Whit’s heart dropped to his feet. “You went through my private things?” He started shaking at the thought she’d discovered he’d been in the Union Army.
“I started reading the letters from your intended bride, Melissa, but then I threw them back in and closed it.” She folded her arms. “It was so boring it was putting me to sleep.”
Whitman’s relief that she didn’t find his secret flooded him. God only knew what she would have done. Then she opened her mouth again.
“How dare you marry someone you’ve never met,” Sarah snapped. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted to get married. Melissa is a kind, gentle person. We met through correspondence, and, well, one thing led to another.” He didn’t want to tell Sarah that he was having doubts. “I made a promise to her, to start a new life in San Francisco. We’re compatible and both of us want to settle down and be a family.”
“Ha! Compatible, what about the spark? Have you read those letters? She’s as exciting as a washrag.” Sarah scrunched up her face and started speaking in a high tone. “Today I picked the beans in the garden. They were green and snapped nicely as I got them ready for supper. Today the cow got out of her pasture. For God’s sake, the woman couldn’t be more boring if she tried.”
Whit felt the urge to defend the woman he intended to marry. “Melissa is a wonderful person, a kind and caring woman who took care of her dying mother instead of marrying ten years earlier. She’s thirty, single, and perfect for me. I couldn’t ask for a better wife.”
“You aren’t even looking for a better wife. You’re settling for what’s safe. I think that’s your motto in life: Whitman Kendrick takes the safe road. You’re throwing away everything to marry someone you’ve never met with the promise life will be normal. Let me tell you something, life is never normal.” Sarah threw up her arms.
“How dare you judge me. It sounded to me as if you had a whorehouse back in Virginia. Not exactly an upstanding citizen, were you?” Whitman was letting all the demons out, riding on the fumes of the whiskey polluting his veins.
“You don’t know anything about me. I ran a boardinghouse for women who’d been thrown away. Mothers, daughters, sisters—all of them lost their usefulness to some bastard who tossed them out like rotted meat.” Her hair glowed with the halo of light behind her, as much as her face, lit with the passion he’d seen only when she’d been in his arms. Sarah truly believed what she had been doing was the right thing. “I gave them a home and a family, such as it was. What they chose to do with their time was their choice, not mine. Exactly how it should be.”
“So, in other words, they turned themselves into whores.”
He expected the slap, and the pain pulled him back from the precipice of falling completely in love with the incredible woman in front of him. He’d never met someone who was giving and unselfish, yet hid behind a persona of sarcasm and insults.
“Say it one more time and I’ll hit you with the cane right in the balls.” She picked it up from its perch beside the bed. “Those women were survivors of things you can’t possibly imagine. They deserve respect, dammit, and I won’t let anyone dishonor them.”
Whitman nodded, ashamed of what he’d assumed about her and the women she took in. Sarah had a kind heart, albeit a guarded one.
“You’re right and I’m sorry. I was angry you’d gone through my personal things, for which you owe me an apology.” He swayed as he pointed to the bag. “I would never do that to you.”
“Not necessarily true, but you’re right about the apology. I’m sorry I touched your stupid bag and read the innocuous, boring letters of a woman you’re going to have under you for the next fifty years.” She looked disgusted. “You’re a coward.”
He clenched and unclenched his hands, fury ripping through him. Sarah was the only person he knew aside from his grandfather who knew exactly what to do to make him so angry he couldn’t see straight.
“I am not a coward.” His voice sounded rusty and raw. “You have no right to judge me.”
That seemed to be the right thing to say, or perhaps the wrong thing. She opened her mouth, then closed it and sat down on the bed heavily.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t judge you any more than you should judge me.” She flapped her hand at the chair in the corner. “You can sleep there tonight or on the floor. Whatever you decide to do. I’m done talking.”
Whit was surprised to see she meant it. The unflappable Sarah Spalding turned her back on him and climbed into bed. As he stood there fuming, angry and drunk, she rolled over and sighed.
Chapter Eleven
If Sarah had thought things couldn’t be more awkward, she was wrong. Whitman wasn’t even speaking to her, actually wasn’t speaking to anyone. He was pale and shaky when they went to breakfast in the morning.
No doubt he had a hell of a hangover. Sarah wasn’t cruel enough to stomp her feet or bang the door open, but she also wasn’t going to be sympathetic. He’d made the decision to pickle his brain and he had to live with the consequences.
As she dug into fresh eggs and bacon, he sipped coffee while he kept his gaze averted. Sarah wasn’t sure if he was angry at her or himself, so she didn’t start any conversation.
When the sheriff walked up to the table, she almost wished she had.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick.” He gave them a tight smile. “I trust the hotel met your needs.”
Sarah swallowed the bite in her mouth with a bit of effort. She didn’t trust the friendly greeting for a second. “Good morning to you, Sheriff. The hotel was just fine. What can we do for you?”
She reached under the table and took hold of her cane, hoping they didn’t have to knock another lawman unconscious before boarding the train that morning. Especially considering she found this particular man attractive.
“Well, it appears a woman was murdered last night and several passengers say you had words with her.” Sam peered at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Do you know Mavis Ledbetter?”
Two things occurred to Sarah at once. First, someone had set her up to take the blame for Mavis’s death. Second, she’d more than likely dragged Whitman into the murder and he’d never make it to Kansas City and his waiting bride.
Damn it all to hell.
“Yes, I do. We started on the train ride from the same small town in Virginia.” Sarah took a fortifying sip of coffee, knowing every word out of her mouth was being weighed carefully by the sheriff. “Is she the woman who was murdered?”
He rocked back on his heels. “Why yes, she was. The interesting thing is, another passenger told me she was the woman threatened back in Belleville by that couple I never did find.”
Sarah met Whitman’s gaze and saw his panic mirror her own. She needed to keep a cool head to keep the hounds off their heels.
“Obviously someone had a bone to pick with Mavis, then. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it.” It was difficult to keep her voice steady when her heart was thundering like a herd of horses.
“Yes, that’s what it appears to be. Apparently someone beat her to death with something, like a large stick or possibly a cane.” He smiled at her. “May I see your cane please, Mrs. Kendrick?”
Cane? Oh, now that definitely wasn’t good. Whoever it was definitely knew what they were doing if they wanted to blame Sarah.
“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with Mavis’s death, can you, Sheriff Miller?” She pulled the cane out from beneath the table. “I can’t say I was friendly with her, but I would never cause her harm.”
At least she could be honest about that. Sarah might let her mouth run away sometimes, but she would never have hurt Mavis beyond a slap. Or two. She at least deserved something for what she’d done. However, the older woman didn’t deserve to be beaten to death.
“I don’t believe much of anything right now, Mrs. Kendrick. I am investigating this murder to the best of my ability.” Another carefully controlled smil
e. Sam examined the cane as if it were a delicate piece of glass.
Sarah could feel Whitman’s anger emanating in waves across the table. It practically singed the hair off her head. He had no reason to be angry with her—she hadn’t harmed Mavis.
“Is there some reason why you suspect my wife of this crime?” Whitman apparently found his voice.
“Well, there’re plenty of reasons to question her. You both fit the description of the couple in Belleville who beat the deputy sheriff. Mrs. Kendrick here knew the deceased and maybe had a quarrel with her. Not to mention the cane your wife has with her at all times.” Sheriff Miller lost all semblance of a smile when he handed the cane back to Sarah.
“I didn’t kill Mavis.” Sarah was pleased she was able to disguise the anger building inside her.
“That remains to be seen.” The sheriff looked back over his shoulder. “Deputy Barnes will take you to the jail for questioning. Mr. Kendrick can come along too. I hear he did some hell-raising of his own at the Purple Posy.”
Sarah pointed to her breakfast. “Do you mind if I finish my meal first? I was quite famished this morning.” She needed time to think, to puzzle out what could have possibly happened.
“No doubt.” The sheriff pulled out a chair from the table beside them and sat down. “By all means finish your breakfast, Mrs. Kendrick. Fortunately or not, Miss Ledbetter isn’t going anywhere and neither are you.”
Whit could barely swallow the dry spit in his mouth. What the hell had happened? He’d left Sarah alone in the hotel for a few hours and she’d murdered Mavis? Was that even possible?
He was still partially drunk, for God’s sake, and could barely even swallow black coffee. His brain certainly wasn’t functioning well enough to figure out what was going on.
Sheriff Miller was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a fact that hadn’t escaped Whit last night. The man might look like a stupid cracker, but he was far from it.
Sarah sat there and shoveled in her food as if she hadn’t a care in the world. If Whit hadn’t seen the fright in her eyes minutes before, he might have believed she was carefree.
Whatever happened they were both in it together, like it or not. The woman had been in their compartment, had had words with his supposed wife, and now she was dead. They were in big trouble.
“You surely do have an appetite, for a woman, Mrs. Kendrick,” the sheriff commented as he sipped his own coffee brought by a beady-eyed waitress. “I like that about you.”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t think it’s necessary to pretend not to eat. Women have done terrible things to themselves in the name of vanity. I refuse to follow those particular habits.”
Whit knew that firsthand. Two of his cousins actually had had ribs removed to keep their waists tiny. He agreed with Sarah, although he shouldn’t be surprised to hear her opinion. She was a strong-willed female, to be sure.
He had come to know Sarah intimately in more ways than one. She could never have murdered Mavis.
“It was one of the first things that caught my attention about Sarah.” Whit let a mouthful of hot coffee slide down his throat, thankfully easing the dryness. “She’s an advocate for women, not a killer of them.”
The sheriff’s brows rose. “That so? Hmm, I never met an advocate for women before. Not sure I know what it is either.”
“It means Miss-Mrs. Kendrick helps women in need,” Whitman said through a tight jaw. “Not hurts them.”
“Ah, I see. She surely didn’t help Miss Ledbetter, now did she?”
Sarah choked on something, probably egg. Whit handed her a glass of water from the table. Her face flushed as she coughed louder and louder. She really looked like she was choking. When she pressed her face into the napkin, her left eye peeked out at him and winked.
At first Whitman didn’t know what to do. What the hell was she doing? Then it dawned on him she was stalling for time. No time like the present to dive into the pool of lies a bit deeper.
“My wife is choking, Sheriff. Do you have a doctor in town?” Whit stood and started rubbing her back.
“That’s mighty convenient.”
“Look, Sheriff Miller,” Whit snarled. “I refuse to allow my wife to choke to death because the lawman in town accuses her of murder and some other nefarious deeds. If you refuse to help her, I will have every attorney from the firm of Ro-bards and Newman down here from New York in a matter of days. Then we’ll see what kind of medical assistance she can get and whether or not you’ll still have a job.”
He didn’t know where the anger had come from, but he was pleased to see the sheriff pull back a step or two. There might have even been concern for Sarah on his face.
“We have a good doctor a few doors down. If you’ll carry her, I’ll take you there.” The man was obviously unsure of whether or not Sarah was pretending. He also was smart enough to recognize a real threat.
Too bad for him Whitman was lying through his teeth. Ro-bards and Newman were his grandfather’s attorneys, and since the old man hadn’t spoken to him in years, there was a slim chance he’d get help from them.
There was no reason to think about his tangled family tragedies. He didn’t need anything else to stress about.
He scooped up a wheezing Sarah and followed the sheriff and deputy out of the restaurant. The train passengers watched and whispered as they passed. No doubt there’d be fodder for gossip for the rest of the train ride.
In the back of the crowd, a bow tie caught his attention. Whitman stopped short and tried to see through the crowd. The old man Mavis had become chummy with. What was his name? He knew it was vitally important to remember.
“Sheriff! Hold on there.”
Sarah pinched under his arm but he ignored her.
“What is it, Mr. Kendrick? I thought your wife needed medical attention.”
“She does, but I want to be certain that every passenger on that train is questioned in this matter, and that we are not singled out as suspects.” He knew it was vitally important to keep the attention on all the passengers and not just them.
“What? You can’t possibly expect me to keep all these people from their journey.” Miller eyeballed the crowd of at least fifty people.
“Oh, I expect it. As a matter of fact, I insist. If Mavis was murdered by a fellow passenger, then it could be any one of these people.” Whitman felt a measure of satisfaction as the logic of his argument sank into his opponent’s expression.
“Damn.”
Sarah coughed harder.
“Deputy, stay here with all these folks. Get a manifest from the conductor and start dividing them into groups for questioning. I’ve got to take the Kendricks down to Doc’s before she expires from fake coughing.” The sheriff slammed his hat on his head as they exited the hotel.
Whitman had bought some time and, hopefully, the sheriff would be smart enough to find the real killer. If not, he and Sarah would have to.
The doctor’s office was sandwiched between the post office and the mortician. Sarah didn’t know if that was a comment on his status in the town or whether it was the only building available. She was hoping it was the latter.
Her choking and coughing fit had been the right move, she was sure of it. The sheriff couldn’t well let her expire right there in front of him if indeed he had any evidence she was a murderer.
Justice liked to hear the neck crack at the end of the noose, after all.
Whitman’s entire body was strung tighter than a guitar string. Instead of the warm, supple chest and arms she was used to, he was stiff and unbending. If she poked him with a stick, it might just break off.
Of course, pretending to choke made it hard to breathe. She started to get light-headed and clung on to his jacket.
“Don’t push your luck, Mrs. Kendrick,” Whit said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The sheriff pounded on the whitewashed door until a bespectacled young man no older than Sarah’s boots appeared. “What’s happening?”
&nbs
p; “Got a train passenger choking on her food, Ben. Can you take a look at her?” The sheriff pushed past the boy before he could answer. “The quicker the better.”
The young man pushed up his glasses and peered at them. “Who are they?”
“Boy, get your ass in here,” Miller bellowed from inside the house. “I’ve got things to be done and I can’t be waiting on you.”
Why had Sarah ever though Sam Miller was handsome? He was a bully, that was for certain. She wiped the hair from her forehead and tried to get a good look at Ben as Whit carried her into the house.
He nearly knocked her unconscious as he banged her head into the doorway. She yelped in pain and dug her nails into his arm. To anyone watching them, they likely appeared as a normal couple.
However, that certainly wasn’t the case.
“What happened to her?” Ben squeaked from behind them.
“I told ya, she was choking on her eggs.” A few bangs sounded from a room to the right.
From what Sarah saw of the house it was cluttered with journals, books, and an odd assortment of knickknacks on shelves, tables, and chairs. Apparently Ben was a bit of a collector.
“Follow the noise. The examining room is on the right.” Ben loped along behind them.
Whit managed to get her through the door without knocking her head off her shoulders at least. The bastard pinched her behind as he set her on the table. Obviously having seen better days, the thing creaked under her weight.
She had to restrain herself from smacking her “husband.” He was pushing her beyond where she’d accept his behavior, fake marriage or not.
“Ben, this here’s Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick. Fix her.” Miller crossed his arms and filled the doorway with his bulk.
“This is the doctor?” Whit sounded as incredulous as Sarah felt. “He’s barely old enough to blow his own nose.”
“I assure you, Mr. Kendrick, I’m almost thirty and have been a physician for more than eight years.” Ben pushed up his glasses again. “I’m more than capable of treating your wife.”
The Stranger's Secrets Page 12
