up to the manse,” a voice said from behind them. They all whirled and watched Lang Redford stalk out from behind a stall, gun drawn and pointed at them. He had obviously been drinking. His face was scarlet, and he squinted at them through a swollen, black right eye. “My, my it’s going to take some thinking to decide how to get rid of this many people at one time.”

  “You’ll never get away with it, Lang,” Abigail said. “Too many people know we’ve left the festival. They’ll come looking for us.”

  His face went from pink to beet red. “You daft women! You both never give up! You just keep turning over rocks, again and again and again, until you stumble on hidden secrets that don’t concern you. You’re as dumb as tree stumps.” He turned to Maria and persisted, “Wasn’t a bullet near your head and a bag of snakes enough warning to leave things alone and hightail it out of here?” He waved the barrel of his gun toward the back of the barn. “Now we’re all going to go up to the manse through the back door so as not to arouse anyone’s suspicions. Lucky for me I came to check on the horses after I dropped your aunt off.”

  Minutes later, he marched them into the parlor where Emma was seated at the spinet. “My, my,” she cackled. “What have we here?”

  “Three women who know where the button came from.” He kept his gun trained on them.

  Emma picked up the crystal dish and a look of rage passed over her face when she realized it was empty. “Where is the button? Who has the button?”

  All three women stood mute staring at her.<
br />
  She rose from the spinet and stormed toward them. This time her voice rose in hysterical anger. “I asked for the button!”

  “Button, button, who has the button?” Abigail said in a sing-song voice. “You remember that old childhood game, don’t you, Maria?”

  “You little smart-mouthed harlot! You’ll get what you deserve.” She looked at Lang Redford with eyes like a rabid dog. Spittle flew from her mouth as she ordered, “Give me the gun and go to the kitchen and get me a knife. One of these women is going to talk, I assure you. I want that button!”

  “Now, now, Emma,” he said. “Who cares which one of them has an old button?”

  She shouted at him, her eyes wide and crazed. “I said get me a knife!” She ripped the gun from his hand and pointed it at the women, then took a step toward Maria. “You, stupid, stupid school teacher. Can’t you read?” She laughed shrilly. “You couldn’t heed the warnings to get out of town? I couldn’t have made them any clearer.”

  “Oh, she did,” Abby replied. Her voice was calm and steady. “We had a few laughs over them. The whizzing bullets and message on her slate board were a real treat. The snakes? Well, we’re both not fond of snakes.”

  Instantly, Maria knew Abigail was trying to goad their aunt, trying to get her to step closer. It worked. Emma strode forward and pointed the gun at Abby’s nose. “I should shoot you this very instant, you little trollop! I told Henry I never wanted his nieces here when he was alive, and I certainly never wanted you here now that he’s dead. You girls are a noose around my neck!”

  With a desire for vengeance she never knew she had, Maria sent her foot flying, soundly kicking Emma in her knee. As she stumbled forward to try to catch herself, Maria lunged and ripped the gun from her hand. Emma tumbled to the floor and landed in a heap, her legs tangled in her petticoats and dress.

  “Owwwwh!” Emma righted herself screaming, “Lang! Lang, get in here. Help me! Now.”

  Maria stepped back and trained the gun on her. “Get up and move back, Aunt Emma, before I use this. I have no desire to hurt you, but it means nothing to me if I do.” For once, Maria decided, she was tired of being afraid. She would no longer be scared of this demented, sharp-tongued woman. She would no longer be afraid of using a firearm. And she would no longer worry about making a home in the Territory. She and Abigail were not going back to Utah, and no one was going to force them to leave.

  Emma scrambled up and backed away. Her nostrils flared with fury. “You sniveling little strumpet. Why, you don’t even know how to use a gun.” She laughed. “I heard about your silly little performance at the picnic when you arrived in Golden.”

  “Maria, give me the gun,” Abigail said. Her voice was low and insistent. She held out her hand.

  Maria smiled and shook her head. She couldn’t believe how calm she felt. She waved the barrel at the picture of Emma on the wall. “I never understood why Uncle Henry liked such a lurid, horrendous portrait of you. Did any of you ever wonder about it, too?”

  “Give me the gun, Maria,” Abby pleaded. “Please. Before one of us gets hurt.”

  “Oh, none of us will get hurt, I assure you.” Maria’s eyes never faltered as she looked at her aunt and spoke through gritted teeth. “You know, Emma, the portrait doesn’t do you justice. I’ve always hated it. The dress is offensively hideous, and you have enough powder on your face to dust three babies’ bottoms!” She pointed the gun at the portrait, took aim with both hands, and squeezed the trigger. Amid the sound of the blast, the bullet severed the thin cord on the portrait. It came crashing to the floor, pieces of glass splattering against the wall. Maria saw Emma flinch and then heard her gasp. Her eyes grew big and round as she gawked at the hole in the wall and her ruined picture on the floor.

  From under her breath, Millie whispered. “Maybe we ought to let your sister keep the gun, Abigail. She’s doing a right fine job at the moment.”

  Maria turned to the housekeeper. “Millie, please go over and take all the covers off the chairs and settee.”

  “No-oooooo,” Emma screamed and clutched the sides of her head, tearing at her hair. “Leave the room alone!”

  Maria kept her gun trained on her. “Calm down. Don’t make me shoot you, Emma.”

  Hands shaking, Millie hurriedly circled the room dragging the sheets from the chairs and dropping them on the floor. When she got to the wingback chair in front of the fireplace, she pulled the sheet to reveal upholstery splattered with large blood stains, now dried and brown colored. Her face reacted in utter surprise. “Is this where Henry was killed?”

  In the kitchen, they heard a scuffle and the voice of Tye telling Lang Redford to join the party in the parlor. When they entered, Maria spoke. “Looks like the game is over, Lang; it’s your button, your uniform, and all the evidence for the murder of my uncle leads back to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said and followed it with a hiss. “I ain’t taking the fall for something I never done. I never killed Henry McNeil. It was Emma. She drugged his drink, then stabbed him with a knife.”

  Emma waved her hands. “Shut up, Lang! Just shut up!”

  “No, I never thought you did it,” Maria admitted. “Aunt Emma knifed Uncle Henry, but then she needed help to put the body in the cemetery. You realized you’d have to keep quiet about the button and murder, and it would be the perfect opportunity to blackmail her and squeeze every penny you could from her. After all, it’s no secret you like to gamble. So she paid to keep you quiet and from going to the authorities. And that’s why she kept pilfering money from the inn’s safe.”

  “How’d you figure it out?” he asked.

  Maria glanced at Abigail. “We figured it was Aunt Emma who wielded the knife and gave you those stitches on your arm, but we didn’t make a connection until Millie told Abigail that Emma had once threatened her with a knife. When Dr. Wade sewed your arm, Abby and I searched out all your cronies who play cards with you, and we couldn’t find one who had witnessed a knife fight. We couldn’t find a single soul. Now wasn’t that odd?”

  Tye nudged Lang in the back with the barrel of his gun. “You must have really riled the old gal for her to take off on you.”

  Maria took a deep breath. She stared at her uncle’s portrait. Now all she needed to know was why Emma killed their uncle. Abby beat her to the question.

  “Why?” Abigail asked. “Why Uncle Henry? What did Uncle Henry ever do to you?”

  “He was weak,” Emma said scornfully. “He was cheap. He’d give to others before he’d let me buy something new.” She poked at her chest with a finger and spoke with bitterness. “It was me who was supposed to have everything.” She waved her hands in the air. “He knew I hated Golden. He knew I wanted to go home to Georgia where the people were cultured and refined and where people cared about wealth and status. I begged him to take me back east.”

  Tye let out a long audible sigh. He spoke to all, but only gazed at Maria. “We need to fetch the sheriff. I have the feeling this is going to be a long night.”

  “I’ll go,” Millie Hanson said quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “How did you know to come to the manse?” Maria looked at Tye who was seated at the Mule Shed Inn’s kitchen table, along with Abigail, Brett, Marcus, and Betsy.

  It was late that night, and they had just finished with the sheriff. No one felt in the mood to return to the festival, so they had gathered at the inn for coffee. Anna had sent over a huge plate of pastries. The kitchen glowed with the light of three lanterns strategically hung on the wall to shine on the table. The woodstove fire drove the chill from the air and made the kitchen feel cozy and warm.

  “Betsy saw you leave the barn dance with Millie, and once I realized Abigail had also disappeared, it wasn’t difficult to conclude you both were up to no good,” Tye said. His words were calm, but the look he and Maria exchanged indicated he was barely concealing his anger. “I sent Brett to the inn to look for you and Marcus to the cottage. I headed over t
o the manse. I hope you realize you all could have been killed.”

  “What will happen to Aunt Emma?” Abby’s attempt to deliberately change the subject did not go undetected. Tye and Brett sat at the table and glared at them, frowning.

  Marcus rubbed his jaw. “She’ll go to trial for the murder of her husband and probably for the murder of her first husband as well. Then she’s headed to a life-long stay at an asylum. Imagine the person who has the job of trying to untangle her mind.” Marcus shook his head. “He’ll soon discover Emma plays with a set of dice without all the dots.”

  “What will happen to the manse and the Mule Shed Inn?” Maria asked.

  “The will the sheriff requested from your uncle’s lawyer tonight indicated all his holdings and belongings were to go to your father upon his death,” Brett said. “Therefore, Attorney Wright is confident Abigail and you will own all of it. Luckily, since Emma was intent on covering up Henry’s death and trying to chase you back to Utah, it never crossed her mind to look for Henry’s will, and she undoubtedly, and erroneously, assumed everything was hers. Had she discovered its contents, you both may have ended up like poor Henry.”

  “It looks like you will not have to worry about a place to stay.” Marcus’s gaze came to rest on the two sisters.

  Maria shuddered. She thought about the dreary house, the bloodstained chair, the sad songs from the spinet, and the ugly portrait of Emma. “I will not ramble around in that cold, pitiful place.”

  “Nor I,” Abigail agreed.

  “Sell it, or have Millie Hanson turn it into a boarding house,” Brett suggested. “Amos and Roy Sanderson can help her get it started. Why, the other day, Amos told me he was getting bored. The Mule Shed was running too efficiently.”

  Marcus pursed his lips and nodded. “It’s a good sound idea. The town can always use more places for people to stay when they come into the area.” He rose from the table. “It’s time for me to fetch Anna and get back to the ranch.”