A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  Mary’s face sobered. “Has something happened to Bertha?”

  “She’s not feeling well. I thought Warner might be able to help.”

  Normally soft-spoken Mary Gray turned and yelled, “Warner, come quickly!”

  Rapid footsteps answered the summons. “What’s the rush, Ma?” When Warner spotted Lydia, his demeanor changed, and he put on what she thought of as his professional mantle. Gone was the smiling man who’d tried to court her. In his place was the town’s trusted apothecary. “What’s wrong?”

  Lydia explained as best she could, concluding, “She refuses to let me summon the doctor. Is there anything you can do?”

  Warner nodded. “We’ll try digitalis. Doc Harrington doesn’t believe in it, but I keep a small quantity on hand for emergencies like this. We’ve had others in town who needed it.” His expression darkened. “Digitalis is very powerful but also very dangerous. It’s critical to take the right amount. It can work wonders on the heart, but too much can be fatal.”

  When Lydia blanched, Warner assured her he’d show her the correct dosage and how to administer it to Aunt Bertha. He grabbed his hat and turned toward the door. “I’ll get some from the store and will meet you at Aunt Bertha’s house. I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

  Warner had not exaggerated the drug’s power. Half an hour later, Aunt Bertha’s color was fully restored, and she declared her heart was beating better than it had for the past five years.

  “I feel almost young again,” she told Warner, “and if that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is.”

  “Just don’t overdo,” Warner cautioned. “I don’t want to hear about you dancing in the streets.”

  He stayed another half hour, telling Lydia he wanted to ensure there were no side effects, and for that half hour, Aunt Bertha regaled them with her usual nonstop stories, focusing on the mischief Warner, Porter, and Travis had gotten into as boys.

  “That’s enough,” Warner said, raising his hands in surrender. “If I stay any longer, Lydia will be convinced I was a ruffian.”

  Lydia gave him her warmest smile. “Never. I know you for what you are: a good man.”

  Though Aunt Bertha nodded her agreement, Lydia could see she was tiring, and insisted on helping her up the stairs to her room. “Thank you, Lydia,” she said when she was sitting in bed, propped up by two large pillows. “God knew what he was doing when he brought you to Cimarron Creek. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  18

  I can’t believe the difference in Aunt Bertha.” Catherine took another sip of tea as she contemplated the assortment of candy samples Lydia had placed in front of her. Since it was rare for Catherine to come to Cimarron Sweets, Lydia had taken advantage of the lull between customers to join her for a cup of tea in the showroom.

  “It’s been weeks since Aunt Bertha came to the house,” Catherine continued, “but she said she was feeling so well that she wanted to spend the whole afternoon with Mama. What happened?”

  When Lydia finished explaining about Aunt Bertha’s sudden weakness and the effect digitalis had on her, Catherine nodded. “Cousin Warner is a smart man. I wish he could help Mama, but the tonics he thought might strengthen her made no difference.”

  As tears welled in Catherine’s eyes, Lydia searched for something to cheer her friend. “What do you think about taking a longer than normal ride tomorrow? We could pack a picnic lunch and leave right after church.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Catherine’s smile confirmed the wisdom of Lydia’s change of subject. “I’ll fry a chicken and bring some hard-boiled eggs.” She glanced at the display case. “Do you think there’ll be any fudge left?”

  Lydia feigned indignation. “Do you think I would serve you leftover fudge? I’ll make a new batch tonight. Would you prefer plain or a flavor?”

  “Plain. That’s Mama’s favorite.” Catherine sipped the tea, then smiled as she set the cup back on its saucer. “I know the perfect place to go. I had never been there, but Nate . . .”

  As Catherine’s smile faded, Lydia knew that no matter what her friend said, she still had strong feelings for the man she had hoped to marry. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggested.

  Catherine shook her head. “It’s a wonderful spot. We’ll all enjoy being there.”

  And they did.

  “He did it. I’m sure he did.” Nate’s blue eyes, typically filled with the amusement he seemed to find in even ordinary events, were as cold as steel today. “The proof is here.”

  Travis had seen the barely banked fury when his friend had stormed into the sheriff’s office, demanding Travis accompany him back to the ranch. It had been a silent ride, but once they arrived and Travis saw what had happened, Nate’s silence had changed to bitter accusations.

  As he pointed toward the three empty yellow bags casually discarded next to the feed trough, Nate’s lips quivered ever so slightly. “That’s the poison that killed my goats.”

  It was an ugly scene. A dozen of Nate’s prized Angora goats lay on the ground, their legs stiff and bent in awkward positions, leaving no doubt that their deaths had been painful. Anger and regret rushed through Travis with equal force—anger that the animals had suffered, regret that there was nothing he could say to alleviate Nate’s distress. The goats were more than a business for Nate. He took pride in having the finest Angoras in the Hill Country and cared for them almost as if they were pets. Their deaths were an emotional as well as a financial blow for the rancher.

  “How do you know it’s poison?” Travis asked as he inspected the bags. Though there were traces of a white powdery substance in them, the bags themselves had no markings.

  “Because that’s the same kind of bag the rat poison he sold me came in.” Nate kicked a pebble, his frustration sending the small rock sailing across the pen. “I tell you, Travis, he did it. I know he’s your cousin, and I thought he was my friend, but this tells a different story.”

  Nate gave the goats another look, then turned away, as if the sight were more than he could bear. Travis understood his friend’s anger. Death, particularly senseless death, made his stomach turn. Though he could not condone it, he understood killing in the heat of anger, but to kill innocent animals made no sense.

  “You can’t let him get away with it,” Nate insisted.

  Travis turned toward the goats one last time before laying a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You can be sure I’ll talk to him. What I don’t understand is what you think Warner would gain by killing your goats.”

  Nate glared as if the answer should be obvious. “I think he wants to drive me out of town. That way he’d have less competition for Lydia’s hand.”

  Though Travis couldn’t imagine his cousin or anyone thinking Lydia would favor the suit of someone who inflicted a painful death on goats, he knew Nate didn’t want to hear that. “I thought both of you had given up on Lydia.”

  It had been a little more than a week since the dominoes game when Nate and Warner had accused Travis of courting Lydia. As far as Travis knew, neither man had approached Lydia during that time.

  “I can’t speak for Warner,” Nate said, his voice ragged with emotion, “but I haven’t given up. I was planning to ask my sister to invite her to Sunday dinner so we could spend some time together.”

  Travis had to admire the man’s persistence. “Be that as it may, you can’t honestly believe Warner would kill your goats.” His cousin was a peaceful man.

  “They’re dead, aren’t they? And that’s the poison he sells.” Nate turned and pointed to the bags. “It looks pretty clear to me who’s responsible. Do your job, Sheriff. Arrest him.”

  Travis entered the drugstore, tipping his hat to Mrs. Wilkins, who was buying another bottle of nerve tonic. When she had summoned Travis to her house to deal with the latest broken window, she had confided that the vandalism had upset her so much that she had had to resort to a patent medicine. Though Warner wasn’t convinced that the medicines were as effe
ctive as the manufacturers claimed, he stocked a variety of them and tried to steer Cimarron Creek’s residents to the better ones.

  This morning he was counseling Mrs. Wilkins on the recommended dosage and warning her about the dangers of ingesting too much. Travis could tell that the woman was paying little attention, and he hoped that the tonic was not as dangerous as Warner intimated. Dead goats were bad enough.

  As soon as Mrs. Wilkins left, Travis locked the front door, flipped the sign to “closed,” and turned toward his cousin.

  “Why’d you do that?” Warner demanded, the cordial smile he’d worn for Mrs. Wilkins vanishing.

  Travis approached the counter. As much as he hated the reason for this visit, it was his responsibility as sheriff to learn whether Nate’s suspicions were well founded. “We need to talk. I thought you might prefer doing that here rather than in my office.”

  “What’s going on?” Warner stared at Travis as if he were a stranger.

  “A dozen of Nate’s goats died last night.”

  Travis watched his cousin, wanting to see every nuance of his reaction. The shock looked genuine. “That’s unfortunate,” Warner said, his voice resonating with sincerity. “Nate must be upset. Do you know why they died?”

  “They didn’t just die. They were killed.” Again, Warner appeared honestly surprised by Travis’s announcement. “Someone gave them a hefty dose of the poison you sell in yellow bags. Nate found three empty bags next to the goats.”

  Furrows formed between Warner’s eyes. “I don’t know how that happened. I’ve only sold one bag this summer and that was to Nate. He’d been having trouble with rats in his house. I told him he ought to get a cat, but he has sneezing fits whenever he’s around one, so I ordered what he wanted: the strongest poison I could find.”

  It all sounded plausible, except for the fact that although Nate had bought only one bag, there were three empty sacks near the goats’ pen.

  “You’re sure you sold him only one bag?”

  Warner nodded.

  “When was that?”

  Though Travis had expected Warner to check his records, he answered without hesitation. “The middle of May. I remember it, because it was the day I met Lydia.” That must have been the day Nate had given her the toilet water.

  “And you haven’t sold any since then?”

  “Nope.” Warner shook his head. “I had to buy five bags, but the other four are still here. I’ll show you.” He led the way to his storeroom, gesturing toward the yellow bag on a bottom shelf. “There you go.”

  Travis crouched next to the shelf and pulled the bag out, intending to count the remaining sacks. “How do you explain this?” Though the shelf had appeared full, removing the bag revealed that the space behind it was stuffed with empty burlap sacks. Travis didn’t have to guess where the other three bags had gone. He knew.

  The blood drained from Warner’s face. “I don’t understand. Who would have done this?” Warner gestured toward the burlap filling the spot where the poison should have been.

  “Someone who didn’t want you to realize the poison was missing. Did you count the bags the day your pestle was stolen?”

  Warner shook his head. “No. The shelf looked full.”

  “So they could have been taken that night.” Or any other night, since the thief had proven he could enter the drugstore without leaving any sign. “You should probably install another set of locks.”

  Though Warner had replaced his locks at the same time as the other shopkeepers, Travis didn’t want him to take any chances. Unlike the others, Warner stocked potentially dangerous merchandise.

  “I’ll order new locks today.” Warner laid his hand on Travis’s shoulder and waited until they were face-to-face. “You don’t think I poisoned Nate’s goats, do you?”

  “No.” Travis would stake his reputation on Warner’s innocence. “But it’s also clear that whoever did wants you to take the blame.”

  Lydia tried not to sigh at the realization that she’d checked the clock at least a dozen times in the last five minutes. It was silly the way she watched it each afternoon, practically counting the minutes until Travis arrived to walk home with her. Oh, she made a show of rearranging the display of candies in the glass-fronted case, and she did her best to carry on a conversation with Opal, but the simple fact was, she was waiting for Travis.

  It was undoubtedly foolish to put such store in the time they spent together, but she couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed those few minutes each day. As they walked, they’d talk about everything from town politics and Aunt Bertha’s roses to whether Lydia should try making chocolate-covered peanuts. And while it was true that she discussed the same subjects with Catherine, that wasn’t the same. Catherine and Travis were both friends, but being with Travis was special. Lydia had never had a friend like him, one who made her nerve endings sizzle like water on a hot griddle.

  As the doorbell tinkled, Lydia smiled. He was here. She studied his face as she did each afternoon, then frowned. Opal might not have noticed, but Lydia knew Travis’s expressions well enough to know that something was wrong. Though he returned her smile, his was strained, and there were furrows between his eyes.

  “What happened?” It wasn’t much of a greeting, but the words slipped out before Lydia could censor them.

  Travis’s lips curved in a wry grin. “You haven’t heard? I thought the Cimarron Creek grapevine would have spread the news.”

  “I had the normal number of customers, but no one had anything unusual to report.” Though Lydia had been taught to deplore gossip, it appeared to be a favorite pastime of many of the women who frequented her shop.

  “I guess Nate didn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t sure what he’d do.”

  Sensing that Travis didn’t want anyone, even Opal, to overhear Nate’s story, Lydia bade her assistant farewell and led the way out the back of the store. When they were out of earshot, she turned to Travis. “What happened?”

  His lips tightened. “Someone poisoned a dozen of Nate’s goats and tried to make it look like Warner was responsible.”

  How awful! Lydia knew Nate prized his goats and that this must have been a blow to him. “I don’t understand why anyone would kill Nate’s goats. That’s just plain mean.” The fact that poison was involved meant the animals couldn’t be used for food, and it wasn’t the right season to be shearing them. The once valuable goats were now worthless. “It makes no sense, and it makes even less sense that Warner would be involved. I thought he and Nate were friends.”

  Travis gave her a wry smile. “Are you forgetting the fight at the Founders’ Day celebration? They weren’t friends then. They were rivals for your hand.”

  Lydia had hoped that everyone in town had forgotten that embarrassing moment, but at least one person hadn’t. “That was over a month ago.”

  “They both still want to court you.”

  “And I told them both I wasn’t interested in marriage.” Admittedly, Lydia had started dreaming of a husband and children again, but neither Warner nor Nate starred in those dreams.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, Travis said, “I know it will take a while for you to get over what happened with Edgar, but someday you’ll be ready to marry.”

  “Maybe, but I can’t imagine marrying either Nate or Warner.”

  Surely it wasn’t Lydia’s imagination that Travis looked pleased. “I see.” When he cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation, Lydia decided to change the subject. Since the street was empty, she didn’t need to worry about being overheard.

  “Who do you think killed the goats?” Right now that was more important than the possibility that she might one day want to marry.

  “I don’t like admitting this,” Travis said, “but I have no idea.”

  Lydia considered the goats’ deaths. In terms of severity, it was between Opal’s rape and the thefts and vandalism that had plagued the town for the last few months.

  “I wonde
r if it’s the same person who’s behind what happened to Opal and Edgar, and the thefts from the stores.”

  Though Lydia was no expert on crime, teaching had brought her into contact with a variety of people. Most had been pleasant, but one mother’s behavior had concerned Lydia enough that she’d spoken to the headmistress about her.

  “Some people have a warped sense of right and wrong,” the headmistress had said. “They’re the dangerous ones, because you never know what they’ll do.”

  Lydia wondered whether someone with a similarly twisted mind was at work here.

  Travis looked as if he’d considered and dismissed that theory. “I agree there’s likely a connection between Opal and Edgar, but I don’t see how the other crimes are related. As far as I know, Nate has never set foot in the Silver Spur, so he may have never met either Edgar or Opal, except possibly at church.”

  “But Nate’s the victim. He doesn’t have to have any connection to Opal or Edgar. If I’m right, the person who’s responsible is someone who knows him as well as Edgar and Opal.”

  They had reached Aunt Bertha’s front door, but Travis made no move to open it. Instead, though he appeared to consider Lydia’s words, he frowned.

  “That doesn’t narrow the field very much. There are a fair number of people in Cimarron Creek who fit the bill, including me.”

  Lydia blinked, surprised that Travis felt the need to say that. “But you’re not the person behind the crimes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It seemed as if he were testing her, although she had no idea why. “Of course I’m sure. You’re an honest man who’d never do any of those things. I’m as sure of that as I am of my own name.”

  Though he made no reply, Travis seemed uncomfortable with her praise. Lydia softened her voice as she said, “I’m sure of one other thing, and that’s that you need help. I balked when you advised me to hire an assistant, but you were right. Having Opal help has made my life a lot easier. I think you need to take your own advice, Travis. Hire a deputy.”