Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  A flash of annoyance speared Clay. “I’m not stupid, Jean-Michel, and neither is your father.”

  A reasonable man would have admitted his guilt. Jean-Michel was not reasonable. His eyes narrowed as he said, “My father won’t believe you. Everyone knows he didn’t like Austin.”

  The two sentences had no bearing on each other, unless . . . Clay tightened the grip on his gun. “Is that why you killed him? To make your father happy?”

  The man blanched, and he lowered his eyes. “I didn’t kill Austin. I swear to God I didn’t kill him.” Though his voice rang with truth, Clay said nothing. Jean-Michel might not be a murderer, but he’d done something almost as evil: he’d tried to destroy another man’s reputation.

  When the silence grew uncomfortable, Jean-Michel continued, “I’ll admit I took a few things.” He laid the glass bowl back on the table, as if making reparations.

  “And cut a few fences?” Though Clay was confident that the same person was responsible for the vandalism as well as the thefts, he wanted there to be no doubt when he approached Michel Ladre. It would be difficult for the man to admit that his son, of whom he was so proud, was a criminal.

  “Yeah.” The word came out reluctantly.

  “Why did you do it?”

  Jean-Michel’s reply confirmed Clay’s thoughts. “For the fun. I liked seeing everyone worried and knowing I was responsible.”

  “Then why blame Léon? Why let him get the credit for what you’d done?”

  “So Isabelle would marry me.”

  Clay stared at the man, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “What made you think Isabelle would marry someone who’d destroyed her brother’s reputation?”

  “It was the only way. Léon didn’t like me. He said I wasn’t good enough for his sister.” Clay couldn’t disagree with that assessment. “If everyone hated Léon,” Jean-Michel continued, “he would have to leave Ladreville. Then I’d be free to marry Isabelle.”

  Though the reasoning was twisted, Clay could understand how it might make sense to a man as cosseted as Jean-Michel. He saw everything from his own perspective, never considering how others might react. “I suppose you courted Sarah to make Isabelle jealous.”

  Jean-Michel nodded. “When that didn’t work, I had to find another way.”

  “By stealing and blaming Isabelle’s brother. What were you going to do when someone learned the truth?”

  Jean-Michel shrugged. “No one would. I’m smarter than they are.”

  Clay forbore mentioning the obvious fallacy of that statement. “We’ll see what your father says.”

  Once more Jean-Michel assumed a belligerent stance. “I told you that he won’t believe you. It’s just my word against yours.”

  Clay shook his head and turned toward the window he’d so carefully opened earlier that day. “That’s not true. Zach, you can come in now.” Jean-Michel blanched. “That’s right. Zach heard everything you said. I have no doubt that your father will believe him.” Clay gestured with his gun. “Put your hands behind your back. We’re going to tie you up.”

  “You can’t do this to me.”

  “I can and I will.” Clay watched as Zach tied the thief’s hands. “I’m also going to tell your father that I believe you killed Austin.” That was a bluff. Jean-Michel was a sneak and a thief, but he was also a coward. A coward might have shot Austin in the back, but he would not have had the courage to face him as he pulled the trigger. Jean-Michel might not have killed Austin, but the way his eyes had shifted when Clay had accused him told Clay he knew more than he’d admitted.

  “I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t.” Jean-Michel looked from Clay to Zach, his eyes moving wildly as he tried to convince them. “You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t do it, but I think I know who did.”

  Though his pulse quickened, Clay forced a sarcastic tone to his words. “Let me guess. You’re going to try to pin it on Léon.”

  “No.” A vehement shake of Jean-Michel’s head accompanied the word. “If you want to find the murderer, you should look closer to home. When we heard what happened, we all agreed not to tell anyone that one man left our poker game right after Austin did. No one asked where he went, but he was gone long enough to have killed him.”

  A sense of vindication rushed through Clay. This was what he’d believed from the beginning, that the killer was one of the men Austin knew best. Though there were others in Ladreville whom Austin trusted enough to let approach him, no one else would have known the exact time he’d left the barn that night. No one else would have been close enough to intercept him on the way home. “Who was that?”

  “David.”

  The word echoed in the room. Clay heard a gasp and wasn’t certain whether it came from himself or Zach. “David?” That wasn’t possible. “David was Austin’s closest friend.”

  The look Jean-Michel shot Clay was almost pitying. “That’s what he wanted everyone to think. The truth is, he always resented your brother. Austin had everything David wanted: a father, an older brother, a prosperous ranch. Soon he’d have a wife.”

  Zach gave Clay a quick look, his expression confirming Clay’s thoughts. As unpalatable as it was, Jean-Michel was telling the truth.

  “My guess is that seeing Sarah’s miniature that night sent him over the edge,” Jean-Michel continued. “He didn’t like the fact that Austin would have not just a wife but a beautiful one. I think that’s why he killed him.”

  “I don’t want to believe it.” For almost as long as he could recall, David had been part of Clay’s life. How could the man who’d been so close to Austin have killed him? It didn’t make sense. And yet Clay couldn’t forget Sarah’s concerns. She’d been the first to tell him that David resented Austin. It had been Clay’s foolish pride, his belief that he knew David better than Sarah could, that had caused him to dismiss her worries.

  “You always said the murderer was someone Austin trusted,” Zach reminded him.

  “You’re right. I’ve been blind.” He holstered his gun and took a step toward the door. “Will you take Jean-Michel to his father? I’ve got another visit to pay.”

  20

  “Sarah! Sarah, where are you?”

  Sarah blinked at the unexpected sound of a human voice. Clay and Zach had left before supper, and all the ranch hands were spending their night off in town. With Thea gone, that had left only Sarah and Pa. Though she’d tried to play chess with him, he’d proven a poor companion, falling asleep unusually early. Sarah knew she would be unable to sleep until Clay returned, and so she had gone back to the cabin, hoping that the book she was reading would distract her. It had not. She’d been staring at the same page for several minutes. Instead of caring about the plights befalling Mr. Dickens’s characters, she envisioned Clay inside Gunther’s house, waiting for the thief. Had the man arrived? Was he even now occupying Ladreville’s one jail cell?

  “Sarah!” the cry came again.

  “I’m here.” Sarah reached for her cane and made her way onto the porch. It was frustrating, moving so slowly when she was needed. Though she had barely recognized her neighbor’s voice, there was no mistaking the urgency. “Oh, Mary!” The cabin light spilled onto the porch, revealing the older woman’s flushed face. “What’s wrong?”

  “You gotta help me.” Mary doubled over, clutching her stomach. When she raised her head again, her eyes were glassy, their expression one Sarah had never seen. Even though her experience with illness was limited, Sarah knew something was desperately wrong.

  “Take me home.”

  Sarah’s heartbeat accelerated as she tried to remember what her mother had said about glassy eyes. They were a sign of a fever, weren’t they? “You’re ill. You should lie down here.” Sarah turned to open the door.

  “No, I gotta go home. Herman gave me a tincture. It’s there.” Mary grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Take me home.”

  Sarah flinched as Mary tightened her grip. “Did you ride?” If they had only the one horse, Sarah could not ima
gine how she could get the other woman to her home. She couldn’t ride, and the ranch hands had taken the Bar C’s wagon.

  “No.” Mary shook her head. “I brung the wagon.”

  Thank goodness. “All right. I’ll drive it.” Sarah kept one arm around Mary’s waist, supporting the ailing woman while she gripped her cane with the other. When they reached Mary’s wagon, Sarah frowned, wondering how she could possibly hoist the older woman into it. It was difficult enough lifting Thea, and Mary outweighed Sarah by thirty or forty pounds.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Don’t fret,” Mary said as she climbed in with surprising ease. “Just get me home.”

  “Why did you come to the Bar C?” Sarah asked as she guided the wagon off the ranch. If she had been as ill as Mary, Sarah doubted she would have left her bed.

  Mary gripped her stomach again. “No choice. I needed a doctor, and there weren’t no one to take a message. Everyone’s gone.” Though the words made sense, Mary’s voice was devoid of emotion, almost as if she were reciting phrases she had memorized.

  “Clay will be able to help you, but I don’t know when he’ll be back from town.” Sarah wouldn’t tell Mary what he was doing. Instead, she said a silent prayer for his success.

  “Don’t matter. You’re what I need.” Mary reached a hand toward Sarah, then drew it back. “It won’t be long now.”

  It was a sign of her illness that Mary’s words were no longer making much sense. “Won’t be long until what?”

  The older woman stared at Sarah, as if puzzled by the question. “Until we reach the ranch,” she said at last. “I can wait.”

  Sarah’s alarm increased. She’d had little experience with illness, but Mama had said that people were sometimes incoherent when they had high fevers. That must be what ailed Mary. Thank goodness, they were close to the Lazy B and whatever Dr. Adler had prescribed. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief as she turned off the main road. Just another minute or two.

  As she stopped the wagon in front of the house, a man emerged from the barn. Sarah gave Mary a quick look. Hadn’t she said all the ranch hands were gone tonight? Perhaps the fever had addled her brain.

  “Oh, you’re still here, Jake.” Mary’s voice was sharp with reproof. “Unharness the wagon, and then you can go into town.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  “Do as I say.”

  He nodded and reached for the horses. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Let’s get you inside.” The fever must be increasing. That was the only way Sarah could explain Mary’s uncharacteristic actions. She led her into the house and opened the door to Mary’s room. “You need to lie down. I’ll find your medicine.”

  Mary sank onto the bed. When Sarah reached for her feet, intending to unlace Mary’s boots, Mary slapped at her hand. “I ain’t dead yet. Fetch the pills.” She pointed toward her dresser. “And then make a cup of tea.”

  Sarah nodded. Though Mary hadn’t asked, she would also bring a ewer of cold water. Cool compresses had been Mama’s cure for fevers. Realizing she’d need both hands to carry the tray, Sarah hung her cane over the doorknob and hobbled into the kitchen. Poor Mary! Whatever had caused the fever, it was obviously severe, for it had turned her friendly neighbor into a stranger.

  As she waited for the water to boil, Sarah kept her head cocked, listening for sounds from the bedroom. There were none. Surely that was a good sign, for it must mean Mary had fallen asleep.

  Walking as quietly as she could, Sarah returned to the bedroom with the tray. If Mary was sleeping, she’d wait until she wakened before she gave her the medication. Sleep, Mama had said, was the best cure. Sarah was so intent on not spilling anything and on not waking her patient that it was only when she was inside the bedroom that she realized Mary was no longer on the bed. Laying the tray on a small table, Sarah turned.

  “No!”

  It was easier than he’d dared hope. David was nothing if not a creature of habit, and habit said he would spend Saturday evening in the saloon. There he was, one boot on the rail, an elbow on the bar. Though he wanted nothing more than to drag him out and pummel his face, Clay had no desire to involve the entire town in his argument. He tapped David on the shoulder. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  David raised an eyebrow as he drained his glass. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what you’re going to tell me.” Rather than wait any longer, Clay pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “Let’s go outside.”

  “What’s the matter?” David demanded when they were far enough away from the saloon that they would not be overheard by patrons. “Can’t a man have a drink with his friends?”

  The air was warm and moist, presaging a storm. Powerful as they might be, the natural elements were no match for the fury inside Clay.

  “Not the man who killed my brother.”

  David took a step backward, recoiling from Clay’s anger. “Are you loco?”

  Clay grabbed David’s shoulder. The man was not going to escape, not tonight, not ever. He’d pay for what he’d done. “You might as well admit it. Jean-Michel told me how much you hated Austin.”

  David leaned toward Clay and made a show of sniffing. “Nope. It ain’t whiskey that’s addled your brain. I reckon you’re just plumb loco if you think I hated Austin. I didn’t hate him, and I sure as shootin’ didn’t kill him.”

  David’s voice sounded sincere. Perhaps it was only a trick of the moonlight, but his face appeared guileless. Clay released his grip. It was clear the man was not preparing to flee.

  “I reckon I oughta smash your face for even thinkin’ it. Why would I hurt him? Austin was like a brother.”

  Was it possible Jean-Michel had been lying? “Do you deny telling Jean-Michel that you resented Austin, that you wanted to best him at everything?”

  David shook his head slowly. “I reckon part of that’s true. I always wanted to do better than him. That ain’t no crime, Clay. Austin was the same way. He spent his life tryin’ to prove he could do things better than you.”

  Clay frowned. He’d never thought of his brother as a competitor, but Austin, it appeared, had felt differently. If Clay had been oblivious to that, what else had he missed?

  “Sure, I wanted to outdo Austin,” David admitted, “but it was friendly-like. I would never have hurt him.”

  David’s words rang with truth. Though Clay wanted to believe them, there was still the matter of David’s prolonged absence from the barn.

  “Where did you go the night Austin was killed? Jean-Michel said you left the barn soon after Austin and were gone a long time. Long enough to have killed him.”

  Two patrons left the saloon and staggered toward Clay and David. David waited until they were past before he answered. “I went back to get more food for us.” Once again, David’s words rang with honesty. “You know Ma don’t like my friends settin’ foot in the main house.” Clay nodded, remembering the restrictions Mary had imposed on him and Austin when they’d visited.

  “I knew she baked a couple pies that day.” David continued. “I figured I’d better ask before I took them. Didn’t want to get no tongue-lashing in the mornin’. Problem was, she weren’t there.” David shrugged. “I reckon she went to the outhouse. I waited a bit afore I went back empty-handed. You know, Clay, I had some mighty riled friends when I didn’t bring no pies.”

  The hair on the back of Clay’s neck began to prickle. He wanted to believe David’s story, and in fact he did, but believing it raised a disturbing possibility. “Do you know where your mother was?”

  David shrugged again. “Like I told you, I figured she was in the outhouse. By the time the men left, I heard her back in her room.”

  Clay clenched his fists as his thoughts continued to whirl. Had he been wrong? He’d always believed the killer to be a man, but what if he’d been mistaken? Austin trusted Mary. That meant he would have let her come close enough to shoot him. She had had the opportunity, for according t
o David, she’d been gone at the critical time. Clay knew she was an excellent shot and strong enough to have lifted Austin onto Nora’s back. If she had had a reason, Mary could have killed Austin. The question was, what possible reason could have made her shoot Clay’s brother?

  When Clay clapped David on the shoulder, it was a friendly gesture, not a restraining one. “I believe you.”

  He mounted Shadow and headed for home, deep in thought. As difficult as it was to believe Mary was a murderer, everything pointed to her. As for the reason, from the beginning Clay could not understand why anyone would have wanted Austin dead. But humans were not necessarily logical, as his conversation with Jean-Michel had proven. Only a twisted mind would have believed the way to woo a woman was to destroy her brother’s reputation. Was Mary equally disturbed? Clay didn’t know. What he did know was that tomorrow would be soon enough to confront her. That would give Clay time to think, time to phrase his questions, time to tell Sarah everything he’d learned.

  Soon after he passed the Lazy B, Shadow began to whinny. “What’s wrong, boy?” Clay patted the horse’s neck. There must be a reason for his restiveness, for his stallion was not easily spooked. Shadow tossed his head and strained, clearly unhappy with Clay’s pace. Something was definitely wrong. Clay looked around. Nothing seemed amiss. He listened. The evening sounds were ordinary, the hoot of an owl, the rustle of a rodent. Clay sniffed, then stiffened as he realized what Shadow sensed. Something was burning.

  Fear brought a burst of energy along with the realization that he had to help. Fire was every man’s enemy. No matter what animosities existed, when a man’s livelihood was threatened, everyone helped. If Karl Friedrich’s house was on fire, Clay would be there, pouring water onto the flames. Shadow needed no encouragement to gallop. As they crested the hill, Clay’s fear turned to sheer terror. It wasn’t the Friedrichs’ house. The Bar C was burning!

  “Let’s go!” Clay bent low as Shadow increased his pace. There was no telling how long the fire had been burning. All he knew was that he had to reach the ranch. Sarah needed him. She was alone with Pa, and with her injured leg, she would need help getting him to safety.