by Amanda Cabot
At least the funeral was over. Now all that remained was another hour or so of people helping themselves to the cold collation while they shared memories of Bertha Henderson’s life and speculation about the ending of it. Fortunately, Lydia didn’t have to overhear the latter. As soon as they’d returned from the cemetery, she’d secreted herself in the kitchen, ostensibly because Opal needed help serving the food. Travis suspected the real reason was that Lydia had no desire to be the object of the town’s scorn. The people who’d been so welcoming less than a week ago had withdrawn their support, reverting to cold suspicion.
“When are you gonna read Bertha’s will?” Pa asked. He’d been circulating among the guests, his frown deepening with each encounter.
“I thought I’d wait until tomorrow.” Though Pa had no way of knowing it, Bertha’s will would undoubtedly become another point of contention, especially when the extent of her fortune became common knowledge.
“Why wait? You’ve got the whole family here. Waiting will only increase the speculation.”
Pa had a point. And since Travis had kept the will in his coat pocket all day, there was no need to return to his office for it. “All right. Would you gather Jacob, Mary, Catherine, and the Gospels? Ask them to wait in the library.”
“That’s all? Charles won’t be happy that he’s not included.”
Travis doubted Uncle Charles would be happy about anything unless he were the sole recipient of Aunt Bertha’s fortune. “Aunt Bertha was very specific about who would hear her will. Only those who are mentioned are to be in the room. The reason I asked you to get the others is that you’re part of the group.”
Pa looked surprised but pleased. “We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I always admired Bertha. She dealt with misfortune better than most of us.” He squared his shoulders. “I’ll have everyone ready in five minutes.”
That would give Travis the time he needed. He crossed the room, then drew Edgar aside. “There may be some unhappy people, both inside the library and out here.”
His deputy nodded. “That’s only natural. Mrs. Henderson was well liked.”
“I wasn’t talking about sorrow. I’m going to read her will. I imagine some will be disappointed by the contents. I can take care of them, but when folks realize what’s happening, others will be angry that they’re not mentioned at all. Do whatever you need to keep order here.”
Edgar nodded again and touched his gun belt. “I’m ready.”
And so was Travis. Almost. Pa and the others he’d listed were gone. As he’d predicted, Uncle Charles was furious, his face red, his fists clenched. Travis turned back to Edgar. “Under no circumstances is Charles Gray to join me.”
“Understood.”
There was only one more person to summon. Travis made his way to the kitchen and found her washing dishes with Opal. “Lydia, I need you to come with me.” The words sounded harsher than he’d intended, more of a command than a request. But the truth was, it was a command.
She turned, obviously surprised. “Where? Why?”
“You’ll see.” As she dried her hands, he added, “It’ll be all right. I promise.” He would do whatever he had to do to ensure that was one promise he kept.
As they entered the library, Travis heard the small gasps when everyone saw the woman at his side, but only Aunt Mary reacted.
“If she’s here, my husband deserves to be here too.”
“I’m afraid not. Now please sit down, Aunt Mary.” Travis waited until Lydia took the only empty chair, one that unfortunately placed her next to Aunt Mary. If he’d thought ahead, he might have asked Pa to save a seat, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to realize Lydia was included until the last minute.
Pulling the document from his pocket, Travis looked at the attendees, waiting until he’d made eye contact with each of them before he said, “I’ve brought you all here for the reading of Aunt Bertha’s will. I expect you will have questions, but I ask that you say nothing until I’ve finished.”
There was another quiet murmur before everyone fell silent.
Travis opened the pages and began to read. “I, Bertha Amelia Henderson, née Bertha Amelia Russell, being of sound mind do hereby declare that this is my last will and testament.” As Travis continued reading, he heard murmurs of astonishment at the extent of Bertha’s wealth. She had divided a quarter of it among the surviving members of the second generation and the children of those who had predeceased her. Even split eight ways, it was still a substantial sum. Even Aunt Mary seemed pleased until Travis read the final line.
“I bequeath the remainder of my estate, including my home and its contents, to Lydia Victoria Crawford, who brought joy and peace to my final months on Earth.”
There was a second of silence. Travis saw the shock on Lydia’s face as she realized that she was now a wealthy woman. The others, with the exception of Pa and Catherine, looked dumbfounded. Whatever they had expected, it was not for an outsider to receive the majority of Aunt Bertha’s sizeable estate.
The Gospels looked at each other, their discomfort apparent, though they said nothing. Aunt Mary was the first to regain her voice. She leapt from her seat and pointed an accusatory finger at Lydia. “You scheming hussy! You worked your way into her graces and then you killed her!”
29
Lydia stared at the woman who, until recently, had always been polite to her. She couldn’t blame Mrs. Gray for the accusation. Aunt Bertha’s generous—almost unbelievable—bequest gave Lydia a strong motive for killing her. She already had the opportunity. Everyone in town knew she was the only person who made candy, and the family was well aware that she was the one who administered Aunt Bertha’s digitalis. No jury would believe she was innocent.
Lydia rose and turned to face the people who were serving as her jury today. Other than Travis, who had never taken a seat, and Mary Gray, who remained standing, they were all seated: five with expressions that clearly condemned her, only two friendly. It was almost ironic that Travis’s father, who’d regarded Lydia as the enemy for as long as she’d been in Cimarron Creek, had become an ally.
“I didn’t know about Aunt Bertha’s will,” she said firmly. It was likely no one would believe that any more than they would believe her innocence, but she had to set the record straight. “Aunt Bertha never said a word.”
Mary Gray fisted her hands on her hips and glared at Lydia. “She wasn’t your aunt. It’s unseemly of you to speak of her that way.”
Travis shook his head and moved to stand next to Lydia. “First of all, I was there when Aunt Bertha insisted that Lydia call her by that name, but how she referred to her is hardly the issue here. What Lydia said is true. She had no idea she was even mentioned in Aunt Bertha’s will, much less that she was the major beneficiary. Aunt Bertha changed her will less than a month ago and insisted on total secrecy.”
Though some of the others appeared to accept Travis’s statement, Mary Gray was clearly unconvinced. “She must have known. You must have told her. Why, I’ll bet that’s why you decided to marry Lydia, so you would get Aunt Bertha’s fortune. You two schemed together to kill her.”
Lydia didn’t wait for Travis to respond. “I didn’t kill Aunt Bertha, and neither did Travis.” Though she kept her voice low and calm, Lydia would not accede to Mary Gray’s insistence that she call Aunt Bertha Mrs. Henderson. “I loved her as if she were my own grandmother.” It was clear that no one, with the exception of Travis, his father, and Catherine, believed her, but Lydia had to say it one more time.
Mary Gray shook her head. “Lies. All lies. It’s clear as can be that this greedy Northerner is just like the carpetbaggers. She came here to rob us, and she did.”
The woman who had once been one of Lydia’s best customers glared at Travis’s father, perhaps hoping he would support her. When he said nothing, she turned to his son. “You’d better arrest her, Sheriff.” She spat the last word, turning Travis’s title into an epithet. “Arrest her, if you’re man enough
to do it.” Shifting slightly, Mary addressed the others. “My husband shouldn’t have stopped Porter when he wanted to run for office. Our son would have been a much better sheriff than this one. If he’d been in charge, Aunt Bertha would still be alive.”
Though the logic of that statement escaped Lydia, she heard a murmur of assent and hated the fact that people were questioning Travis’s abilities. He was a good sheriff; Lydia knew that.
“You may be right, Aunt Mary.” Though his words were conciliatory, his tone was pure steel. “The fact is, Porter is not the sheriff of Cimarron Creek. I am, and I know what I have to do.” He looked around the room, fixing his gaze on each member of his family. “This meeting is adjourned. Catherine, would you please show everyone out? When they’re gone, ask Edgar to come here. Lydia, you need to stay.” There was no warmth in his voice, simply resolution, as Travis the sheriff took precedence over Travis her fiancé.
When the others had left, Lydia turned to Travis. “What are you going to do?”
He countered with a question of his own. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do. I would never have agreed to marry you if I didn’t.” Travis looked so serious that she wondered where he was leading. Did he want to break their engagement because of all the accusations? He’d told her once that the Whitfields and Hendersons felt strongly that the family names not be besmirched. A fiancée whom the town believed to be a murderer was nothing to brag about.
Though her heart ached at the thought, she had to make the offer. “Do you want me to release you from our engagement?”
Travis looked as if she’d struck him. “Never! But I need you to trust that what I’m about to do is for your benefit.”
As if on cue, Edgar entered the library. Travis nodded at him. “Now that you’re here, we can make this official. Lydia Crawford, you are under arrest.”
“That was a good move, son. I’m proud of you.”
Travis looked at the man seated across the breakfast table from him, surprised but pleased by his father’s approval. This was the first time they’d had a chance to talk since Travis had locked the woman he loved in the town’s sole jail cell. Though Opal had cooked the meal as she did each morning, she’d left the kitchen as soon it was ready, claiming she’d eaten earlier when she’d taken food to the jail for Edgar and Lydia. Now she was heading to Cimarron Sweets to check on something for Lydia.
“I hated to do it, but it was the only way I could keep her safe,” Travis told his father. “Uncle Charles was angry before the will was read. There’s no telling what he’s like now that he knows how much Lydia inherited. I wouldn’t put it past him to take justice in his own hands.”
Pa nodded as if he agreed. “Did you tell Lydia that?”
“Sure did. She took it better than I expected. She even said this would give us a chance to figure out who really killed Aunt Bertha. We both think the murderer may become careless now that Lydia’s in jail.”
“Lydia’s a smart woman. Brave too.” Pa took another forkful of scrambled eggs as if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. It was only Travis who stopped chewing, astonished by his father’s words.
“Even though she’s a Northerner?”
Pa shrugged. “I won’t deny that I’d rather you marry a Texan, but as far as Yankees go, Lydia’s not bad.”
That was high praise—very high praise—coming from the man who only a few weeks ago had referred to Lydia as the Cursed Enemy. Travis had no idea what had caused the change in Pa’s attitude, but he wasn’t complaining.
He swallowed the last of his coffee, plunking the mug on the table and preparing to rise. “It’s time I got back to her. We’ve got a murderer to catch.”
To Travis’s surprise, Pa shook his head. “Before you go, I have a question for you.” Whatever it was, it was making Pa uncomfortable. That was almost as remarkable as the way he’d complimented Lydia.
“Sure.” Travis leaned back in the chair, hoping his relaxed posture would allay whatever concerns were causing Pa’s obvious discomfort. “What’s up?”
Pa cleared his throat and stared at the far wall for a second before meeting Travis’s gaze. “You once told me I’d have a home with you for the rest of my life. Is that offer still open?”
The day had just become stranger. “Yes, of course, but . . .” What had happened to the man who’d declared he would never share a home with any Northerner? He must know that Lydia’s time in jail would be brief and that when she was once again free, Travis intended to marry her.
“I had a lot of time to think on that stagecoach.” Pa took another slug of coffee, his expression solemn. “I kept remembering Aunt Bertha and what she said after you came back from Ladreville. She told me there was nothing worse than losing a child, that she should have been stronger and not let Joan leave.”
Pa set the mug on the table and leaned toward Travis. “It’s too late for Bertha, but it made me realize I don’t want to face my Maker with regrets like hers. You’re a fine man, Travis. I don’t agree with everything you do, but I have to accept the fact that it’s your life and you need to live it as you see best.” Pa reached across the table and laid his hand on Travis’s. “Will you let me stay?”
“Of course.” As Travis squeezed his father’s hand, his heart overflowing with gratitude, he gave a silent prayer of thanks. Aunt Bertha was right in believing Romans 8:28. Something good had come from the tragedy of her death. The proof was sitting across the table from Travis.
Life in a jail cell was worse than she’d imagined. Lydia frowned as she looked at her new home. The cot that served as both her bed and the cell’s only seating was hard and uncomfortable. The window was so high that the only way she could see out of it was to stand on the cot. She’d tried that once, but when the cot began to wobble, Lydia had decided that a glimpse of freedom wasn’t worth the risk of being injured, and she resigned herself to boredom.
Though Catherine and Opal had visited her, and Travis spent as much time here as he could, there were still hours with nothing to do but read. Oddly, though books had once been her refuge, Lydia found herself unable to concentrate on the written word.
It was not pleasant being in jail. Besides the small and uncomfortable surroundings, there was the absence of privacy. Admittedly, Travis and Edgar did their best. They hung a blanket over the bars at night so Lydia could sleep without being observed, and they’d gone outside when it was time for her morning ablutions. The worst part was the lack of freedom. Lydia hadn’t realized how much she would miss being able to go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. If it chafed on her when she’d been here less than a day, what would it be like if she had to spend weeks here? The only good thing Lydia could say was that being here gave her time with Travis. The problem was, they still had no idea who might have wanted Aunt Bertha dead.
“Thanks, Edgar,” Travis said as he entered the sheriff’s office. “I’ll take over now.”
As Edgar gave Travis a brief report of what had occurred overnight, Lydia watched the man she loved. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that he was more relaxed this morning, and yet that made no sense. She was still locked in this cell, they were no closer to finding the killer, and Opal had reported a minor problem at the candy store.
“Did something happen?” Lydia asked when Edgar left. “You look different today.”
Travis nodded, the happiness shining from his eyes leaving no doubt that what had transpired had been good. “It was as close to a miracle as I’ve ever seen. My father and I actually had a civil conversation. The bottom line is, he’s staying here.”
As relief washed over her, Lydia felt tears prick her eyes. “Oh, Travis, I’m so happy for you.” She had prayed for an end to the men’s estrangement, and her prayers had been answered.
Travis pulled his chair close to the cell and extended his hand through the bars, giving hers a quick squeeze. “I’ll be happier when I can let you out of here. You know how much I hate seeing you in a cell. But let’s not
talk about that. Why don’t you tell me why you looked preoccupied when I came in?”
Lydia hadn’t thought anyone would notice. “It’s nothing serious. When Opal stopped at Cimarron Sweets to make sure everything was okay, she saw a mouse. We were trying to decide what to do. She suggested getting a cat, but I’m afraid the cat hair would stick to the candy. Much as I hate the idea of any kind of poison in the store, I think that’s what we need.”
Travis nodded. “You’ll sprinkle it on the floor, so it won’t be near the candy.”
“I know. It’s just that the thought of any poison makes me cringe.” The majority of Cimarron Creek believed she had deliberately poisoned Aunt Bertha.
“That’s understandable, but you need to get rid of the mice. I’ll stop by the apothecary this morning and see if Warner still has that last bag of rat poison. In the meantime, let’s see if we can find something happier to discuss.”
Lydia nodded. “I wish we could. All I can think about is Aunt Bertha.”
Travis’s expression left no doubt that he concurred. “I keep telling myself we must have missed a clue.”
“And I keep wondering if we’re asking the wrong question.”
He blinked in surprise. “What do you mean? What question could there be other than who killed Aunt Bertha?”
Unable to sleep, Lydia had found herself pacing the cell last night, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.