“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take it,” he said. “I can give you another to replace it if your cash doesn’t come out right.”
Gert stood at Libby’s elbow, staring at the coin. Her wide, gray blue eyes met his gaze. “You found a penny under Bert Thalen’s body after he was killed.”
“Yes.” Ethan slid the coin off the countertop and tucked it into the watch pocket of his vest. He’d never owned a watch, but the penny would be safe there.
Hiram entered through the front door carrying a long board. Ethan looked it over. It was about the same width as the floorboards of the emporium. “You got more if this isn’t enough?”
Hiram shrugged. “Thought I’d cut three short lengths off this. It ought to do.”
“All right, I’ll be with you as soon as I poke through the trash pile out back.”
Gert stepped forward. “I’ll show you where it is, Ethan. I’m sure Libby wants to straighten up the merchandise and start that list you asked her for. And maybe change her outfit before she opens for business.”
Libby looked down at her rumpled and stained clothing. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do that next. Now that most of the filth is outside … although I suppose I’ll be weeks getting rid of all the ash and dust.” She looked around with a hopeless air.
“We’ll help you,” Hiram said softly.
“Thank you.” Tears glistened in Libby’s eyes. “I’d like to freshen up before Florence arrives.” She turned and glided toward the staircase, hidden behind a partition that held tinware and kitchen utensils.
Ethan looked to Gert, and she pulled in a breath. “Come on. I’ll show you the trash heap. You got gloves?”
He shook his head, and she picked up the pair Libby had discarded. “If these don’t fit you, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you took another pair from the store.”
Ethan pulled them on and flexed his hands. “They’re a little tight, but they’ll do.”
Gert stepped over the board. Hiram stood by the hardware table, sizing up Libby’s selection of crowbars. Ethan followed her into the back room and paused.
“This is where she does her paperwork?”
Gert turned toward him. “Yes. And stores all the merchandise she hasn’t put out yet.”
“She’s got a safe.” He looked around for it.
“I think it’s over there in the corner.” Gert pointed beyond the desk and chair at the end of the room.
Ethan walked over and looked past the desk. A pile of wooden crates hid the corner from view. In the shadows of the windowless room, he could barely see. On the desk he spotted a fancy oil lamp.
“Mind lighting that lamp for me?”
Gert stepped to the desk, and he sidled around the stack of crates and ran his hand over the wall. As the glow from the lamp flared up, his hand touched cool metal. Gert came around the crates and held up the lamp.
“The safe looks fine,” she said.
Ethan nodded. There was no evidence that anyone had tampered with it. So why had the arsonist broken into the store? Would they be able to tell if he’d stolen anything? Or had he just come to wreak havoc?
“Libby could have been killed this morning,” Gert said softly.
His stomach lurched. “I thought of that. You don’t think this lunatic’s intention was to burn her alive, do you?”
“I don’t know. He could have been more efficient, if that’s what he wanted.”
Ethan swung around to face her in the cramped space. “How?”
“He could have set the fire right at the bottom of the stairs so she couldn’t come down. But no, he put it out in the open space in front of the counter, away from the walls. And he could have thrown more lard on it or dumped a couple tins of lamp oil. Down at the far end of the store, she’s got at least a dozen cans of oil. He didn’t even touch ‘em. I only saw one lard pail in the pile that burned. It’s like he wanted to make a lot of smoke and bother, but he wasn’t intent on murder.”
Ethan thought about that for a few seconds. “I think you’re right. But that penny …”
“Yes. That’s important, isn’t it?”
He nodded slowly. “It must be. It’s just like the other one.” Her eyes flared. “Exactly?”
“Yes. An 1866 Indian head cent. I saved the other one in a tin over at the jailhouse. I’ll compare them, but I’m sure they’re the same.”
“He left you a message.”
“Why do you say that? Whoever killed Bert couldn’t have known at the time that I’d be the next sheriff.”
Her brow furrowed as she puzzled over it. “Are we sure about that?”
Ethan caught his breath. “That’s … reaching a little.”
“I know, but—” She glanced over her shoulder. Ethan heard the sound of nails screeching as Hiram tore up the floorboards in the main room. “Just think for a minute. What if the mayor already had you in mind to replace Bert?”
“You’re saying the mayor killed Bert?”
“No, I’m not saying that. But what if Cyrus did?”
“Cy Fennel? Trudy, are you loco?”
Her lower jaw dropped, and she stared at him. “What did you call me?”
Ethan gulped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you’re loco.” Why was she looking at him like that? He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“You said that.”
“Well, just forget about that, all right? We’re talking about this criminal. There’s no way he could have known. Even if the murderer was Cy Fennel—and I’m not saying it was, ‘cause that’s crazy—but even if, I still say there’s no way he could know I’d take the job. Because I almost didn’t.”
“Why did you?”
He looked into her eyes and couldn’t speak for a moment. The lump in his throat nearly choked off his breathing. He couldn’t tell her he’d taken the badge because of her hopeful eyes. When had Gert-Trudy Dooley become the reason for the way he lived?
He broke the stare and let out a breath. “Look, right now we’re talking about this fire, all right?”
“I thought we were talking about Bert’s murder.”
“No, you were talking about Bert’s murder.”
“Because of the penny.”
Ethan shook his head. “Look, it’s close in here with the smoke and the lamp and all. Let’s go out back and look at that trash heap.”
She set the lamp on Libby’s desk and blew out the flame. “You know the same person did this as killed Bert.”
“We don’t have proof.”
“The pennies are proof.”
“No, they’re not.”
She stamped her foot and then scowled at him. “There’s a connection.”
“I’ll give you that.” He couldn’t recall seeing her so worked up about anything, ever. The color in her cheeks and the spark in her eyes made his stomach gyrate, which rattled him more than finding the penny. He took her elbow and steered her toward the open back door. “Let’s get outside where there’s some fresh air.”
The crisp morning breeze refreshed him better than a cool drink of water. Folks were stirring, and he could see Zach Harper, across three back lots and a field, walking toward his barn. Fergus was waking up to another day.
Ethan paused just outside the door and stooped to look at the latch and the jamb.
“Someone definitely tampered with this.” He stuck his head back inside and squinted at the woodwork. Apparently Libby didn’t use a bar on this door but trusted the brass lock. Her husband had probably installed it not too many years ago. “Let’s look at the burnt stuff.”
Gert walked ahead of him to a heap of smelly, charred refuse. She stooped and picked up a broom. The straws were coated in soot. “This is everything Libby and I hauled out. She didn’t want to leave it in there, and I can’t say as I blame her.”
“No, me either.” Ethan took the broom from her and used the handle to poke among the debris. He wished he could have seen it the way it was when Libby
found it.
“They burned the new Bibles. That upset her.” Gert’s voice quavered, the first sign of vulnerability she’d shown. “We need to find out who did this, Ethan.”
She looked up at him, and a tear shivered from the corner of her eye and streaked down her dirty cheek. He wanted to comfort her. Wanted to pull her into his arms so bad he could almost feel her head on his shoulder.
“Aw, Trudy.”
She jerked her shoulders back. “Why did you call me that?” She stepped toward him with her hands clenched as though she would pummel him.
Ethan jumped back. “Hey, I’m sorry.” He held up both hands, dropping the broomstick. How on earth had he let that slip out? “Your brother told me that your pa used to call you that.” She stopped and considered his words, so he kept talking. “I guess I’ve been thinking on it some, about how it must have been when you were a girl. But I won’t say it again, I promise.”
Her lip twitched and she sniffed. “I don’t … mind it.”
“You don’t?”
She shrugged. “Not so’s you’d notice it.”
“Oh. Well …” He studied her cautiously. Was she mad at him or not? Just because a woman said she wasn’t upset didn’t always mean it was true. He cleared his throat. “I’ll do everything I can to find out who set the fire.”
She nodded, staring down at the pile of refuse. “You can’t deny that whoever did this was leaving a message. If not for you, then for someone.”
“I’m not saying you’re right, but who? What’s the message, and who is it for?”
She bit her lower lip and shrugged. “I don’t know what, but … for the town, maybe?”
CHAPTER 20
Tidying up the emporium and inventorying the merchandise proved time consuming, especially with constant interruptions from horrified patrons. News of Libby’s misfortune had spread throughout the town, and it seemed everyone had to come in person to inquire about Mrs. Adams and see the damage. Most seemed disappointed that the industrious friends had helped Libby clean it all up and even replaced the burnt floorboards before the news got about.
“My oh my,” Mrs. Walker wailed, surveying the clean new rectangle on the floor. “Why, Mrs. Adams might have burned to death if she hadn’t woken up.”
“That’s right.” Laura Storrey looked over the rearranged shelves. “Did she lose much merchandise? I hope that darling lavender silk I had my eye on didn’t get burned.”
“Let me help you look for it.” Gert steered the woman toward the yard goods. Mrs. Storrey bought six yards of the expensive material, which seemed none the worse for the smoke.
At the end of the day, Libby swayed on her feet as she closed up shop, and Gert determined that her friend must get some rest. That evening and the next morning, she gathered names of women from the shooting club who volunteered to give Libby a couple hours of help. Gert labored over her list the next morning, arranging it into a schedule. Myra helped her get the timetable to all the women.
Hiram presented the mayor’s repaired rifle when she returned to fix lunch.
“Can you test this for me?” he asked. “I need to get it back to the mayor and then get over to the Bentons’.”
Gert was more curious than annoyed at the interruption in her busy morning. Hiram rarely visited other homes. “What are you going over there for?”
“I told the parson I’d build him a stand to use until we get a proper pulpit made.”
Gert put cotton in her ears, took the Winchester rifle out behind the house, and fired a half dozen rounds. When she finished, she saw Apphia coming up the path. “Here,” she told her brother as she handed him the rifle. “Tell the mayor it shoots a little right of center. I expect he knows. Otherwise, it’s fine. Now, I’m going over to help Libby. Mrs. Benton’s going with me.”
Hiram blinked at her. “No dinner?”
“On the back of the stove.” She picked up the basket she’d packed to take with her and met Apphia at the back door. Together they stormed the emporium. Gert marched straight to Libby.
“You come upstairs with me for something to eat. Mrs. Benton will help Florence man the store for the next half hour. After that, we’ll send Florence home for her dinner, and you shall have an hour’s rest.”
“Rest during the day?” Libby stared at her. “I can’t do that.”
“You can, and you will. We’ve got other ladies from the club coming in later, and we’ll all take turnabout to help you mind the store and do any more cleaning and counting you need to do for the next couple of days. Annie Harper is bringing your supper over this evening at closing time.”
Libby burst into tears. “Gert, I don’t know what to say. You’ve been so good.”
Startled, Gert patted her back awkwardly. “There now. Come on upstairs. You’re worn to a stub.”
Libby submitted after that, and Gert set out the stew and sourdough bread she’d brought over. For the first time, she sat down at Libby’s kitchen table and ate lunch with her. She made sure Libby ate a full portion then tucked her into bed under the loveliest wedding ring quilt she’d ever seen. Libby’s rooms above the emporium might have stood in a mansion. Had she brought the beautiful furnishings with her when she married Isaac, or had they ordered them one piece at a time over the years? Sometime when Libby wasn’t exhausted, she’d ask.
Downstairs, Florence had shown Mrs. Benton the rudiments of adding a purchase to a customer’s account, and Gert sent the girl home for her noon hour. She and Apphia did a brisk business.
After waiting on several townspeople and a couple of ranchers in succession, Gert caught her breath and looked around. They’d done all right, she and Apphia, though they were slow at locating some items people asked for. She’d gone to the right woman in time of crisis. The minister’s slender, dark-haired wife carried on with stamina and dignity. At the moment, Apphia was talking to Milzie Peart over in the staples section. They appeared to be having a pleasant conversation.
Mr. Dyer came in just then.
“Well, Miss Dooley. I don’t usually see you here. Is Mrs. Adams all right? I heard she had some excitement yesterday.”
“That she did, sir. She’s fine, but she’s taking a short rest. May I help you with something?”
“Maybe so. Miss Shepard needs sugar and potatoes. She says I’m not to bring home any punky ones.”
Gert shrugged. “We’ll do our best. You know how hard it is to get firm potatoes this time of year.”
“I allow you’re right. Just two or three months till we have a new crop though. I can hardly wait.”
Gert smiled and took his basket from his hands. “This way, sir, and you can choose your own spuds if you wish.”
While she and Ezra picked over the sprouting potatoes and chose the best for Bitsy’s Sunday dinner crowd, Gert overheard a bit of Apphia’s talk with Milzie.
“I do wish you’d come Monday after the shooting practice,” she said. “We’ll have tea, and you can tell me about your ranch.”
“‘T’ain’t much of a ranch,” Milzie mumbled. “Since Frank died, ‘t’ain’t much of anything. I put in a few vegetables though.”
“Ah, you enjoy gardening. So do I.”
Gert figured it was more a matter of survival than a hobby for Milzie, but she said nothing. She silently applauded Apphia’s courage in inviting the filthy old woman into her home. Maybe if all the women of the shooting club followed her example, they could influence Milzie to take better care of herself.
A few minutes later she took a broken candy stick from a jar on the counter and slipped it to Milzie. She was sure Libby wouldn’t mind. Milzie shuffled out of the store with a gap-toothed smile.
On Monday the ladies gathered at Bert Thalen’s ranch as usual. Milzie looked different when she arrived, and at first Gert couldn’t figure out why. Then she realized the old woman had washed her tattered clothes. Her arms and face looked less dirt-encrusted, too, and Gert almost thought her hair was a shade lighter than she’d seen it befor
e.
Of course. Today Milzie was invited to Apphia’s for tea. Mrs. Benton had confided to Gert and Libby that she hoped she could convince Milzie to accept a gift of some new clothing. Gert wasn’t sure the old woman would take new things outright and had suggested used items. After a moment’s thought, Apphia had decided to offer her a blouse she’d had for two years. Still serviceable, it showed a little fraying about the cuffs. Libby had gleefully added a shawl that had snagged on the wooden shelves, so that it now had an imperfection. She’d entrusted it to Apphia earlier.
“Tell Milzie I don’t want to try to sell it, since it’s got that snag.”
They’d decided that was enough for one day. If things went well, the club members could see that Milzie had a new skirt, shoes, stockings, and underthings before fall. And here she was, ready to go meekly home with the impeccably groomed Mrs. Benton for tea.
“I don’t know how she lives all alone in that cabin,” Gert said, shaking her head. She rummaged in Crinkles’s saddlebag for the three bullets she’d brought for Milzie. She’d long since stopped expecting to be repaid for them.
When their hour of practice ended, she called the women all around her and praised their orderliness and the improvement she’d noted in their aims.
“I’d like to thank you all for your help over the last few days,” Libby said. “Things are back to normal now, though we’ll be short of a few items in the store until Mr. Runnels brings my next shipment from Boise.”
Gert looked around at the sober faces. “Ladies, I’ve one more bit of business. As you know, there’s been a rash of crimes in Fergus. Serious crimes. Murder, assault, arson. We’ve shown how we can support one another. I propose that we endeavor, as an entity, to help the sheriff foil the criminal who has been making mischief and striking in violence.”
“What could we do?” asked Vashti. She looked almost wholesome today, without any cosmetics. The skirt she wore came down nearly to the tops of her smart tan boots.
“I’m thinking the biggest thing we can do is stay alert,” Gert said. “Watch out for anything suspicious. And we could help prevent more crimes just by being watchful. We can look out for each other. Those in town can check in on one another during the day and the evening. Those outside town can call on each other more often to be sure no one’s been attacked.”
The Bride's Prerogative Page 16
