Carol Cox

by Trouble in Store

  Caleb picked up the next sheet of paper. “We keep on sifting through this. That’s all I know to do. Surely this will sort itself out if we just look hard enough.”

  “Go ahead,” Melanie said. “I need a minute to clear my head.” Looking for a distraction, she got up and moved over to the music box. If Levi hadn’t damaged the internal workings irreparably, perhaps she could figure out what was wrong.

  She closed the lid and turned the box over to examine the underside. Nothing seemed amiss, as far as she could see. Turning it back upright, she raised the lid again and peered down at the mechanism. Without taking her eyes off the cylinder, she moved the lever first to the right, then to the left.

  The gears started whirring, and the cylinder jerked into motion, then stopped.

  Wait a minute. Melanie repeated the maneuver, watching closely. Was something caught in one of the gears?

  She looked over at Caleb, intending to show him and ask his advice, but he seemed intent on the records spread out on the desk before him. She turned her attention back to the music box. Did she dare attempt to meddle with the delicate instrument?

  Lifting the box slightly to catch the light better, she tilted it from one side to the other. Yes, it was just as she’d thought. Something was wedged under the largest gear, next to the cylinder. She reached to try to pull it loose, but the space was too narrow to allow her fingers to touch it. Going out to the display of ladies’ toiletries, she fetched a pair of tweezers and tried again. This time, she managed to catch hold of what appeared to be the corner of a piece of paper tucked under the mechanism. With infinite care, she pushed the corner from between the gear and cylinder and pulled the sheet of paper from beneath the mechanism.

  Hardly daring to breathe, she set the paper on the table and pushed the lever again. The gears whirred, and an instant later the first notes of “Liebestraum” tinkled into the air.

  Caleb swiveled around in his chair, a smile easing his harried frown. “You got it working again.”

  She nodded. “There was some paper jammed in the gears that was keeping the cylinder from turning.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “That’s odd. It was working fine the other night.”

  Their eyes met and held, and Melanie felt her throat go dry at the memory of their waltz together. She caught her breath and looked away. “Levi stumbled and set the box down on the table with quite a thud. That must have jammed a corner of the paper into the mechanism.”

  “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t really broken.” Leaving her to admire her success, Caleb turned back to his papers.

  Melanie picked up the offending paper to toss it in the trash bin, then stopped and unfolded it, curious as to what it was and how it had found its way underneath the gears. A smaller piece slipped to the floor, and she bent to pick it up. The larger sheet, water stained and yellowed with age, was printed on both sides—a clipping from a Colorado newspaper, she realized as she scanned the partial masthead. She noted the date—August 1878. What on earth would an old news article be doing inside their music box?

  Her eyes fastened on the headline, and she sucked in her breath. Straining to make out the faded words, she scanned the story that followed and then turned her attention to the smaller note. She was still staring at the papers when the last strains of the waltz died away.

  Caleb turned around, the shadow back in his eyes. “I think I’m on to something. I listed all the purchases out again, by date this time. The Professor bought a supply of syrup of ipecac about the time Charley Weber came to town.” His expression darkened even more. “It’s enough to take to the marshal. Like it or not, it looks like we’ve found the killer.”

  Melanie shook her head and refolded the sheet she’d been reading. “You need to see this.”

  Caleb’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “It’s the paper I found in the music box. Actually, there are two of them. The larger one is from the front page of a newspaper. The other . . . is a note from your uncle.”

  “What? Let me see that.” Caleb took the smaller paper from her hand and read aloud:

  To whoever finds this note:

  The newspaper story enclosed with this may be important. I found it folded up in Charley Weber’s wallet while I was going through his things after he died. I had been feeling uneasy about my good friend’s death. Something didn’t sit right with me, although I couldn’t put my finger on what that might be. I’m still not certain what it all means, but this news story may help explain it. After seeing it, I’ve begun to feel that Charley’s invitation to George and me to go with him to South America was meant to cover up the real reason he came to Cedar Ridge, but I need to check into it further to make sure of my facts before I mention it to anyone else.

  George Ross, my partner, knew of my suspicions, but he’s gone now. I may be wrong, but if it turns out I am not, I want to leave some record behind in case anything happens to me before I get it all sorted out.

  Alvin Nelson

  Caleb looked up, a gentle smile softening his expression. “That sounds just like him. I can almost hear him saying those words. The man was fair to a fault. He never wanted to accuse anyone unjustly. So what did he hide? Is it going to tell us anything?”

  “Maybe not everything, but it tells us a lot.” Melanie handed him the yellowed clipping. “Look at this headline: ‘Young Woman Dies at Local Man’s Hand.’ From what I can make out, the article tells about a girl who was killed in Pueblo, Colorado. Between these water stains and being faded with age, it’s impossible to read the whole story, but one thing is clear enough.” She pointed to one of the few legible lines.

  Caleb took the paper in his hands and squinted at it, then his eyes flared wide. “Cecilia Weber?”

  “There’s more.” Melanie leaned over his shoulder to read the rest of the sentence aloud. “‘Daughter of well-known businessman Lucas Weber.’”

  They stared at each other, then Caleb said, “Lucas Weber’s daughter.”

  Melanie nodded. “Charley’s niece.”

  Caleb held up the paper again. “What happened to her? Does it say?”

  Melanie let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sure it does, but the rest of the story is nothing more than a blur, except for a couple of lines at the end.” Caleb followed her pointing finger. “Right here, where it says the killer escaped, and the posse lost his trail. It looks like the killer got away.”

  Caleb stared at her. “Are you saying there’s some connection between this article and Charley’s death?”

  “Your uncle apparently did. His note was folded inside the article.”

  26

  Melanie felt her throat constrict. “That would explain why he never played the music box, never had it out on display.”

  Caleb raked his fingers through his hair. “It makes sense. He knew it would be easy enough for someone to break in and find these papers if he left them somewhere in the office, so he hid them in the music box for safekeeping.”

  Melanie drummed her fingers on the tabletop, trying to piece it all together. “But if Charley’s death had something to do with this article . . .” Her lips parted as a thought struck her. “His niece had been killed. A loving uncle would never forget that. Do you think he found her murderer here in Cedar Ridge?”

  “Could be . . . But if that was the case, why didn’t he say anything?”

  “He got sick. Maybe he planned to tell the marshal as soon as he recovered.”

  Caleb nodded thoughtfully. “That would make sense. Charley was ill, but he seemed to be getting better. Then he took a sudden turn for the worse and . . . died.” His face turned ashen. “Just the way it happened with Uncle Alvin.”

  He went to the back window and looked out.

  Melanie struggled to keep her voice steady. “How much would your uncle have told Lucas Weber in his letter? Do you think he would have identified the man he suspected?”

  “Not without solid proof.” Caleb’s voice held a note of certainty. “Remember,
he didn’t even give a name in that note he left behind. My uncle was a man who would stand unwaveringly for the truth, but he was equally fervent about not wanting to make accusations against anyone without having all the facts. He never said a word about his suspicions to me.”

  He paced the small office as he continued. “Let’s assume he found the news story in Charley’s things after he passed away. He may not have paid much attention at first to a story in an old newspaper—why would he, after all? But once he read that article, something must have raised a suspicion in his mind.”

  Melanie leaned forward, caught up in his excitement. “Would he have confronted the person he suspected?”

  “I don’t believe he would. Not right away, at least. One thing I’ve learned in my time in Cedar Ridge is that you don’t ask men about their past. A lot of them have come out west to make a fresh start. Uncle Alvin would have known that, since he spent most of his life out here. He would have been more likely to extend grace than to point a finger.”

  He halted in midstride, and his voice took on a stern note. “But something must have made him feel his suspicions had merit. And once he made the connection between whoever the article was written about and Charley’s untimely death . . . then it became something more than a man’s actions in the distant past. A murder had happened here in Cedar Ridge, and Charley was his friend. He would have felt compelled to do something about it.”

  “And when he did . . .” Melanie felt a chill trickle up her spine. “That must have been when he decided to get in touch with Lucas.”

  Caleb hit his fist against his knee. “But why didn’t he say anything to me? I could have helped him.”

  Melanie didn’t have to wonder about the answer to that. “Because you’re family. He cared about you and Levi. He wanted to see justice done, but he wanted to protect the two of you, as well. And he may have waited to take that step of writing to Lucas until he was taken ill himself.”

  “He must have,” Caleb said. “It’s the only way it all ties together—otherwise Lucas would have responded sooner.”

  Melanie nodded. “Lucas Weber wouldn’t have known about your uncle’s death.”

  “No, there was no reason for him to have heard about it. So when his letter was returned, that left him with a host of questions.”

  “And no way to learn the answers,” Melanie said softly. “Unless he came out here to search for them on his own. And when he got here . . .” They stared at each other for a long moment.

  Caleb spoke slowly, as if letting his words piece his thoughts together. “The man who murdered Lucas’s daughter was apparently known in their town. If the man who killed Charley was the same person—”

  “Lucas would have recognized him,” Melanie finished for him. She sucked in her breath, and her eyes flared wide. “Caleb, did you hear what Rance Yeary said?”

  “About what?”

  “When he was talking to Thomas O’Shea. He said O’Shea moved here from Denver.” She gripped his arm. “Denver, Caleb! O’Shea is from Colorado.”

  Caleb’s face grew taut. “That’s right.” He thrust the papers into Melanie’s hands. “It’s time to turn all this over to the marshal. He can take it from here. Hold on to these. The Professor’s book is at my house. I’ll go get it and bring Levi back with me. I won’t feel safe having him out of my sight until this is all over.”

  In the distance, Melanie heard the faint rumble of thunder again. She closed her fingers around the papers and gave him a brisk nod. While Caleb hurried off on his errand, she locked the front door and put the Closed sign in the window.

  No sooner had she finished than Caleb burst inside the back door, his face ashen. “Levi’s gone.”

  Melanie stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “I mean I can’t find him anywhere.” Caleb’s voice was as taut as his features. “I looked all over the house, in the cupboards, even under his cot. He isn’t there.”

  27

  Melanie felt as if a giant hand had squeezed the air out of her lungs. “Where could he have gone?”

  Concern shone in Caleb’s eyes. “I don’t know, but I need to find him. What about these papers?”

  “Getting them to the marshal can wait,” Melanie said. “Finding Levi is more important. Where shall we put them?”

  Caleb looked around the office and picked up the music box. “They’ve been safe in here so far. I can’t think of anyplace better.” Opening the box, he took the papers from Melanie and folded them together, then slipped them back underneath the mechanism. He started for the back door. “I’m not sure where to start looking.”

  Melanie followed close on his heels. “He might be playing in the alley.”

  “No, I already checked.”

  “Then let’s look out front.”

  Melanie walked out into the middle of Lincoln Street, squinting her eyes against the dust blown up by the gusting wind. She scanned the street from one end to the other, but there was no sign of the little boy.

  She thought about Levi riding his stick horse up and down the boardwalk the day he had his run-in with the marshal. “Let’s check the livery stable. Maybe he went over there to visit the horses.”

  They ducked their heads against the blowing dust and hurried across the street.

  Micah Rawlins looked up when they dashed inside the livery. “I don’t usually see you both out of the store at the same time. What’s the occasion?”

  “We’re looking for Levi,” Caleb said. “Have you seen him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Micah set his pitchfork against a post. “He was headed out toward the south end of town . . . maybe an hour or so ago. He had a cane pole over his shoulder. Said he was going fishing.”

  “Fishing?” Caleb echoed. “On a day like this?”

  Micah shrugged and grinned. “The wind wasn’t whipping like this when I saw him. He told me he was going to try a spot he’d seen over by the ruins on Founders Day.” His grin faded. “I figured it was just kid talk. That’s a long way for a little tyke to be walking on his own. You don’t really think he’d try it, do you?”

  “The ruins . . .” Melanie looked up at Caleb with dawning anxiety. “But that’s on the other side of the creek. He wouldn’t try to cross by himself, would he?”

  “He might,” Micah said. “The water’s plenty low enough for him to find places where he could get across. He’d get his feet wet, but he could still do it easy enough if he picked the right spot.”

  “And if he didn’t . . .” Melanie felt a stirring of panic. “That’s a long way for him to go on foot. Do you think he could make it that far?”

  Caleb’s grim expression made her panic rise even more. “I wouldn’t put it past him. When he ran out of the store, he looked upset enough to tackle pretty much anything.”

  Melanie filled in the words he’d left unspoken: And he was upset because of you.

  Micah stepped to the doorway and looked up at the sky. “See those black clouds massing up north? Looks like the rain is coming down pretty hard up there. That means the creek will be rising before long. If your boy is on the other side when that happens, he’ll be cut off.”

  Caleb grabbed him by the arm. “Can you get a rig ready right away? I need to get out there and find him.”

  Micah started pulling a harness from its hook on the wall before Caleb finished speaking. “You bet. And as soon as I get the two of you on your way, I’ll sound the alarm and start rounding up a search party.”

  Melanie clung to the wagon seat as it jounced along the trail. “This is my fault. I never should have scolded him so harshly. The music box is costly, but it’s only a box. Levi is worth infinitely more than that.”

  “You had no way of knowing he’d take off like this.” Caleb held tight to the reins and kept his eye on the road. “If it helps any, I’m blaming myself just as much. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on the house through the office window. How did I miss seeing him slip away?”


  Melanie sat up as tall as she could on the swaying seat and studied the trail ahead. “Can you see any tracks? How do we even know he came this far?”

  “We don’t.” Caleb’s tension was evident in his voice. “But what he told Micah is the only thing we have to go on. I have to follow up on it.”

  They reached the creek and splashed across the ford, the horse’s hooves sending up plumes of water. Fear clutched at Melanie’s throat. As Micah said, the water was still shallow enough in that spot, but would Levi have known to cross there?

  “Look!” Caleb shouted.

  She whirled around. “Where? Do you see him?”

  Caleb hauled back on the reins and circled the horse back around to the edge of the creek bank. “Not Levi, but see those prints?”

  Melanie followed his pointing finger. Small boot-shaped imprints stood out clearly in the mud at the water’s edge. And they were coming up out of the water on that side of the creek. Relief swept over her. So Levi had gotten that far, at least. She stood up in the wagon—balancing against the thrust of the wind, feeling it pulling strands of her hair loose from its pins—and searched the area.

  Beside her, Caleb cupped his hands around his mouth. “Levi! Where are you?”

  Melanie shook her head. “The wind is blowing too hard. He won’t be able to hear you.”

  “Then we’ll just have to cover as much territory as we can. Keep a sharp lookout.” Caleb shook the reins and set the horse into motion, heading across the meadow and toward the cliffs.

  Melanie twisted from side to side, trying to see in every direction at once. Movement to their rear caught her attention, and she tugged at Caleb’s arm. “It’s Micah, and he has someone with him.”

  He turned to look where she pointed. Two horses plunged across the creek, approaching them at a rapid clip. Behind them, a line of horses, wagons, and buggies stretched out along the trail from town. True to his word, Micah had brought a search party.