Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01]

by From a Distance

  She could see him assimilating the information, piecing it together with whatever he’d learned that morning.

  “So let me get this straight, Miss Westbrook. You found a dead man, and then you just left him there.”

  It wasn’t an accusation per se, yet disbelief clipped his tone. “But we weren’t gone for long. No more than an hour . . . or two, at the most.”

  “And where did you go?”

  “On up the mountain.”

  His smile held understanding. “I’m trying to establish why you went on up the mountain.”

  Elizabeth sped her thoughts forward, feeling the sudden need to critique them as she went. “As it turns out, there’s an odd coincidence linking our experience to what you found this morning. . . . I was on my way to see Travis Coulter in order to gain his permission to take photographs of his land.” The statement was met with silence and the silence begged to be filled, despite something telling her not to. “If I know that a piece of land is privately owned, I always try and seek out the owner’s approval before taking photographs.” She offered a smile. “Consider it courtesy of the trade.”

  “That’s very kind of you. And just how did you know that that land belonged to Coulter?”

  She blinked. “I gained that information from a visit to the land and title office.” She could just see Wendell Goldberg sitting back in his chair, shaking his head over how much she was divulging. “One of my first stops when I visit a town like Timber Ridge is to familiarize myself with the surroundings. And in your town’s case, I wanted to see where the hot springs and the waterfalls were located. Those make gorgeous landscapes, as I’m sure you can imagine.” In her mind, Goldberg’s eyes lit with pride.

  “I’m sure they do. I’d like to see some of your photographs sometime, Miss Westbrook, as would my sister. Remember, she’s still planning on Saturday’s visit.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’m looking forward to it too.”

  “You seem to enjoy what you do, Miss Westbrook. I can see the excitement in your eyes when you talk about it.” He briefly glanced past her. “Do you think you’d recognize the body you saw yesterday, if you were to see it again?”

  “I’m certain I would.”

  He paused. “And do you think you could show me the exact location where you and Josiah found it?”

  “Absolutely. We’d be happy to.”

  “Did anyone see you or Josiah, Miss Westbrook? Did you pass anyone on the way?”

  “No, there was no one.”

  “You’re certain?”

  She nodded, then thought of something. “I did see someone from my window last night. He was standing in the alleyway below, opposite the boardinghouse.”

  His brow furrowed. “Did you recognize him?”

  She shook her head, then described the sequence of events.

  “And how do you think this relates to what we found this morning?”

  “It probably doesn’t. I just thought I should tell you in case it did.”

  Again that smile. Then he glanced in the direction of the coroner’s office. “For now, the only thing that remains is for you and Josiah to view the body. I don’t like putting you in this situation, but with what you’ve shared, I don’t see any way around it. Then if you’d be so kind as to retrieve your equipment, we’ll ask you to take a photograph for Mr. Carnes’s files.”

  He gestured for her to precede him and they walked toward the coroner’s office. Josiah and Mr. Carnes joined them on the way.

  When they got to the door, Mr. Carnes went on inside but McPherson turned back. “Mr. Birch, would you wait out here for us? I’d like to speak to Miss Westbrook first. I’ll return in a minute.”

  “I wait right here for you, Sheriff, sir.”

  Not wanting to, Elizabeth followed McPherson inside.

  19

  The past twenty-four hours had not been kind to Mr. Travis Coulter. But at least now Elizabeth knew why no one had been at home in the cabin. If she’d had a handkerchief with her, she would have covered her mouth and nose. The odors in the room could probably be attributed more to the routine duties performed in this office than the body, but she couldn’t be sure.

  An eerie sense of déjà vu crept into the room. She swallowed. “It’s the same man.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded.

  She didn’t know why, but she was more skittish viewing the body today than she had been yesterday. And it took her a moment to realize why. Yesterday the man had simply been dead. But today, he’d been murdered. Didn’t the body being moved indicate that?

  “Is there anything about him that looks different to you, Miss Westbrook? Any new marks on his body? On the clothing?”

  The complexion was grayer than she remembered, which served as ample motivation for her to focus on other distinguishing factors. His boots looked the same, his pants, his shirt. The same girth around his middle . . . “I don’t see any difference at all. I’m sorry.”

  McPherson gestured. “Did you happen to notice if Coulter was wearing a gun yesterday?” He slipped his own pistol from the holster on his hip. “Coulter carried a Remington single action revolver with a walnut grip. His had some fancy engraving along here”—he ran a finger along the barrel—“and on the chamber. It had pearl inlays on the sides of the grip too. He was real proud of it.”

  Carnes snorted. “He was a fool about that thing, is what he was. Showed it off every chance he got.”

  Elizabeth looked back at the empty holster on Coulter’s body and tried to recall the picture she’d seen through the lens. Slowly, she nodded. “I do remember seeing a gun, though I couldn’t tell you if it was as you described. Perhaps Josiah will remember more.”

  McPherson nodded. “That’s real good, ma’am. It helps, thank you.” He motioned to Carnes, who first draped a sheet over the body and then busied himself with mixing something in a bowl on a table in the corner.

  McPherson gently took hold of her arm, much as he’d done with his sister in the store that day when she’d first seen them, and led her toward the door. Looking out the window, he exhaled—part sigh, part groan. Elizabeth followed his gaze and realized what—or rather, who—had inspired the reaction.

  Coming up the street, like a man on a mission, was Drayton Turner. She hadn’t thought about it before now, but she was surprised the editor of Timber Ridge’s illustrious newspaper wasn’t already on the scene, snooping for a story. Though she hardly knew him, she knew his type from years of experience, and could well guess what was in store for McPherson.

  “He seems eager to speak with you, Sheriff.”

  McPherson gave a shake of his head. “You mean eager to speak with me again. He was already here first thing. Drayton Turner’s an eager sort of fella. Typical newspaper man—always after a story. Whether one’s there or not.”

  He wasn’t looking at her, so Elizabeth didn’t feel a need to guard her reaction. “That’s a good thing, I’d think. For him to be ambitious in that way, since he’s running a newspaper.”

  “Oh, I’m not faulting him for his ambition, ma’am. There’s nothing wrong with that. Except when he goes for the trigger too soon and prints something that’s not accurate. Which has been my unfortunate experience with those kinds of folk in the past.”

  “Those kinds of folk.” Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. “I would imagine it’s hard to get all the facts straight all of the time. Surely Mr. Turner offers to retract any inaccuracies.”

  “He does. On the back page. A day later.” He turned to her. “But the harm’s already been done by then, now, hasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’m of the opinion, Miss Westbrook, that it’s best not to speculate when it comes to the truth. Best to wait until you’ve weighed all the facts; otherwise you can kick up a lot of dust for no reason.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t serve a newspaper’s deadlines. Or Turner’s desire to sell more copies.”

  “But wouldn’t you agr
ee that sometimes it’s difficult to know what the truth is? It may not always be what’s staring you right in the face. Especially when there may be more than one version of it.”

  “Ah, but that’s just it. There can’t be different versions. Truth is constant. A person’s perspective might be skewed, but that doesn’t change what the truth is. All it means is that a particular person is . . . mistaken, for whatever reason.”

  She held his gaze, wondering how the conversation had turned so philosophical. “I couldn’t agree more . . . for whatever reason.” She smiled to lighten the moment.

  The look McPherson gave her made her think of Daniel Ranslett, though she couldn’t place why.

  The door opened. “Sheriff, I’d hoped you’d still be here. I’m wondering if Carnes has confirmed how—” A smile accompanied Drayton Turner’s surprise. “Miss Westbrook, how nice to see you again, ma’am.”

  She tilted her head in greeting, wondering at his hat. “And you, Mr. Turner.”

  “You’re keeping that camera of yours busy, I hear.”

  She didn’t know quite how to respond.

  “Mullins tells me you’ll be at his store this weekend, taking photographs.”

  “Oh . . . yes. He and his wife were kind enough to ask me, and I agreed. I just hope someone shows up, so they’re not disappointed.”

  “Don’t you worry about the people of Timber Ridge, Miss Westbrook.” Turner glanced at papers lying beside him on a table, then turned his head slightly as though trying to read what was written. McPherson flipped the pages over. Turner’s smile just deepened. “They’ll be lined up in their Sunday best. Mullins already has signs posted in his front window.”

  She tried not to stare at Drayton Turner’s hat—a feathered bowler that would have been considered the height of style back east. But in this rustic setting, it seemed out of place. Yet somehow it still suited his personality, and lack of discretion.

  He fingered the hat’s rim as though aware of her thoughts, then cast a glance at McPherson. Elizabeth could only interpret his look as puzzlement over why she was present.

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” She addressed McPherson, knowing she would also answer Turner’s silent query. “If you’re agreeable, I’ll go get my equipment and be back shortly.”

  “I’ll go with you,” McPherson offered.

  She shook her head, realizing that he would probably rather go with her than stay and answer Turner’s questions. “Thank you, but Josiah will help me. After you meet with him, of course.” She moved to the door, where Turner intercepted her.

  “Miss Westbrook, if you’re already taking a photograph of the body, might I impose upon you to make a copy of it for the Reporter?”

  “I’ll be happy to. If that’s all right with the sheriff. . . .”

  Looking none too pleased, McPherson nodded as he opened the door and motioned for Josiah to join him inside. “We won’t be long, Miss Westbrook.”

  Apprehension showed in Josiah’s features, and she willed him not to be nervous as she walked outside, aware of Turner following her. She took a few steps on the boardwalk and breathed in the fresh air. The temperature had climbed. “Tell me, Mr. Turner, does it always smell of fresh pine in this town?”

  He sniffed. “I guess it does. You get used to it after a while.”

  “Mmmm . . . I don’t think I would.” Glancing his way, she decided to give him some of his own medicine. “What caused you to move out here, Mr. Turner? Why did the adventuresome editor choose the untamed west?”

  “The truth?”

  “Absolutely, and it’ll be off the record.” She winked.

  “My wife decided she didn’t want to be married to me anymore. The newspaper life wasn’t for her. Or I wasn’t. One of the two. Maybe both.” He held her gaze. “How’s that for truthfulness, Miss Westbrook. Whether on or off the record.”

  “I—” She searched for something to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

  His laughter broke the tension. “I’m only kidding, Miss Westbrook. You’re far too gullible, but the trait becomes you.”

  Elizabeth smiled but didn’t share his humor.

  “I came out for the same reason everyone else did. To start fresh. To live in the Wild West before civilization catches up with it and tames it to boredom. Speaking of which . . . I’m still waiting for some of your photographs, ma’am. To publish in the Reporter.”

  She mentally flipped through the pictures she’d taken, realizing she’d been delinquent in cataloging them. “I did take one this week that you might be interested in. If you like children.”

  “I’m actually not too fond of them.”

  She stared, her brow raised. This man had to be Wendell Goldberg’s twin separated at birth. “Well, then you probably won’t be interested in this one.”

  “When I gave you counsel to branch out from your normal landscapes, I wasn’t thinking of children but rather something with a little more risk, Miss Westbrook.”

  She thought of the photograph currently on its way to Goldberg. “I’ll try and work harder on that in the future, Mr. Turner.”

  The door opened behind her, and she heard Josiah’s voice before she saw him.

  “You got any more questions, sir, you just let me know.”

  “I’ll do that, and I appreciate your time, Josiah.”

  Josiah exited the building with McPherson, appearing decidedly more relaxed than before. Elizabeth gathered from his demeanor that the conversation with the sheriff had yielded no new information.

  “Miz Westbrook, how ’bout I head on to the livery and pick up Moonshine. Meet you back over at the boardin’ house?”

  “Thank you, Josiah. I won’t be long.”

  Josiah took the stairs from the boardwalk leading to the street at a quick jaunt.

  Turner stepped forward. “You ready for me, Sheriff?”

  “As I’ll ever be, Turner.” Playful sarcasm framed McPherson’s response and drew a smirk from Turner.

  “Our sheriff here doesn’t hold my newspaper in very high regard, ma’am.”

  “That’s not true and you know it.” McPherson pushed the door open wider. “At times, I think I hold it in higher regard than you do.”

  Having no desire to get into the middle of their war of words, Elizabeth retreated a step. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll be back shortly with my camera.”

  “One last thing, Miss Westbrook.” Turner tucked his pencil in his pocket. “Would this afternoon be convenient for me to stop by and get the photograph from you? I’d like to use it in tomorrow’s edition, if possible.”

  Knowing she would have wanted the same thing if she were in his position, she nodded. “Certainly. Give me until after dinner and then stop by. Will that work?”

  “Like a charm, ma’am. Thank you.” Turner walked on inside. From where she stood, she could hear him begin to pepper Mr. Carnes with questions.

  She was almost to the stairs leading to the street when she felt a touch on her arm. She turned to find McPherson staring down, his expression inscrutable.

  “There’s something you need to be aware of, Miss Westbrook, and I didn’t want to say anything in front of Turner, for obvious reasons.” A woman and child walked by. He tipped his hat, sheriff ’s smile at the ready. “Mrs. Grady, little Caroline, how are you ladies today?” He waited for them to pass before continuing. “Josiah had a run-in with the deceased a while back at the livery.”

  “Yes, he’s already told me all about it, Sheriff, when we found the man’s body.” Seeing the opportunity, she seized it. “Josiah is an honest man, Sheriff. Granted, I haven’t known him long, but I believe him to be a man of outstanding integrity and character.”

  “And I’m not here to argue that. But I’m wondering . . . did Josiah tell you that Coulter threatened his life that day?”

  Hesitant, she shook her head.

  “Coulter promised to kill him. My deputy was outside the livery and saw and heard everything.
Josiah controlled himself admirably, especially after Coulter came after him with that hammer. My deputy says Josiah fended him off, holding him by the throat at arm’s length. Coulter struggled to get at him, mad as a hornet.”

  Elizabeth could picture it well and felt immense pride in Josiah’s restraint.

  “After Coulter left, my deputy made sure Josiah was all right. And he was. But he was angry too, and rightly so. It was what he said to my deputy that gives me pause today, ma’am . . . Josiah told him that he’d had a hard time not just snapping that little white man’s neck clean in two.”

  The way the sheriff said it, Elizabeth could hear Josiah’s voice.

  “Problem is, a couple of other men in the livery heard Josiah say it too. I went and visited both of them right after, because I knew how they felt about Negroes. And I knew they’d side with Coulter if it ever came to something—no matter that they didn’t like the man.”

  “But you can’t fault Josiah for his reaction, understanding what had been done to him. Can you?”

  “I don’t fault him at all, ma’am. I’m sure I wouldn’t have handled it nearly so well. I’m saying all this to make you aware of what happened, since Josiah’s working for you. And to let you know that there are people in this town who know what Josiah said, and they don’t hold kindly to Negroes. That’s why I don’t favor putting a picture of a dead body in the paper. I’m afraid it might stir things up that would be best left alone.”

  Elizabeth considered this, seeing both sides of this issue, as well as the overall issue in a broader scope. Maybe more clearly now than she ever had. “I understand what you’re saying, but what am I supposed to do? Take the photograph, or not?”

  “You take the photograph like you’ve agreed to do, and we’ll see how things fall out. Pictures don’t lie, Miss Westbrook, so I don’t fear them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even though you’re only here doing this as a hobby, what you’ve brought to Timber Ridge is the future. And it’s coming, whether we want it to or not. What I fear isn’t your lens, ma’am. It’s what a handful of people will do when they see that picture without knowing the full story. And the conclusions they might jump to without taking the time to learn the whole truth.”