by Gina Welborn
“How come she gets to stay?” Hess’s thundering voice was loud enough to be heard through windows and doors.
“Are you referring to Miss Palmer?” Mac stepped closer to the burly blacksmith, spreading his feet and planting his fists on his hips. Hess’s eyes hardened. He opened his lips, so Mac cut him off by turning to Emilia. “Mrs. Collins, do you have any objection to Miss Palmer’s presence?”
“I do not.” Her voice was calm, steady, polite. She was back in control.
Mac swung his gaze to Hess. “If the lady has no problem, then you have no problem. Do I make myself clear?”
Hess pinched his lips together.
It wasn’t enough for Mac, so he stretched his neck close enough to the blacksmith to smell soot, sweat, and garlic. “I asked you a question, Hess. I’ll repeat it in case your limited powers of understanding need help. I said, do I make myself clear?”
Nostrils flaring, Hess dipped his chin.
Good enough. “Mr. Inger, do you have any objections?” After a sullen headshake, Mac looked at the grocer. “Cannon?”
“None at all, Sheriff.”
“Excellent. Now, Mrs. Collins, would you like to tell me what’s going on, or would you like to hear what these gentlemen have to say so you can refute all their arguments at once?”
Emilia’s lips tipped into a smile. “I’d like to tell my side of the story first.” She explained how she’d spent almost an hour with Hale Adams drawing up contracts that compensated each creditor the remainder of the debt owed.
“And I said I don’t want the cart, I want my money!” Hess roared.
Mac stuck a finger under the man’s bulbous nose. “One more word from you, and I’ll not only throw you out of this room, I’ll see to it that you get neither the money nor the cart back. Now sit down and shut up.”
Hess plopped onto the wooden bench beneath the shaded windows.
Mac turned to Zeb Inger. “Are you telling me that you’re here because Mrs. Collins owes you a measly dollar? After how hard she’s worked for you these past two months?”
Inger crossed his arms over his chest. “A dollar’s a dollar, Sheriff, and I have just as much right to recover it as Cannon has what’s owed him.” The man was a stingy rat, but the law was on his side.
Tempted to withdraw his wallet and slap a greenback in the man’s scrawny chest, Mac reined in his temper. Emilia would hate him for fixing things, especially because she didn’t need it. “It sounds like the lady has already left your funds with Hale Adams, so why are you here hounding her?”
Inger glowered. “’Cause no one can confirm a word of what she says.”
Mac twisted his neck to find Yancey. “May we borrow your telephone?”
“Sure.”
Not wanting to leave Emilia on this side of the counter while he went around the other one, Mac said, “Roch, ring Hale’s office.”
“He’s not there,” Emilia called out. Mac turned his attention to her. “As I’ve said repeatedly to these fine gentlemen, he was going to his uncle’s office.”
“I know.” Roch stretched the second word with annoyance. He stomped behind the counter, lifted the receiver, and asked to be connected to Judge Forsythe’s office.
“Mr. Cannon”—Mac turned to face the grocer—“I believe you’re the only one we haven’t heard from yet.”
Cannon nodded his head. “I received a phone call telling me Mrs. Collins was skipping town, and I needed to get to the train depot to stop her if I wanted my money. I confess, I arrived a moment before you did, so this is the first I’ve heard of any arrangements Mrs. Collins has made to pay off the debt.”
“And now that you have heard it?”
“I’m reserving judgment until we hear from Mr. Adams, although . . .” Every eye turned toward the grocer. “It looks bad when a woman turns down two marriage proposals that would prop up her financial prospects and her reputation and then suddenly has train tickets for three people all the way back to Chicago.”
Two proposals? Who had offered the second? A question for later. Mac looked at Emilia. “Would you like to tell him where you got the tickets or shall I?”
“You can.” Her half smile added, You’re doing a fine job.
Good to know. Even better to see her smile. “I purchased those tickets back in April. I gave them to Mrs. Collins and her siblings so they could leave town at any time in case whoever killed Finn came back and threatened them. As for their reputations, Luci spent less than three minutes in the . . . hotel, and I was with her for most of that.”
Cannon frowned. “Why wasn’t that information included in the article?”
It would have been, if Mac had given Hendry a decent quote instead of trite drivel.
“It would have gone a long way toward stanching the rumor mill,” Cannon continued, piling guilt onto Mac’s shoulders.
“Mr. Adams,” Roch’s voice turned everyone’s attention to where he stood holding the telephone, “can you come down to the train station to verify our meeting with you earlier today?” He frowned. “What new problem?” Pause. “Yes, we’ll stay right here and wait for you.”
Shouting from outside drew Mac to the windows. He lifted a shade to see what was going on, Hess and Inger following suit at the other windows. There were too many bodies between the glass and whatever was happening. Seconds later, the doors to the telegram office swung open. The city marshal and three of his deputies appeared, faces stern.
Mac rushed to meet them. “What’s going on, Quinn?”
Quinn Valentine tugged his lapel, drawing attention to his badge. “Stay out of this, Mac.”
What an odd and insulting command. As though Mac would interfere with another lawman’s duty, especially if he was here for Hess or Inger. Mac followed Quinn as he marched toward . . . Emilia?
“Mrs. Collins and Roch Stanek, you’re under arrest for the murder of Edgar Dunfree.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two hours later
“Thank you for the encouraging words.” Emilia slid her hand through the cell’s bars. Instead of shaking her hand, Mr. Gunderson gently pulled her forward into the oddest hug she’d ever experienced. Her face pressed against the bars. He patted her back and she breathed in his familiar pine scent. If she’d accepted his proposal, she wouldn’t be in this spot.
Then again, if she had accepted Mac’s, she wouldn’t be either.
Mr. Gunderson stepped back and offered her a sheepish grin. “Windsor has never visited a woman in jail. I have one up on him now.”
Emilia chuckled. “Do you feel an incessant need to compete with Mr. Buchanan?”
“Seems I do.” He winked, then looked to the door with the four-inch-square peephole. “I ought to go see if Mrs. Hollenbeck has made any headway with Marshal Valentine.”
She doubted Mrs. Hollenbeck would have any success. The marshal’s office had confiscated the new tickets Roch had exchanged for the old ones. And their bags. How could she leave? She had thirty-four cents in her haversack, which had also been confiscated. On top of all that, because Emilia possessed a train ticket to leave Montana Territory, Judge Forsythe had been compelled to jail her.
She released a weary sigh. “Please tell Mrs. Hollenbeck she doesn’t need to post bond for us.”
“She can post mine,” yelled the miner in the corner cell.
Emilia looked heavenward and shook her head. The city jail wasn’t the place to be if one wanted a private conversation. She lowered her voice. “Mac said he’ll have us out in a few hours.”
In unison came a “Ha!” and “Speak louder, missy, I cain’t hear ya!”
Mr. Gunderson’s annoyed gaze shifted to Roch, who was lying on a bench, one foot on the ground. Instead of chastising her brother for his outburst, he looked back to Emilia. “If you need anything, let me know.”
She nodded, although she had no intention of asking Isaak Gunderson for help. Once Mac and Marshal Valentine interviewed Mr. Adams, the murder charges would be dropped.
>
As Mr. Gunderson left, Emilia sat on the rickety cot that smelled, ironically, similar to a pig’s pen. “What was that ha! supposed to mean?”
Roch’s head turned her way. His eyes slanted. “As soon as we’re outta here, we’re leaving. Mac knows that. He’s not going to let you leave. We’re gonna stay in here until he convinces you to marry him.”
Emilia’s chest tightened. She wouldn’t lie to herself—she hoped he would do that. She yearned for him to kick the door down, stride up to her cell, rip the door off, and carry her home. To his home. To their home. Good heavens, when had she become so melodramatic? In light of the way Mac had looked at her in the depot, Roch could be right. Minus the multiple door destruction.
I need you to trust me for just a second here.
She had trusted Mac, and he’d managed Mr. Hess and Mr. Inger better than she could have. Was that a bad thing? If she loved him, shouldn’t she trust him for more than a second? For more than three? Her debts would be paid, save for the last fifty dollars, once Jakob secured a loan. Dunfree was dead and thereby unable to hurt another girl. If she married Mac—if he still wanted to marry her—she and Luci would have the protection of his name. No one at Luci’s school would dare bully her. While Da wouldn’t have the Circle C to work, he could find a job in Helena.
It would all work out.
Once the city marshal realized his mistake in arresting them.
She had hope. She had to have hope.
With a sigh, she untied the strings to her bonnet, then set it on the cot. If they were staying, she may as well get comfortable.
Minutes passed.
Roch stared up at the ceiling, his boot brushing against the floor.
Guttural snores came from the miner’s cell.
Emilia waited. And waited . . . and waited some more.
She closed her eyes and—
The jail door creaked. She looked up. In strode Mr. Adams, carrying two paper sacks. He stopped at their cell.
“Mrs. Palmer sent lunch.” He stuck the sacks through the bars.
“Oh, we couldn’t—”
“Yes, we can!” In one swift movement, Roch was sitting up. “You’re in jail, Emilia. Jail!”
Mr. Adams tossed the paper sack hard at Roch’s chest. He grunted . . . yet managed to keep the contents from spilling out.
Emilia stepped to the bars. She opened the second sack. Two apples, a meat pastry, and a ham sandwich. “She shouldn’t have done this. Taking Luci in was kindness enough.”
“I’ve never known Mrs. Palmer to measure her kindness. She subscribes to the philosophy that you haven’t lived today until you’ve done something for someone who can never repay you.” He leaned against the bars. “Judge Gilpatrick refused to grant bail.”
“But I thought your uncle was in charge.”
Hale shook his blond head. “He issued the original arrest warrant because Marshal Valentine was afraid you’d skip town—his words, not mine—and couldn’t find Gilpatrick. He’s in authority over the city, while my uncle covers territory business.” He adjusted his glasses with two fingers. “To tell the truth, I suspect part of the reason Judge Gilpatrick didn’t grant bail, despite Mrs. Hollenbeck’s offer to pay whatever it took to get you and Roch out, was because he was indignant that my uncle had usurped his authority.”
So she and Roch would sit in jail charged with a crime they hadn’t committed because two men were involved in a petty rivalry? “What will happen to Luci?”
“The Palmers will care for her until this is resolved. Mac is reviewing evidence with the city marshal’s office. He’s doing all he can to help, but”—Hale gave her an apologetic smile—“it looks like you and Roch will be staying through the night.”
“I told you,” Roch said around a bite of his sandwich.
“Let me talk to Judge Gilpatrick. Once he hears my side of the story, he’ll realize we had nothing to do with Mr. Dunfree’s death.”
“Mrs. Collins,” Mr. Adams spoke softly. “I assure you that Mac, Quinn, and I are working hard to prove your innocence.”
“I thought a person was innocent until proven guilty?” She released a wry laugh. “Don’t mind me. I know you—I trust you all are doing the best you can. I do.” She reached into the lunch sack from Mrs. Palmer.
You haven’t lived today until you’ve done something for someone who can never repay you.
If Mama were alive, she and Mrs. Palmer would have some heated discussion on kindness and giving. Were their differing views why Mrs. Palmer had smile lines and Mama had had a deep crease between her brows? A life free of burdens. Emilia released a weary breath.
She withdrew the meat pastry and one of the apples, then gave the sack back to Mr. Adams. After a glance at the miner, she whispered, “Please. He could use the food.”
Sunday, May 29
“We need to lift our sister up before the Lord.”
Mac recognized Mrs. Watson’s voice as he walked closer to the gaggle of women clustered in the back corner of the sanctuary on Sunday morning.
“Oh yes.” Mollie Fisk placed a hand on her hat to keep it in place as she nodded. “I’m told she had to sleep beside some of them.”
Were they talking about Emilia? How last night’s raid of the red-light district meant she’d shared a cell with prostitutes until their owners paid the fine to get them out?
“I think we should pray she’s able to find a good husband.” Mac couldn’t tell who had spoken because Miss Fisk’s voluminous hat blocked his view. “Or that the Lord provides her and her siblings a way back home.”
Mac’s blood heated. They were talking about Emilia. Did the bigmouths think they fooled God by calling gossip a prayer need?
“Yes. Let’s pray she can go home where no one knows what happened here and she can start fresh.” The words Mrs. Watson chose to emphasize left no doubt that Emilia would not be welcome in church or the community after she was released from jail.
“Shh.” Mrs. Hess, a woman as scrawny as her husband was rotund, cast a furtive glance at Mac.
All heads turned his way. “If you ladies are discussing Mrs. Collins, I’m sure she’ll find there are plenty of reasonable men in Helena who will recognize her complete innocence in all these misfortunes and be perfectly willing to marry such an amiable and beautiful woman.”
Applause greeted his speech. Mac twisted around to see Jakob and Isaak Gunderson, Doc Abernathy, and Mrs. Hollenbeck clapping and nodding.
His cheeks heated. “That’s enough.”
Isaak stepped forward and cuffed Mac on the shoulder. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard pass your lips.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes it’s good to use full sentences.” Turning his back on the gibbering women, Mac joined his friends.
After exchanging pleasantries, he suggested they find a private place to talk. Reverend Neven agreed to let them use his office as long as they didn’t miss the start of service. Mac followed the group of Emilia’s friends who were working to set her free into the pastor’s office and shut the door. Bookshelves lined three of the four walls and the fourth had two windows overlooking the field where the basket auction had taken place.
Mac opened both to allow a breeze and cut the scent of old leather and decaying paper. “What’s the latest?”
Mrs. Hollenbeck’s smile wilted. “It’s not good on my end. Judge Gilpatrick is holding firm on keeping the poor dears until Monday morning. I don’t think he’s planning on running for reelection, so my influence is sadly lessened.”
Doc Abernathy nodded, his bald head shiny and pale. “Afraid he was quite put out by Judge Forsythe overstepping his bounds in ordering the arrest warrant last Thursday.”
“Then he ought to be in his office instead of eating fritters at The Last Chance Café.” Jakob’s criticism was fair. “I don’t see you”—he waved a hand in Mac’s general direction—“turning petty over jurisdictional nonsense.”
“We must remember, dear�
��—Mrs. Hollenbeck put a hand on Jakob’s forearm—“like Marshal Valentine, Judge Gilpatrick’s jurisdiction is the city, while Sheriff McCall and Judge Forsythe’s are not.”
“Though we don’t have to like it.” Isaak grinned at whatever it was he found clever in his comment. “Like?” he hinted. “We don’t have to like that Valentine and Gilpatrick have jurisdiction even though the comparison between . . . never mind. It’s not funny if I must explain it.” He looked at Mac. “Madame Lestraude continues to refuse to show me her deed of trust. I had to confess that, because Jakob’s offer to buy the ranch was for more than our father authorized—”
“Even though he’ll be happy to do so once we reach him.” Jakob glared at his brother.
“We must confirm the price with him before we can legally submit an offer.” Isaak’s voice was as cool as Jakob’s had been heated. “Until then, I won’t be able to pry the deed of trust out of her so we can see whether it was forged.”
“Me either.” Mac’s two attempts had ended with an embarrassing thud when he landed on his backside in the street courtesy of his mother’s burly bodyguard. His one consolation was seeing Quinn receive the same treatment—and he’d only wanted her to corroborate Luci’s story about Dunfree. Madame Lestraude had yelled out her window that any law officer who wanted to speak with her would have to arrest her.
Quinn was working on it.
“I have something.” Doc Abernathy raised his hand as if he were in school. “Marshal Valentine asked me to provide an inventory of my medical supplies. I was hoping you’d know why.”
Mac tapped a finger against his lips. “The coroner took Dunfree’s body away before I saw it, so I don’t know if he was stabbed—”
Mrs. Hollenbeck gasped.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Mac took her by the arm and led her to the overstuffed wingback chair behind the pastor’s desk.
“I’m allowing you to pamper me only because I worked overlong in my garden yesterday.” She snapped open a black lace fan and sank onto the green leather. “Do not feel you must moderate your language too much on my account.”