Author's Muse (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 12)

by Sarah Christian

  “Well,” he began after he had swallowed the last bite and put his empty plate on top of hers. “Paul was found dead in your home.” He was speaking slowly, expecting at any moment she would collapse in tears. When her only reaction was to raise her eyebrows as if to encourage him to go on, he continued. “There was a wine glass near his body, and the detectives said that the residue smelled unusual. In the kitchen, next to an open bottle of wine, there was a small bottle of poison. It smelled of the same substance. “

  “So far that’s exactly how I wrote the scene in Danger at the Lake.”

  How could she be so calm, so unaffected, he wondered. His wife had been gone for years and it was only recently he could think of her without heartache. “Yes, that was noted. There was also a message left on a desk. The letters had been cut from a periodical and glued onto a sheet of stationary.”

  Belle leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “Were they able to determine what periodical the letters had been cut from?”

  He shook his head. “Yes, it was a magazine from Paul’s study. The scissors were there as well as the pot of glue. The murderer must have sat there after the fact and made the message while your husband lay dead in the other room.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “Yes, that sounds like the scene I wrote. Whoever killed him had to have read it. And they had to know that I am Jamison Ross.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “What are the chances that someone might randomly stumble across my manuscript, enter my house, and kill my husband, using the very words I wrote under my nom de plume?”

  “I see your point,” he agreed, mimicking her body language by leaning back and crossing his own arms.

  “One thing you haven’t said is exactly when was he killed.”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  “Well, I have an alibi. I was on a train at that time traveling here with Erik. There are many witnesses who can attest to that fact.” She smiled happily.

  “That settles that, then.” He still thought her lack of grief bizarre.

  “Where were you?”

  “Me? Why?”

  “For sake of this argument, where were you the day he was killed?”

  “It was actually at night, and I’ve looked back at my diary since. I was at a release party for one of our authors. A Saturday evening.”

  She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. While she was looking off into space his mind wandered back to the night of the book release. It was held at a well known restaurant and everyone from the office was there. Mr. Bader drank too much, as he usually did, and at one point Clara helped him out to find his driver and go home. She returned and played host for the rest of the evening.

  “I’m trying to think of everyone who would have had access to my manuscript. Obviously I would. Paul didn’t know I had books published so he couldn’t have told anyone, though it would be easy to imagine some spurned lover of his doing this.” She looked across the table at him. “I sent it by regular mail, not courier. I suppose someone in the postal service could have opened the package and read it.”

  “That seems highly unlikely considering they would have to know who you were, know your husband, have a reason to kill him. It’s all pretty fantastical.”

  She smiled.

  “What?” He leaned forward. “Why are you grinning at me that way?”

  “I take it this discussion means we each believe the other. Someone else killed Paul, but I think it will take us working together to figure it out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Downstairs in the store, Belle found the children bored, sitting on sacks of flour and kicking their heels to make white clouds rise up. Clara was looking at a display of books and ignoring them. “Did you two have a candy?” she asked Erik and Maeve. They nodded somewhat morosely and Belle took pity on them. “Would you like to come along with us on an errand?”

  All angst forgotten, they jumped up eagerly. Belle saw that Theo was speaking with Clara quietly, and the other woman’s expression was growing darker by the moment. To avoid the children seeing a possible argument, Belle ushered them outside where they waited on the boardwalk.

  “Where are we going, Papa?” Maeve asked as soon as Theo came out.

  He led the way to the post office next door. Inside Mr. Behr was leaning against the counter, a large ledger book open in front of him. The scratching of his pen on the paper was loud in the small quiet space. When he didn’t look up immediately, Belle and Theo exchanged a glance.

  “Mommy,” Erik’s high voice broke the silence. “Why are we just standing here?”

  Behr’s head snapped up and his pen skidded across the page. Could he really have not known they were standing there? Belle wondered. That seemed absurd, though she had taken advantage of his distractibility in the past.

  “Excuse me,” Theo began. “We have some questions about how the mail system works, if you don’t mind.”

  “All you need to know is you give me a letter and I send it on its way.” His shaggy white eyebrows lowered over heavily hooded eyes.

  Belle could see that this may take some finesse. “Yes, of course, and a fine job you do, sir.”

  He seemed somewhat mollified and dipped his pen in a nearby inkwell, prepared to return to his task.

  “What we’re wondering,” she continued, smiling slightly, “is how you ensure the security and privacy of the mail.”

  He put the pen down, leaving it to puddle a dark inky spot on the counter top. “Are you insinuating I don’t keep your letters and packages safe?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, alarmed at how quickly he seemed to take offense.

  “Actually, we feel quite confident in your services. It’s other postmasters we’re concerned with.” Theo put a hand on Belle’s shoulder.

  “Mommy,” Erik said in a stage whisper. “Why is that man angry? Should I arrest him? Sheriff Price made me a deputy.”

  Belle leaned over and put her lips right next to his little shell-like ear. “We’re just having a grown up talk. He’s not really angry.”

  But Gregor Behr was mad enough that his face had turned purple and his eyes were watering. “I’ll have you know that every unit of the mighty postal service is run by a dedicated employee who has sworn to uphold the integrity of our system.”

  Theo put up his hands in a parody of surrender. “Okay, I believe you. There’s no need to get on your high horse.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the older man growled.

  “I believe he means that you are speaking with anger as if he has done something bad to you even though you are better or more clever than he.” Belle smiled to take any sting from her words.

  Instead of being placated the man squinted at her menacingly. “I don’t know what you’re on about, but I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Sir,” Theo said, clearly exasperated. “All we want to know is if it would ever be possible, anywhere, at any point in the movement of mail, for someone to intercept a package and examine its contents.”

  “Nothing like that has ever happened here,” he responded passionately.

  “Of course not,” Belle tried again. “Someplace else. In Chicago, for instance.”

  He seemed to take a deep breath and rock back on his heels. “Oh, there.” he shuffled some papers around on the counter. “I would guess anything is possible in a place like that. It’s not likely, mind you, but it’s certainly possible.”

  They thanked him for his time and stepped back outside. Theo took out his lucky coin and began rolling it across his knuckles. “Describe to me exactly how you put the manuscript in the mail.”

  “I did it the same way I mailed all of them. I wrapped the pages in brown paper, tied with string. I took the package to the post office in the new Custom House, entering from Adams Street. I paid the clerk and he took the package from me. That’s the last I saw of it.”

  “It’s just extremely unlikely anyone could know what was in that
package and put you, Ross, Paul, all of it together.” He stepped off the wooden walkway to the dusty street. “What’s that I smell?” he asked looking down toward the hotel.

  Belle sniffed the air and detected the scent of burning wood, just as a voice cried out. “Fire!” Smoke was pouring from a window in her apartment above the store.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The laundry, owned and run by the mayor’s wife Bridget, was directly behind Karl’s Mercantile. It had a good well and a pump that was operated by an engine, the same engine that made such a racket and powered all of the machinery there. A bucket brigade formed, and Theo immediately joined it, passing buckets and roasting pans, in an effort to put out the flames that were rapidly consuming the upper floor of the store. The sense of urgency was enhanced by the shouts coming from those at the end of the line, inside, where the fire raged.

  Thankfully it had been caught early on and the flames were extinguished before any structural damage was done, but the entire building reeked of smoke and was drenched in sooty water.

  Theo joined Belle where she was standing, across the street at the clinic where a little crowd had gathered. She looked like the wind had just been knocked clean out of her sails. Both of the children were with her.

  “The sheriff has gone upstairs to see what happened. I’m going to join him.” Theo felt badly for her, and his voice was low, full of sympathy..

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, determination evident in her posture. “Erik and Maeve can stay here.” She turned to a woman standing next to her, the town’s midwife, a Native woman with long black hair bound in a braid. “Would you…” she began.

  The midwife nodded and Belle was off before Theo even registered what had taken place. He jumped off the boardwalk and followed her.

  Muddy footprints and puddles of filthy water were tracked through the back room and up the stairs. Theo and Belle sidled inside, but stayed near the doorway.

  Sheriff Price was standing in the center of the apartment looking around himself with disgust. Mayor O’Cuinn was also there, as was a large man Theo didn’t recognize.

  “It would appear that a lamp was knocked over and the oil lit, spreading to the settee.” Kit pointed at the piece of furniture, now a charred hulk, the fabric peeled back from it, still smoldering.

  “It doesn’t makes sense,” the mayor, Lore O’Cuinn said. “Why would she have a lamp lit in the middle of the day? What do you make of it, Hunter?”

  The big man, tall and broad and looking strong enough to wrestle buffalo, walked over to the smoking bit of furniture and squatted down. “Has anyone moved this lamp?”

  Kit shook his head. “Not unless it was an accident. We were too busy pouring water on the sofa to worry about the lantern. That stuffing was hard to put out. Why do you ask?”

  Hunter pointed at the floor. “See where it is? It’s too far from a table to have fallen off. There’s no reason why anyone would leave a lit lamp right next to a sofa in broad daylight.”

  Belle pushed her way into the center of the men. “Unless someone deliberately staged it to burn my apartment.”

  “Now, why would someone do that?” Kit asked.

  “Maybe it’s my husband’s murderer and he’s come to kill me, too.”

  Theo stepped up next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Belle, if someone wanted to kill you, all they’d have to do is wait for night to light the fire.”

  She turned her face up to him, her pointed chin quivering. “Then why do this? Why?” She turned to look around the room, slowly pivoting, until she stared at the table. Two stacked plates still sat there, now covered with threads of fabric ash. She let out a cry, the first sign of grief Theo had heard from her throughout the ordeal. “My manuscript. It’s gone.”

  Kit leaned in close to her face and grasped her shoulders. “Listen to me carefully. Are you sure you didn’t leave a lamp burning?”

  “No, no, I’m positive. I had just made breakfast. Theo and I ate while Clara took the children downstairs.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  Theo pushed the sheriff’s hands off of her shoulders and put his arm back around her. “We went downstairs together. There were no lamps lit. The fire in the stove had died down. Whoever came in after we left obviously started the fire.”

  Kit hooked his thumbs in his belt. “There’s no obvious part about any of this. Every last thing I’ve heard from and about you two has been suspicious.” He turned to Belle again. “You won’t be able to stay here. I suggest you gather what is salvageable and go rent a room at the hotel.”

  She looked shocked. “After it’s cleaned up and I can come back, though, right?”

  His mouth tightened and he barely choked out his reply. “I seriously doubt my wife will want you back here.”

  “Now, Kit, you don’t mean that.” Lore put one hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “You’re upset and that’s to be expected. This was your brother’s home and it’s pretty filthy now. But this lady has a son and no place to go. You know Lucy won’t refuse to have her back.”

  Kit glanced at him. “You don’t know Lucy as well as I do. If there’s one thing she values above all else is that things are nice and normal. This whole situation is anything but.” He turned on his heel and stomped out, clomping down the stairs, seemingly trying to make a significant noise.

  Theo waited while Belle went into the bedroom and was surprised when she came out carrying three carpet bags almost immediately. The other two men had left and it was just the two of them. He looked at her and she had the good grace to blush slightly.

  “I was going to leave. Before we got thrown in jail, I mean. I thought you killed Paul and could hurt Erik and me.”

  “Where would you have gone?”

  She shook her head and he saw that tears were running down her cheeks.

  “Belle, it will be okay. We’ll find out who killed Paul. You and Erik can rebuild your lives.”

  “That’s not why I’m crying,” she sobbed.

  “Then why?”

  “My manuscript, all that work, gone.” She pressed her face against his chest and mourned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Going from one place to the other, on the heels of fleeing from her marriage, had left Belle feeling very unsettled. Even Erik, an ordinarily good natured boy, had been fractious and clingy when she tucked him into the big bed upstairs.

  She came down the wide front staircase and paused where it opened into the public room where the hotel served food and drinks. Several tables were still occupied but, since this was a family establishment, even though they may have been drinking spirits, there was none of the wildness she associated with such activities.

  The aroma of the evening meal still lingered in the air. Belle had to admit that Therese put on a good supper. There were spices and combinations of things that tantalized her taste buds, providing at least some sort of pleasure in a day of hardship.

  Beginning with waking up in jail to losing the meager home she rented above the store, she had been buffeted on the winds of fate all day.

  On the far side of the room, at a table for two, Theo sat. He was leaning forward, cradling a short, heavy bottomed glass within his two hands, staring into the amber liquid as though it might hold answers.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Belle’s voice was throaty, the sounds raw as though she been crying. In truth, after her initial grief at discovering her manuscript was gone, she had pulled herself together for Erik’s sake. It wouldn’t do for him to see her weeping. She supposed grief, if not released, found other ways to reveal itself.

  He looked up and gave her a soft smile. “How’s Erik doing? Maeve was somewhat upset. There has been too much excitement of an unpleasant sort. And I’m afraid I’ve spoken openly about your husband’s murder, not paying attention if the kids have been nearby.”

  Belle put her hand on one of his where it held the glass. He turned it, palm up, and caressed hers in return. “Probably
everyone has said something about it carelessly today. Erik is more concerned about his toys and where we will live.”

  “Those are good questions.”

  She looked down where their hands were still joined. “Now that Paul is dead, I should be able to go home, but I won’t feel safe until his killer is found. “ Even as she said the words though, she tried to imagine living in the house they had shared. Every room held some unhappy memory.

  “Belle, you don’t have to say if you don’t want, but I can’t help but wonder why you left. I know you said he was cruel, but I’m having a hard time imagining any husband being so vicious his wife would leave him, taking his son with her.”

  She pulled her hand away, tucking it out of sight in her lap, where he wouldn’t be able to see the tell tale tremble that rippled through her whenever she thought about how her life had been up until just a few weeks before. “He wouldn’t have cared that I took Erik.”

  Theo leaned forward, across the small table, and harshly whispered, “Explain it to me. If he was such a monster, how did you end up with him?”

  “That’s easy,” she said. “I worked in my father’s florist shop and Paul came in often to buy a boutonniere for his suit, or an arrangement for a lady. He was one of our best customers.” She smiled sadly. “I was then under the impression that anyone who appreciated fresh flowers that much had to be a decent person.” She reached for his glass and took a sip. The liquid burned, making her gasp. Tears flooding her eyes she squinted at the liquor and set it back down. “He was much older than me, handsome, wealthy, all things my father thought would be a good catch for me. He nearly forced the match.”

  She watched Theo pick up his glass and turn it slightly. She could have sworn he drank from the same spot she had put her own lips. That was curious, she thought, and would make a good scene in one of her books.

  “He asked me to marry him. My parents insisted, happy that I would not have to worry about money, so we wed.” She shrugged as though her story was done.