Why would God punish him with the hottest day of the year when he needed to appear calm and cool? And where was Yancey Palmer? She had first shift of standing by him as he wandered from group to group. She’d left him on Mrs. Hollenbeck’s wide veranda, saying she’d be back in a moment. That was—he pulled out his pocket watch—a full five minutes ago.
He needed no mirror to tell him his face was bright pink and his hair was matted under his black top hat. Mrs. Hollenbeck’s lawn was dotted with linen-draped tables, almost in the same configuration as for Luanne and Roy Bennett’s wedding fourteen months ago. The tables were set with blue-and-white china plates, crystal glasses, and bowls of red and white flowers. Except that the bridal table had been replaced by a small platform, it looked like a wedding reception.
“You’re glaring at that thing like it’s a hangman’s noose.” Mac McCall jutted his chin toward the podium sitting center stage.
Hale turned to his friend. “I’ve not seen much of you lately. Enjoying married life?”
Mac’s grin answered. “If I’d known marriage was going to be this great, I’d have tied the knot the day Emilia arrived in Helena.”
Jealousy reared its green head before Hale ruthlessly chopped it off at the neck. Mac’s path to marital bliss had been rocky. No one wanted that kind of courtship.
“Looks like you have a nice turnout for this shindig.” Mac turned his head from left to right. “I don’t see your uncle.”
Hale searched the crowd for Uncle Jonas’s gray hair and Aunt Lily’s green hat. “Is that why you’re here?” Mac, although a good friend, didn’t have either the political clout or financial means of the other guests.
“I need him to sign a search warrant.” Mac pulled open his brown jacket to reveal a piece of paper sticking out of the inside pocket. “It’s important or I wouldn’t be barging in.”
“I presumed as much. Is it confidential, or may I know what it’s for?” Hale searched the crowd.
“Counterfeiting operation down in Bear Gulch.”
“Solid evidence?” Hale spotted his aunt and uncle and pointed. “There.”
Mac reached out to squeeze Hale’s bicep. “Best evidence I’ve had in months. Thanks, and good luck today.” He hurried off, pausing just long enough to whisper something in Isaak Gunderson’s ear before moving past, then pulling Uncle Jonas to the edge of the crowd.
Hale was about to make his way over when he spied Yancey. He checked his watch again. Six minutes. “Where have you been?”
She frowned, then looked pointedly at the group a few feet away, as good as shouting, Be nice. We’re on display. “Thank you for being so patient.”
“Is everything all right?” he tried again.
She beamed at him. “Nothing for you to worry about. Now, shall we go chat with Mr. Fisk?”
He snapped closed the silver lid of his watch and tucked it back inside his vest pocket. “Might as well get this over with,” he muttered so only she could hear.
She chuckled, the sound rich and soothing. “Don’t be such a Scrooge. You might even find you enjoy yourself.”
He held out his elbow, and she tucked her hand in the bend. He leaned close to her ear. “I’ll have you know, I have nothing against Christmas.”
She pulled away slightly to look at him. “Perhaps not, but you are as stingy with your goodwill as he, so I stand by my comparison.”
The criticism jarred him. Was his discomfort in social situations stinginess? Before he could think of a retort, they reached Mr. and Mrs. Fisk, who were talking with another couple Hale didn’t recognize.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stafford,” Yancey identified them as per the plan, “how lovely to see you. How is the construction on your new bank coming?”
Hale waited to insert himself into the conversation until he knew which of his ideas for improving city government would most appeal to the banker. While he chatted with Mr. Stafford and Mr. Fisk, Yancey discussed children and grandchildren with the ladies. His ears perked up when one of the ladies asked whether she and Hale were now a couple.
“Goodness no, Mrs. Stafford. We have overcome our past mistakes in order to work together for the common good of Helena.”
It was no different than what she’d said at Gibbon’s Steak House. But today it was as jarring as when she’d called him a Scrooge.
A touch on his elbow turned his attention. “Uncle Jonas. Is something wrong?”
He shook his head, but his skin was an unnatural shade. “I need to speak with you privately for a moment.”
Hale excused himself from the group and followed his uncle to a small clearing at the veranda railing. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”
“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
Which meant something was wrong. Uncle Jonas never repeated himself unless he was trying to cover a lie. It was a nervous tic Hale uncovered on his twenty-third birthday, when Aunt Lily endeavored to throw him a surprise party. She’d enlisted Uncle Jonas’s help and, in his attempt to dissuade Hale when he’d guessed the plans, had repeated himself on several occasions.
“I must leave. Sheriff McCall has brought a search warrant and I’ve forgotten my reading glasses.” Uncle Jonas patted his jacket as though to demonstrate the lack of glasses. “I may not make it back here for a significant amount of time. I hate to abandon you.”
Hale spied Yancey approaching. “I’ll be fine. Go issue your warrant.”
“Warrant for what?” Yancey joined the conversation.
Hale extended his elbow toward her. “Counterfeiting.”
Yancey’s face went white. She gripped Hale’s arm as though she needed support to remain upright.
Hale gripped her hand. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “You’ll say I’m being silly.”
He’d said it about her often enough in the past. But it was far from what he was thinking now. “I promise I shall say no such thing.”
When she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes. He’d never noticed how blue they were. Not pale like the sky or cool like ice, but vibrant and warm like a sun-soaked wildflower. The ones that bloomed in spring just after the snow melted. The ones whose proper name he’d never bothered to research.
“Joseph was killed by counterfeiters.”
He was so absorbed in her eyes, he almost didn’t hear her words. “He was?”
Uncle Jonas cleared his throat, drawing Hale’s attention. “Everyone knows Mr. Hendry was killed by disgruntled brothel owners, but Miss Palmer won’t be convinced.”
Yancey’s fingernails dug into Hale’s forearm. He frowned at his uncle. It was the duty of a gentleman to protect a lady from both physical and emotional harm. Why would his uncle be so callous? “If you will excuse us, sir, I believe the lady requires some refreshment and a moment to collect her thoughts.” Not caring how his uncle reacted to being dismissed, Hale escorted Yancey toward the house. “What makes you believe Mr. Hendry was killed by counterfeiters?”
Her pace slowed. He matched it and waited for her to speak. “I probably am being foolish.”
“We won’t know that until we’ve examined all the facts, now will we?”
She tugged her hand free. “That’s just it. I only have one fact. Joseph went to Dawson County to investigate counterfeiting and was killed as soon as he returned to Helena.”
“Did he say anything to you about what he found?”
She shook her head. “We only spoke for a moment. He was on his way to his office at the Daily Independent to write his story. He seemed excited ... and sad, which doesn’t make any sense.”
“It could make perfect sense. A reporter would naturally be excited to uncover a big story and sad if he knew or admired the person he discovered was responsible for the crime.” Hale knew all too well how it felt to be disappointed by a father he’d looked up to his entire life.
“You believe me?” Had she said, I never thought you would take me seriously, he couldn’t have felt more chastised.
She didn’t laugh or nod, just stared at him with those deep blue eyes.
“We have apologized to each other for past mistakes and agreed to be on friendly terms. But I would very much like for us to go one step further by becoming friends.” He’d been tossing around the idea ever since rereading her letters as Portia. And yet, that he now spoke his feelings aloud surprised him as much as it appeared to surprise her.
Her silence confirmed his suspicion that she didn’t know how to respond to an overture of friendship from him. Had his past dismissal of her irreparably damaged their chances of camaraderie going forward?
Maybe it was best to keep the conversation to the facts of Mr. Hendry’s case.
“Did Mr. Hendry indicate he had written notes of what he’d found in Dawson County?” Nothing in the reports of his death mentioned as much, but Mac—or more likely Marshal Valentine, as Hendry was killed inside the city’s limits—might be keeping certain facts out of the papers while the investigation was still ongoing.
Yancey squinted as though trying to see into the past. “If he made notes, he didn’t mention it to me, at least not that I can remember. I confess, I usually got lost in the details because he so often discussed his work when we . . .” were engaged, was what he suspected she left unsaid.
Was she embarrassed by their courtship? Or just uncomfortable speaking of another man in front of someone for whom she’d once professed undying love?
Hale checked to make sure they were still too far away from anyone to be overheard. “May I ask you a somewhat personal question?”
“About Joseph?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Hale waited for her to give permission. “Is your . . .” Insistence was too strong a word, but feeling wasn’t strong enough. He started his sentence again. “Is your belief that Mr. Hendry was killed by counterfeiters—rather than by brothel owners, as everyone else insists—some sort of self-inflicted guilt?”
“It was for a few months after he died, but”—Yancey’s brow furrowed, and she paused, as though considering what to say next—“not anymore. I can’t explain how I know it was counterfeiting, other than a feeling I have. I know it’s true. I just do.” Her skin flushed. “Please don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say next.”
Intriguing. “As I am hoping to persuade you to be my friend, I promise to do my best.”
A small smile rewarded him. “This feeling I have about Joseph? It’s the same one I had about you. That first day we met.”
“When I punched that boy?”
She nodded. “And I immediately made an enemy of you.”
“Do you know why?” He didn’t give her time to respond. “Because I acted the bully, bloodying a child’s lip, rather than as a gentleman should.”
“But he was bullying me.”
“All the more reason I should have shown him a better way. It was disgraceful behavior on my part.”
She touched the base of her neck. “And I kept rubbing salt into your shame with my hero-worship.”
“You were ten. I should have taken that into account when . . .” He broke off, not sure how to politely say the next half of the sentence. This was why he preferred to write out his words ahead of time.
The right side of Yancey’s mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “When I immediately made you my ideal and, consequently, broke up your courtship of my sister?”
He nodded, grateful she was the one to say it.
She sobered and looked down. “May I ask you a somewhat personal question?”
“I believe that’s only fair.”
She slowly lifted her head. “Did you love Luanne? Truly love her?”
“No. I loved the idea of making a home in Helena with a loving family. Luanne happened to be the first girl who caught my eye when I arrived.” The admission was less painful than he expected it to be.
Yancey caught the corner of her bottom lip in her teeth for a moment. “Would you have ended your courtship of her without my interference?”
“I would have.”
“I’m not sure if I should say, ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I told you so.’” Spoken with such wry humor, Hale couldn’t help but chuckle.
He smiled down at her. “How about we agree to put it behind us and celebrate your sister’s good fortune in marrying Mr. Bennett?”
She matched his smile. “An excellent suggestion.”
“May I make another suggestion—though you’ll have to judge its excellence.”
“I believe that’s only fair.” The way Yancey picked up on his banter reminded him of the way his aunt and uncle teased each other.
He liked it. A lot.
Hale coughed into his fist to cover his surprise at the realization. “I . . . uh, I want to return to the subject of Mr. Hendry.”
The light went out of her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”
“I know the official ruling on his death was murder, but was anyone ever caught?” Hale knew the answer but wanted her to say it aloud.
“No.”
“Then there’s no basis of fact to back up your feeling that he was killed over counterfeiting?” He said it as gently as possible, but facts were facts.
Yancey shook her head.
“Then how about we let Marshal Valentine finish his investigation before we jump to counterfeiting as the cause.”
“I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried.” She ducked her head as though the admission—or the slight whine in her voice—embarrassed her.
Hale took out his pocket watch and wound the stem while he considered a different way to relate the same truth. “When I was in law school, I had a class on the origins of justice. May I pass along some wisdom I believe applies here?”
She peeked up at him. “As long as you limit yourself to no more than three points.”
He chuckled at her teasing. “I shall go above and beyond by limiting myself to just one.”
Her eyes began to sparkle. “If you adhere to your limit, I shall have to borrow our good friend Mr. Gunderson’s response to such a rarity by marking it in a calendar.”
He laughed outright. She really was a delightful conversationalist. He sobered and put his free hand on top of hers. “My professor said that every one of us would come up against a case where justice would not be served here on earth. We would then have to decide if we truly believed God was sovereign and not only could but would see justice done whether now or in the future.”
“Whether I see the proof to validate my feelings or not.” After a long silence, she squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Hale. By speaking the truth even when it was a difficult one, you’ve just acted as a friend. I appreciate it.”
Her understanding and gratitude felt like a cool breeze across his skin. “Are you ready to return to the task of mingling with the high and mighty, or do you need a few more minutes?”
She straightened her shoulders. “It’s time for me to repay your friendship with my own. By the time we are done here, every one of these people will not only be giving you their vote, they’ll be giving you their money as well.”
Hale laughed. “I think I’m going to like being your friend, Yancey Palmer.”
Chapter Twelve
As soon as Sheriff McCall left Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house, Jonas headed straight for the downtown telegraph office to send the prearranged signal to Smith, his man in Bear Gulch. A message with one STOP meant “be careful, law enforcement is suspicious,” two STOPs meant “move the press to a new location,” and three STOPs meant, “Abandon operations. Save what you can. Burn the rest.”
Depending on how hard they pushed their horses, Sheriff McCall and his deputies would reach Bear Gulch in ninety minutes to two hours. Barely enough time to move the press. Jonas mentally composed his two-STOP message as he hurried closer to the telegraph office, cursing under
his breath when he saw the CLOSED sign in the window. Stupid mistake on his part. Of course the office would be closed for the holiday.
What reasonable explanation could he give for going all the way down to the train station to send a telegram? He’d stretched credibility already by saying he’d forgotten his reading glasses at his office and couldn’t sign a search warrant he hadn’t read. Stopping by the telegraph office to send a message—another thing he’d forgotten—along the way was believable as long as no one thought too hard about it.
Jonas turned toward City Hall. When he was done there, he’d have to go to the train depot. He was a man who did what was necessary, from figuring out an excuse for delaying his return to the brunch to sending a three-STOP message. The press would be lost, but hopefully, the men could save the plates and latest run of counterfeit bills.
He passed Wood Street, glancing up the hill at Madame Lestraude’s Maison de Joie. He couldn’t be certain the madam had informed her son about the counterfeiting operation—Sheriff McCall was an excellent lawman—but Jonas couldn’t afford to underestimate the woman. Whether or not this strike was of her hand, he needed to put more pressure on Mr. Green. Who knew a brothel accountant would be so difficult to break?
If only she hadn’t thwarted his best move by involving Jakob in her rescuing ring before Jonas even knew they were at war.
Had he erred by telling her he’d orchestrated Hendry’s death? Jonas regretted the necessity more than she could know. Unlike most of his peers, Hendry was that rare newspaper man interested in truth rather than sensationalism. It was why people believed him when he wrote that Madame Lestraude and Finn Collins were kidnapping women into prostitution. Lestraude had used the reporter’s reputation to manipulate the truth in order to save her own skin. Jonas had planned to use it to disqualify Isaak from running for mayor as a last resort to get him out of the campaign and make way for Hale.
Hendry would have believed a carefully worded hint at scandal from a man close enough to the Gunderson twins that they called him Uncle Jonas. And it would have done no harm, not in the long run. Isaak might have suffered some initial embarrassment, as would Hendry when it came out that he’d published a false story, but all would have been well in the end.
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