A few minutes later, they pulled up at the property that had been indicated. It was a small cabin made of rough-hewn logs, encircled by a simple fence of planks. A small flower bed stood between the house and the fence, but there was nothing unique about it, nothing that said anything out of the ordinary had taken place inside.
“The home there to the south belongs to the Thomases,” Gabe said, nodding toward it.
“Didn’t Mrs. Thomas give a statement that she’d come over to the Smiths’ to borrow some eggs?”
“That’s right. That was when she found the body.”
Abigail counted in her head. “But I see six chickens over there, and eggs stay good for a couple of days. Why would she need even more eggs? What on earth was she making?”
“I’m not sure we’re here to investigate Mrs. Thomas’s culinary prowess,” Gabe said, but Abigail shook her head.
“I mean, she came over here for another reason, and used the eggs as an excuse.”
“She probably came to visit Edward Smith,” Gabe replied. “Maybe he was late to meet her, so she came to see what was keeping him. She gave Deputy Earp the excuse about the eggs so she wouldn’t have to confess her infidelity.”
“Yes, I believe that makes sense.”
They walked up to the house, and Gabe reached out to unlatch the door. It was a little stiff, so he put his shoulder to it. When it came open, Abigail saw a typical house—a kitchen table, chairs by a small fireplace, a door that must lead to the bedroom. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was well kept. A brownish stain was on the floor right in the center of the room, and Gabe squatted to take a better look at it.
“Blood,” he confirmed. “This is where the body was found, according to the report.”
“And what about this over here?” Abigail pointed to another spot on the stones near the fireplace.
“That blood would be consistent with Margaret’s head injury,” Gabe replied. He stood up and looked around the room. “I don’t see any signs of struggle, but then, we only have Deputy Earp’s belief that the cabin hasn’t been touched since the murder. The door wasn’t boarded up, and the place wasn’t secured in any way.”
“How do you investigate, then?” Abigail asked, coming over to stand next to him. “If you don’t know if anything’s been moved, how do you figure out what happened?”
“I ask a lot of questions, and I go on a lot of hunches,” Gabe replied. “In the end, sometimes there’s a confession. Sometimes, there’s not. That’s the hardest part about being in law enforcement. So much of the time, you have to follow your gut, and sometimes, the evidence doesn’t fall in line with what your gut is telling you. Those are the cases that keep me up nights.”
“I don’t envy you your job,” Abigail said.
“Are you sure about that, Miss Peterson? You sure asked to become a deputy quick enough when the opportunity presented itself.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she protested. “I didn’t mean to sound like I wanted to take your job away from you. I was just so eager to help Margaret—”
He held up a hand. “It’s all right, Miss Peterson. I understand. I was just teasing you. Now, I believe I’ve seen everything I need to here. Except, perhaps, for one thing.” He looked around one more time. “I wish I had a sense of their income. This seems like a very modest home, and yet, she paid for a train ticket. Had she been saving up that money for a while? Where did she get it?”
“Maybe one of their neighbors could tell us about that,” Abigail suggested.
“That would be a good idea. From what I gleaned from the paperwork, Mr. Smith was a day laborer, and didn’t have much to his name.”
They walked back outside, and Gabe made sure the door was wedged tightly again. Abigail motioned to the house on the south. “Shall we go talk to the Thomases next?” she suggested. “They’re certainly involved in this, whether they want to be or not.”
“Yes, let’s.” Gabe walked around the yard and paused for a minute to verify that Margaret could indeed have seen the clandestine kiss from near her chicken coop. When he was satisfied on that, he joined Abigail, and they walked to the next property together.
Mrs. Thomas came to the door quickly, the expression on her face faltering when she saw Gabe’s badge. “Another lawman? I thought I’d answered every question there was to be answered.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid I have a few more of my own. We’ve come from Topeka to assist in the investigation. I’m Deputy Hanks, and this is Miss Peterson.”
Mrs. Thomas shook her head and stepped back, letting them in. “I hope this doesn’t take long. I’ve got chores, you know. My property may be small, but it’s a working farm.”
Gabe and Abigail stepped inside and took the kitchen chairs that were offered. This home was very much the same as the Smiths’, with simple furnishings and sparse decorations, but clean. Abigail wondered how long each family had lived here, as these felt more like homesteading properties than permanent homes.
“I understand you were the one to find Mr. Smith when he passed away,” Gabe said to Mrs. Thomas. “Can you tell me more about that?”
“Well, I’d gone over to borrow some eggs, and the door was a little bit open. So I pushed it the rest of the way, and there was Mr. Smith, lying on the floor, a knife in his chest.” She shuddered, but there was something about her movement that seemed forced or practiced.
“Was anyone else in the cabin?”
“No. I looked around and called out, but the place was empty. I guess Margaret got so upset after what she’d done, she just left.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow, but Gabe’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “May I ask why you feel Mrs. Smith is guilty of this crime?”
“I heard them arguing plain as day. See, my garden and their garden share a border, and I was out there tending to my plants. They were both shouting and hollering at the tops of their lungs. A little while later, it was quiet, so I figured they’d made up, and that’s when I went over to get the eggs.”
Gabe glanced over at Abigail, and she took that as permission to join in the questioning, whether that’s what he really meant or not. “What were you making, Mrs. Thomas?”
The woman blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“What were you making with the eggs?”
“Oh. Well, I thought I’d make a cake.”
“Just one?” Abigail asked, surprise in her voice.
“Yes, just one.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “I wonder if I might ask you for a glass of water, Mrs. Thomas.”
She seemed irritated at the request, but she stood. “And you, miss?”
“Yes, please,” Abigail replied.
Mrs. Thomas took two cups from the shelf and then stepped outside. Abigail had seen a pump out there, and presumed that’s where Mrs. Thomas was heading. As soon as they were alone, Gabe turned to Abigail. “Now’s your chance to be a real deputy, Miss Peterson.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes flicked to the door, and he lowered his voice. “I’m going to approach Mrs. Thomas directly about the affair. Your task will be to draw her out, speak sympathetically woman to woman.”
She nodded. “I can do that.” At least, she hoped she could. She’d told Colonel Gordon that her unique perspective would help—time to prove her theory.
Mrs. Thomas came back in, set down the water, and resumed her seat. Gabe took a long sip, then leaned back. “Thank you, Mrs. Thomas. That was quite refreshing. So, how long had you and Edward Smith been seeing each other?”
Gabe hadn’t been joking when he said he was going to approach her directly. Abigail watched as Mrs. Thomas’s face turned red. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Thomas,” Abigail said, leaning forward and speaking confidentially. “I’ve heard that Edward Smith was quite the charmer.”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know,” Mrs. Thomas said, playing with a loose thread on
the tablecloth. “I never really noticed.”
“There’s one thing I did notice,” Abigail continued, hoping she wasn’t about to ruin Gabe’s entire line of questioning. “I’ve never caught your husband’s name—I’m not sure I’ve heard him mentioned.”
“His name is Timothy. Timothy Thomas. He works for the railroad—I see him about once a month or so, when he has leave.”
“That must be hard,” Abigail said sympathetically. She glanced over at Gabe, who gave her a slight nod. She took a deep breath. “You must be very lonely.”
“It’s been difficult, trying to keep up the place, mostly by myself. Friends and neighbors have been helpful, though, and I’m getting by.”
Abigail sat back and appraised the woman. She was still young, perhaps twenty-three, but she had a careworn look about her. There was also something else, a worldliness, an attitude of not caring what others thought about her. “And the Smiths were helpful?”
“Yes. Margaret shared her butter, and Edward did some repairs here and there.”
“I imagine that was very thoughtful of him. Of them.” Abigail made a pretense of correcting herself, even though she’d meant to say exactly what she did.
“It was appreciated. Now, I’m not sure what else you need to know from me,” Mrs. Thomas said. “I found the body, it was lying on the floor, and Margaret fled the home after the murder. What other information can I possibly have to give you?”
“Seems to me,” Gabe said lazily, “that you’d be more interested in confessing to this affair than you are.”
Mrs. Thomas’s gaze flew to him. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve been pretty eager to make us believe that Mrs. Smith’s guilty. Not that I was counting or anything, but twice now, you’ve made a solid statement about that. Now, if I were trying to make someone look guilty, I’d show their motive, and seems to me that an affair would be a very compelling motive. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Peterson?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Abigail said. “If Margaret had just found out you were having an affair with her husband, she’d be so full of rage, I imagine she’d just kill him on the spot.”
“I . . . don’t understand what you’re saying,” Mrs. Thomas said.
Gabe stroked his goatee. “We only have your word for it that Mr. Smith was dead when you arrived at the cabin, Mrs. Thomas. For all we know, you stabbed him yourself and then left, deciding to blame the whole thing on Margaret Smith.”
“But that’s not what happened!” For the first time, Abigail could see a flicker of real emotion on the woman’s face. “Why on earth would I stab Edward?”
“Well, why on earth would Margaret stab Edward? You see, Mrs. Thomas, we’re left without a motive. And without a motive, we can’t prove guilt or innocence. We’re left with very little choice in the matter, aren’t we?”
Mrs. Thomas slumped back in her chair. “All right. I see your point, but I must say, I don’t find your methods to be very fair. Yes, I do believe Margaret killed Edward, and I believe it’s because she found out that he and I were having an affair. Are you happy now?”
“How long had the two of you been seeing each other?” Abigail asked, feeling a swell of victory in her chest. Now they were actually getting somewhere.
“He came over to mend a hole in the roof of my barn. This was about a year and a half ago. The job took three days, and each day, I’d make lunch and carry it out to him, and we got to talking. Then he fixed my fence. Then he built me a chicken coop. By this point, we had fallen for each other, but we hadn’t said anything. We were just flirting, having a good time, and one day, he kissed me, and that’s all it took. We belonged to each other from that day on.” She played with the loose thread again. “Last week, I found out . . . that I’m expecting Edward’s baby. That’s what I heard Edward and Margaret arguing about, and that’s why she killed him.”
“Funny thing.” Abigail sat forward a little. “I don’t think Margaret mentioned anything about a baby, did she, Deputy?”
“No, she never did,” Gabe replied.
“You’ve spoken with Margaret?” Mrs. Thomas’s face went ashen.
“That’s right. Oh, did we not mention that before? Yes, she came to Topeka, which is where we’re from, and she told me all about you and Edward and seeing you kiss behind the barn and so forth. She’d have no reason to withhold information about the affair—if anything, it would make her appear guilty, and yet she told me all about it. And it seems to me that if she’d known you were with child, she certainly would have mentioned it. It would make her case seem all the more sympathetic, you see. Rather like it’s doing for you now.”
Gabe leaned forward and fixed Mrs. Thomas with his gaze. “I’m left with a few very fascinating scenarios. First, Mrs. Smith knew about the affair, but withheld the information about the baby when she spoke to me. This isn’t plausible—she’d have nothing to gain. Second, perhaps she knew about the affair, but didn’t know about the baby. The difficulty there is that you just said you overheard them arguing about the baby while you were in the garden, so she must have known, but again, why not mention it to me?”
Mrs. Thomas shifted in her chair, but Gabe didn’t give her a chance to speak. “I’m inclined to think you’re lying to me, Mrs. Thomas. You’re either lying to me about Margaret knowing about the baby, or you’re lying to me about being pregnant at all. Which is it?”
Her composure crumbled. “She didn’t know, all right? She didn’t know, and Edward didn’t want to tell her. He said it would be too much for her because they hadn’t been able to have a child together, and he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. He said we should just let Timothy think it was his—lie about the dates and so forth. So, yes, Deputy, I lied about that—Margaret didn’t know about the baby. But I am really pregnant, and I’m happy about it. Now there will be someone to keep me company all the time. I just . . . I just wished Edward was happy about it too.”
“How angry were you about Edward’s reaction?” Gabe asked. “Were you so angry that you picked up a butcher knife and stabbed him?”
“No!” Mrs. Thomas’s hand came down on the table so hard that it made Abigail jump. “I didn’t stab him. He was dead when I got here, I swear to you.” Tears began flowing down her cheeks. “Yes, I lied about the eggs—I didn’t really need eggs. I just wanted an excuse to see Edward. Yes, I lied about Margaret knowing about the baby. I’m sorry. But on this, I’m telling the truth. I did not kill Edward. I loved him. I could never do that.”
“Sometimes the strongest love leads to the strongest anger,” Gabe told her.
“But it didn’t. I could never hurt him. Never.” She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Are we done? Have I told you everything you need to know yet?”
“For now, but I may think of something later.” Gabe stood from the table, hat in hand. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Thomas.”
Abigail stood too. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you won’t be alone anymore,” she ventured, and Mrs. Thomas gave her a slight smile.
Once outside, Gabe ran a hand down his face as they walked to the buggy. “This is getting more interesting by the minute,” he said. “I wasn’t planning to discover a secret pregnancy.”
“Did I do all right?” Abigail asked. “Was I too pushy or nosy? Did I ask the right questions?”
Gabe stopped walking and put a hand on her shoulder. “You did very well. I’m proud to be working with you.”
Their eyes met, and suddenly, it was as though everything around them disappeared. It was just the two of them and the blue sky above, and then that illusion was crushed when a horse and wagon drove by, breaking the spell. Abigail blinked. “I’m glad I could be useful.”
Gabe helped her into the buggy, then climbed up into his own seat. “According to Deputy Earp’s records, the neighbor who saw Margaret running away from the house is the next one up the road here,” he said.
Abigail leaned forward to pe
er between the trees. “So, not as close to the Smiths as the Thomases are.”
“No, there’s a small bit of land between.” He flicked the reins, and the buggy began to move. “Let’s see what he has to say to us.”
Chapter Eight
The neighbor gave his name as Andrew Brown. He was an older gentleman and avid gardener who said he’d been out weeding his flower bed when he saw Margaret Smith go running past. “She went that way, she did, toward the train station,” he said, waving his hand. “She looked like she was being chased by a bear, all scared and shaking. I called after her, but she didn’t stop, and I knew I’d never catch her on these knees.” He gave a self-depreciating chuckle. “This was around . . . oh, I’d say three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“She was on foot, you say? She wasn’t riding a horse?” Gabe asked.
“She was definitely on foot.”
“Tell me, Mr. Brown—you said she was running for the train station. How did you know that’s where she was headed? There are several other businesses between here and there, or she could have been going to a friend’s home,” Abigail said, happy to ask the question that had been bothering her.
“Well, now, I suppose I thought the piece of paper in her hand looked like a train ticket. But I could be wrong.” Mr. Brown scratched his head. “People aren’t supposed to make assumptions, after all, but I guess that’s what I did.”
“She was holding a train ticket in her hand?” Gabe asked, just to be sure he heard correctly.
“I don’t know if it was a train ticket or something else. I just thought it looked like a train ticket.”
Gabe scowled. This just didn’t make any sense at all. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Brown,” he said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.
Instead of leaving right away, Gabe and Abigail sat in the buggy for a moment. “Let’s assume it was a train ticket,” Gabe said. “Why didn’t she mention it before? If she was running from the house to the station with the ticket in her hand, she was bringing the ticket from her house—a ticket that had been purchased earlier.”
A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5) Page 6