A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

“That’s where I found the first evidence of blood.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  “No, not quite, but you’re making a good first effort at avoiding the details.”

  Ridley used the napkin to dab at her mouth and then dropped it over the side of the bed so that it floated to the tray. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Now, that’s disappointing.”

  Ridley would have liked to hold his stare, but she was the first to look away. “You probably would like to know why I was carrying the scalpel.”

  “I’ll make this easier for you, Doc. I know you had a visitor last night. No, I didn’t hear anything because I went straight to the Butterworth after I left you. But I do know the surgery door was open, which suggests that you opened it for someone. A good start would be telling me who came by.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want you to do anything, at least not the thing you’ll want to do.”

  “There’s nothing about that that I like. I’m not making any promises.”

  Ridley would have been surprised if he had. “It was Jeremiah Salt.”

  Ben’s heels slid off the bedrail. He leaned forward in the rocker and rested his forearms on his knees. “Go on.”

  “He’d been drinking, but that wasn’t the problem, or not the only problem. He was having chest pains. I had to let him in. That’s when I knew for certain that he had been drinking. I gave him a teaspoonful of sodium bicarbonate because the pain he was feeling was heartburn. He refused to take the soda at first, accused me of trying to poison him. He made the same accusation against Lily. Then he went on, accusing me of spreading a rumor that he was responsible for what happened to the Fullers.”

  Ben’s head snapped back. “What?”

  “He told me that people knew he repaired the dampers on their stove and that I said he hadn’t done it correctly, and the dampers didn’t fit properly, and that’s what caused the gas to circulate back into the home. He was beside himself with fury, talking out of his head. I denied having said anything like that, but I don’t think he really heard me. He accused Mrs. Springer of the same thing. In fact, he accused all the women in town of conspiring against him. It was frightening, and there was no reasoning with him.”

  “So you took out your scalpel.”

  “I’d done that earlier, before I let him in.”

  “Jesus.” Ben pressed four fingers against his brow and rubbed. “Did it occur to you at all that maybe you shouldn’t have let him in?”

  “I thought he was going to break the door down.”

  Ben’s hand dropped away from his forehead. “Jesus,” he said again, this time more softly than before.

  “And he said he was in pain. I couldn’t ignore that. It turned out to be true. When he finally took the bicarbonate, his symptoms disappeared within minutes.”

  “All right. What happened then?”

  Now it was Ridley who rubbed her head. “I’m not certain. Some of it’s confused. I think that’s when he told me I’d better set everyone straight, take back what I’d said about the dampers, which I couldn’t convince him I never said in the first place. He kept insisting that I do something about the rumor, make it go away. There was no point in continuing to try to defend myself. I asked him if he needed help going home. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I reminded him that you were next door. I offered to get you.”

  “I see. He took exception.”

  “Mm. I didn’t know what else to do. He believed I wanted to send him to jail and that I was a threat. It seemed that he was going to make a grab for me and that’s when I took the scalpel out of my pocket. I ducked and ran for the front door. You already know I fell. I got up and kept running. I swear I didn’t know I’d cut myself.”

  “You ran toward my house.”

  “I thought you’d gone home.”

  “I wish I had.”

  She waved that aside. “Don’t start blaming yourself and making me sorry I’m telling you anything. I think I got to your front steps. It doesn’t really matter. He caught up to me and dumped me in a drift.”

  “I saw that.”

  She frowned.

  “I looked around while my mother was stitching you up. Put some things together in my mind. So I understand that when you fell, the scalpel got turned on you, but what about Jeremiah? Did he hurt you?”

  “No! No. He didn’t.” She hesitated, looked away, recalling the humiliation of having a packed handful of snow stuffed in her mouth.

  “Ridley. The truth.”

  “That is the truth. I very stupidly threw a snowball at him. He took the opportunity to get some of his own back.” She held her breath. When Ben didn’t press, she went on. “Maybe it was then that he made me promise to correct the gossip. I told you, it was confusing. That might also be when he told me to stay away from Lily. He wants you to find someone else to shovel our walks. He doesn’t want Clay anywhere near here.”

  “All right. That’s the least of it. I’ll find something else for the boy to do and someone else to do the shoveling.”

  Ridley nodded. “There’s another thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “I want you to find a way to see Lily. I have to know that she’s not been hurt. Jeremiah showed extraordinary restraint when he caught me. He’s never showed that kind of restraint with Lily. I’m afraid for Clay as well. What if Jeremiah’s motive in stopping Clay from working here has nothing at all to do with what he imagines is our influence on the boy and is simply so neither of us has an opportunity to see him?”

  “I agree with you about Lily. I’ll ask Mary Cherry to pay a call on her. That will raise the least suspicion. I’ll talk to the schoolmaster later this morning and find out if Clay attended. Now, about Jeremiah . . .” He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to say?”

  “He didn’t hurt me,” she repeated. “Yes, he shoved a handful of snow in my mouth. But truly hurt me? I panicked.”

  “Because you felt threatened.”

  “My injury was self-inflicted. An accident. Nothing more.”

  “Why are you defending him? Protecting him?”

  Ridley pressed her lips together. She breathed in through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. “I suppose you think you can say that after what I told you about my mother, but if I still had a fork in my hand, I swear I would stab you.”

  Ben glanced to where his coat lay draped over the trunk at the foot of the bed. He left the rocker to pick it up and fished in one of the pockets. He produced her scalpel. “Better than a fork,” he said, laying it gently in her lap. “Be careful you don’t hurt yourself.” He returned to the rocker and set his boot heels once again on the side rail.

  Ridley stared at the scalpel, fingered it. She set her jaw and felt a muscle jump in her cheek. “You shouldn’t tempt me.”

  “Probably not, but notice that I’m not standing within reach either.”

  “Maybe I’m good at darts.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.” She put the scalpel on the nightstand. “It still has my blood on it.”

  “Yes.” Ben cupped the back of his neck and kneaded the muscles. “Look, Ridley, when I asked you why you were protecting Jeremiah, well, I didn’t mean anything by that. I wasn’t thinking about your mother. Not at all. I was just trying to understand why you don’t want to do anything.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Accepted. Now explain yourself.”

  “I want to know about the rumor,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I truly believe it was the catalyst for Jeremiah taking his first drink.”

  “The way you spoke before, I didn’t think he needed something to provoke him.”

  “He doesn’t need it, but if it presents itself . . .” She shrugged. “He might have started d
rinking tonight regardless of what he heard. The death of Emmilou Fuller could have tipped the scales. He made a comparison between Emmilou and Lizzie, so he was thinking about that as well. Alcohol or no, the little girl’s death tore at him. I think we should try to learn who said he was responsible for what happened and how the news reached him so quickly.”

  “He blamed you. I don’t like that.”

  “He blamed other people, too.”

  “You said he was talking out of his head.”

  She sighed. “It’s true. He was.”

  “Tell me again about you trying to kill him.”

  Ridley looked at him sharply. “Let’s be clear. That’s what he said, not what I was trying to do.”

  A slim smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”

  “He accused me of wanting to poison him when I presented him with a spoonful of the bicarbonate. He accused Lily of the same thing.”

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed it gently as he thought. When his hand fell back to his lap, he asked, “What do you think? Could he be right?” He put up a hand before Ridley answered. “Before you puff up and take offense, I wasn’t asking about you. I was wondering about Lily.”

  She nodded, smoothed then folded the blankets across her lap to give her something to do with her hands. “You’ve known Lily most of your life. Aren’t you in a better position to judge?”

  “Perhaps. Then again, knowing her as I do, as I have, I’m not sure I have a clear perspective for seeing this. I can’t imagine Lily doing anything to hurt Jeremiah, but then I think Jeremiah could provoke one of God’s own angels to do murder. What’s that expression? In wine, truth.”

  “In vino veritas.”

  “Hmm. So there’s that.”

  “Maybe,” she said quietly. “And maybe there’s nothing to it at all.”

  Ben dropped his feet to the floor and pushed himself out of the rocker. “I can’t put off getting to the office any longer, and then there’s the obligatory visit to see Ellie. She’ll want to know how you’re doing. You might have a visit from her later today. That’ll be something she’ll need to do. Need to do. You understand?”

  Ridley nodded.

  “All right, then. I’ll send up the widow to help you with whatever needs helping.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Please.”

  Ben picked up his coat and put it on, but he didn’t make a move to leave. He stood perfectly still. His eyes grazed her face and it was as if he could feel the contours of her cheekbones, her chin, even the delicate bridge of her nose in his fingertips. They tingled. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about that other thing.”

  “Really? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “No? Well, I probably shouldn’t say so, but it occupied a lot of space in my mind.”

  “Still no idea.”

  “Hmm. Wish that were different because this is going to come at you out of the blue.”

  Ridley’s head came up. Her eyebrows puckered as she tried to read his intent. Her lips parted, which as it turned out, was what he had been hoping for. He swooped. His mouth covered hers in a hard, swift kiss. The back of her head bumped the headboard.

  “Sorry,” he said, but he was grinning. “I’ll call on you later.” Then he was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ben went home, cleaned up, and changed clothes. He stopped at the hotel, not only to apprise Ellie of Ridley’s condition, but also to check on the Fullers. Louella had already gone home. The undertaker had been notified and was going to help her prepare Emmilou’s body. There would be a viewing in the afternoon. Big Mike and the boys were heartbreakingly silent at a table in the dining room. The breakfast that had been laid out for them was hardly touched. Ben sat with them briefly, offered his condolences, and uncomfortably accepted their gratitude for what he’d done. Ben thought of Emmilou and wished he could have done more.

  It was when Ben was leaving the Butterworth that he realized Big Mike hadn’t asked him to pass on his thanks to Dr. Woodhouse. There was a simple enough explanation for that. Big Mike expected to see the doctor later today at the viewing, and he would not be alone in that expectation. Folks would have the presumption that she would be there.

  Ben hunched his shoulders against the whipping wind and swore with real feeling. There was no one around to hear him, but he wouldn’t have cared if Mrs. Springer and her ladies were circling him like buzzards over a carcass. There were curse words that needed to be said from time to time, and this one didn’t blacken his soul; it lightened it.

  Hitch stood at attention when Ben walked into the office. “At ease, Deputy,” Ben said, amused. “Does your mama know you’re thinking about a military career?”

  “Oh, but I’m not . . . not, that is . . . no, I haven’t said a word.”

  “Then I won’t either.”

  “I’m happy here, Sheriff.”

  “Good to know.” Ben went to the stove, removed his gloves, tossed them on the bench, and held out his hands to warm them. He looked over his shoulder at his deputy. “As you were, Hitch. Go on, you can sit in my chair.” He shook his head as Hitch dropped like a stone. Had Hitch always had such a large Adam’s apple, or was it noticeable now because the young man was swallowing so hard? “Something on your mind?”

  “Um, no.” He frowned deeply, which set his narrow features along comically crooked lines. “Not that there’s nothing on my mind, because you’ve got to believe I’m always thinking, but sometimes there’s not much important about the thoughts.”

  “I see.” Ben turned back to the stove and unbuttoned his coat. He threw it on the bench beside his gloves. The hat stayed on. “Did you talk to your ma last night?” he asked. “I noticed we had a fair number of folks who showed up at the Fullers to see what was going on. Don’t recall if I saw your parents there.”

  “They were there. That’s not a problem, is it? I didn’t spend but a minute here or there with them, and I did everything you asked.”

  “I wasn’t questioning your performance.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was asking if you spoke to your mother. Seems that you did.”

  “You’ve probably noticed that she’s hard to ignore.”

  Ben kept his back to the deputy. “I have. So what did you say in that minute you spent with them here and there?”

  Hitch shrugged. “Can’t say for certain. She probably asked what happened and I probably told her.”

  “Sounds about right. You remember what you might have said?”

  “Told her it was the stove. I might have mentioned Frankie.”

  “Huh.” Ben poured himself a cup of coffee. No milk. No sugar. Black as tar. “Do you think you might have said something about the dampers?”

  “Could have. Is it important?”

  “Might be.”

  “I saw Ma talking to Frankie. She had him close, an arm around his shoulder like she was protecting him. That’d be something she would do. Maybe he told her more than I did.”

  Ben found that explanation believable. Amanda’s sole intention might have been to give comfort, but it was likely she got something in return.

  Hitch said, “Did you know that Jeremiah Salt made those dampers for Mrs. Fuller?”

  “Huh. How do you know that?”

  “I suppose my mother told me. Father hardly said a word, so she must have said it.”

  “I looked at the dampers. They weren’t the problem.”

  Hitch stopped turning in the chair and adopted a defensive posture. “I didn’t say they were.”

  “I know, but someone is saying that, and Jeremiah got wind of it.” Ben gave him an abbreviated version of Jeremiah’s late-night call on the doctor. He stressed the rumor and did not mention Jeremiah’s threats or his paranoia.

  “I don’t think I put that thought
in my mother’s mind,” said Hitch. “Didn’t have it in my own. Frankie?”

  “It’s beginning to look that way. I need to think about it. First up, though, I need to encourage Mary Cherry to pay a call on Lily.”

  “I can do that,” said Hitch.

  Ben was not certain what Hitch was volunteering for. “I don’t want you to visit Mrs. Salt. Jeremiah won’t like that. If you can talk Mary Cherry into going, that would be helpful.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s what I thought. Never mind. I’ll go see her. You can make rounds, let people know you’re here. Keep what I told you under your hat, but if you hear anyone say something that perpetuates the rumor, nip it. All you have to say is that there was nothing wrong with the dampers. Think you can do that?”

  “Be happy to.”

  Ben nodded and jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Hank Ketchum looked up from mucking stalls as a side door opened and Ben walked into the livery. He didn’t waste words on a greeting when a grunt would do, and then he bent to his task.

  “Always good to see you, Hank,” said Ben. “Funny how I can depend on it being colder in here than it is outside.”

  “You’re welcome to go.”

  “Yeah, well, I wanted to look in on Macbeth.”

  “Damn stupid name for a mare. Have I told you that?”

  “Every time I come by. Anyway, she’s Lady Macbeth.”

  “Then you should call her that instead of letting folks think you’re queer in the head.”

  Chuckling, Ben went to Macbeth’s stall and put out his hand. The mare nosed it, tossed her head, and rubbed against it. “Good girl. I miss you, too. What do you think about pulling a buggy this afternoon? Maybe that nice one Hank has over there that no one’s using.” He picked up a brush hanging by a leather loop at the stall’s entrance. “Hey, Hank, is that buggy spoken for?”

  “Nope.”

  “I want to rent it, then. Just for the afternoon. I’ll pick it up around one.” He took Hank’s grunt as agreement and stepped into the stall to give his mare the attention she deserved.