Lane thought for a moment. Fast food? Or should they go to a nice sit-down restaurant with a quiet, romantic atmosphere? “I know just the one.” He picked up her glasses from the end table and handed them to her.
She raised them to her face. “Thanks.”
“Wait!” Lane caught her wrist.
She paused with her glasses in midair and looked up at him.
“Just wanted one more look.”
“Oh, Lane.” She gazed back into his eyes.
He bent over and brushed a kiss against her lips. “Ready to go?”
Callie could not believe the events that had transpired or the peace in her heart. Thank You, Lord! He had worked everything out for good—far better than she could have asked or imagined.
Arriving at a fancy restaurant on the outskirts of Cheyenne, Callie felt underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt, even though that was what Lane was wearing. They were seated at a quiet table in the back corner, given menus, and, fifteen minutes later, ordered their food. He ordered a rib-eye steak that was twice the price of any entrée at Mama’s Kitchen. She ordered one of the least-expensive items—baked chicken.
After the waiter left, Callie leaned across the small two-person table. “This is an expensive place, Lane.”
“Being rich has its perks.” He winked at her.
The realization that Lane was rich—probably a millionaire—made her sit back in silence. She had always thought of him as poor and starving. After all, he lived in a cheap apartment in Fort Lob and ate frozen dinners.
Fortunately, he saved her from commenting. “I thought you’d be working at the library today, Callie. Don’t you always work on Saturday?”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened as another realization hit her. “I completely forgot!”
He frowned. “You forgot to work today?”
“No, not that.” Callie folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “The reason I drove down here was to tell you about Miss Penwell. On Thursday night, something terrible happened to her.”
“Thursday night?” Lane looked wary. “What happened?”
“Someone shot her and left her for dead. Sheriff Krause has no idea who did it. But she survived, and she’s in the hospital right now, in a coma.”
Lane stared at her a moment before he breathed out a heavy sigh. “Oh, that’s just great!” He ran his hand through his hair. “My doom is sealed. I suppose there’s a warrant out for my arrest.” His eyes darted around the room.
Callie’s scalp prickled. “Lane? Did you—” She pushed her chair away from the table. “You didn’t shoot Miss Penwell, did you?”
“What?” His confused look disappeared as he focused on her. “No! No, of course not. It’s just that she found me reading that stuff from the box Thursday night, and I totally lost it.”
Callie bumped her chair back up to the table. “You lost the box?”
“No, I lost my temper.” He pressed his lips into a firm line before he spoke. “I have never yelled at another human being like I yelled at Miss Penwell.” He pounded his fist on the table. “The things I accused her of—even I can’t believe some of the things I said.” His voice softened. “I’m so ashamed.”
Callie placed her hand over Lane’s fist. “Everyone knows what Miss Penwell’s like. I’m sure she provoked you to anger.”
He gave a rough laugh. “She provoked me, all right. The whole library heard me. It was so embarrassing.” He picked up her hand and cradled it in his. “I’ll never be able to go back to Fort Lob now.”
“Don’t say that.” She squeezed his fingers.
“Callie, you’re the only good thing in that town. The only true friend I have.” He shrugged. “Some of the townspeople are friendly—in a nosy, curious way. But I never made friends with any of them.” He sighed. “And then there are those who don’t like me at all.”
“There are good and bad people in every town, but you have as much right to live there as anyone else. The town council is having that meeting tonight about the library.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “I was hoping, especially after what happened this afternoon between us, that you’d come back with me.” She cocked an eyebrow.
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well …” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll go with you, Callie, but I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me.”
She smiled. “What could possibly happen?”
Lane decided to drive his Mazda to Fort Lob. He parked Callie’s Honda in the garage at his house while she stood beside his car on the street and waited for him.
After closing the garage door, he walked down the driveway. “We can come back and get your car tomorrow after church. Then I’ll ride my motorcycle back to Fort Lob.”
She leaned against the black Mazda. “Okay, but let’s make that after church and after Sunday dinner at my parents’ house. Then we’ll drive down here.”
He grinned as he stopped in front of her. “I’m all for Sunday dinner.”
Even with her glasses on, Callie looked beautiful to him. Impulsively he took her in his arms and kissed her.
Callie breathed out a wistful sigh when they parted. “Why, Lane Hutchins, that’s the first time you’ve kissed me with my glasses on.”
He laughed. “It works.” He leaned down and kissed her again lightly.
“What will the neighbors think?” Callie tried to give him a stern look.
He grinned. “They’ll think that Lane has finally fallen in love.”
Callie gasped. “You—you have?”
Lane gazed into her magnified eyes. “I’ve never felt for another woman what I feel for you, Callie. I love you.”
She breathed out another sigh. “I love you, too.”
After that exchange, he had to kiss her again.
They finally got on the road.
The closer Lane drove to Fort Lob, the more nervous he became. He exited the freeway at Highway 20. “Who do you think shot Miss Penwell?”
Callie shook her head. “I have no idea. Miss Penwell didn’t have many friends, and she had a tendency to argue about the least little thing with anyone who crossed her.” She folded her arms. “It could have been anyone.”
Lane glanced at her. “Remember what Vern Snyder said to us after we ate lunch at Ray’s?”
Callie knit her brows. “What?”
“He said someone would have to kill Miss Penwell before she’d quit her job.”
“Oh.” Callie’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I do remember that.” She looked at Lane. “And he was so mean to you. I wouldn’t put it past Vern to get in an argument with Miss Penwell and shoot her. She was good at provoking people.”
“How well I know,” Lane muttered. But thank God, He forgave me.
She gasped. “I just thought of something. Vern didn’t show up yesterday morning at the library when the ambulance came.” She looked at Lane. “He’s usually right in the middle of everything. I wonder why he wasn’t there.”
Lane shrugged. “Looks suspicious if you ask me.”
They drove past the Fort Lob population sign and down Main Street.
“Wow, this place is deserted.” Callie looked from one side of the street to the other.
All the stores had CLOSED signs in their windows, and not one person walked down the sidewalks. Only a few cars were parked at the edge of the street.
“It’s a ghost town.” Lane turned onto Pronghorn Avenue. The Elks lodge parking lot was packed with cars and trucks. “Looks like everyone in the town is here.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s 7:03. We’re only a couple minutes late.”
Lane pulled his Mazda into an empty space between two cars. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“Ready for what?” Callie touched the door handle. “It’s just a meeting, even though it’s very important. I’m praying the town council will keep the library open.”
He was praying, too, although he had a differ
ent petition.
Callie slipped her hand into Lane’s as they walked through the open doorway. The building was so full they could barely step inside. Dozens of people stood at the back. She and Lane took up a spot near the back wall behind Arnold Steiner and Lester Griggs. The two men effectively blocked her view, and the room was stiflingly hot. She glanced at Lane. He was taller and didn’t seem to have any problem seeing the front.
Callie took a step to the left, closer to Lane, and peered between Arnold and Lester. The chairs were filled with older men and women. Aggie’s big hair—tinted purple—stuck up above the crowd. Murray Twichell, dressed in his dark green uniform, paced at the front with his arms folded.
Standing on the platform, Bruce MacKinnon spoke into a microphone. Callie stood on tiptoe so she could see him. After speaking for several minutes, he let a couple of council members speak. The men had formulated a plan for renovating the library.
Finally Bruce spoke again. “Let us sum up our meeting thus far. In November, an addendum will be added to the ballot concerning the Dorsey-Smythe Library. If you as townspeople are willing to raise your taxes, we can renovate the old building.”
Ralph Little moved behind the mic. “Now if the vote passes …” He glanced at some notes in his hand. “With the number of citizens in Fort Lob and the amount of money needed to renovate the library, each family will have their local taxes raised about 300 percent.”
“Three hundred percent!” someone shouted.
“That’s an outrage!” another man said.
People jumped to their feet in protest. The noise in the room grew like a tidal wave until everyone was talking at once.
Lane frowned and leaned toward Callie, speaking in her ear. “Can you believe they’re milking the townspeople like this? The council doesn’t want to keep the library open, and they’re hitting people in their wallet so they’ll vote against refurbishing the library.”
“I think you’re right.” Callie’s spirits sank. They were going to lose the library after all.
“Quiet, everyone!” Murray stood at the microphone and waited until the noise settled down. “If you have something to say, come to the mic. We will proceed in an orderly fashion.” He stepped to the side as Bruce came back.
“Thank you, Murray.” Bruce surveyed the room. “Does anyone wish to voice their opinion?”
With a determined glint in his eye, Lane huffed out a breath. “Come on.” He pulled Callie’s hand as he excused himself between the people standing in front of them.
The crowd at the back parted. Lane and Callie reached the middle aisle between the crowded chairs, and Lane strode down to the front, pulling her along behind him. She heard a gasp from some of the women and wondered if it was because Lane had reappeared after Miss Penwell was shot. But maybe it was because she and Lane were holding hands in public.
As Lane reached the front, Murray’s mouth dropped open. But he clamped it shut as he stepped forward. When he opened it again, he declared, “Lane Hutchins, you are under arrest for the shooting of Miss Lucille Penwell.”
Chapter 18
After another gasp from the audience, the room became as silent as a cemetery.
Oh that Murray! Callie stepped forward. “Just a minute, Murray. Lane has something to say on behalf of the library.”
Murray glanced between the two of them, and his eyes dropped to their entwined hands. “Okay. I’ll give you five minutes, Hutchins. But there’s a warrant out for your arrest, and as a duly authorized peace officer of Wyoming, I am taking you into custody so Sheriff Krause can question you. Just remember that anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.”
Callie rolled her eyes.
Lane just nodded. Still holding her hand, he mounted the steps to the platform where they stood together.
He left the mic on its stand. “Uh, hello, I’m Lane Hutchins. I spoke at the last meeting about the Dorsey-Smythe Library. As I said before, it’s one of the best in the country.”
He glanced at Callie, and his face was pale. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. She wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but she would support him, no matter what it was.
Lane cleared his throat. “All of you know about Herbert Dreyfuss, the famous author.” He paused. “He’s my uncle.”
A murmur flitted through the crowd.
“What you might not know is that Herbert Dreyfuss has been dead for seven years.”
This comment caused more than a murmur. Callie looked at the faces in the audience, some registering shock and others hardening into disbelief. A few people nodded their heads as if they had heard the rumor.
“It’s true.” Lane raised his free hand to stop the chatter. “Seven years ago, my uncle had a heart attack and died. But I had been editing his writing, so I kept his syndicated newspaper column going, and I wrote his books.”
“So you’re Herbert Dreyfuss?” a man shouted out.
A tiny smile graced his lips, and he nodded. “I’m the author behind his name.”
“Wow.” The man stood, and Callie saw that it was Glen Massey, a middle-aged rancher who lived near the Brandts. “We have a famous person in our midst, folks.”
This comment caused an outbreak of more conversation. Callie saw a lot of smiles, and she smiled back, squeezing Lane’s hand.
He glanced at her with his own smile, and she was glad to see his color had returned.
“As you can imagine …” Lane spoke into the microphone, and the crowd quieted. “Being a bestselling author brings in quite a bit of revenue.”
He paused as the audience laughed.
“Therefore, in order to save all of you from having to pay higher taxes, I’d like to donate $500,000 to renovate the Dorsey-Smythe mansion.”
New exclamations burst out along with a round of applause, and the audience seemed to rise as one and move toward the front. As Lane and Callie stepped off the platform, they were surrounded by townspeople. One after another pumped Lane’s hand.
Callie stood back. She had never seen Lane so happy. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved.
Murray walked up to Lane’s side. “All right, folks. Step back. Give us room here.”
The crowd melted back at his authoritative voice.
“There is still the matter of Miss Penwell’s shooting.” Murray turned to Lane. “You are under arrest, Hutchins. You have the right to remain silent.” He drew a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.” Pulling Lane’s arms behind him, Murray snapped the handcuffs on his wrists.
“Murray …” Callie couldn’t believe this was happening. “Lane is innocent. He didn’t shoot Miss Penwell.”
“Sorry, Callie. I’m taking him over to the sheriff’s office for questioning.” He glanced around at the silent crowd. “No one needs to follow us.” He gave a pointed look at Callie before grabbing Lane’s arm and pulling him to the door.
With his head bowed, Lane walked away. He didn’t look back.
Callie’s shoulders drooped. She couldn’t imagine what Lane was feeling at this moment. He must be so embarrassed. She stood by the platform as the crowd dispersed. Even though Bruce hadn’t dismissed the meeting, people left the building, talking with each other in low tones until the hall was almost empty.
In a few minutes, the sound of sirens screamed outside. Listening, Callie breathed out a frustrated sigh. Of course Murray would have to turn on the siren. The sound faded as the car traveled down Main Street and Rattlesnake Road, all the way to the sheriff’s office. She closed her eyes. Lord, please work this out according to Your will. Give Lane peace—
“Well, Callie.” Vern Snyder strode up with his wife, Blanche, trailing behind him. “Guess Hutchins thought he could buy his way out of this one.”
Callie frowned. “That’s not true, Vern.”
“Huh! He’s just sweet-talking you, Callie. Do you really think he’s Herbert Dreyfuss? He’s lying through his teeth.”<
br />
Callie folded her arms. “But he is Herbert—”
“That half million dollars will never show up. You watch.”
Blanche clicked her tongue. “That man don’t look rich to me.”
“Everyone knows he shot Lucille.” Vern smirked. “The way he was arguing with her on Thursday night, then he ups and leaves town. Of course he shot her.”
“Who else would have done it?” Blanche shook her head. “We’ve known everyone in Fort Lob for years, but he’s a total stranger.”
Callie knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue with them. “Lane will be proven innocent.”
“Says you.” Vern waggled his finger at her. “You’d better stay away from him, Callie. He’s a dangerous criminal.”
She gritted her teeth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you shot Miss Penwell, Vern.”
“Me?” Raising his eyebrows, he pointed to his chest.
“You said someone would have to kill Miss Penwell before she stopped working at the library. Remember?”
“Huh!” Vern squinted at her. “It just so happens I have an alibi. After me and Blanche ate at the Cattlemen’s Diner, we went to Blanche’s brother’s house near Douglas and spent the night there.”
Blanche raised her chin. “We are innocent of the frightful goings-on that happened to poor Lucille.”
Vern took his wife’s elbow. “I hope Hutchins can cool his heels in jail for a few years.”
Gritting her teeth, Callie watched them walk away. Okay, so it wasn’t Vern. But it also wasn’t Lane.
She followed the Snyders at a discreet distance out the door. She was going to find out who shot Miss Penwell if it took her all week.
Callie knocked on the door of the small white clapboard house on Bison Road. She had called George Whitmore, who gave her a list of everyone he could remember at the library Thursday night. One by one she visited them, and one by one she crossed off their names.
It was Sunday afternoon, and that depressed Callie. She and Lane should have been on their way to Cheyenne by now to pick up her car. Instead, she was talking to townspeople, trying to figure out who shot Miss Penwell so Lane could get out of jail.
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