by Lisa Harris
Catherine rubbed the back of her neck. “Tell Emily I appreciate the invitation, but I have a headache. And besides, I could use a quiet afternoon to catch up on some accounting.”
Lily frowned at Catherine’s feeble excuses, but both were true. Sunday afternoon lunch at the O’Conner farm might be tradition, but so were the never-ending inquiries on her prospective marital status, something Catherine would prefer to skip today, considering her current mindset. And the corners of her temples did pound, though not from the bookkeeping waiting for her in the other room.
“Accounting on the Lord’s day?” Lily folded her hands across her chest, obviously not impressed. “You should have been listening to Pastor Landon’s sermon today. I believe he emphasized how today is a day of rest.”
“I was listening.” Sort of. “He spoke of casting our burdens on our Heavenly Father so we can find rest for our souls, not about taking time off from our work.”
Casting her burdens on anyone else had always been a challenge, let alone giving them to God.
Catherine gnawed on her bottom lip. I’m trying, God, really. But I’m the one who has to finish planning tomorrow’s memorial service and find a way to prove Harrison’s innocence.
Lily shook her head. “Maybe he wasn’t specifically speaking of a day off from your work, but I’m sure the idea was implied. Besides, even if the Good Lord didn’t exactly use those words, it’s still a good idea. How many times do we have to tell you that you work too much?”
Catherine grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping down the already clean counter space. “I’m fine, Lily. I promise.”
Lily made no move to leave. “I know you’re worried about Audrey. She told me about the sheriff coming around and questioning Harrison. Surely he doesn’t actually think Harrison is involved with the Masked Gang?”
Catherine rubbed harder. So much for keeping secrets. “I don’t believe there is anything to worry about. He’s just being thorough in his investigation.”
“How thorough?”
“There is evidence suggesting his involvement, but apparently none of it is enough for an arrest, or Corbin would have had him locked behind bars days ago.”
“Mrs. McBride’s gossip certainly isn’t helping.”
Catherine stopped and stood up straight. “What did she say?”
“That it’s scandalous for Audrey to go ahead with the wedding when Father has just died.”
“Surely even she can understand that things would be different if he’d been around the past few years and then died, but he’s not even been a part of our lives. Why should Audrey have to wait to be married because of him?”
“Mrs. McBride said—”
“Perhaps you need to spend less time listening to gossip and more time listening to Pastor Landon’s sermons.” She stopped. Why was it that her mouth was always getting in the way of her good intentions?
“Catherine—”
“I’m sorry.” Catherine dropped the cloth into the kitchen sink then rested both hands against the counter. “Tell me, what are we going to do if Harrison is guilty? Audrey’s just lost Father and now Harrison.”
“Audrey’s stronger then you think, Catherine. We all are. You raised all of us to deal with what life brings us. Both the good and the bad.” Lily cocked her head. “But you’re the one I’m worried about. You’ve spent your entire life making sure we’re all right. And yes, I know we continually nag you about finding a husband, but it’s only because we care. We want you to be happy.”
“I’m all right. Really.” Catherine weighed her words. “Besides, even though everyone assumes it does, having a husband doesn’t equal happiness.”
Lily didn’t look convinced. “I suppose.”
“And you’re right about Mrs. McBride, too. Why let her high opinion of etiquette stand in the way of Audrey’s happiness?”
Or Corbin’s worthless pile of evidence.
Catherine sucked in a breath. “We’ll get through Father’s service tomorrow, and then we have a wedding to finish planning. And neither the sheriff’s quest nor Mrs. McBride’s feelings on propriety are going to diminish Audrey’s wedding day.”
Lily’s smile widened. “So you’ll come to lunch?”
Catherine laughed. “No, but go and have a good time. I’ll be fine.”
Catherine closed her eyes and reveled in the quiet as Lily slipped out the back door. As much as she loved her sisters, she really did need an afternoon to herself. No customers. No fiancés and beaus. Only…
Cigar smoke.
She wrinkled her nose then went back to her current problem regarding Harrison. One thing continued to niggle at her despite her words of assurance to both Audrey and Lily. What if Corbin was right and Harrison was guilty? She needed to find out the truth, but she certainly had no training in the ways of a lawman. She pinched the bridge of her nose to stifle a sneeze then started for the parlor. A glass sat at the end of the counter.
Strange. She hadn’t noticed it before, but she’d cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast this morning and washed and dried all the dishes. Lily had left for church with John after her and had obviously left out the glass. Which was typical of Lily, who never remembered to pick up anything. If the girl was to marry, she was going to have to learn a few more things about running a household.
Catherine continued into the parlor and stopped short. The smell of cigars hung heavy in the air. Her mother’s glass curio cabinet stood open. A rose-patterned plate had been knocked over and now lay cracked. A glass pitcher, porcelain figurines, and photo frames, once sitting on the shelves, lay scattered about the floor. Papers and correspondence from the desk lay in a pile beside them. A sick feeling washed over her. This was not Lily simply forgetting to put a few things away. Someone had been in the house.
Or possibly someone was still in the house?
She stood in the middle of the parlor, listening for signs of an intruder, but all that she heard was the faint tick-tock of her mother’s clock that still hung on its place above the fireplace mantel. Catherine felt her chest constrict. Most of the things in the house were of sentimental value, which made her wonder why anyone would even want to break in.
Catherine grabbed her father’s gun from the top of the curio cabinet and climbed the stairs, searching through the bedrooms one at a time. The tooled-leather box filled with her mother’s silverware and the gold earrings Audrey kept on her dresser were all in place.
Catherine stopped in the doorway of her room and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. This was Revenge, Ohio, not the Wild West where gunfights were a daily occurrence. There were always a couple of the local boys who had a nose for trouble, but for the most part, crimes constituted nothing more than the stealing of a couple of chickens from one of the nearby farms.
She sat down on the edge of her bed. The pounding in her temples increased. A pair of stockings hung from the corner of her dresser. Pulling open the drawer, she stuffed the undergarment back in. Someone had methodically gone through the house, searching for something. But why?
Her mother’s music box lay cracked on the floor. Catherine fell to her knees beside the wooden box and gently twisted the key. Warped strains of a melody filled the air.
She needed to see Corbin.
Catherine winced at knowing that the first person to come to mind when there might be a problem was Corbin. Of course, she did have good reason. He was the sheriff, and this had to be reported, even if he was the last person she wanted to see at the moment. She couldn’t take any chances. Shoving aside any remaining personal feelings, she hurried toward the sheriff’s office.
Corbin poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and then set it down to wait for it to cool a couple degrees. Pastor Landon’s words had tumbled through his mind all morning, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d truly cast his burdens on his Savior.
A hard thing to do when he was looking for revenge—something he wasn’t sure he was willing to let go of. Which mad
e him a hypocrite. Hadn’t he sat in the meeting hall this very morning and sung “It Is Well with My Soul” while a wall of hatred toward one man surrounded him?
Arresting William Marker wasn’t the only distraction in his life. He’d known from the moment he took on the job of sheriff that facing Catherine was going to be far more difficult than catching any band of criminals.
And he’d been right.
She’d greeted him this morning with nothing more than a nod of her head and a polite “good morning.” So much for his attempts to apologize. Even his peace offering had done little to improve their relationship. Not that he was trying to win her back, but he did understand how she felt. In the past week, she’d lost her father and faced serious doubts about whether or not her future brother-in-law was who he said he was.
It was a loss he knew far too well.
He combed his fingers through his hair then picked up his coffee again. It still tasted bad, but at least it wasn’t going to burn his tongue. He’d contacted no less than half a dozen sources trying to connect Harrison to someone who’d fought on the Confederate side. Who was he kidding? The way his luck was running, the Masked Gang would be headed for the state line before he made any progress.
With his coffee back on the table, Corbin pulled out a sheet of paper and his ink pen. There had to be a logical way to look at the situation. He knew he was missing something. He dipped his pen into the inkwell and began writing down a list of the evidence against Harrison.
The man had a secret, he was certain about that, but a secret didn’t necessarily equal a life of crime. Had he become so intent on settling the score because of his father’s death that he’d stretched facts and circumstances in order to find a man to blame for the death of his father? He tapped the pen against the paper and watched the patch of black ink spread across the page. No. He couldn’t let emotion determine his action. As an officer of the law, he had a sworn duty to uphold justice.
Which was why he’d paid a visit to Harrison’s farm. If the man were innocent, Corbin had hoped to find something that would exonerate him, but his probing had accomplished little. Either the man was a first-rate liar, or he was innocent. But the questions still remained. If Harrison Tucker wasn’t the leader, then who was? Because whether he liked it or not, every lead he had pointed to the fact that Tucker was involved.
Even if the clues he had were purely circumstantial. He started another list. The gang wore black masks, while the leader, purported to be William Marker, had a white star stitched on the back of his. Marker also used triangular-based bullets, but it wasn’t as if they were going to catch the man on the type of bullet he used. No. He needed proof. Undeniable proof.
Which meant he was going to have to find a way to be a step ahead of the gang and catch them in action. But how he was going to do that, he had no idea.
Corbin looked up as Catherine stepped through the door of the sheriff’s office for the second time in a week. He tried to swallow the feelings of resentment her presence always brought with her. Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t here to deal with emotions from the past. Not when there were lives at stake.
And his father’s life to revenge.
He forced a smile. “Miss Morgan, what a pleasant surprise.”
“It is, I suppose.” She peered up at him from beneath a pair of long, dark lashes. “A surprise I mean.”
His chair creaked under him as he sat back and crossed his arms. She still wore her Sunday-meeting dress, a pale blue fabric that made her eyes shine. Even he couldn’t deny that truth. “You look lovely today.”
He closed his mouth. What had gotten into him? The last thing he needed to do at this point was entangle the present with emotions from the past, because he had no plans of stopping until his father’s murderer was hanged. Even if it meant having to hurt Catherine a second time.
“I spoke with Audrey.” Catherine’s smile disappeared. “She said that you went out to Harrison’s place asking him questions about the robberies.”
Corbin knew he had to proceed carefully. The last thing he wanted was for her to believe that he was no longer on her side. “Part of my job is questioning people.”
“Questioning them, maybe. But not treating them as criminals.”
“I did no such thing, and you know it.”
She smacked her palms against his desk. “What I do know is that you have a handful of worthless clues that point to Harrison. Unless you’ve found something that proves he’s a murderer beyond a shadow of a doubt, I want you to leave him alone.”
“Just because Mr. Tucker is marrying your sister is no reason for me to look the other way.” Corbin shook his head, struck with her stubbornness. She wanted the truth to equal what she wanted to believe. “Is this why you came by? To criticize my investigation methods?”
“I’m not interested in your methods, only in the welfare of my sister.”
“You always did put their welfare above everything else.”
Corbin regretted the sharp sting of his words, but he wasn’t going to allow her to compromise his investigation.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.” Her fingers tapped against the wooden desk. “There is something else. The real reason I stopped by.”
He saw a look of fear cross her face, a rare expression for the Catherine Morgan he knew. She’d always been good at controlling her emotions. Which perhaps wasn’t a fair assessment on his part. He’d once fallen in love with a girl who could laugh and cry at the beauty of a sunset in the same breath. And he’d been the one who brought that out in her—or so she’d once told him.
“What is it?”
“Someone broke into our house during this morning’s church service.”
Her words caught him by surprise. Up until this point, he’d been thankful for the relatively few instances of crime he’d had to deal with in Revenge. It had allowed him to focus his time on the real reason he was here. “You’re certain?”
“Of course I’m certain. Though I have to say it was an odd collection of things taken, most with little value.”
“Like what?”
“A couple of inexpensive figurines, a picture frame, and some jewelry.”
“What about the store?”
Her shoulders pressed back, and her chin rose. The Catherine he knew had returned, hiding any remaining emotion under the surface. Restrained and in control. “Both doors were locked and nothing was touched that I could see.”
“Seems odd that a would-be burglar would steal an assortment of worthless objects from your house and leave the store alone.”
“I thought the same thing. Except for a few sentimental things I have in the house, the store holds much greater value. Everyone in town knows that.” Catherine fingered the edge of the desk.
“You’re going to need to keep your doors locked at night, and I’ll keep a watch on the place for you.” Corbin hesitated. The last thing he needed was further involvement with her.
“I would appreciate that.” Catherine rose from her chair. “But I’m sure it was a one-time thing.”
Was she trying to convince herself, or him?
“Perhaps.” Corbin grabbed his hat and gun. It still wasn’t a good enough explanation for him. Thieves didn’t break in for a handful of bric-a-brac. “I think it would be best if I were to come out and see for myself.”
Five minutes later, Corbin was standing in the very room where he’d asked Isaiah Morgan for Catherine’s hand in marriage. He hadn’t expected the memory to assault him the way it did, but seeing her standing in front of him in her fancy dress that brought out the color of her eyes, looking pretty and vulnerable, was almost enough to make him forget about the real reason he’d returned to Revenge. This had been a mistake.
He wiped the back of his neck, suddenly needing a way of escape. “I’d like you to make a complete list of all the things that are missing for my personal records.”
“I can have the list for you tonight.”
“Tomorrow will be fine, though I’m afraid that the chances of recovering the lost items are slim.” He tried to read her expression, needing to know if she felt as vulnerable as he did at the moment. Had her presence always made him this defenseless?
“I understand, though I still can’t see what someone would want with most of the items they took.”
He took a few mental notes of the downstairs parlor. It appeared to him more like someone was searching for something rather than out to rob the house. But what? “Where else were things taken?”
“A few things from upstairs.”
He should look.
Corbin followed her up the stairs toward the bedrooms. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom, remembering how once he’d planned to make this their home together—their room. Inside he was met again with further signs of the destruction left behind by the robbers. Who would do something like this? If the thief had been looking for some fast cash, they’d have helped themselves to the silver.
“This doesn’t make sense. Taking the inventory from your store or stealing the cash box would feed a thief’s quest to make a quick dollar, but why your bedroom? Why rummage through papers in a desk?”
Because it was personal. Whoever did this was looking for something specific. Not just a stash of money or valuable jewelry.
He cleared his throat, unable to stop the surge of worry that coursed through him. No matter what their past relationship might have been, his job had suddenly become even more personal.
“Maybe you should stay at the O’Conners’ for the next few days. At least until I can figure out who did this.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? For all we know the intruder was Mr. Fields because I wouldn’t extend his credit yesterday.”
Corbin shook his head. “This isn’t someone making a statement over a bushel of wheat or a pound of sugar.”
Catherine headed back down the stairs. “I can’t leave and you know it.”