She nodded without saying a word, but Caleb could see the sheen of fear in her eyes, mirroring his own panic at the thought that someone had been inside the store in the darkest hours of the night while Melanie slept upstairs . . . alone and vulnerable.
A roll of thunder rumbled in the distance. Melanie watched the play of emotions on Caleb’s face while they walked back into the mercantile.
When he spoke, his voice sounded taut and strained. “It’s almost time to open. We’d better—”
A loud knock rattled the front door, and they both jumped. When Caleb went to open it, Will Blake rushed inside. “You’ve got trouble comin’, Caleb. There’s no time to lose.”
Caleb stared. “What are you talking about?”
Will grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the back of the store, where Melanie stood next to Levi, who had scrambled out of his fort at the sound of Will’s voice. “You know all the wild talk that’s been going on around town? I was just down the street waitin’ for the bank to open, and there was a bunch talking out in front of O’Shea’s. It sounded like they’re forming a vigilance committee right now. You need to get Melanie and Levi out the back door and take them someplace safe. That crew may be here any minute.”
The front door crashed open before he finished speaking. Melanie shrank back as a group of hard-faced men burst inside. She looked from face to face: Thomas O’Shea, Rance Yeary, Wendell Trask, and several others she didn’t recognize. She pulled Levi against her and held him tight.
Caleb spoke sharply. “Levi, get upstairs now.” Without taking his eyes off the intruders, he jerked his head in Melanie’s direction. “You too.”
Melanie pushed Levi toward the stairs but held her ground. She spoke just loud enough for Caleb to hear, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “This is my trouble, too. I’m not going to let you face it on your own.”
Caleb didn’t take time to argue. He stepped forward to put himself between her and the threat looming before them. “What are you gentlemen here for?”
His forceful stand seemed to take the group aback. They didn’t answer but fanned out across the store like one of Levi’s skirmish lines.
O’Shea, who seemed to fancy himself as the group’s leader, looked at the others, then moved to the front.
“The boys and I been talkin’, Nelson. We don’t need your kind in this town.”
Will moved over and stood shoulder to shoulder with Caleb. “These people have done nothing, O’Shea. Why don’t you all just simmer down and go about your business before we have to call in the marshal?”
While the mob’s attention was focused on Caleb and Will, Melanie cast a frantic glance around the store, looking for anything they could use as weapons to stand the vigilantes off. Pick handles. Pitchforks. What would work best?
O’Shea scoffed. “The marshal hasn’t done anything but talk. But we’ve heard enough to believe these two aren’t as innocent as you want to think they are. If the marshal isn’t going to do his job, we’re ready to take it upon ourselves and run these undesirables out of town.”
Caleb hooked his thumbs in his belt and widened his stance. “What is wrong with you men? You’re willing to jump at shadows and look at anyone as guilty without the slightest bit of proof.”
O’Shea didn’t back down. “You were at the meeting at my place the other night. You heard what Wendell asked—who’s profiting from all these deaths? Follow the trail and the answer is clear enough.” He stretched his arm toward Caleb and Melanie. “It’s the two of you.”
Caleb stared at the man without flinching. “If that’s the line of thought you want to follow, let’s take it one step further. What’s the real reason you’re so eager to get rid of the two of us? If you manage to run Miss Ross and me out of town and this mercantile goes under, who’ll be the one to profit from that?”
A rumble of murmurs rippled through the rest of the group. Rance Yeary rocked back on his heels and eyed O’Shea thoughtfully. “He has a point there. You’ve had your mind set on running this store out of business ever since you moved here from Denver.”
One of the men Melanie didn’t know nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re always complaining about them having more customers than you do. If you cut out the competition, everybody in town would have to do business at the emporium.”
Caleb’s lips thinned. “Was setting those oily rags on fire in our office part of your plan to drive us out?”
O’Shea’s mouth dropped open.
“And those hateful anonymous notes.” The words came out before Melanie could stop them. “Are you the one responsible for them?”
Wendell Trask’s eyes narrowed. “I remember Alvin talking about getting threatening notes. You mean it’s still going on?” He took a step away from the storekeeper. “Maybe it’s time to take a second look at all this. These two have only been here a few months, but the trouble started long before that. . . . Not too long after you came to town. What happened, did you decide if George and Alvin wouldn’t turn tail and run, you’d step in and take care of things yourself?”
The blood drained from O’Shea’s face, and he held up his hands. “Wait a minute, fellas. I don’t know anything about that. I never left any notes or set any fire . . . and I sure never killed anyone.” He shot a desperate look at Caleb. “You’ve got to believe me.”
Rance Yeary moved toward him. “I don’t know, boys. I think we may have found our killer. What do you say?”
The other vigilantes closed in behind the saloonkeeper and advanced on O’Shea.
Caleb brought his hand down on the counter. “Stop!” The group froze and stared at him.
“Do you see what you’re doing?” Caleb shouted. “You’re ready to convict O’Shea with no more proof than you had against Miss Ross or me. Now, get out of here, all of you, and leave it for the marshal to figure out who the real criminal is.”
O’Shea didn’t hesitate a moment. Shouldering his way through the knot of men, he bolted out the door. After a brief moment, the rest slunk after him.
Will turned to Caleb with a broad smile on his face. “Nice job, my friend. I don’t know anyone who could have talked a group like that down better than you did.”
Melanie rushed to Caleb and clung to his arm. “You were wonderful. I didn’t know what they were going to do.” She turned to Will. “Thank you for the warning and for standing with us. What on earth would make anyone behave like that?”
“Mostly, they’re just scared.” Will eyed the two of them for a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you ever seen a bunch of cows get spooked? It doesn’t take much—a gust of wind, or a tumbleweed skittering in front of them. Or maybe the tarp on the chuck wagon flapping. All of a sudden their ears go up, their eyes get big, and they all take off at the same time, each one tryin’ to save itself and not caring what it runs over.”
Caleb gave a rueful laugh. “That sounds a lot like what we’ve been seeing around town, all right.”
Will grinned. “Cattle are some of the most brainless critters God ever put on this earth. The only thing dumber than cattle is sheep.” His grin broadened as he headed toward the door. “And you know which one the Bible compares people to.”
25
Thunder rumbled again in the distance, sounding like a portent of doom. Melanie shook off the melancholy fancy. They had problems enough to deal with without her conjuring up more. And the first issue at hand was getting the store ready to open. She closed the office door to shut out the sight of the havoc their intruder had left behind.
She paused with her hand on the knob. “Do you think Mr. O’Shea is the one who broke in last night?”
Caleb scoffed. “O’Shea? Not on your life. He’s despicable—I’ll grant you that—but I think he’s more of a rabble-rouser, the kind of coward who wants to stir things up but has to have a group of cronies backing him up while he does it. I can’t imagine him breaking in. It would take too much nerve for the likes of him.”
&n
bsp; The heaviness she’d felt since making her disturbing discoveries that morning settled in again like a dark cloud. “Then who?” She saw a shadow flit across Caleb’s face. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
As Caleb opened his mouth to speak, a small voice called from the top of the stairs. “Papa, can I come down now?”
“Of course, son. Why don’t you come play in your fort.” He exchanged a glance with Melanie, and she knew their discussion would have to be postponed. She busied herself with the feather duster while Caleb got Levi settled and made sure he was happily occupied. A few minutes later, he approached and drew her to the far end of the store.
Melanie kept her voice low. “What were you getting ready to say?”
Caleb looked over his shoulder toward the counter, as if to assure himself that Levi couldn’t overhear. “Did you notice the look on Doc’s face last night when I told him that book came from the Professor?”
Melanie nodded slowly. “I did see something, but I didn’t know what to make of it. Do you think he suspects the Professor?”
“I’m not sure, either, but I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”
Melanie stared at him, unsettled by his somber expression. “What are you saying?”
“Think about it. Did you see all the weapons the Professor has in his collection? The man seems to have a fascination with instruments of death. And he was the one who brought up the possibility of Charley being killed by poison in the first place. It’s almost like he steered us in that direction.”
Melanie pondered the idea a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Why would he point you to that book if he was guilty?”
Caleb flung his hands upward. “I don’t want to believe it any more than you do, but you have to admit he’s an odd duck. Maybe he is trying to make himself appear innocent by giving us information—throw us off the scent.”
Melanie tightened her grip on the feather duster. “But why would he break in here?”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know. The obvious answer would be to get more poison. But if that’s the case, why the mess in the office?”
Melanie measured her words with care, hating herself for even considering the possibility of the Professor’s guilt. “I don’t know . . . He may be odd, but he’s also highly intelligent. He had to know that once the possibility of poison entered our thinking, we’d start looking at records of purchases and orders . . . and that at some point we’d begin to fit all the pieces together.”
She flung the feather duster to the floor and clapped her hands to her cheeks. “What are we doing? We’re just as bad as the rest of them, casting suspicion on someone—a friend, no less!—with nothing but the most circumstantial evidence to back it up. I know the Professor is a bit eccentric, but I simply can’t believe he’s capable of harming anyone.” She lowered her hands and added, more to herself than to Caleb, “At least, I don’t want to believe it.”
“Neither do I.” Caleb reached out and took both of her hands in his. “But we’re dealing with murder here. I don’t think we can completely discount the possibility. And I’m pretty sure Doc’s mind is running along those same lines.”
Melanie squeezed Caleb’s hands, drawing strength from his touch. “In that case, we need to let the marshal know.”
To her surprise, Caleb shook his head. “We can’t do that, not yet anyway. As you just said, we don’t have any solid evidence, only suspicion.”
She pulled her hands away. “Then what are we supposed to do? You said it yourself—we’re dealing with murder, and there are people in this town who think we’re involved somehow. Are we supposed to just sit by and wait for a lynch mob to come back to our door? Or for whoever is behind these murders to come after us next?”
Caleb caught her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “First of all, we need to keep our wits about us so we can go on as we planned. We’ll look through every record in the office if we need to—see if we can find something to point us in the right direction. Something solid enough to take to Marshal Hooper.”
The bell jingled, and Andrew Bingham’s cheery voice called out, “Hey, Caleb, I’m in need of some cakes of soap and shaving brushes. Can you help me out?”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right with you.” He bent close to Melanie’s ear and murmured, “This may take a few minutes. You go ahead and get started. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve taken care of Andrew.”
Melanie nodded and hurried to the office, where she scooped up the scattered papers and piled them on the desk in an unorganized heap. No point in sorting them first; she could do that while she read through the stack. She sat down on the wooden chair and picked up the first sheet. After scanning it quickly, she set it aside, her frustration mounting. Their plan to look for evidence had sounded simple enough, but how was she supposed to recognize a clue when she didn’t have a clear idea of what she was looking for?
She went on to the next sheet, and the next, seeing nothing that caught her attention.
She swiveled around in her chair and peered out through the office door. Caleb stood at the counter, chatting with Andrew Bingham as he bundled the barber’s order into a neat parcel. She turned back to the desk, fuming. How long could it take to wrap up a few bars of soap and a shaving brush or two? She needed him searching, too, needed him to help her find the proof that would end their nightmare.
A soft scuffle of feet sounded behind her and she swung around, expecting to see Caleb. Instead, Levi staggered toward her, his skinny arms wrapped around a bulky object. Melanie gasped and leaped to her feet when she recognized the fragile music box.
Before she could reach him, Levi stumbled and thumped the music box down on the small table. He beamed up at her. “I brought you something to cheer you up, Miss Ross. Look, I winded it myself.” He lifted the lid with a flourish and moved the lever to one side. Instead of launching into the lilting strains of “Liebestraum,” two notes plunked into the air, and then the box fell silent.
“Oh no.” Melanie jumped up and leaned over the box. Maybe he had wound the spring too tight. She gave the key a gentle twist with her fingers, relieved when it turned freely. She moved the lever from side to side, but to no avail. The cylinder refused to turn. Had the sudden drop onto the table damaged the box? Her heart sank.
“Levi Nelson, what have you done?”
His smile melted away, replaced by a look of alarm. Keeping his eyes focused on Melanie, he backed away toward the door leading out into the mercantile.
“Not so fast, young man.” Melanie’s authoritative tone stopped him in his tracks.
Caleb appeared in the doorway behind Levi. “What’s going on?”
Levi twisted his head around and looked up at his father in mute appeal. “Miss Ross was looking sad. I was just trying to make her happy.”
“By breaking an expensive piece like this?” Melanie sputtered.
Levi hung his head. “You said you liked that song. I thought maybe if you heard it you’d be happy again, like the night you danced with Papa.”
Melanie felt her cheeks flame, and her gaze flew to meet Caleb’s. She’d been so sure Levi had been asleep the night of their dinner party, but apparently he had heard the music and seen them dancing. What else had he seen? She remembered the way they’d stood after the music ended, staring into each other’s eyes, and her face grew hotter.
Caleb bent down and addressed his son calmly. “You had no business touching that music box, son. You know better than to handle something like that without asking permission first.”
The little boy’s face crumpled, and tears spilled from his eyes to wind their way down his cheeks. “I was just . . . I just wanted . . .” Spinning around, he pushed past Caleb and darted out of the room. Melanie could hear his feet pounding across the wooden floor, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut.
Without a word, Caleb turned and strode after him. He returned a few moments later, alone, his face set in a stern line.
&nbs
p; Melanie pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I am so sorry. I let my frayed nerves get the best of me, and I blew it all out of proportion. I never meant to upset him like that.”
Caleb rubbed his forehead. “I know his heart was in the right place, and he only meant to help, but you’re right—he had no business handling that box.”
Melanie caught her breath. “Do you think you ought to go check on him?”
Caleb shook his head. “I’m sure he headed home. He just needs some time to himself so he can sort things out.” He walked over and wrapped his arms around Melanie, rubbing his chin against her hair. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. With everything that’s going on right now, we’re all on edge.”
Melanie nestled against his shirt, feeling his heart beat beneath her cheek. “Are you sure he’ll be all right over there by himself?”
Caleb gave her a quick squeeze, then released her. “I’ll keep watch through the window. In the meantime, let’s focus on looking for something that will give us the answers we need so we can bring an end to this.”
An hour later, they were still at it, and Melanie felt ready to burst with frustration. “I can’t believe it. We’ve gone through over a year’s worth of records, and we have nothing to show for it.”
“No,” Caleb countered, “the problem is that we have too much.” He held up the list they’d been making as they worked. “We sold stomach bitters containing ipecac to the Professor, and Merrell’s Triturates to Will. Even some of Mrs. Fetterman’s favorite remedies would be toxic if taken in a large enough dose. And the same could be said for most of our patent medicines. Half the people in town have come in to buy those at one time or another.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that we don’t have any suspects—we have too many.”
Melanie let out a bitter laugh. “Which means we’re no closer to the truth than when we started. The whole town can’t be in on it. Maybe none of them are. How are we ever going to find what we’re looking for?”
Carol Cox Page 24