by Micki Miller
Penny answered with a nod. The muscles in her throat tightened, and her entire body appeared to sag at the memory. She grasped her hands together in front of her skirt, squeezing.
Garrett saw her fighting to hold back the tears. With a deep breath, she managed to collect her emotions and tuck them away, at least for the time being. She wouldn’t have this grief under control indefinitely. At some point, she’d have to let it out. She was managing well, though, or maybe not. It was an odd thing she’d done, giving away her clothes. But it wasn’t his business. Catching the killer was.
Garrett stood still as Penny straightened her shoulders and tipped her head back until her eyes once again met his. Bright emerald in color, they were like jewels of the finest cut, glittering, captivating. It’s no wonder Zeke Cotter’s name slipped from his lips. Looking at her was like staring into the eyes of a mythological siren, as if she’d cast a spell, and his mind was not fully under his control. Garrett had the feeling if he wasn’t careful that might be a lingering condition.
“I think Bentley is right,” Penny said. “Once that man pulled the trigger he certainly knew he was in danger of getting caught. Of course he ran.”
Garrett nodded, turning away from her while experience and common sense told him different. Three witnesses, three bullets fired, yet all used to kill just one; leaving the other two able to not only identify him, but testify against him should he be caught.
“Did your father have any enemies?” Garrett asked.
“No, of course not,” she responded, her brows drawn together. “Everybody loved him. Why, you should have been at our house after the funeral and you would have seen. As terrible as that storm was, everybody showed up just to say nice things about him.”
Garrett nodded. Frank Wills could have had enemies his daughter didn’t know about. A man in his line of work, where people’s livelihoods could well depend on his decisions, it was entirely possible someone was angry over a financial matter. Could be he didn’t want to worry his daughter by informing her of some dispute. It was also possible Mr. Wills had angered someone and didn’t even realize it himself. Maybe the killer shot him over something that had nothing at all to do with the bank. That would explain the untouched safe. It wouldn’t be the first time Garrett had seen a man murdered over something other than money. He’d seen people lose their lives over all kinds of things, some downright meaningless.
Done with the interview, Werner said, “Penelope, I think you should go home right now and lie down.”
“I’m fine, Bentley.”
“You most certainly are not. Your mind is all muddled. You’re not thinking clearly. Later I want you to give me a list of the women who now have your dresses. I’ll go around and collect them for you.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Bentley. My mind is perfectly clear. More clear than it’s ever been, in fact. My life is different now. I have to approach things accordingly, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. I had an excess of clothing and a deficiency of respect. Today I’ve simply taken steps to rectify both of those situations.”
“Respect?” Bentley said, as if she’d spoken a great insult to herself. “You’re one of the most respected people in this town.”
“My father was. I attained my respect by way of association. Besides, I was referring to the respect I feel toward myself.” At his baffled expression, Penny said, “Bentley, the fact is I’ve lived a life of frivolity, and I’ve decided on a course of action. Paring down my wardrobe was only the first step. The next thing I plan to do is…” and then her eye caught for the first time on the other man in the bank, the one who was down on his knees.
What little color she had drained from her face and Garrett followed her line of sight. The man was still kneeling on the floor scrubbing away her father’s blood. The water in the bucket beside him was pink and gray, the straw-colored bristles of his scrub brush coated in red. Damn, he’d completely forgotten about that. Had he been thinking at all, he would have had the stain covered and sent the man away. He turned back to Penny to see her tip her head to the side, and then her eyes lost focus before closing completely. Garrett caught her before she hit the floor.
Chapter 5
Penny awoke to a blank slate.
She instantly recognized her surroundings. There was the wallpaper she’d chosen, yellow as a sunflower in spring adorned with white daisies. Across from the bed, her oak dressing table topped with Swiss lace upon which sat her creams and her silver brushes. Against the other wall was her oversized armoire. In the corner sat the washstand with her white, blue-vined basin and a matching jug of water. The familiarity of the room, however, did not ease the prevalence of confusion.
She was lying on her bed, fully dressed in the middle of the day. Since she never napped, she wondered how that happened. Turning her head, she glanced out her bedroom window, which faced the front of the house. The gingham curtain was open. Skeletal branches of the elm just outside provided scant breaks in the sunlight, as if the window suffered a minor spray of cracks. In a few weeks, those branches would host sprouting leaves, unfurling to act as a filter to give blessed shade during the summer to come. For now though, brightness flowed through the glass with such gusto she had to squint to look out, telling her it was early afternoon.
Then, with the speed of a sudden death, Penny remembered everything. The morning spent distributing a good portion of her wardrobe, Bentley, the marshal, and the man on the floor of the bank washing away her father’s blood. She rolled toward the wall and curled up on her side as her stomach roiled at the memory.
Her poor, sweet father who never harmed a soul, murdered at the hands of an outlaw. Her fists clenched into tight little balls, eyes closed, arms squeezed to her chest as if she could crush the pain from her heart.
For several minutes, she stayed that way, battling the torrents of horror and grief, hoping someday soon she would become numb to them. When the darkness threatened to keep her, she opened her eyes and faced it. Someone had laid a blanket over her. The temptation to burrow beneath it was strong, but she fought that off, too. It seemed battles of all sorts now beset her life.
She flung the blanket aside and slowly, testing the sway of the room, sat up, and put her feet over the edge of the bed. Her shoes sat there, nice and neat, with the laces tucked inside. She slipped them on her feet and tied them before stepping out of the room. The voices coming from downstairs in the parlor made her pause at the railing. Bentley’s voice she recognized right away. Then the marshal’s deep timbre arose in response.
Though she well knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, Penny stayed where she was. In part because she was embarrassed at having fainted, and that she did so for the first time in her life in front of Marshal Kincaid, of all things. For some reason she cared what he thought of her. He was the last thing she should be thinking about right now. But think of him she did.
At the bank, she’d been concentrating on his questions, but she’d have to be blind not to notice he was a finely built man. His body exuded power, and not just because of his size. The marshal’s shirt clung to firm muscle. His movements were sure, confident. He was a man who knew his job. Of his physical attributes, what stood out to her most, however, were his eyes, blue steel that softened to a comfortable cerulean whenever they fell upon her. It was as if the course of his job had hardened him, or maybe the course of his life, perhaps both. Yet when his gaze met hers, Penny saw a tender side to the man.
The marshal was handsome, certainly, with a strong-jawed face, ruggedly tanned, impressed with faint lines demarking thought and concentration. Dark hair recently cut, yet he was clearly not persnickety because it looked finger-combed. Penny didn’t know why she found such a thing endearing, but she did.
What truly drew her to the man, though, was the way he behaved toward her. Marshal Kincaid was kind, but not piteous, never once treating her as if she couldn’t cross the street without a hand to hold onto. In fact, he treated her as an adult. That was a first for
her, Penny realized now. She was determined it wouldn’t be the last.
The marshal listened to what she had to say, too, and not with half an ear. Funny, how she hadn’t recognized before that’s what people often did when conversing with her. It was her own doing, she supposed. Thinking on it now it was as if she’d spent her life portraying a silly, trivial character from a poorly written play. There was a whole part of her, a better part, which she’d kept hidden away, even from her father. Why? Why would she do that?
Penny had thoughts that dove deeper than fashion and fun. She read, and not just for entertainment. She read whatever newspaper her father finished and discarded. She kept up with current events and did so with interest, not obligation. Nobody knew about that, not even her papa, not really. It seems she had played the part for him, too. Or had she simply been living up to the role in which life cast her?
If that was the case, it was time to rewrite the text. Maybe she had already. At the very least, she’d begun, and she must be off to a good start. Marshal Kincaid treated her differently than any man ever had. Or woman, for that matter, with the exception of Coleen O’Conner, bless her big, Irish heart.
The marshal took in everything Penny had to say with the same respect he allotted to Bentley. Maybe more, now that she thought about it. In fact, he’d told her she had a sharp mind, said it right in front of everyone. The accolade was earnest, too, not used as a tool of courtship, as she’d encountered in the past. A smile actually tugged on her lips as she recalled the shocked look on Bentley’s face at her fine description of the robber. She had done well, had in fact done better than either of the two men who had been in the bank that day.
It was a new experience in her new life, being treated so. Terrible as the circumstances under which it had been unveiled, she liked having someone take her seriously. She’d discovered a whole new side to herself, and she liked it, a lot. So far, her steps in a new direction were small, but they were hers. She would take more. First, though, she would see the man who killed her father punished.
“Penelope is a fragile thing,” Bentley said from the parlor.
Penny bristled as she peered at them from her place at the banister. Bentley’s shadow crossed back and forth across the sunlit room. She recognized the neat clip of his steps. The marshal’s shadow was there, too, tall and solid. His arms were crossed, she could tell. Broad shoulders topped his strength, and a lift of his head implied he was just the slightest bit arrogant. He wasn’t moving. He appeared the perfection of a statue, a monument of justice erected in the wilds. Good lord, even his shadow was masculine. Next to him, Bentley’s shadow looked like a woodland creature patrolling the forest grounds all in a tizzy.
“I don’t intend to abuse her,” the marshal replied. “I just have a few more questions for her. She has the most honest and accurate recollection of all of you by far.”
Penny pressed her fingers against her mouth to keep the bark of laughter from giving her away. That statement most certainly irritated Bentley. She didn’t know why that gave her pleasure, but it did. She placed her hands on the smooth oak of the banister and relished her newly born pride. She had remembered the details and conveyed them with accuracy. Although her faint sullied it, up until that moment she’d handled herself well. Her heart twisted then, thinking how her father would be proud of her.
Penny worried suddenly that the last thought of his life may have been what others had voiced after his funeral, that his daughter wouldn’t survive a day without him looking after her. Had he lost sleep over that, paced the parlor as Bentley now did, worrying what would become of her if she didn’t marry before his passing?
“Maybe you should go check on her,” the marshal said, drawing her back to the moment. “If she’s awake, I can talk to her before I leave.”
“You’ve already questioned her until she lost consciousness, Marshal,” Bentley accused. “She’s been through a terrible ordeal, and the girl is not of a strong constitution. She cannot tolerate any more of your interrogation. She simply is unable.”
Penny stiffened, ready to stomp downstairs and set Bentley straight. She’d taken no more than a single step when Bentley’s next statement froze her in place.
“Thank goodness Penny’s father was wise enough to make arrangements for her care.”
“What kind of arrangements?” the marshal asked.
Bentley’s shadow stopped before he said, “Well, he certainly couldn’t leave all assets directly in her hands. She wouldn’t have a clue as to how to handle her finances. In no time at all she’d be broke, squandering it all on bonnets and such.”
Penny clasped the handrail and squeezed until her fingers hurt. Then she realized she was angry with herself more than she was with Bentley. After all, he was stating what he believed to be the truth, had no reason to think otherwise. The fact was her father had taken care of everything. But just because she hadn’t handled the finances before didn’t mean she couldn’t. Did Bentley really think so little of her? Had her father?
“She seems like a capable young woman to me,” the marshal responded. From her stance at the railing, Penny smiled through a haze of tears.
“You’ve known her less than an hour,” Bentley pointed out.
“I’m a very good judge of character,” Kincaid replied without missing a beat. “So what happens to her money, this house?”
“It’s in control of her guardian, and that would be me, until she turns twenty-one or marries.”
“When does she turn twenty-one?”
“Not for several months.” Bentley’s shadow took a step so he was standing directly before the marshal. “We’ll be married by then.”
Penny gasped, too outraged to care if they heard her.
“I didn’t realize you two were engaged,” the marshal said, his voice a tad more subdued. Penny resisted the urge to run downstairs and shout, ‘We’re not!’ She wanted to hear what else Bentley had to say, and if he was aware of her presence, he might hold back. She suddenly remembered him at her house after the funeral, with the papers he had in his pocket. Was this the business to which he’d referred?
Bentley said, “Well, we are engaged, not that it’s any of your business. Her father made the arrangements several months ago when he finally realized he’d spoiled her so badly she’d never settle on a man.”
“An arranged marriage? You don’t hear much of those things anymore.”
“It was necessary. He knew I’d be good for her, trusted me to see to her care.”
Pain the color of anger burgeoned inside her. How could her father have arranged things so, setting her up for marriage to a man she didn’t love? Did he really think so little of her? Penny swiped at the tear rolling down her face. He did, everyone did, and maybe that was her own fault. Still, to leave her in such a position, she couldn’t fathom it. Her father was fond of Bentley, had encouraged her to spend time with him. Had he been trying to prepare her?
“Oh, Papa,” she whispered, and more tears flowed. “How could you?”
A moment later, she realized she wouldn’t have to marry Bentley, after all. As he’d just told the marshal, she’d be twenty-one in a few months, and she would have full control over her money and her life. Until then she supposed he would make her live on an allowance. She wasn’t overly concerned about any budget he might force upon her. It just grated on her, Bentley controlling her finances. But it wouldn’t be for very long. She could certainly bide her time with polite manners until her next birthday.
“Congratulations,” the marshal said, though it was mumbled and without a strand of enthusiasm.
At a knock on the door, Penny ducked behind the wall. She recognized Bentley’s tight steps as he crossed the tiled foyer. A boy’s voice said, “I have a message for Marshal Kincaid. Is he here?”
“Yes, this way.”
Penny peeked around the corner to see Andy, Jo Ell Hanson’s boy, walk through the door. Marshal Kincaid met him before he entered the parlor.
&nbs
p; “I’m the marshal.”
“The sheriff wanted me to tell you some bankers from St. Louis got together a five-thousand-dollar bounty for the capture of the man who shot and killed Frank Wills. Sheriff McElroy wanted you to know he rode out with a posse. He wanted to be sure I told you that.” The boy of ten smiled then, enthused over the new turn of events. To him it was just excitement. “It was easy to gather up some men since there’s a big fat reward. They’re all sure they can find that no-account outlaw now that they know it’s a man named Zeke Cotter. They’ll catch him for sure.”
“Damn it all to hell!” the marshal shouted before turning to snatch up his hat and coat from the rack.
On his heels, Bentley said, “You’re going to stop the posse?”
“Those fools have dollar signs in their eyes and no leadership whatsoever to put any sense to their chase. I’ve got to find Zeke Cotter before one of your good citizens’ ends up being his next victim as they’re going after a man with a thirst for bloodlust. Worse than them getting themselves in trouble, they might go and string up an innocent man.”
The marshal stormed out without bothering to shut the door. Penny stepped from behind the wall, staring down at Bentley. The movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see her.
“Penny, you shouldn’t be up.”
“I’m fine. They’re going to catch him now,” she said, her voice cool, her shoulders straight. “In the meantime, I have other matters to settle.”
“Whatever do you mean? Penelope, were you listening to our conversation?”
“Yes, I was, and I’ll tell you exactly what I mean,” she said, marching to the stairs and then down, stopping when she was but a few feet away from him. “Tomorrow I’m going to see Papa’s lawyer. I’m not marrying you, Bentley, and you’re not controlling my money.”
Surprise widened Bentley’s eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this turn. He squirmed a little, as if literally searching for his backbone. In a calming tone, speaking to her as he would a child who didn’t understand, he said, “It’s already done, Penelope. Everything’s been arranged.”