“Is… is June all right?”
“June’s fine. She’s been through a hell of lot more than that.” He glanced at her. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.
“I… I thought I should at least do a little cleaning—”
“That’s not necessary,” he interrupted. “Nothing has been disturbed because I haven’t had any patients.”
A fresh ache settled around her heart. Maybe if she told him about her father-in-law’s arrival, he’d realize that was why she’d been preoccupied. The fact that Karleen was carrying Jeremy’s baby no longer bothered her. It was history, and she wasn’t going to let it affect the rest of her life.
“My… my father-in-law is in town.”
Although there was no way he couldn’t have heard her, he didn’t react at all.
She cleared her throat. “I… I’ve been expecting him. He’s taking over the investigation from the marshal. He—” She bit her lip nervously. “He’s staying until he finds out who killed Jeremy.” She watched Jason and frowned. He appeared utterly disinterested. “I… I mean, once he’s uncovered the killers, he’ll leave and… and things will be back to normal.”
He looked up at her from his desk, quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing.
“I mean, the… the marshal hasn’t found any new clues. Captain Weber just wants to help. You can’t blame him for that.” Now, it sounded as if she didn’t believe the marshal could do the job by himself. Of course, she had to admit nothing had been unearthed…
“Why wouldn’t Marshal Tully want him to help, Jason? Oh,” she added, carrying on this ridiculous one-sided conversation, “I know Captain Weber isn’t a very personable man. I should know that better than anyone. He never liked me, not from the very first day. It’s even worse now. But… but I still feel as though I should help him. I mean, why not? If I do, maybe he’ll leave sooner.”
Jason slammed the chart on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “Are you finished?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Are you finished defending your father-in-law, and your reasons for not being at your job?”
“Well, I—”
“Because if you are, then leave. One of my motives for hiring you was because I felt sorry for you. I got along for years without any help, and I can surely struggle through without yours now.”
If he was just trying to hurt her, he was succeeding. “I don’t believe you,” she said softly.
He looked at her, his heavy-lidded gaze moving arrogantly over her. “It’s true.” Looking away, he added, “Actually, the main reason I hired you was to keep an eye on you. Your husband did some despicable things to my people, Mrs. Weber. I had to make sure you didn’t come to continue the reign of terror.”
The blood drained from her face, and she groped behind her for a chair. Finding one, she sank into it. “How could you possibly believe that I would hurt anyone?”
He snorted. “A marriage isn’t made between a fox and a hare, Rachel.”
She glanced away, hating the look of hostility she saw in his eyes. “I’d do anything to make up for what Jeremy did to your people, Jason. Leaving them with broken and unusable equipment was an unprincipled—”
He laughed, a harsh, nasty sound. “That’s all you think he did to them?”
Dread coated her stomach further. “I… I don’t know what else he did. No one—”
“No one told you? Well,” he snarled, “let me fill you in.” He leaned back in his chair, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. “Each time he received supplies for the reservation, he took most of them and sold them to the squatters.”
She swallowed, her stomach now in knots. “Squatters?”
“Yes, squatters. Trashy Whites who illegally build shacks on the edges of reservation land, hunt and kill reservation livestock, beg, borrow, steal, and, if they must, buy anything that’s been earmarked for the reservation Indians.”
Rachel knew he was telling her the truth. What hurt was that he seemed to enjoy punishing her. She focused her gaze on her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
“Besides you, your father-in-law, and Karleen Justice, the only other people in this entire valley who will miss Jeremy Weber are the squatters.” His voice was soft, but tinged with disgust.
She didn’t defend herself. She would sound shallow and foolish to exclaim that she wouldn’t miss her husband, even though she realized it was true. Any feelings she might have had for Jeremy vanished when she discovered his deceit.
“That may all be true,” she began, hoping her emotions didn’t show. “And I wish more than anything that I could make it up to all those who’ve suffered because of him. I want you to believe that, Jason.”
She tried to look at him, but seeing his hatred made tears press against the backs of her eyes. She blinked and looked away. “But Captain Weber is here. There’s nothing I can do about it. And he wants me to help him find Jeremy’s killer. He may be no better than his son. Maybe he’s worse. I don’t know. But if I help him, it’s possible that together we can get to the bottom of this. Isn’t that what we all want? To solve the murders and get on with our lives?”
He laughed, a derisive sound that spattered over her skin like hot fat.
“You do that, Rachel.” He came out from behind the desk like a cat and suddenly was in front of her, his hands on the arms of her chair, his face close to hers. “You and that… that arrogant father-in-law of yours solve the crime.” He continued to stare at her, studying her. “But just remember,” he added, cupping her chin in his hand and squeezing lightly, “just remember that when you find the truth, make sure it’s really the truth, and not just what August Weber wants it to be.”
Rachel’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding. Confused by Jason’s behavior, she merely stared at him. “There’s only one truth, Jason.”
He moved away from her, snorting a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, that’s what you think. Years ago,” he said, facing her again, “my father told me that the white man’s truth is many shades of gray. It’s never the same, time after time. It’s what he wants it to be, and he’ll change it to suit him.”
She clutched the arms of the chair. “Why would Captain Weber lie about the truth?”
He gave her a derisive half-grin. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Rachel.”
Everything she’d just learned about Jeremy, plus all that she already knew, was vivid in her mind. Of course Jason was right. She knew what her father-in-law was. He was arrogant, self-serving, pompous, and felt he was superior to almost anyone else on the face of the earth. And he’d coldly told her to her face that Jeremy had been forced to marry her. But he was also a father who’d lost his only son. If she had any sympathy for him at all, it was because of that.
“I can assure you, Dr. Gaspard,” she said, “that I will not be swayed by my father-in-law’s blatant prejudices.”
He gave her a grim look. “But you can’t turn your back on him, can you?”
Sucking in air, she whispered, “No. I can’t turn my back on him.”
He strode to the coat tree and gave Ivy’s cape a violent tug. “Here,” he grumbled, tossing the cape into her lap. “I don’t need you anymore.”
Pressing her fist against her mouth, she stood, the cape gripped in her numb fingers. She didn’t know what she could do. It was almost as if he were making her choose between him and the captain. For some inexplicable reason, Jason seemed to have more hatred for her father-in-law than he did for her late husband.
As she stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk, she barely felt the cold wind whistling through her clothing. Jason’s attitude didn’t make any sense to her. She knew he wasn’t guilty. Trudging toward the cafe, she began to wonder if maybe he knew something about the morning of Jeremy’s murder that he wasn’t willing to share with her. She couldn’t imagine any other reason why he’d be so very angry with her.
Chapter Fourteen
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nbsp; The next morning, a cold, icy rain pelted the windows and rooftops. Rachel dressed under her covers, straightened up her room, then hurried into the cafe kitchen and started a fire in the stove. She tied Ivy’s apron around her middle and made coffee. Shivering, she glanced at the window where silvery rods of rain hit the pane.
She looked at the clock. It was early; Ivy’s room was still quiet. Well, she thought, stifling a yawn, at least someone could sleep. Her night had been punctuated with vivid dreams of Jeremy’s murder—again. Then, when she’d finally awakened and been unable to get back to sleep, she’d thought about her confrontation with Jason. His words still stung. She had thought that he, of all people, would understand her need to help her father-in-law. Certainly there was no argument that it was best for everyone if Jeremy’s killer was found and punished. It was the only way they could all get on with their lives.
An ache formed around her heart. She’d hoped and dreamed that “the rest of her life” would involve Jason. After yesterday, her fantasies and illusions were shattered. That would teach her to dream, wouldn’t it?
The cafe door opened, setting off the bell that hung over the molding. Startled, Rachel crept to the pass-through window and looked out into the large room. A young boy, no more than seven or eight, stood near the stove, warming his hands.
“Yes?” She wondered what on earth a young child was doing out in such inclement weather so early in the morning. Stepping into the cafe, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”
He swung around, his eyes wide and his face pale. Silently, he handed her a piece of paper then made tracks for the door.
Puzzled, she watched him leave then slowly turned back to the stove. Her name was printed on the front of the paper in bold, square letters.
As she opened it, before she’d even read it, a queer sensation made her stomach dip. The note, printed with the same standard lettering, read: “If you want to find out who killed your husband, follow the boy. Come now, and come alone.”
A stirring of fear and excitement coursed through her. If she could solve the mystery, her father-in-law would be on a train back to Washington—and out of her life.
Oh, she thought, fresh fear niggling her spine, who was she kidding? As wonderful as that sounded, the thought of actually secretly meeting someone she didn’t know scared her to death. She had to face it. She wasn’t that brave. The author of the note could be anyone. It could even be Jeremy’s murderer. No, she thought, shuddering violently, she wasn’t that brave, at all.
Crumpling the note in her fist, she shoved it into Ivy’s apron pocket and went back into the kitchen. Her gaze went to the window again. The rain hadn’t abated. She wondered if the boy had been told to wait for her until she came. If so, maybe she should go. After all, the thought of a small boy catching pneumonia because of her made her feel awful.
Rolling her eyes, she scolded herself for even thinking about going. She tried to take her mind off the note by doing some of the breakfast preparation, but she couldn’t concentrate.
Glancing at the clock again, she realized that if she didn’t make up her mind one way or the other very soon, Ivy would be up and the girls would be here to start breakfast. Then, if she really wanted to go, it would be too late.
She stepped to the window and, cupping out the dim light from inside, peered into the wet darkness. Her heart jumped into her throat. There was a buggy out there! And that poor little child was standing in the rain, as if she’d told him she’d be along in a minute.
It was ridiculous—no, foolish—to get into a strange buggy to meet someone she didn’t even know. Even though she’d become more spirited these past few months, she wasn’t that brave or foolhardy.
To even think about going was crazy. She couldn’t do anything by herself anyway. And no doubt someone was out there, watching to see that she didn’t try to contact anyone, if she did decide to go. She’d never go off into the unknown by herself. But the note had said to come alone. Come alone… Or what? Or she’d be sorry? Did they want her to come alone because… because they didn’t want any witnesses?
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Now, don’t get melodramatic, Rachel Kathleen. It’s not your nature. Right. She was usually so practical. Peering out the window again, she noticed the buggy was still there—as was the poor, wet, cold boy.
She’d go. Every nerve in her body tingled with fear and her limbs shook at her decision, but she closed her eyes and forced her body to respond. Slowly, she felt herself go calm. The decision made, she pulled off Ivy’s apron and draped it over the back of a chair. Hurrying into the cafe, she grabbed Ivy’s cloak off the coat tree and rushed outside. The wet, icy wind assaulted her, but she hardly felt it. Her mind was too busy trying to get her body to act like a single entity instead of flying into a thousand unidentifiable pieces—as it wanted to.
The poor child who had handed her the note still stood beside the buggy. Hunching against the cold rain, he opened the door and motioned her inside.
With trepidation filling her chest, she stepped into the buggy and wrapped herself in the warm blanket provided for her.
All during the ride, she told herself what a fool she was for playing this little game with someone she didn’t know. There was no reason to believe she could trust this person—a person who didn’t have the decency to sign his name to a note demanding that she meet him.
The buggy stopped. Suddenly she cursed herself for being so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t watched where they were going. Rachel looked outside. They were in front of a tiny cabin that stood alone in the night. But there was smoke chugging from the chimney, and a warm light flickered at the window.
Filling her lungs with cold air, she threw off the warm blanket and opened the door. She lifted the hood of Ivy’s cape over her hair and stepped to the ground. Her legs were so numb they felt like tree stumps.
The buggy pulled away immediately, deserting her in the driving rain. Calling out to the driver, she noticed it was the child who’d delivered the note.
“Little boy, who am I supposed to meet?”
He continued to drive on; he didn’t even look back.
Pulling her cape tightly around her, she stepped to the cabin door and knocked. Nothing. Her heart pumping in her ears, she knocked again. Still no answer.
With more nerve than sense, she lifted the latch and discovered the door wasn’t fastened from the inside. Pushing it open slowly, she felt the dry warmth of the room envelop her. She quickly shut the door behind her so no more warm air would escape, then glanced around the room. It was empty.
Puzzled, she walked slowly toward the fireplace, momentarily hypnotized by the hot orange and yellow flames. There was an overstuffed chair by the fire. Next to it stood a table on which she found a small carafe and a cup and saucer. A piece of paper was tented next to the carafe. She picked it up and read:
“Please be comfortable. The coffee is strong, but do not be concerned. It isn’t tainted.”
She frowned at the last remark. It isn’t tainted? Well, she thought a bit sarcastically, thank you so much for putting my mind at ease. Trusting fool that she was, that thought hadn’t entered her head.
She lifted off her cape, draping it over the back of the chair to let it dry, then sat down. Huddling in the chair, she glanced around the room again. This was odd. Someone had told her to meet them here, threatened her to come alone, then, like the host of a fine house, offered her coffee. Only yesterday she’d thought her life had taken a melodramatic turn. Today, she was certain of it.
Although the fire made the room seem warm and cozy, she noticed that there was only one window in the cabin. It was very small, and crisscrossed with metal stiles. Even during the brightest daylight, the room would be dim and gray.
She looked around, hoping to find a clock. There was nothing on the walls or on the fireplace mantel. And the only furniture in the room was the chair she sat in and the tabl
e next to it.
The rain had slackened, no longer beating against the pane. She fidgeted in the chair, finally getting up and going to the window. She wasn’t even sure where she was. Daylight met the gloomy darkness of the eastern sky, and she could just make out the railroad tracks. She craned her neck, looking both ways out the window. No one was coming. She wasn’t sure if she was distressed or relieved.
As she turned, she noticed a funnel of smoke drifting into the room from the fireplace. Alarmed, she moved toward the smoke, and by the time she’d made it back to the chair, the room was already filled with gray haze. It stung her eyes and attacked her nostrils, causing her to cough. Anxious to get out, she scrambled to the door, lifted the latch, and tried to pull the door open. It wouldn’t budge. It was stuck. Or locked from the outside.
Frantically, she pulled on the door, coughing as the smoke infiltrated her lungs. It was useless. It wouldn’t open. Falling to her knees, she covered her face with the sleeve of her blouse, trying to filter out the smoke. The room was hazy with it, obliterating everything.
She knew she had to keep calm. No one at the cafe even knew where she was. It had been a mistake to come, she knew that now. It didn’t matter if this had been accidental or intentional. It was too late.
Crouching on the floor, she crawled to the chair to retrieve her cape. Maybe if she hid beneath it, she could continue to breathe a while longer. The smoke scorched her throat and her lungs, and she took small, short breaths, attempting to use her skirt as a sieve to cleanse the air.
Feeling her way across the floor, she decided against recovering her cloak. Smoke was now pouring into the room from the fireplace, and she would be a fool to move toward it rather than away from it. She dropped to her stomach and began pulling herself along the rough wooden planking. Shards of wood pierced her hands, but she ignored the sting and continued to move away from the intensity of the smoke.
Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two Page 22
