“There’s nothing to hide, Jo, no reason to deny the request.” His mouth tipped up in a closed smile, probably meant to cheer her. It fell flat for both of them.
Oblivious to the death of her stepfather, Annie played outside until dusk when Mr. O’Connor offered to entertain her away from the other adults. Tomorrow was soon enough to tell her of the tragedy.
At the end of the search, Joanna, along with Kit and Rose, prepared to answer the questions put to them. If the lawmen found anything suspicious on the premises, they weren’t saying.
While Myers conducted the inquiry, the deputy stood propped against a wall and watched them. What he hoped to see, Joanna wasn’t sure, but each time he turned his black, bushy eyebrows and perpetual frown on her, she almost jumped out of her skin.
“When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. McCall?”
In her mind, Joanna willed that Rose not commit the same error she had done after Clayton’s death. She willed her friend to show a sign of grief or regret, anything other than the stoicism that bred rumor, insinuation, and suspicion.
“A week ago.” Even though Rose sat erect and unemotional, tremors ran through the hand Joanna held in comfort.
“Sunday?”
“Saturday.”
“Do you know where he went when he left here?”
“No.”
“Mrs. McCall, why did he leave? Was it a case of abandonment?” Myers knew the answer. It shouted from his watchful gaze. He waited to see if Rose would lie. Joanna squeezed Rose’s hand and released it, encouraging her friend to tell the truth.
“He left because I told him to go.”
“Why would you do that, ma’am?”
Rose flicked an apprehensive glance at Kit, then Joanna. “Because he was a wicked man.”
The two men eyed one another, and Joanna groaned inside. The interrogation of her friend lasted another half an hour before they turned on Joanna. Under their questioning, she related her history with Liam and the fact that she fired him for hitting his wife.
“You experienced a housebreaking a short time ago, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.” Dread enveloped Joanna like a moldy blanket.
“Was anything taken?”
“Nothing that I know of.”
“And you have no idea who did it or why?”
Joanna hesitated. Kit and Perry both knew of her suspicion, so it was best not to hedge. “I think Liam tried to steal the money I’d been paid for my property.”
She may as well have said night had fallen for all the surprise her answer elicited in the man. “Why didn’t you report this earlier?”
“It was an opinion with no proof.”
What she chose to leave out of her account amounted to lies of omission that could cause further trouble if, during the investigation, Liam’s attempt at blackmail was exposed.
“An opinion that should have been relayed to us. Are you aware that Mr. McCall was discovered with certain stolen items on his person—items missing from a recently burgled home?”
Joanna gaped at him and shook her head. Was that what they looked for in their search, more stolen goods? Did they find any here?
Rose released a tiny cry and crushed Joanna’s fingers. “He robbed the people of Banesville?”
“Possibly, ma’am. We believe it’s also possible he had an accomplice.”
After that announcement, they focused on Kit with even more enthusiasm. Joanna avoided everyone’s gaze as Myers asked about the Independence Day incident, and Kit repeated what she had told him. This time her lie of omission affected an innocent man. The guilt multiplied with each partial answer until it raked her conscience raw. She couldn’t tell the whole truth, not now, not in front of Kit. She owed him a private conversation … a private confession that was weeks overdue.
“You threatened Mr. McCall.”
The forceful accusation broke through Joanna’s soul-searching.
Myers glared at Kit, whose face reddened as if all his air had been pilfered. “I ordered him to leave the property and not return.”
Rose had provided Joanna with the details of Kit’s argument with Liam that day. Someone else must have told the sheriff a more lurid tale.
“You assaulted him.”
“I grabbed his shirt.”
“We have a witness who says you grabbed him with such rage that his shirt tore, Mr. Barnes.”
The “witness” must be Howard Cox. He was … had been a friend to Liam and a troublemaker in his own right. Now the lawman intended to twist Cox’s statement to fit his own version of what happened.
Kit’s outward composure deflated. “I won’t deny it.”
Joanna spied a smile on the face of the deputy propped against the wall, a smile that gouged her with fear for Kit. She wouldn’t sit mute while he was treated in such a manner. “I am a witness, too, sir. I’m a witness to the cruelty of Liam McCall toward his wife.”
“Jo—”
“It’s all right, Rose.” Joanna glared at the sheriff. “Mr. Barnes was right in demanding he leave. I’m sorry Liam is dead, but you won’t find the person responsible here.”
With tremendous effort, Joanna maintained her poise while both officers of the law measured her veracity against whatever ruler they used. Finally, the bushy-browed one pushed away from the wall.
Sheriff Myers said, “We have enough information at present.”
***
The coroner’s inquest on the first of August ruled Liam’s death a murder; however, no one was accused, and he was buried the next day.
Joanna shuffled into her kitchen a week later. Having overslept, she hadn’t taken the time to dress or fix her hair. She looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Jamie?”
“Sleeping. You two have that in common this morning.” Darcy darted a glance in Joanna’s direction, then bent and shoved a couple pieces of kindling into the stove’s firebox, which added more heat to the already warm room. She poured Joanna a cup of coffee and set it on the table before preparing breakfast.
“You haven’t eaten?”
“I waited for you. I hope Jamie’s crying didn’t keep you up last night.”
“Don’t worry.” A baby couldn’t be blamed for last night’s restlessness or that of the nights before, not when Joanna’s problem stemmed from a troubled conscience.
Throughout the ordeal of Liam’s death, Kit acted as if his personal mission involved seeing to Rose and Annie’s needs while continuing his ministry to Donovan O’Connor. Howard Cox abandoned the House the day of the inquest when he all but accused Kit of murdering Liam.
During the turmoil, Kit courted Joanna with respect and romantic gifts. She leaned toward the Mason jar on the table and sniffed the fragrance of the sweet alyssum and forget-me-nots Kit surprised her with yesterday. What had she done for him? She had kept to herself the one thing that could drive a permanent wedge between them.
“Jo, I wrote my parents.”
Joanna straightened in the chair. “You did?”
Darcy pulled a letter from the pocket of her apron. “This came a few days ago.” She handed it to Joanna, who unfolded the sheet of paper.
Whatever Joanna had expected from the Bairds, this ardent plea for their daughter to return home was not it. While careful not to condone Darcy’s actions, her mother made clear the parents’ forgiveness and preparations to welcome both child and grandchild with open arms.
How would her life have been different had Joanna been raised in such a family? Unlike Darcy, who ran off to find adventure, Joanna believed she would have been content to follow convention … if her father had shown more faith in her.
Joanna left her seat and enfolded Darcy in a hug. “This is marvelous news. I’m very happy for you. Have you decided when you will go?”
“I don’t know.” Darcy clutched the paper until the edge crinkled in her hand. “Do you think I should?”
“Of course, you should.”
“But I don’t want to cause the
m trouble. What if—”
Joanna clasped Darcy’s shoulders. “You, my prodigal, have been offered a gift of forgiveness and unconditional love. Grab it and don’t let go.”
The young woman’s slow grin brought a beauty to her face not often noticed through the veil of anxiety she wore.
“When Jamie wakes, we’ll go to the train station and buy you a ticket.”
Darcy’s parents had expressed their forgiveness once their daughter revealed her news of an illegitimate child. Would Joanna be as fortunate with Kit?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ten days after Liam’s death, Kit received a summons to the Brockhurst home. When he arrived, Mrs. Brockhurst awaited him in the drawing room. A folded sheet of paper rested across her lap.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.” Gone was the friendlier “Christopher.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Please be seated.”
She gestured to the chair he’d occupied on other visits. Kit dubbed it the Inquisition Seat, for each time he sat in it, she cross-examined him with the skill of the two lawmen who visited the house the day Liam’s body was found.
News of the statement Howard Cox gave the sheriff had blown through Banesville like a hot, southern wind. Some people were pleased to believe the worst, including a few of Kit’s benefactors.
He hadn’t touched the hard surface of the chair before his hostess asked, “Are we on schedule for the formal opening?”
“We’ve been a bit behind since Mr. McCall’s death, and not all renovations will be completed, but under Mr. Culbertson’s supervision, we’ll be ready for the tour on Saturday.”
Rather than voice approval or disapproval, she observed him with the intensity of Annie’s cat when it prepared to pounce on an unsuspecting field mouse. He shored up his strength to fend off fang and claw. “Is there something wrong?”
Those eyes widened. “Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Mrs. Brockhurst, it’s obvious you didn’t call me here for a status report.” Kit was in no mood to dodge any issues regarding the events of the last week and a half. “I’ve told you and the other women all I know about the death of Liam McCall, so it’s logical there’s another matter on your mind.”
Mrs. Brockhurst handed him the sheet of paper from her lap. “This was delivered to me yesterday.”
Kit unfolded the paper and read the message out loud. “Dear Mrs. Brockhurst. It is with regret that I inform you of the low character of the gentleman”—his voice fell—“of the gentleman in whom you have put both your faith and finances.” He read the rest of the malicious message in silence. With each accusation against him, his skin grew colder.
He turned the letter front to back. No signature. Even so, something was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “Who sent this?”
“Mavis found it tacked to the front door.” She snatched the paper from him and refolded it. “I am interested in your response.”
His response? What was he to say upon reading that, among other information, the news he’d suspected for two months was true, at least according to the author of the letter?
Mrs. Brockhurst had been his most vocal supporter during his recent meeting with the temperance women. Now, because of everything mentioned in this anonymous communication written to smear his standing in her eyes, Kit sensed he was on the verge of losing her support.
Worse yet, Joanna had lied to him.
“First of all, I don’t believe this person regrets any information he provided you.” Should he have said “she?” Had it come from one of the temperance women? More likely, Howard Cox sent it. But how would anyone in this town know the information the message revealed? “Second, I’ve never made secret my trouble with drink.”
“I’m well aware of the reason you began your work in Pittsburgh, Christopher. It’s one reason I chose to back you in this project over doctors who pushed their ludicrous patent medicines and theories. I believe their philosophy and so-called cures do more harm than good.
“However, in all our conversations, you failed to address the personal indictments against you in this correspondence.” She tapped a finger against the paper. “For one thing, you never mentioned your part in a police inquiry conducted last year.”
Kit stood and hunched his back. The muscles between his shoulder blades ached, as did his head. Evidently, Ben had been right. He should have revealed the situation in Pittsburgh to the women who supported the ministry.
“It’s true that we were questioned, Mrs. Brockhurst, but never under serious suspicion as intimated by that letter. When arrested, the guilty man admitted his sole responsibility. The police were satisfied, and we’ve had no such trouble since.”
“Until ten days ago.”
“Yes, we came under suspicion last year after the police found stolen goods in the home. Nothing was found during a search of the residence here.”
Liam’s alleged thievery cast a shadow over the Banesville ministry. His murder might bury it.
Kit paced in front of the chair. “Obviously, someone wants to poison you against backing our mission. I can assure you we were innocent then, and we’re innocent now. There is no connection between Liam’s crimes and what happened in Pittsburgh.”
“And what of the future?”
“Many of the men we help are destitute, Mrs. Brockhurst. Others are corrupt in their morals. Liam was one of the latter. If you’re looking for assurance this won’t happen again, I can’t make that promise.”
The woman studied him with eyes an eagle would envy. “And the other accusation? The one concerning a child.”
His face warmed under her keen observation. “No woman’s name is mentioned. However, I won’t deny its possibility.”
Her posture intensified in stiffness until he imagined her backbone would crumble from the stress. “I see.”
When she rose from her seat and walked toward the front hall, Kit followed. “I wasn’t always a gentleman when under the influence of drink, Mrs. Brockhurst. It’s why God has given me a burden to help those going through the same experience. But if you wish, I’ll return to Pittsburgh and let Ben handle the operation here.”
If the claim in the letter of a child was valid, Kit might prefer to leave Banesville. Distance may be the only thing to rid him of the hostility and bitterness coursing through him.
Mrs. Brockhurst stopped near the door with her hands clasped in front of her until her knuckles turned white. She exhaled a deep-rooted breath. “My son died by the hand of a drunkard, Christopher … his own father.”
The tension in Kit’s muscles melted with his shock. In his previous research, he’d read nothing about her husband’s involvement in their son’s fall, only that he’d been overcome by grief and abandoned his wife shortly after the funeral. He glanced at the staircase.
“Yes, it happened there.” Her voice had softened, and she stared at the second-floor landing as if seeing the tragedy of eleven years ago unfold before her eyes. “My husband and I argued. I should have known better. He’d had too much to drink and was not in his right mind. Walter shook me until I feared I would pass out.” She ran her hands up and down her arms, and the normally unyielding body wilted. “When Spencer rushed up the stairs to come to my aid, his father stumbled into him and …”
And the teen tumbled down the flight of stairs.
For the first time, Mrs. Brockhurst reminded Kit of his mother after her divorce—broken inside, yet glued together by the sheer force of will to save face. “I’m very sorry.”
Her body shuddered. “It was an accident. My husband has been confined to a sanitarium since, and our attorney has worked hard to keep everything quiet. So, you see, we all have our burdens, Christopher.”
“And our tragedies.”
Mrs. Brockhurst held up the paper. “For the time being, I shall forget I received this letter. Though, if the investigation reveals you and Mr. Greer are guilty of any criminal activities in this town, I will not hesit
ate to recommend our association be terminated.”
“As I would expect, ma’am, but you have nothing to worry about.”
“Rest assured, should you breathe a word of anything I have told you during this visit, I will deny it and put my efforts into the ruination of your cause, both here and in Pittsburgh.”
Kit nodded and stepped onto the front porch. The door clicked shut behind him.
Mrs. Brockhurst might forget the letter, but its contents were impossible for Kit to forget. Blood throbbed inside his skull and beat at the back of his head. His steps pounded harder and faster as he passed through town.
How could any man forget that the woman he loved bore him a child and then denied it?
***
Joanna kneaded the biscuit dough while Rose fried slices of ham. They had passed the last hour in pleasant conversation, pretending a storm cloud didn’t hang over their heads.
Mr. O’Connor peered inside the room. “I’m headed to the hardware store. Need anything?” With nothing to add to his list, he tipped his hat and left.
Joanna wiped the dough from her fingers. “That man’s come a long way in a short time.”
“He has people who care about his progress.” Grease popped in the skillet. “Ow!” Rose jumped back and blew on her index finger.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s nothing.” In a fit of temper, Rose tossed aside the fork she’d been using, wrapped a towel around the cast iron handle, then removed the skillet from the stove and dropped it on the counter.
After a week and a half, they still hadn’t heard from the sheriff, and Rose’s efforts to attain more information about Liam’s death met with resistance. Yesterday, they both snapped at Annie for different and trifling reasons. The longer they remained in ignorance, the more pressure built up around them until it threatened to blow like a steam whistle at one of the mills.
“I don’t know how much more of this mystery I can take. What do you think happened to Liam?”
“I’d say his deeds caught up with him.” Joanna’s answer lacked the proper compassion, but the man had caused them more than enough trouble over the years.
A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart? Page 23