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

by Sarah Christian

  He bounced on his toes, hugging the bar of soap to his chest. “Can we eat with Maeve?”

  “If Maeve and her father would like to join us, of course they can.” Belle reached out to gently pull the soap free from his grip and made a mental note to go hunting for more of his toys later in the apartment. He didn’t have many, but he certainly had some better choices than cleaning supplies.

  Across the hall, she knocked at Theo’s door. If he didn’t answer right away, it seemed reasonable to assume he and Maeve had already gone down to the hotel’s common room and she resolved to go there herself to have a meal. But there was no need for that, as just two seconds after she knocked Maeve pulled open the door and smiled at her. The girl’s hair was in far more fetching braids than they had been before. Neat, but loose enough so that her hair could puff up a bit instead of stretched tight across her skull.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lindholm,” Maeve said shyly.

  “Belle!” Theo called from further in the room. He came into sight with a breathless sort of smile and leaned on the door jam. The collar of his shirt was undone, a tie draped loosely over his shoulders. “Good morning indeed. We were just about to go down for breakfast. Would you like to join us?”

  “That’s just what we came to ask you.” The sight of the hollow of his throat sent her pulse fluttering. A minor intimacy, one she’d never been able to truly enjoy with how cruel Paul was after they were married. It made her imagine what it might be like to spend leisurely mornings with a husband who loved her. She could watch him shave or perhaps help him and gently wipe his cheeks clean of shaving soap afterwards. Their family would all sit down together to eat and discuss their plans for the day. He would listen to her just as she listened to him and encourage her, taking joy in her triumphs just as she took them in his. She hadn’t ever even entertained the idea since she was first married to Paul and had all her girlhood dreams shattered, but it really was an option now, wasn’t it? She was a widow. She could remarry and find love, though she found it hard to imagine finding a better mate than her own editor.

  “Let me finish getting myself ready, then.” Theo walked back to where a mirror hung on the wall to watch himself as he knotted his tie. He seemed quite practiced at it, unlike Paul who had always struggled and then yelled at her that it was her job to make her husband look presentable. In contrast, a certain sort of nonchalant elegance came to Theo naturally. He raised his chin, tightening the knot.

  Belle stepped in to wait, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She looked around the room, noting that it was just the mirror image of her own, except for the table. Where she had her notes laid out, he had a folder of his own work. Yet peeking out from beneath the folder, she saw something familiar. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “What’s that?” she croaked.

  “Pardon?” Theo turned away from the mirror, a pleasantly puzzled expression on his face.

  She pointed with a shaking finger at the manuscript. “What is that?”

  “It’s just some things I’ve been keeping up on. I couldn’t come hunting Jamison Ross down without doing anything else productive,” he reasoned as he stepped over to the table. When he picked up the folder and saw what was beneath it, he exhaled heavily. “Oh.”

  Smoke stains rippled across the front of the manuscript, but it looked otherwise unharmed. No water had made the ink run, none of the edges were singed.

  “How did you get that?” Her voice rose an octave and she was finding it increasingly difficult to fight down growing hysteria. “It burned up in the fire. How did you get it?”

  “Belle, I don’t know. We were there after the fire together, remember?” He dropped the folder back into place and laid his hands on her upper arms, giving her a gentle shake. “Focus. We were at the post office and searched the apartment together. I know we were both in shock and we’ve... well, we talked a lot last night about very personal things. Maybe one of us picked it up without realizing. Maybe even you did.”

  “You think I wouldn’t remember finding my own manuscript?” she hissed, jerking back from him. “What sort of incompetent fool do you think I am?”

  “I don’t think you’re incompetent at all,” he said soothingly. “I think you’re under a great deal of stress and forgetting things or thinking you’ve lost something when you haven’t is very normal under those circumstances. After Violet died, I’d forget whether or not I’d eaten or what day of the week it was. I’d go from one room to the next and completely lose track of why I’d gone there.”

  She shook her head. Certainly, she’d been under immense stress before in her life. Whenever Paul was going through the most abusive of his cycles of behavior, she’d hardly been able to function, jumping at every sharp sound and having to make lists of everything she needed to do to keep him happy, lest she forget something as basic as having the lights burning when he came home. Yet she wouldn’t forget that she’d found a manuscript. It was too important to her, too great of an investment, to simply fall into her hands without realizing when she’d been so desperate to find it. Theo might as well be suggesting she’d forget she was a mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Belle had hardly spoken since laying eyes on that blasted manuscript, leaving Theo feeling unsettled and vaguely guilty. He hadn’t noticed it until she’d pointed it out, so couldn’t say where it had come from or when it had arrived, but it did look incriminating there beneath his own folder. While Maeve and Erik chattered happily and stuffed porridge into their mouths, Theo brooded over an explanation of where the manuscript had come from. Preferably, there was an answer that would make Belle stop looking at him so suspiciously. She tried to hide it, but whenever he’d look away from the table he’d catch it from the corner of his eye. She watched him like he were a nasty puzzle she hadn’t expected.

  He set his coffee down with a decisive click against the saucer. “Let’s go talk to Mrs. Price.”

  Belle gave a start and lowered her spoon. “Why?”

  “If anyone else might have seen anything at the mercantile, it would be her, right?”

  “Correct.”

  He paused, unsure if she was agreeing with him or trying to correct his grammar again. “Right. She runs the place and she’s married to the sheriff, so she or her husband might have noticed if we had the manuscript, or they might have found it and returned it themselves.”

  Belle tipped her head, her expression droll. “Returned it to your room?”

  That was the part he couldn’t explain, no matter how he looked at it. If Belle had picked it up herself, she would have taken it to her own room. If he’d picked it up without realizing what it was, how would it have ended up under his own work? And if someone else recovered it, why not deliver it to Belle’s room? There was no reason to think he should have it before her, since everything in that apartment would have been her property, even if they didn’t realize that she was the author of the manuscript.

  “Look, I can’t explain this and I’m not going to try. You have it back. Isn’t that the important part?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not, because the most likely explanations are both terribly nasty.”

  He spared a glance toward the children, who had ducked under the table and were pretending it was their own private fort. They didn’t appear to be listening to the conversation, blessedly. “What do you think are the likely explanations?”

  “Either you stole it and tried to hide it from me, or I’ve completely lost my mind.”

  “You haven’t lost your mind,” Theo stated firmly. “I’d thought the same thing plenty of times after I lost Violet and it wasn’t true then and it’s not true now. One of us is mistaken, or someone delivered it to my room accidentally, or some other reasonable, sane series of events.”

  Yet even as he was trying to convince her, he felt his own certainty slipping the more he thought of it. Was she a madwoman? It would explain how she could seem to be so gentle and sweet, yet murder and mayhem followed in
her wake everywhere she went. He shook his head, trying to dismiss it. She’d been so good at piecing together his thoughts that night in the jail that he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d figure out the direction they’d taken now, which would only make her more upset. No, she hadn’t been in Chicago when her husband died. They could prove that easily enough with the fact that she’d been sending him letters through the Sweet Town post office and it was clear she’d been living there for some weeks. Similarly, he could prove she hadn’t started the fire. As he’d said to Kit, he left the apartment with her. No fire had been burning at the time.

  She was innocent. He’d stake his life on it. Considering that he’d been spending a lot of time alone with her and allowing her to be around his daughter, he’d essentially already done just that. Yes, she had to be innocent, but an odd series of coincidences was conspiring to make her look as guilty as a cat in a birdcage.

  “Let’s go.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, then rose to his feet.

  Belle frowned up at him, but made no move to stand. “What? To the mercantile?”

  “Yes. I want to settle this once and for all. We’ll talk to Mrs. Price and find out what really happened with your manuscript. Then you’ll see that you haven’t lost your mind.”

  “Lucy probably won’t want to speak to us,” Belle spoke slowly as she stood. “She might not even allow us back into the building now. She’s a good, kind woman, but extremely set in her ways about what’s proper. She wants everything to always remain as ordinary as possible.”

  “But you can’t help extraordinary circumstances sometimes,” Theo protested. “She’ll be fine. I’ll charm her and she’ll get over it.”

  Belle gave him a dubious look and said nothing.

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The urge to cringe and walk right back out of the general store was high, particularly when Lucy raised her head to look at her. The petite shopkeeper narrowed her eyes, her full lips pressed together in a flat line. Water from the efforts of the bucket brigade had seeped downstairs, damaging not just the ceiling in a corner of the shop but also the bags of flour beneath. Thinking over just how much it would cost to replace the lost revenue for the store, Belle’s stomach tightened sickeningly. At least the children had seen some of the orphans from the Leonetti household outside playing, along with Emma’s friend Laura, and had decided to remain out there. Keeping control of Erik within the store would have been an added worry.

  No one appeared to be shopping at the moment. Lucy was mopping, her brother Neal walking around the interior of the store and taking inventory. A few rugs that had once added a bit of flair to the mercantile were now in a rumpled heap by the wall, along with the bags of flour Belle assumed would be thrown out that day. With the way the smell of smoke now permeated the entire building, she wondered if any of the goods would still be salvageable. Who would choose to buy bolts of calico that stank like a chimney?

  “Yes?” Lucy prompted coolly.

  “I...” Belle trailed off, faltering. This had been Theo’s foolish idea. She turned to look at him.

  He stepped forward with that bright smile of his, white teeth shining and dimples creasing his cheeks. He removed his hat and placed it against his chest. “Excuse me, madam,” he began, giving a quick wink to Belle. “We found something from the apartment over at the hotel and couldn’t rightly figure out how it got there. We were hoping you might be able to help us.”

  Lucy propped her mop against the counter top with a weary sigh. “I can’t imagine why you think I could help. What is it you found?”

  “A manuscript.”

  Lucy frowned. “What?”

  “You see, it’s an author’s text that hasn’t been published yet.” He started to gesture, as though miming out what a manuscript looked like.

  “I know what a manuscript is,” Lucy cut in. “I mean, why do you think I’d know anything about one? I just have finished dime novels here, and the gazette that Ida Behr writes. If you’re looking for things having to do with publishing, you should go see her.”

  “He doesn’t mean just any manuscript. There was one I was writing and I couldn’t find it after the fire, then it showed up this morning at the hotel.”

  Lucy shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know nothing about it.”

  Heavy footfalls came down the stairs and then a tall man with a shock of auburn hair stepped through the curtain from the back, a few streaks of soot wiped across his forehead. “The good news is it’s more of a cosmetic problem than anything else,” he said, then noticed the new additions to the store. He smiled warmly. “Mrs. Lincoln, always a pleasure.”

  “Lindholm,” Lucy corrected, a hint of steel in her voice.

  Mack Coffman the carpenter looked confused at the shopkeeper, then turned back to Belle. “Well then. Mrs. Lindholm, I’m glad to say that the apartment should be fixable in short order. Once things dry out, we can honestly probably just paint over the damage in most cases. I might suggest replacing a few of the floorboards upstairs, but otherwise it really isn’t bad at all. You wouldn’t even really need a carpenter if the smell didn’t bother you too much, though I’d be happy to send my crew over and thoroughly redo everything.”

  Lucy picked up her mop again to continue cleaning. “I don’t know if my husband and I will feel comfortable renting it again.”

  Belle’s heart sank, but she’d known that this was the most likely reaction from Lucy. She lowered her gaze to the floor, following a water stain that crawled from the wall past the counter.

  “You sound knowledgeable,” Theo commented. “Can you tell how the fire started?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Someone poured kerosene on the table and lit it. That’s why the damage is so localized, you see. The table and couch went up instead of anything actually structurally part of the building.”

  Belle looked up sharply. “What? How can you tell that?”

  “Aside from the scent of kerosene?” Mack flashed a quick smile. “You see, when you pour kerosene out on wood and light it, the flames crawl along, following the oil. It’s what makes it so good for lamps. So long as you can control where the kerosene goes, you can control the fire for the most part. If you want to come up and take a look, I can show you the exact shape the kerosene was poured in, making a trail from the table over to the couch. It’s perfectly visible if you know what to look for.”

  Her mind reeled at this new bit of evidence. The lamp hadn’t been found anywhere near the table. That proved that someone had truly done this maliciously, didn’t it? She spun wildly to look at Theo, searching his face. “Why were they trying to destroy my things instead of the apartment? What have I done to make someone so angry?”

  “I doubt it has anything to do with you,” Mack said. “It was probably over the store.”

  “The store?” Lucy gasped and raised herself up as tall as she could. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ah, people did this all the time back in New York,” Mack said. “Light a fire somewhere it’s no danger, to draw everyone’s attention away while they rob a store. The apartment is perfect, since everyone would be watching the back of the building while water was brought in. A thief could walk in and out the front door and never be seen.”

  “I’ve heard of heists like that,” Neal agreed, speaking for the first time as he looked up from his inventory. “It’s a clever trick.”

  Lucy braced a fist on her hip, nostrils flaring with indignation. “Whoever did this will pay.”

  A gentle weight pressed against the small of Belle’s back and she looked up to see Theo watching her. “Maybe the thief’s conscience got the better of him and he saved your manuscript for you?”

  She shook her head. The explanation worked well enough, but it didn’t really satisfy. “I suppose it’s the best answer we’re likely to get.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Outside the store, on the boardwalk, a gentle breeze blew one dark strand of hair loose from Belle’s chign
on, and Theo watched as she carefully smoothed it back into place. After hearing what Mack had said about the fire being deliberately set, it seemed as though there was nothing left to say until they had processed it.

  “I don’t know about you but I’ve used about all the brain power I have for the day,” he said with a smile.

  If Belle heard, she didn’t give any indication. She was watching Maeve and Erik playing with the other children. Though her face was expressionless, Theo knew her well enough to understand that was when she was most likely the deepest in thought. He figured she’d talk when she was ready. In the meantime, Laura Berg, the lady who had traveled with his group from the train station nodded at him.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Tulloch. I trust you’re enjoying your time here in Dakota Territory.”

  He tipped his hat in her direction. “That I am. It’s been interesting and as exciting as the novels I edit.” He moved a little closer to her to be heard over the happy sounds of the children playing. “And how are you finding your visit with your friend?”

  She leaned in his direction so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice. “We’re having a lovely time. She’s very busy, of course, what with the orphanage and her own infant to care for. I hope my presence has given some assistance to her.”

  “I’m sure it has. I remember the long list of interests you told me you enjoyed. One as industrious as you would be of a great help in any endeavor.”

  “Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say so.”

  He turned his head in the direction of a noise behind him. Belle was standing there looking at him, face still serene, but her arms were crossed and her eyes seemed very focused. On him. If there had been any other indication, a tightening of her mouth, or a wrinkling of her brow, he would have said she was upset but there was nothing. And yet, he couldn’t help feeling she was not happy. “Is everything okay?” he asked her.