Billingsley was the man Gabe would defend on embezzlement charges early in the morning. He swore he was innocent, that he never took as much as a sheet of paper from his employer. With reluctance Nate gathered up lap desk, paper, pen, and portable inkwell.
The sheriff welcomed them to the small jail. Nate looked around the office. He’d never had much time to look at this side of a cell before. The wall was covered with wanted posters tacked several deep in no apparent pattern. Nate let his gaze move from one to the other, then froze as he locked on one near the corner.
It was a bad likeness but there hung his picture. His sideburns were longer in the drawing, and he wore a mustache. The name given was Lucky Bartholomew, alias Ace Bartholomew. Nate’s limbs locked in place. He tried to look away, to move across the room, but he could only stare. He wanted to rip the hateful paper down, but he dared not make any move to call attention to it.
Gabe moved a chair near the cell.
“Hey, Nate.” Gabe called. “Grab a seat and come back here.”
“Sure thing,” Nate said. He chose a ladderback near the poster. After a glance to make certain no one watched, he pulled the poster down and slid it into the lap desk he balanced on the chair seat. Sure enough, another face stared at him in the vacated space so there was no telltale empty area. He carried everything in and sat near Gabe. Picking up the papers, he took a single sheet and laid it atop the poster. With a sigh of relief, he opened the inkwell and prepared to take notes.
Chapter Thirteen
Nate’s spirits soared, and he whistled a jaunty tune on his way to the Judge’s after work. Gabe had praised him highly for his assistance with the case. Nate had turned out two wills and done some probate work, land deeds, and other odds and ends this week under supervision. In no time, he would be able to work on his own, be like a real lawyer. Then he could ask Sarah to marry him, make his home here with her and the children.
His reaction to Billingsley at the jail also surprised Nate. The man pleaded his innocence, and Nate had believed him. Strange how talking to the man made all the difference. He’d written down everything Billingsley had said, then he and Gabe went over it at the office.
Gabe was a darn good man at his job. He’d prepared his client for the questions the other side would ask tomorrow. Gabe felt confident about the case and gave part of the credit to Nate, though Nate knew the Ainsworths’ testimony would be the most important.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt good about himself. He’d done work to be proud of this week, nothing he had to hide from anyone. Not that he wasn’t proud of himself for tolerating the ranch chores. Lordy, that was hell, but he hadn’t given up.
Drake and Storm both treated him differently now. More like an equal, with less suspicion lurking in their eyes. No, he hated the cowpunching, but he actually enjoyed his work with Gabe. He’d found a future here.
As he passed the hotel, two men stepped out. Nate stopped in his tracks. They made a strange pair. One tall thin man with dark hair, and a short portly man with silver hair and the demeanor of one used to others serving him.
“Hello, Nate.” Monk said.
Though his lanky friend was a welcome sight, he couldn’t say the same for Monk’s rotund companion.
“Mr. Barton, how nice to see you again,” Hargrove said loudly so that several passersby stared.
Damn. How stupid to think for even a moment that life might work out for him. He might be lucky with a deck of cards, but he was definitely unlucky in life. By now he should know that.
“You don’t look glad to see us,” Hargrove said, his brown eyes narrowing.
Cautious of the situation he’d created and wondering how to proceed, Nate said, “Guess we need to talk.” Nate saw Burris sitting on a bench outside the Novak’s Mercantile across the street and motioned him over.
“Howdy, Nate,” Burris said and looked at the other two men with curiosity.
Nate said, “These men are the business associates I’ve been expecting. Could you take a message to the Judge that I’ll be dining in the hotel this evening and will arrive at his home before bedtime?”
“You can count on me, Nate.”
Wearily, Nate said, “I know.” He gave Burris a coin and sent him on his way.
Turning to the two men, he said, “Let’s have dinner and then we can talk in your room.”
Upon entering the dining room, they were led to a table next to Peter Dorfmeyer. The man’s glare left no doubt about the ill will he harbored for Nate. When Nate and his companions took their seats at the nearby table, Dorfmeyer threw his napkin on the table and stomped out.
“Friend of yours?” Monk asked, his blue eyes twinkling.
“We had a few words.” Nate didn’t want to explain in front of Hargrove.
Much as he hated Hargove’s presence in town, Nate welcomed his friend Monk. It was good to have him here, someone who knew him, warts and all. Monk’s friendship never faltered.
Nate changed the subject by asking about their trip, then tried to focus on the conversation in spite of the despair clutching him. He wondered how best to approach Hargrove. A bribe came to mind, but Nate had used up most of the stake he won on the riverboat. He probably owed the man for the fine clothes that Hargrove now wore.
After dinner, they moved to Hargrove’s suite.
“Damn, a suite.” Nate looked around the room. “Must be the best in the hotel.”
Hargrove drew himself up. “It’s the Presidential Suite. It’s important we maintain our image of the wealthy magnate.”
“Don’t worry, Nate. I had a run of luck waiting around in Chicago,” Monk said.
Nate spun and faced Hargrove. “What were you in jail for?”
“Chit of a wife showed up asking for money for the kids.” Hargrove’s jaw jutted out defensively. “I couldn’t let her start that, now could I? Had to teach her a lesson. A man has a right to hit his own wife whenever she needs it.”
“You think so?” Nate asked, furious with the man. In Nate’s opinion no real man ever needed to hit anyone weaker than him. And what kind of jerk wouldn’t want his kids to have enough money to live on? Nate’s hatred of Hargrove grew.
“One of her brothers tried to intervene, some property was damaged. It all turned quite ugly.” Hargrove shrugged and looked as if wife beating and brawling were ordinary occurrences. For Hargrove they probably were.
“How’re things here?” Monk asked.
“Fine. Things are just fine.”
Nate paced the room hoping the right words would come to him. Monk had known him most of his life. No doubt he realized Nate had cooled on the idea of this deal, but then Monk hadn’t wanted it in the first place. Hargrove was another kettle of fish.
“You don’t look fine. Is there something wrong?” Hargrove asked.
“Yes,” Nate answered honestly. “I want to shut down the deal.”
Hargrove looked aghast. “Shut down? After I came a thousand miles on a wretched train to get here? Not bloody likely.”
“I’m willing to pay for your time and trouble. How much will it cost me?” Nate asked.
“Hmph,” Hargrove snorted. “I hardly think you can afford to reimburse me for as much as we stand to make from this town.”
Nate crossed his arms and faced Hargrove. “How much?”
“Ten thousand,” Hargrove said. “Cash. Now.”
Monk leaned against a wall, watching as if he had no stake in the arrangement.
“You know I don’t have that much cash,” Nate spit out.
Hargrove displayed a malicious smile. “Precisely. So we continue with the scheme as planned.”
“We wouldn’t clear that much each on this. It’s just a small town.”
“It’s also the county seat.” Hargrove looked pleased with himself. “I asked around in Austin. There’s a lot of money here. And these Kincaids hold a great deal of it.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t help you, won’t go through w
ith it.” Nate stood towering over the little dandy.
Hargove’s eyes narrowed and he glowered. “Ah, but you will. Perhaps you’d prefer a few sheriffs learn your whereabouts, like the one in Arkansas? Or maybe these Kincaids would like to learn your background?”
Monk stepped forward, “Sorry, Nate. Guess I talked too much on the trip here. It made such an interesting tale to pass the time.”
A sickness descended on Nate. If he were the murderer those folks in Arkansas accused him of being, Hargrove would be dead. Monk couldn’t have known Nate would change his mind, though, wouldn’t have seen any reason to keep the tale a secret.
He looked at his old friend and said, “It’s all right, Monk. Guess it does make a good story.” To Hargrove, he said, “You can’t rat me out without incriminating yourself.”
“Yes, I can,” Hargrove answered. “A few wires, letters, and you’d be in jail for life—or the guest at a hanging party. I’d be long gone to the next sucker station.” He took out a fat cigar and lit it. Blowing a haze of blue smoke Nate’s way, he said, “Face it. You’ll go through with this or say goodbye to your freedom.”
Hargrove had Nate over a barrel. Monk would be his only witness he wasn’t guilty of murder in Arkansas, and that he only fired in self-defense after being shot twice himself. Who would believe the word of another con man against Lone Pine’s leading citizens? All his other schemes would come out, years of dodging the law revealed. He couldn’t face Sarah hearing how worthless his life had been. And what would the children think? Better to be damned for one act of theft than for a dozen others, including murder.
Hell, what had made him think fate would ever let him go straight, be a family man? All the bad things he’d ever heard about himself flitted through his mind and a black cloud of depression settled over him.
Believing he could never make life with Sarah work, he gave up. “I hate it, but I don’t have the cash to buy you off.”
Hargrove chomped on his cigar and rubbed his chubby hands in gleeful anticipation. “Here’s what we worked out on the way. You take us around tomorrow and introduce us to some of the swells in town.”
“Can’t,” Nate stalled. “Have to help with a trial tomorrow.”
When Hargrove’s eyebrows raised in question, Nate explained about his job at the law office, living at the Judge’s home, the big trial, and his limited part in it.
“Perfect,” said Hargrove and chuckled. “You’ve done well setting yourself up here.”
Nate agreed to wangle an invitation for the two men to dine at the Judge’s home the next evening. It was the first hurdle in the plan.
Dread pricked at Nate. He had a sense of darkness closing in on him, as if he were once again trapped in that coffin. This time there was no digging his way out.
***
Sarah smoothed the skirt of her dark purple dress. Used to pastels, she had unaccountably wanted this vibrant color the moment she saw the fabric on the shelf. She had to agree with Pearl that it made her eyes look more purple than blue.
Feeling terribly selfish, she had asked Carlotta to teach so she could attend the trial. Cindy, Luke, and Joe accompanied her. Cindy wore a dress in the same purple fabric, and she saw Cindy mimic her motions and press a fold from her skirt. She smiled, remembering how she used to copy Pearl and then Aunt Lily. Luke and Joe were too busy gawking at everything to pay any attention to her or Cindy.
Though she wanted them to share her pride in Nate’s accomplishments, she gave them the choice of coming with her or staying at school. They wanted to see Nate at work and promised to be quiet and still. So far, they’d all three done well, but she wondered what several hours on this hard bench would do to their behavior. Already it numbed her posterior and had her shifting positions.
This would be the first case Nate had worked on that came to trial. She conceded that Gabe was in charge, but she knew Nate helped and couldn’t miss seeing him at work. Spectators pressed closely against each other and the latecomers lined the courtroom walls. Sarah secretly applauded her forethought at urging the children here early so they secured a seat in the first row. Mrs. Billingsley and her two children also arrived early and sat across the aisle from Sarah.
Gabe entered with Nate and put a stack of papers on the table in front of the spectator section. Nate’s eyes widened when he saw her and she saw the pleasure wash over him. He stepped over to the rail separating the first row from the section used by officials of the court.
“I had no idea you’d come,” he said to her, then spoke to each child in turn.
“We had to see your first case.”
“Hardly mine,” he protested but smiled that heart-stopping smile of his and turned to sit beside Mr. Billingsley.
Nate looked handsome in his black suit, gray vest, and crisp white shirt. Sunlight pouring through the windows picked up the golden highlights in his brown hair. His wide shoulders flexed and she remembered feeling them under her hands. Warmth pooled in her stomach and she felt herself flush for her wanton thoughts.
Grandpa came in and everyone stood. Sarah had not attended a court session in many years and marveled at how regal Grandpa appeared. The preliminary routine was handled swiftly, Grandpa rapped hi gavel and the trial began.
Sarah had always liked Mr. Billingsley, though she didn’t know him well, and enjoyed seeing him at the bank. He was friendly without flirting and always asked after her family members by name. When she returned home and learned he’d been accused, she believed in his innocence and was pleased Gabe had agreed to defend him.
Glen McDougal acted as the prosecuting lawyer, and he started the proceedings. He went on about how Peter Dorfmeyer had caught the accused with shortages and insisted there was no doubt of Mr. Billingsley's guilt. Throughout McDougal’s speech, Peter puffed up like a rooster strutting in the barnyard.
Sarah couldn’t help comparing Peter to Nate again, which left Peter severely lacking in many respects. In retrospect, she wondered why she had tolerated Peter calling on her as long as she had. Watching him testify against his employee, she wanted to stick a hatpin in Peter’s pompous hide.
The trial proceeded through the morning and the children wiggled in their seats. She wanted to wiggle in hers. Then it was Gabe’s turn and all her attention focused on the drama unfolding. Gabe called witnesses to Billingsley’s dedication to his family, bank clients who testified the man was polite and helpful, and his minister testified he had helped numerous members of the community in times of trouble.
Gabe winked at her and said, “I’d like Willard and Burris Ainsworth to take the stand together.”
The two brothers looked better than Sarah had ever seen them. Their neatly trimmed and combed hair—or what hair there was in Burris’s case—and fresh-shaved faces made them look years younger. They’d suffered a scrubbing, from their appearance, and that and clean clothing improved their aroma. Sarah thought the two looked normal in their new state.
A ripple of comment flowed across the courtroom as the two men stepped up to the witness bench. The sheriff’s deputy scooted another chair so both brothers could sit after they were sworn in. Sarah could tell each was very proud of being called to give evidence but wondered what either could possibly add.
Gabe asked, “Willard, would you tell everyone your occupation?”
“We does odd jobs for folks.”
“Is one of those jobs hauling off trash?”
“Yessir. We hauls trash for most ever’ body in town. Ever’ Tuesday we makes the rounds.”
Gabe turned to the second brother. “Burris, do you ever go through the rubbish you collect?”
“Why, sure. Sometimes folks throws away good stuff.
A snicker sounded behind Sarah.
“And did you find items from the bank in the trash of anyone here?”
Burris leaned back and smiled. “Sure did.”
Folks in the courtroom whispered at the disclosure. Grandpa rapped his gavel for silence and quiet returned.
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Gabe said, “Now I know you don’t like to tell what people put out for you to haul away, Willard, but would you tell everyone what you and your brother found in the trash that pertains to this case?”
Willard nodded. “We haven’t never told what anyone throwed away, but you said we got to now. We found stuff from the bank inside a tin.” He looked at Grandpa and explained, “We thought it might have a cake or some cheese in it, you see.”
Sarah was surprised when Nate shouted, “Sheriff, stop that man.”
She turned in time to see Ben Liles grab Joe Dingle’s arm.
Peter stood and asked, “What are you doing with my assistant?”
Grandpa rapped and shouted, “All quiet!”
Gabe nodded and said, “Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Willard, will you tell us whose trash this tin was in?”
“That there Mr. Dingle. Had a real good chair, too, what we put in our house.” Willard pointed to the back.
Gasps echoed through the room and everyone swiveled in their seats to look at the man being held by the sheriff.
“You can’t prove a thing,” Dingle shouted at them. “You have only the word of those idiots against mine.”
Grandpa stood and rapped his gavel. His frown would have wilted the bravest of men. “I will not have this continued disruption. Sheriff, bring Mr. Dingle to the front here and keep him quiet while this trial is in session.” That accomplished, he nodded to Gabe. “You may continue.”
Gabe said, “Did either of you save any of the things you found in Mr. Dingle’s rubbish?"
Burris rummaged in pockets and pulled out several wrappers from stacks of bills. Willard pulled out a sheaf of papers folded in thirds from his pocket.
Gabe accepted and displayed them to the jury and the other attorney before he placed them on the table. He picked up the first paper. “This letter, addressed to Mr. Dingle, discusses arrangements to meet and finalize the purchase of a house in Austin.” He picked up another sheet. “This agrees to the terms of a lease on a store in Austin and says the lease will be held for his signature.”
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