“Hello, Francis,” a voice said from behind. “I’ve been waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Did everyone from the Heart of the Mountains come too?”
He turned to find Tilly, the saloon girl he remembered from the Hitching Post, standing a few feet away. He’d know that silky voice anywhere. She looked different. Her lips were devoid of the color she used to wear, as was her face from war paint. She wore a starched white blouse and black skirt that went all the way to the wooden floorboards and swirled at her ankles when she moved, which she did now to set a few cans on the shelf. If one didn’t know her past, a person would never believe she’d once been a soiled dove. “Tilly! I heard you were working here. How’re you?”
Tilly went to the counter to stand beside Christine. “I’m happy, Francis. Faith declining this job turned out to be my greatest blessing. I never knew what life could be like outside the saloon walls. Or what self-worth was. The Hitching Post had been my world.” She laid a gentle hand on Christine’s arm, her eyes glowing. “And now I do. Life’s very good, to be sure.”
Liking the sound of that, he smiled again.
“I feel for your boss,” Christine began. “But I feel worse for poor Blanche. Her husband was murdered right in front of her eyes, a horror she’ll never forget. And she received an awful beating as well. I can’t even imagine how she’s holding up.” She placed her fingers over her lips.
Frustration made Francis look away for several moments. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with Luke. He’s innocent.”
Tilly nodded, her expression in complete agreement with Francis, but Christine didn’t look quite as sure.
“Blanche was there,” the store owner said, her voice steely. “Surely she couldn’t make a mistake such as you’re suggesting.”
This was a battle he’d not win in one conversation.
Chapter Twelve
The door to the mercantile opened, and Ashley Adair, the pretty young woman he’d seen earlier, stepped inside. For a few moments, she didn’t notice him at the counter speaking with Christine and Tilly. Then shock registered on her face. She turned toward the door.
“Wait,” Francis called, surprising himself. “Please don’t go yet. I’d like to speak with you.”
Her gaze traced to the women and then back to him.
He slowly stepped closer. “Jack Jones said you’re close friends with the woman who’s accusing my boss, Luke McCutcheon, of murder. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“It’s all right, Ashley,” Christine called. “I’m here, and so is Tilly. I believe speaking with this young man is the least we can do. Ashley Adair, this is Francis.”
The young woman nodded and followed Francis toward the back of the store.
“I came as soon as I learned Luke had been arrested for the murder. I just want to piece together the way the incident happened.”
Her mouth firmed. “You mean the murder? You were speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he told you.”
“That’s true enough. But your sheriff, Jack Jones, can’t be trusted. He used to be the deputy in Y Knot and was fired last September by Luke’s best friend, the sheriff. He’s been caught in more than one lie since I’ve known him. He’s not fond of the McCutcheons. I wouldn’t trust him with—”
Her face blanched. He’d given away too much information too quickly. Perhaps she liked Jack Jones. Maybe he’d saved her dog from a fire or rescued her kitten from climbing too high in a tree. Francis had never been very good at bluffing at poker or hiding his feelings.
Miss Adair crossed her arms over her chest, and her expression hardened. “Sheriff Jones has proven himself a good lawman since his arrival. Sounds like you’ve already tried the sheriff and found him lacking. I don’t appreciate your attitude.”
“Maybe I have, miss, but I can’t help that. Can you just give me an accounting of the details as you heard them from the witness? I’d greatly appreciate your rendition.” He smiled, remembering Lucky, the bunkhouse cook, telling him he could get better results by being nice. Besides, her face was pretty, and he liked the sound of her voice. Why shouldn’t he be nice? “Miss Adair?”
She gave a little huff. “Blanche told me your boss showed up early in the morning looking for something to eat. After she and Benson gave him most of the food they had, he demanded money. He got angry when she told him they didn’t have any savings. They argued. The quarrel escalated. When Benson turned away to the door after demanding he leave, your boss picked up the fire poker and hit him across the head. After that, he took to her with fists until she pretended to be dead.”
“Pretended to be dead?” This is the stupidest story I’ve ever heard. Like Luke couldn’t tell the difference.
She took a deep breath. “Blanche is a good person who was very generous to me. She was a marvelous teacher as well, knowledgeable and funny. Without her help, I’d never have become a teacher myself. I owe her everything, and in the very least my trust and loyalty. Benson was a kind man.” Her lips wobbled. “They’d only been married a year…”
Tears sprang to her blue eyes. Moved by the sound of sadness in her voice, he pulled out his handkerchief.
She waved it away. “I’m all right. I just hate to think of Benson being murdered like that. Such a horrible thing. And now Blanche is a widow.” She heaved another deep sigh. “So you see, the case is pretty clear. All that’s left is waiting for the judge and your boss will get his due.”
Francis digested her story. Nothing made a lick of sense. Luke didn’t have to demand money from anyone. The whole family was the richest in the territory. Why would the woman, Blanche, say such a thing? Maybe someone else was passing through who looked like Luke. More details had to be involved. “You’ve heard of the McCutcheons from Y Knot?”
She ran one finger slowly over her lips.
He could tell she didn’t want to answer that question as she avoided his gaze. No one in their right mind would think any of them capable of murder. “Miss Adair?”
“Of course I have. Everyone was shocked when they learned Benson’s murderer was a McCutcheon.”
“How about Blanche? Was she shocked too?”
“Why, yes, actually…” Her mouth snapped closed. She glanced around the store.
“Doesn’t that seem strange, a McCutcheon killing a man for money?”
“I’m not on trial, sir,” she said softly. “And neither is Blanche. I would appreciate if you’d remember that. I feel as if you suspect me. Maybe McCutcheon was so angry about something he snapped. You say he was looking for his son. Perhaps Mr. McCutcheon has a black temper no one knows about.” She straightened and lifted her chin.
Francis admired her strength and loyalty. Those qualities made a person, in his way of thinking. She was searching for some explanation to validate Blanche’s cockamamie story, more interested in defending her friend than looking logically at the situation, and he could understand why. She must be in a real dilemma. Ashley had to know the story had holes you could drive a stagecoach through.
He stayed his first impulse to reach out and touch her arm. Since Charity, Luke’s younger sister, this was the first woman he’d felt so strongly about. He’d flirted with Fancy, the saloon girl in Y Knot, ever since Charity married Brandon. He’d begun to think a woman for him didn’t exist in the world. Maybe a man with no blood kin to call his own would never find a woman to love. But this young schoolteacher made him feel different. Even though he didn’t know her well, she gave him just a tiny glimmer of hope.
He stepped back, knowing he’d pushed her about as far as he should at this point. He was anxious to get back to the jail and speak with Luke. And Colton was waiting. “Thank you for your time, miss. I can’t help but notice that everyone in town is shooting daggers with their eyes. Not you though.”
When a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, the hat dangling in his fingers fell to the floor. He quickly picked it up.
“You’re welcome. I know you’re not the enemy. I’m sorry if t
he citizens of Priest’s Crossing haven’t extended a warm welcome. But I’m sure you can understand, under the circumstances.”
“I do.” He nodded. “I best get back to the jail.” Francis held her gaze. “And visit my innocent friend. We need to work though the facts and figure this mess out.” As he walked away, Francis stopped at the counter. Muffins, breads, and some small fruit pies that made his mouth water just looking at them sat on a tray. He wanted to take something to Luke. Make him feel better.
“Every baked item is exceptional,” Tilly said, coming to his side. “He has a true touch. Can make the mundane taste like gold.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Clevenger. Owner of the restaurant.”
Francis nodded. “I ate there this morning. The fare was quite tasty.”
Tilly pulled back, her eyes opened wide. “Just tasty? Did you have any of his muffins? I have to have one every day, and sometimes twice, now that I’m expecting.”
He laughed, keenly aware of Miss Adair watching from the center of the store. He glanced at the pies one more time, then turned slightly and caught her eye.
She blushed and pulled her gaze back to the bag of flour in her hands.
“I ate several, and Colton is taking a couple to Luke as we speak. Knowing Luke, he probably wolfed them down,” he joked. He couldn’t believe he was actually flirting with Tilly. She was a married woman and an old friend. He’d only been a boy when she’d moved away from Y Knot, and he hoped she’d forgive him for milking this opportunity in front of Miss Adair. “I’ll take this pie, as well.”
“He’ll thank you later,” she gushed as she took his dime.
Settling his hat on his head, Francis stepped out the door after one more backward glance at Tilly and Christine Meeks, as well as the pretty Miss Adair. Had his questions made her think twice about trusting Mrs. Van Gleek’s trumped-up story? He’d spotted the mistakes in the tale right away. Blanche Van Gleek hadn’t known Luke was a McCutcheon when she’d pointed the finger. A tasty bit of information to chew on. He would have liked to see her face when she’d learned the truth. Much more was involved with this story than Blanche was saying. Figuring that out would be up to him and the rest of the boys.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke paced a circle in his cell before he remembered Colton was sitting quietly on the long bench opposite, watching his every move. Luke looked over and stopped. His son’s fretful gaze hurt. What had happened in the Van Gleek cabin? That was the winning question. All he’d done was ask the woman if she’d seen Colton, watered his horse and himself, and left. He needed to figure out the puzzle because Jack wouldn’t. His gaze narrowed on the wood grain of the dry-looking oak above Colton’s head.
Francis came through the door and pulled up. “What’re you thinkin’?”
Luke turned and gave him quizzical a look. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’ve got something important on your mind. Your forehead crinkles and your head tilts to the side. Just like now. Something has struck you. What?”
Luke straightened his head.
Colton got up and came over to the bars, the worry lines still deep in his forehead.
Luke reached out and placed his hand on Colton’s shoulder, but only for an instant. His son didn’t like to be treated like a baby. And he shouldn’t be. He could help. Be Luke’s eyes and ears.
Francis tipped a pie he’d purchased somewhere to one side and slid the pastry through the bars.
“Thanks. This looks good.” Luke retrieved the dirty fork from his breakfast dishes sitting on the cot and dug in. “I sure miss Faith’s cooking, I can tell you that.”
Francis nodded. “I’m sure that’s not all you miss.”
“You’re right there,” he said enjoying the sweet taste of the apples and tangy cinnamon. The butter-laden crust crumbled in his mouth. He brushed a few morsels away with the back of his hand and kept eating. “I miss my home, the laughter of my children and wife, and tucking everybody in at night.” He glanced at Colton and smiled. “And spending quiet time speaking with Faith after everyone is asleep. I’ll never take those things for granted again.”
Deputy Clark came through the door, the heavy iron key ring, with a key for each cell, dangling in his fingers. He stood for a moment and then turned to leave.
“Hold up,” Luke called.
The heavy-shouldered man turned back.
His tangle of short brown hair reminded Luke of a shaggy buffalo. He looked about Luke’s age, with a hard glint to his eyes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for Luke’s question. This man would give as good as he got, Luke figured, not like the faint-hearted Jack Jones. Priest’s Crossing had put the two men in the wrong positions. “What’s the status of things? Is anyone investigating who else may have killed that fella? I’m innocent. Do some detective work.”
“Who says we’re not?”
“Me. I haven’t heard a peep out of either one of you.” Luke grasped the bars. “I won’t be a scapegoat for anyone.”
Clark chuckled nastily. “You don’t have much say in this, McCutcheon. How does being on the other side of the bars feel?”
“That’s uncalled for,” Francis barked. “He’s only asking a logical question, considering the circumstances.”
“Leave the law to us.” Clark punctuated his words with a pointed finger first at Luke and then Francis. “You’ll get a fair trial, when the time comes.” Without another word, Deputy Clark stamped out of the room.
Yeah, a trial would be held all right, and the jury would find him guilty if they didn’t have any other possibilities to consider. His appetite gone, Luke set the pie on the cot.
“What now, Pa?” Colton asked.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?” Both Francis and Colton moved closer to the bars.
He motioned with his hand to keep their voices low. “What if Mrs. Van Gleek’s husband was already dead when I rode up? She wasn’t very friendly or keen on inviting me in. She stood like a warden with feet planted and hands on hips as if guarding the door. Didn’t move from her spot when I asked about the surrounding area.” He gave Francis and then Colton a long stare.
Francis’s eyebrow lifted. “Maybe so,” he said just above a whisper.
“But she wasn’t beat up, yet, Pa.”
“You’re right, she wasn’t.” She looked a bit disheveled, like maybe she’d been sleeping late and I’d disturbed her.” He looked straight into Francis’s eyes conveying a silent message.
Francis gave a slight nod.
“Say she and her husband had a fight,” Luke went on. “And she killed him in self-defense?”
Francis scratched his chin and whispered, “Self-defense is hard to prove. Men don’t like thinkin’ women can get away with nothin’. Some don’t consider using their fists to discipline their spouse a crime.”
“That’s sadly so. But how could she blacken her own eye and bruise her ribs? I’d say that’s impossible.” He didn’t like speaking about such unseemly issues in front of his boy, but Colton was growing up. He’d said so himself several times.
Colton glanced around. “Then someone had to help her. Maybe he was inside waiting to kill you if you came in and discovered the crime.”
Nodding, Luke pointed to the door.
On silent footsteps, Colton walked as quietly as a cat and glanced into the outer room where the sheriff had his desk. Quickly returning, he mouthed the word “Empty.”
“Good.” Luke leaned one palm on a shiny metal bar. “I know I didn’t kill him or beat her up. And yet she claims I did. My first thought was they’d had a fight, he beat her, and then she smacked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. Now I’m not so certain.”
“Are you talking premeditated crime?” Francis asked, still leaning toward the bars.
“Could be.”
“Well, we better get busy.” Francis straightened. “I met Joe’s sister, Christine Meeks,
at the mercantile. She said she met you at the wedding and knows how close Joe is to you and the family.”
Luke lifted a shoulder. “That’s pretty much common knowledge.”
“She didn’t appear all that sympathetic to your plight. I told her you were innocent, but she’s feeling pretty bad for her friend becoming a widow and about Benson. You’ll be going up against the whole town if this goes to trial. If we can’t even get the support of Joe’s sister, we may have trouble convincing anyone else.”
Luke scratched the side of his face, fingering the unfamiliar whiskers. “You’re right on that account, Francis. Then we better get cracking. If I didn’t kill him, and she didn’t kill him, who else was in that cabin that morning? Had to be somebody.”
“If the judge arrives tomorrow, Pa, what’ll happen?”
That was a very good question. He respected the law as much as, if not more than, most men, but he wasn’t hanging for a murder he didn’t commit. If what Francis said was true, he wouldn’t find much understanding in Priest’s Crossing.
“Would they hang ya?” Colton’s voice quivered unsteadily.
“Maybe.” How difficult to admit to my own son. A hot despair clawed at Luke’s throat. He’s trying to be so brave. But better for him to know the truth than paint an unrealistic picture. “For now, you’ll have to continue being my eyes and ears. Make note of everything. Go places and hang around. Someone might let something slip.” Luke reached out and ruffled Colton’s hair, not caring if he got mad. Luke wished with his whole heart he could pull his son into his arms and tell him everything was going to be all right. He’d like to be a little more sure about that himself. “Francis, I’m thankful you’re here, but I’ll feel a lot better when the rest of the men arrive.”
Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10) Page 6