“Since Father’s spell, he’s been unable to work. I thought marrying Edward would give us the money to save the business. That has not materialized as I expected. A . . . er . . . a family friend is helping Father at the mill, but I don’t see how that can be a long-term solution. I’d like to find employment, at least until Edward returns and perhaps we can better fund my parents. At the very least, I don’t wish to be a burden on them.”
Taking a sip of water, his eyes never left hers. He handed his salad plate to the waiter to make room for the entrée. “And when is this Edward Pierrepont returning?”
“I don’t know.”
His fork froze, pinning the filet to his plate. “Being a judge, and a lawyer before that, taught me that to find the correct answer, one must ask the correct questions. Did he tell you to expect his return?”
She slid her hands under the table and picked at her fingernails. “On the contrary, I’m to forget him. He said perhaps he’d find me someday, but he left little hope that his plans included a reunion.” She shrugged, opened her mouth to say more, and then closed it again.
“And so you bravely carry on and pretend your rich husband will return at any moment. After all, to share your fears for the future would strain your father’s health.”
She nodded.
“See, I am a good listener.” The older man tore a piece of bread from his roll and chewed it thoughtfully. “And yet, there’s something amiss. A family like the Pierreponts would honor their son’s commitments, even if they disapproved.”
“I’m sure they are unaware. He said at the time that he risked their displeasure, but by then we—” Molly stopped. By then she’d been compromised? She wouldn’t test Judge Rice’s unflappability. “By then our course was set.”
His silverware clicked delicately against his plate, reminding Molly that she’d yet to touch her food. Her stomach rumbled. As little as she wanted to eat, she didn’t know when or where she’d get another meal. The money Edward had left her wouldn’t last forever.
Finishing before her, Judge Rice tapped his fingers on the tabletop, as if playing an invisible piano. “Your story interests me. It’s one I’d like to do some research into, if you don’t mind. It’d be a simple thing to contact the Pierrepont family.”
“I’m not sure. We were traveling in the family coach, and it was commandeered in Cheyenne. I never saw him after that. I hope Edward is mending rifts. I hope that he’ll win their approval and then come for me, but I don’t want to interfere with his plans.”
The judge’s eyes softened. Molly didn’t like it. She knew him to be brilliant, shrewd. Of all the cases he’d presided over, all the pleas directed toward him, she didn’t like the thought that her situation merited his pity.
She pushed her plate away. “As I said, the course I choose to follow is that of the dutiful wife and daughter. My husband is beyond my assistance for a time, but my parents are not. If I heard correctly, Prue McGraw won’t be the stenographer for long. Have you found a replacement?”
“You know stenography?”
She nodded briskly. “Prue taught me.”
He looked doubtful.
Molly dug into her bag and pulled out her trusty journal. She flipped to an empty page and grasped her pencil stub. On the train, when she’d gotten bored, she’d practiced in the passenger car. She’d gained confidence since her last lessons. An ornery smile worked its way across her lips, and she even dared to wink at the old judge, earning a startled chuckle.
Next to their table sat two women, one whom Molly recognized as a local horse trader’s wife. Tuning out the background noise, she let her pencil skim the page as the ladies prattled rapidly.
“We have a hard enough time making ends meet without someone stealing our colts. They should string him up.”
“And they caught him red-handed?”
“Um-hum. Now I don’t feel an ounce of pity for him, but what about his wife? She has five children to take care of without his help.”
“He’ll be served three meals a day in jail while his family starves.”
Molly didn’t have to look to know a pitying shake of the head had accompanied the last statement.
“It’s too bad the whole family suffers.”
“Especially the children.”
When her page was half filled, Molly wordlessly slid it across to the judge. He pulled out a pair of spectacles and squinted over the curious squiggles.
“This appears to be the genuine article. Unfortunately, we have a man completing the training that would certify him as a stenographer. He might not be as skilled as you, but he’ll be certified.”
“How long before he can begin?” Molly leaned forward. Her days on the train had been filled with such uncertainty that having a place to go each morning would seem an inexplicable comfort, even if it wasn’t permanent.
“Not for a few months, but he isn’t guaranteed the job. You could perhaps intercept him—that is, if I can convince the commissioner that we’re desperate.”
Placing his napkin on the table, the man scooted his chair back. “If you aren’t otherwise engaged, we could test your services this afternoon. Sheriff Colton and I have an interview you could record for us. Transcribe the notes and have a report ready by tomorrow. I’d consider it a half day’s work, and then we’d go from there.”
Molly beamed. God hadn’t forgotten her. He’d even prepared her with the skills she needed to survive.
“An interview?” She widened her eyes. How she loved being in the know. “Another job applicant?”
The judge waved her suggestion away. “Oh no. Nothing like that. It’s a deposition with a murder suspect—and I think you know her.”
18
Cold chills ran down Molly’s back as they approached the squat stone structure. The prisoners’ friends and family were milling around the prison yard, gathering before the barred doors that lined the outside walls and waiting to visit with those detained. What did a family do when the breadwinner was removed? Could one of these women be the unfortunate mother of five she’d heard about at the restaurant? Molly hadn’t forgotten the terror of having no provider for her family. Look how desperately she’d acted.
She ducked through the entry to the jailhouse, even though the rock opening was ten feet high. Oh no. Stinky. Molly pressed a lilac-scented handkerchief to her nose to combat the dank smells of unwashed prisoners.
A cursory inspection of the room revealed no one of Molly’s acquaintance and definitely no women. A young ruffian sat on the wooden bench next to Sheriff Colton’s desk, and the two men in the iron cages had their backs turned toward the outside door. Her curiosity overpowered her fear. Having never seen someone in the state of incarceration—only manacles in the courthouse—Molly peered through the dim light. She didn’t realize she was staring until one looked over his shoulder and pulled a face at her.
“Oh!” Embarrassed, she covered her mouth before any more unplanned utterances could escape.
Sheriff Colton laughed and offered his chair to her. “So you want to try your hand at stenography? We’ll let you practice. I think you know Mrs. Tillerton.”
Easing her bustle between the arms of the sheriff’s chair, Molly didn’t even look up. “Yes, I’ve met Mrs. Tillerton, but I don’t know that she would claim my acquaintance.”
A woman’s voice sounded from the bench, tired but clear. “I haven’t met a lot of people here, but last I checked, keeping to yourself isn’t a crime.”
Molly froze. Did that boy speak to her? Confused, she looked for another possibility. There was no one else. She sputtered.
“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Tillerton. I would have spoken to you directly had I seen you.”
Buckskin clad, wearing a loose green duster and a bandanna bunched over her neck and chest, Mrs. Tillerton didn’t answer. Her hands twitched as her eyes lingered on the pistol lying on the desk in front of Molly.
“You’ll get your gun when we’re ready,” Colton said, “and no
t a moment before.”
Since entering, Judge Rice had been observing the woman from the doorway. Now he stepped forward and presented himself. Even Molly couldn’t miss her flinch as he extended his hand. Strange behavior for a woman who was brave enough to dress like a man. Molly would rather fight a mountain lion than be caught in britches, yet Mrs. Tillerton’s reaction didn’t seem to be the manner of someone who was avoiding pain, merely preparing for it.
“Mrs. Tillerton, since finding the body on your property, we’ve given you ample opportunity to come in for a deposition,” Judge Rice said. “Unfortunately, you’ve chosen to ignore our summons.”
“I told you everything I knew about it already, which is nothing.”
Her delicate features and voice were at odds with her general appearance. Colton cleared his throat and nodded at a blank pad of paper. Goodness gracious! Molly had forgotten why she was there. Pushing the pistol aside, she straightened the paper before her and caught up on the interview.
“You can’t disregard a court summons, and Sheriff Colton doesn’t appreciate having a gun pulled on him when he goes to serve court papers,” the judge said.
Mrs. Tillerton shuffled her feet, causing Molly to wonder what kind of shoes she wore. Men’s boots?
“A woman living alone doesn’t like to be caught unaware.”
Sheriff Colton spoke up, requiring Molly to use a new symbol to designate him as the speaker. “And if you’re saying it’s legal to protect your property, you’re right. It’s also legal to shoot a man to defend yourself or another person, which you did last summer.”
“I was cleared,” Mrs. Tillerton said. “There were witnesses.”
“But when another dead man is discovered on your property, we wonder if you might’ve taken protection to a criminal level,” Colton said.
The bars of the cell rattled. “I know why the poor sap was sneaking to her place. It was probably his wife that done him in.”
Molly wrote the comment before she realized it was spoken by a prisoner.
Colton hollered at the man. “Stay out of this or you won’t get your supper until it’s nice and cold.”
“If it’s your wife’s cooking, temperature can’t help it, either way. A noose won’t kill me as fast as her succotash.”
“Strike that.” Colton said to Molly as he pulled a Bible from a shelf behind her. Molly scratched through the scurrilous critique while Mrs. Tillerton took the oath, her white hand looking fragile against the large black book.
“Did you know or had you ever met Saul Nimenko?” Judge Rice asked.
“I’ve seen him around. Never spoke to him.”
The pause allowed Molly to sneak a peek at the room. Sheriff Colton was sitting on the edge of his desk but wasn’t blocking her view of Judge Rice leaning against the wall or Anne Tillerton staring at the floor.
“Why was he on your property?” That was the judge speaking.
“Can’t answer that. As far as I know, he’d never been to my place before.”
The look Colton shot Judge Rice could only be described as skeptical.
“Mrs. Tillerton, where’d you learn to shoot?” the judge asked.
“At home in Ohio. I’ve got five brothers.” She paused. “Are you telling me no one else in Caldwell County knows how to shoot?”
“Besides your husband, have you ever killed anyone?” he continued.
“Yes, sir.”
The papers Colton was sitting on rustled as he leaned forward. “Who?”
“My mother,” she whispered, “when I was born.”
The room was silent. Even the jailbirds stilled. The judge pulled at his chin. “We realize that your actions last year saved Mrs. Weston Garner’s life.” His footsteps echoed off the thick stone walls as he came closer. “And yet your behavior since that incident has been erratic, to put it mildly. You’ve been through a traumatic experience, one of the worst imaginable. It’s possible that it’d leave an impression on your psyche, perhaps arousing furies you’re unable to control. Maybe you have fears that are irrational?”
Her voice didn’t grow an iota louder, but it sounded stronger. “My fears have never been irrational. I lived with a monster, and his last act proved it. If you’re on a hunt for uncontrolled fury, find other women with bruised faces and limps and ask them. They could point you in the right direction. You won’t find any misdirected anger here.”
Such pauses followed her pronouncements that Molly would’ve had time to write the conversation out longhand. She tapped her pencil on the desk, waiting for the next wave. Sheriff Colton launched first.
“Where were you December seventeenth?”
“I don’t know. Chances are at my farm.”
“Were you aware that your property tax is overdue?” Judge Rice asked.
“No. That’s going to cause me trouble. I haven’t done too well with the cattle. It seems like I’m losing them left and right.”
“Is someone stealing from your herd?”
Anne shrugged. “I’ve got my suspicions, but they had nothing to do with Mr. Nimenko.”
“Who do you suspect?”
She scanned the cells. “You think I’m going to say right now? In front of a dozen curious ears? That wouldn’t be wise, Your Honor.”
Sheriff Colton slid off the desk. “But you are about to lose your farm. You think someone is rustling your cattle. Would you say you’ve found yourself in a desperate situation?”
Mrs. Tillerton turned gray eyes on him. “Of all the situations I’ve been in during my life, this one feels the least desperate.”
“Explain, please,” the judge said.
Molly watched as Anne pushed her bandanna away from her face. “What’s money? What’s a ranch? No one is hurting me. No one is tormenting me. It’s peaceful.”
“Could that sense of peace come from possessing a Galand-Sommerville pistol? Belgian made?” Sheriff Colton asked.
“No. Why?”
“Mrs. Nimenko swears her husband carried that model, and it wasn’t on the body.”
Anne leaned forward. “You think I wrestled Mr. Nimenko’s gun from him and shot him with it? Me?”
Colton’s nostrils flared. “I don’t know what to think, but since we have no other leads, we’re hoping that you are connected in some manner. It’d make our job much easier.”
Molly about dropped her pencil.
From the looks of it, Judge Rice was shocked, too. “That’s not what he meant to say.”
“Easier?” Mrs. Tillerton interrupted. “You hoped I was the murderer? That’s not impartiality, is it? Bring someone in and hope they don’t have an alibi?”
Colton had nothing left to say, but the men behind bars did.
“Don’t be surprised, ma’am. That’s Texas justice for ya. They decide who’s guilty so they don’t have to find the real culprit.”
The judge sighed. Straightening off the wall, he rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head.
“All things considered, we’re going to insist that you remain in custody.”
Mrs. Tillerton sprang to her feet. “In jail? You’re keeping me in jail?”
“You have no family, no ties. It’d be too easy for you to disappear.”
“And you ignored our earlier summons,” Colton said. “You’ve not cooperated up to this point.”
Mrs. Tillerton’s tough façade was crumbling. She cast a doubtful eye at the jail cells and then caught sight of her gun belt on the desk.
Colton snatched it before she could think twice. He reached over Molly to set it high on the shelf and then took the large ring of keys off their hook. The iron door screeched. Mrs. Tillerton obediently entered the empty cell, jumping when the door closed with a crash. Even the other prisoners sobered, seeming to regret her imprisonment more than their own.
Judge Rice reminded Molly once more of her assignment and made his departure. But Molly stayed. How could she leave a woman here alone? She didn’t believe for one moment that the frightened girl was
a cold-blooded killer. Had she been heartless, she wouldn’t have saved Rosa.
Before Molly could speak to her, a man’s voice rang through the open door.
“Sheriff! We need you at the cattle yard. Michael James drove a herd in with some sloppy rebranding. Someone called him on it, and he took off. They’re chasing him now.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t catch him,” he grumbled. “I’m running out of cells.”
Molly left his desk to give him access to his gear. “I’d think Michael James would be a more likely suspect for this murder than Mrs. Tillerton. You can’t hold her based solely on the location of the body.”
“Your job is to take notes, not to interfere with an investigation.” The sheriff jammed his hat on his head. He blustered to the door, took another look at Molly, and snagged the key ring before he left.
Anne had seated herself on the metal bed and turned away from the rest of the room. She wormed a shaking finger in and out of a buttonhole on her oversized coat.
Molly approached, feeling doubly foolish in her pink finery. How vain and frivolous her problems must appear to someone like Mrs. Tillerton. If only there was something she could do for her.
“I wonder if any of the cattle he brought in are yours,” Molly said.
“If Michael James rides a roan and wears a slouch hat pinned up at the side, those are my cattle. I’ve seen him lurking about.”
Molly grasped the cold bars as inspiration struck. “What if Mr. Nimenko saw him lurking about, too? What if he confronted him when he caught him rustling your cattle?”
Anne turned to face Molly, her gray eyes deadly serious. “Those are fair questions, but how are we going to prove our answer?”
19
PRAIRIE LEA, TEXAS
Nothing Bailey had experienced while assisting Reverend Stoker had prepared him for what he encountered the next day at the sawmill. News of Michael James’s theft and flight were all over town. Posses had formed to hunt for him and posters were probably being printed that very morning. What did one say to a man whose son was wanted for cattle rustling? Should he offer his condolences, or would silence be more appreciated?
Regina Jennings Page 17