by Jo Goodman
“I asked Walt to pack everything up and clean out the room. I imagine he stowed it in the back room where he sleeps. It would be like Walt to want to take care of it until we know if there’s someone in Mr. Petit’s life with a claim to it. I’m thinking of the photographic equipment. I don’t know that there was anything else of significant value.”
Kellen removed his fingers from Raine’s hair and sat up straight.
Raine’s head swiveled sideways. “What?”
He swore softly. “The photographs. The goddamn photographs he took when he and Reasoner found Emily’s body. I need to see them again.” He started to rise from the stool, thought better of it, and bent to drop a swift, hard kiss on Raine’s parted lips. “Tempting, but no.”
Raine stared at the empty doorway long after he was gone.
Kellen found Walt alone in the saloon, broom in hand as he swept under the tables.
“Everyone’s gone, Mr. Coltrane,” Walt said as Kellen approached. “Early night for most folks. Had a few stragglers still wantin’ to jaw about what happened out at the lake, but I shooed them out. They didn’t really know Mr. Petit, so it wasn’t right for them to go on as if they did. Mrs. Berry, I mean, Mrs. Coltrane, wouldn’t have liked it.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Kellen. “I’m actually here because Raine asked me to find out about Mr. Petit’s things. Are they in the back room?”
“Yes, sir. They’re safe there. I figure it’s best if I keep an eye on them. I would have done the same for Mr. Weyman, but we both know what became of his belongings.”
Kellen nodded. “Did Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Jones return the camera and other equipment?”
“Well, they came back with it, and I was the one that took it off the packhorse, so I suppose I’d have to say they returned it. Leastways, neither of them argued too much about it. They were pretty shaken, trembling like aspens, the pair of them, and Deputy Sugar showed up and asked a lot of questions. Mostly I just minded my business and did what I thought Mrs. Coltrane would want me to do.”
“You did well, Walt. Raine is interested in Mr. Petit’s photographs. There must have been a lot of those.”
“Sure there were. He had a small chest full of them.” Walt’s forehead creased with worry. “Was I wrong to look inside? I hope I wasn’t wrong.”
“No, Walt. It’s fine. Could you show me the chest?” Walt set the broom aside and led Kellen to the rear of the saloon. Walt’s small sleeping area was neatly organized with his belongings hanging on the wall above his cot or in the two wooden crates under it, while cases and kegs, mops, brooms, and buckets occupied most of the space that was left. Kellen had to follow Walt completely into the room before Mr. Petit’s equipment and trunks could be revealed in the corner behind the door.
“There you go,” said Walt, pointing to the chest. “It’s got a satin lining. How about that? Expected to find the crown jewels inside.” He chuckled. “Maybe that’s why Mr. Reasoner asked after it, too.”
“He did?” Kellen lifted the chest by its brass handles. It was not as large as a case of liquor and much lighter. Most of the weight was in the chest itself, not in its contents. “Did he say what he wanted with it?”
“Well, he said seein’ how he and Mr. Petit were friends, and what happened out at the lake didn’t really change that, and how since he had been helpin’ Mr. Petit with the photographs, he thought Mr. Petit would want him to have some of them. Mementos, he said.”
“Did you let him take any?”
“No, sir. I would never. Not my place. That’s for Mrs. Coltrane to decide, and that’s what I told him. He said he would ask her.”
“Maybe that’s why Raine asked me to get them for her,” Kellen said.
“She didn’t tell you?”
Kellen sighed. “A consequence of marriage, Walt. I just do her bidding.”
Raine rose from the sofa as Kellen unceremoniously dumped the contents of the chest onto the table. She reached the table in time to keep half a dozen photographs from sliding to the floor. She pulled out a chair and rested one knee on it as she glanced over the photographs. “What are we looking for?”
Kellen put the chest on the floor at his feet. He braced his arms on the edge of the table and looked over the bounty. “I’m not certain. I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”
“There must be two hundred photographs here.” Raine began to finger through those closest to her. “I suppose we should organize them. You realize, don’t you, that whatever you’re looking for might not be here? Mr. Petit regularly sent photographs back East.”
“I know, but Walt said that Reasoner asked about the photographs. It could be nothing. Maybe he really does want a few as a remembrance.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s hard to be when I know about the photographs that Petit took of Emily. Reasoner was there. I can’t help wonder if that’s what he’s after. Walt wouldn’t give him any of the pictures. He told Reasoner to ask you about them. Did he?”
“No, not yet.” She continued to sort the photographs by location. “Mr. Petit took a lot of photographs in this waterfall area. It’s lovely. I’ve never seen most of these places. And the views. Look at how he was able to capture the light coming through the trees. Every ray is like the finger of God.”
“Uh-huh.”
Raine smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps it’s not the best time to admire his work.” She created a third stack of photographs whose subject was a barren stretch of land along the railroad tracks. In some of them, the station house and platform were evident in the distance. In others she could make out the cluster of businesses and homes that constituted the whole of Bitter Springs. The view from Mr. Petit’s eye was a lonely one. “Did you think it was odd that Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Jones shared a table in the dining room this evening?”
“Not particularly.” Kellen pushed more photographs toward Raine for sorting. “If Reasoner was finding fault with Jones for shooting and killing his friend, then I would find it odd. That’s not the case. That’s what I find odd.”
“Dan Sugar was satisfied with their story.”
“He has to be, doesn’t he? It would be a problem for him if Isaac Burdick had been gunned down, and even more of a problem if Petit, Reasoner, and Jones had somehow captured Isaac and brought him in.” He waved a hand over the table. “I’m not seeing any of the photographs of Emily here.”
Raine heard the frustration in his voice. “May I?”
Kellen pushed his hand through his hair and stepped back from the table. “Be my guest.”
As Raine moved toward the photographs, her foot bumped hard against the chest. Cursing softly, she stood on one foot while she raised the other to rub it. “Couldn’t you find a better place for that?”
Instead of replying, Kellen leaned down to grab the chest. He set it on top of a fan of photographs. Then he opened it, and thrust his hand inside.
Raine realized he was looking for something left behind under the lining. She saw his expression change the moment he found it.
Kellen withdrew his hand and pointed to the interior of the chest. “Do you have a pair of scissors? I can feel where the lining’s been opened and stitched closed. Remarkably tidy stitches, I might add.”
Raine retrieved scissors from her sewing basket. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I doubt that you have Mr. Petit’s fine hand. You can hold the lamp up so I can see what I’m doing.”
Kellen obliged and Raine carefully sliced through the neat stitches along the bottom left edge of the chest. When she was done, she took the lamp from him and invited him to take out what was under the lining.
“If they’re more photographs of Emily,” she said, “I’m not certain I want to see them.”
Kellen came away with three photographs. He carefully examined each one in turn, keeping them away from Raine. When he finished, he held them against his chest.
“What is it?” she asked. His expression, a mixture of gra
vity and resignation, caused her heart to quicken. “Show me.” She held out her hand, but he shook his head and held on to them.
“Emily is in all three of them,” he said. “Do you remember that I told you Petit took all of the photographs from the same angle?”
Raine nodded. “You realized he moved Emily’s body, not the camera.”
“Yes, and that was true for the photographs I saw. But these are different. The perspective, the distance. All different from the others.” He placed one photograph on the table, using his palm to cover the bottom-right-hand corner so that Emily’s body was not visible. “Look at it,” he told Raine. “What do you see?”
She studied the area around Kellen’s hand first, looking for clues that would have been left close to Emily’s body. It was not until she focused her eyes on the broader landscape that she found what he meant her to see. In the deep background, shaded by tall, knobby pines, it was possible to make out the half-hidden figure of a man. The brim of his white hat fairly gleamed in a slanted beam of sunlight. Even that narrow brim would have thrust his face in shadow if he had been wearing the hat. Instead, he was carrying it, holding it against his thigh, his posture frozen by the camera just as it had been at the time. He stood there as rooted to the ground as the tree beside him, afraid to move for fear of being heard. He did not understand the camera’s wider lens or the penetration of its unwavering eye. He saw that it was turned toward Emily’s abused and battered body so he stayed where he was, watching, waiting, and unwittingly becoming the captive of chemicals and photographic plates.
“It’s Clay,” she said softly. “My God, it’s Clay.”
“You’re certain? Not Eli? Not Isaac?”
“This is Clay.” She looked up. “Show me the others.”
Kellen shuffled the photographs. He kept his palm over Emily’s body and showed her the second picture. When she nodded, satisfied with what she saw, he showed her the third. He gave her another minute to study it before he turned all the photographs over.
“Do you believe that it’s Clay?” Raine asked.
“Yes. I thought I could make out his mustache. I didn’t want to influence you. With the Burdicks looking as much alike as they do, we need to be sure.”
“Ask Walt,” Raine said. “Cover up the bottom half of the picture so he can’t possibly understand what he’s looking at and ask him.”
“First thing tomorrow morning.” He sat and stretched his legs. In moments he was slouched, his hands folded in front of him, tapping his thumbs as he thought.
Raine recognized the signs of deep contemplation. She pushed photographs out of the way so she could sit on the table and used the seat of the chair as a stool for her feet. Her own thoughts were tumbling and spinning so fast that she couldn’t grasp one to examine. The implications of Clay Burdick being at the site of Emily’s murder overwhelmed her. It was beyond comprehension that the town would support another trial with a Burdick standing accused of a crime.
Raine closed her eyes and pressed her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Petit told someone about these photographs,” she said finally. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
At the sound of her weary voice, Kellen looked up. “Do you want me to get you a headache powder?”
“No.” Smiling a little crookedly, Raine let her hand fall away from her face. “But thank you. What I need is to hear your voice.”
Kellen stopped tapping his thumbs and reached for her hand. “Come here.” When Raine scooted closer, he turned her ninety degrees so she was facing him. She had to place her feet on his chair on either side of his thighs. He looked up at her. “Mr. Petit definitely told someone about these,” he said. “We’re of one mind on that. I can’t decide if he was foolish enough to tell Clay Burdick or if he merely told someone he thought he could trust.”
“Mr. Reasoner, you mean.”
“Or Mr. Jones. They had something in common. They were both trying to get onto Burdick land. Petit could have thought that the photographs were his ticket. He might have shared that with Jones. If it was Jones or Reasoner, then I think it’s safe to say that Petit was betrayed.”
“What about the rest of the photographs that Petit had of Emily?”
“Didn’t I hear Walt mention that he delivered some packages to the station for Mr. Petit?”
Raine nodded. “I’d forgotten. Maybe that’s why they’re not here.” She frowned, thinking. “I believe that Clay murdered Emily. I don’t imagine anything changing my mind about that, especially with Rabbit and Finn being able to place his horse behind the hotel the night that Emily and Mr. Weyman disappeared, but I don’t understand how he was able to place your cuff link near her body. How did he come by it in the first place?”
Kellen’s eyes shifted focus briefly, straying to a point past Raine’s shoulder before they came back to her. He sighed. “There’s no good way to say this,” he told her. “There are two explanations that occur to me. The first is one that you and I dismissed, namely that Emily stole the cuff link and had it with her when she was murdered. The second is that someone else put it there, and that, I’m afraid, presents far too many complications and coincidences. The simplest answer is probably the most likely. I’m sorry, Raine, but I think it was Emily who took it.”
“Why?”
“Again, the simplest answer. She wanted to make Clay jealous.”
Raine had been leaning forward, engaged in the conversation. Now she jerked back, her spine as straight as a flagpole. “No. Emily did not have anything to do with Clay. She wouldn’t go near him if she had a choice. She hated him for what he helped his brother do to Ellen.”
“Emily the flirt? The girl who couldn’t help herself when she was around men? Isn’t it possible that she avoided Clay to divert suspicion? She liked you, Raine. She had to know that not only would you be concerned if she admitted that there was something going on between her and Clay, but that you would also be hurt. She might have been afraid you would tell her parents.”
“I would have.” Raine’s eyes grew troubled. A crease appeared between her eyebrows. She spoke softly, more to herself than to Kellen. “I would have had to.”
“I understand. So did Emily.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t tell yourself that you should have known. You couldn’t have. I saw she avoided him in the saloon, and I never suspected another motive for it. The fact that you knew her so well made it more difficult, not easier, to see what was happening.” He gave her time to take in what he was telling her before he spoke again. “You said something this morning at the lake that’s been niggling at me. About Emily.”
Raine frowned, touching her chest. “I said something?”
He nodded. “You said that you knew I’d been writing home because Emily told you she’d posted my letters to the station.”
“Oh, that. Yes. I remember telling you.”
“It got past me at the time. I suppose that’s why it’s been sitting at the back of my mind waiting for me to bring it forward. Raine, I never gave Emily letters to take to the station for me. I always gave them to Walt.”
“But I’m sure it was Emily who…oh, I see. Walt gave them to her.”
“He’s as susceptible to a pretty woman’s wiles as the rest of us. Emily probably made it seem as if she was doing him a favor. You and I both know that Nat Church was killed because someone knew why he was coming to Bitter Springs. I suspected that it was Mr. Collins who was reading all of the correspondence between you and Church and reporting it to the Burdicks, but I was wrong. It was Emily, and she was doing it for Clay.”
“I gave all my letters to Walt,” she said. “I thought it was as safe as taking them to the station myself. Walt can’t read very well.”
“I know. He told me when I offered him one of the dime novels. I promised I would read it to him.”
Raine could not speak for the sudden swelling in her throat, and when tears hovered against her eyelashes, she did not swi
pe at them.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Kellen.
She shrugged helplessly as her face crumpled.
Kellen reached for her and drew her off the table and onto his lap. He let her tuck her face in the curve of his neck. Her arms went around his shoulders. “You shouldn’t look at me like that. I don’t deserve it, Raine. I can’t hang the moon for you. It doesn’t matter that I want to. I can’t. I’m not who you think I am.”
She sucked in a breath that made her shudder. “I know who you are,” she whispered. “You’re the man I love.”
Kellen closed his eyes, rubbed his cheek against her hair. “God, but I hope you mean that.”
Raine used the sleeve of her robe to dab at her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said.
“I read the letters you wrote to Nat Church.”
“You did?”
“He gave them to me. They’re in my bag.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” When he simply shrugged, she let it go. “Did Mr. Church use them to convince you to come to Bitter Springs?”
“No. He used them to convince me to stay.”
Raine lifted her head and regarded Kellen with suspicion. “When did you read them?”
Kellen opened his eyes. He did not avoid her and replied frankly, “Shortly after I arrived. He gave them to me before he died, Raine. I think he wanted me to know you. He had an obligation, and it was important to him that you were not abandoned. He was an honorable man. When I read your letters, I understood why he agreed to come to Bitter Springs. Accepting your terms would have been a mere formality. He was prepared to help you when he boarded the train.”
Raine felt the ache of tears again. “I wish we had met.” She pressed the crushed handkerchief against her eyes, then her nose when she sniffled. “I haven’t forgotten about setting a stone for him.”
“Neither have I. We’ll do it.”
“Do you suppose it was Clay who killed him? I always thought that whoever murdered Emily must have also killed Nat Church because a knife was used against both of them.”