“I don’t know. And only part of it was returned, don’t forget that.” Oliver leaned his head back against the antimacassar their mother had crocheted. “What do you think really happened, Jules?”
“I can’t imagine. And if we never find out, I may go insane thinking about it.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Well, I hope no one comes here wanting to do you in,” she added.
Oliver straightened, his eyes troubled. “Do you want to ride to the mine with us?”
“No, thank you. I’ve had more than enough riding this week.” Julia stood and walked over to stand before him. “Come on. I feel grubbier than I did when I got off the train in Flagstaff. I want a bath and a nap. Help me bring in some water while you wait for Adam?”
“Sure,” Oliver said as he rose.
“Great. And later, I want to sit down and talk to you. We’ve missed so much, it’ll take us weeks to catch up.”
“I don’t know about that. Things were pretty quiet before you came home.”
“Ha. Don’t you start blaming it on me. But seriously, Ollie, I’d like to go to the cemetery later.” Tears threatened, and she blinked them back. Being here with Oliver and working in her mother’s kitchen brought her sense of loss to new depths.
“Sure. I’ll go up there with you anytime.”
She could tell from his gentle tone that he understood perfectly.
“Good. As soon as you’re back from the mine, then.”
“Good morning, Mr. Gerry. The deputy sheriff’s got something for you.”
Leland Gerry stared at Oliver as he entered the boss’s office and jumped to his feet. “Newman! Good to see you.” He glanced beyond Oliver toward Adam. “Sheriff, what’s this about?”
Adam strode forward and plopped a plump flour sack on Gerry’s desk. “Part of your payroll money was returned.”
“What?” Gerry’s jaw dropped. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, sir, but this money showed up unannounced at the jail, and I figure it belongs to you. It’s not all that was stolen, but it should help alleviate your loss. There’s three thousand dollars there.”
Gerry sat down with a quiet thud. “This is fantastical. Do you know who did it?”
“Nope. I aim to find out.” Adam hauled in a deep breath. “Maybe you’d count it now, sir, and write me a note saying you received it.”
A short time later, after Mr. Gerry accepted the cash and told Oliver he could take the rest of the day off, Adam and Oliver rode back into town. They stopped when they reached Main Street.
“Guess I’ll see you later,” Adam said. “I’m going to catch a nap. Then I plan to start questioning people again. What are you going to do?”
“Julia wants to visit Mama’s grave.”
Adam nodded. Poor Julia. Because of his skewed thinking, she’d wasted the last four days when she and Oliver could have been comforting each other.
“Come around for supper if you want,” Oliver said.
“Thanks. I’m not sure Julie would want to feed me again.”
“She didn’t look mad this morning.”
“No, but when she has time to think things over, she’ll likely still hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She told me so.”
Adam pressed his lips together. That was something. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do that,” Oliver said.
Adam rode to the jail. He put Socks away in his corral at the back and went inside for a quick look around the empty building. He peeked into the treasure box in the back room, to make sure it was still empty. Satisfied that no one had left him any more surprises, he went outside and stepped into the quiet street.
Ardell wasn’t much of a town. It used to be bigger and wilder, in the mining heyday. Now the High Desert Mine was the only big operation in the area, and it had bought up most of the promising ground, or the mineral rights to it. The town served the employees of the mine, as well as ranchers in the hills, but mostly people bypassed it. Ardell had no railroad, and the electric lines and telephones hadn’t made it up here yet.
He yawned and walked down the street toward the boardinghouse. Mrs. Edson would be fixing dinner for her boarders. Maybe he’d stop in there around noon and get some of her good cooking. Of course, young Doctor Browning boarded at her place now. Adam wouldn’t want to run into his uncle’s rival. He ambled toward the corner.
Everything seemed quiet, as it should in mid-September. People were going about their business. He hoped he could keep them from going off half-cocked again when they learned that part of the stolen money had been returned. Of course, they would still want the murderer caught.
A poster on the front door of the haberdashery caught his eye. Leland Gerry for Senator. Adam was glad he wasn’t running against Gerry—or running for any office. Why had those men in Phoenix asked him to, anyway? Probably because he had a name most folks in the area would recognize. But that wasn’t the sort of thing he was good at. Gerry would do fine. He knew how to talk to businessmen and lawyers. He would probably like going to Washington and promoting his causes, whereas that life would strangle Adam. Even having to stay in Phoenix for a few months at a time would stifle him. Meetings and confabs and sessions—that was all he’d be doing if he took a seat in the legislature.
Besides, who would vote for him? Right now the people of his own town wouldn’t vote for Adam Scott. The fickle citizens of Ardell would probably fire him and run him off the mountain if he didn’t catch the killer soon.
He’d taken the route past the saloons on his way to the boardinghouse. It wasn’t the shortest way, but he had time to spare, and it wouldn’t hurt to peek inside the saloons—they stayed open twenty-four hours a day—and see who was already half soused. Piano music trilled from the Gold Strike, and he turned his steps toward it.
Ten yards ahead of him, someone shoved the door of the saloon outward. His uncle staggered out onto the small porch. The top two buttons of his shirt were open and he had no tie or hat, things he would never have left his house without six months ago. He gazed about with a dazed expression as the cold air hit him.
Adam pulled up short. The sight hit him hard in the stomach. He’d known Uncle Royce had slipped and was drinking more than he should, but when had he sunk to this level of degradation? The older man lurched forward, fetched up against a porch post, and fumbled in his pockets. He took out his pipe and took his time filling it with shaky hands. Finally he had the tobacco in it and tamped down to his satisfaction and took out a book of matches. He tried to light one, but couldn’t. The distinguished and highly respected Dr. Scott was too drunk to light his pipe.
Struggling with disgust, pity, and grief, Adam gazed at him. Pity won out as he realized he’d neglected him. Uncle Royce needed someone to help him out a little, to look out for him, and to keep him accountable. He didn’t have that since Aunt Alma died, and his medical practice had shrunk to where he saw very few patients. The saloon was his social outlet now.
With a mild shock, Adam realized his uncle hadn’t been to church in months, so far as he knew. He dropped in to see the old man now and then, and had taken him out to supper once or twice a month. Maybe he should have moved in with him again after Aunt Alma’s death. He used to stay with them when he was in the Rangers. He’d had no other place to call home between patrols.
But Adam had enjoyed his freedom, and he hated confrontation. Criminals were one thing, but people he knew—well, that was another story. Uncle Royce didn’t want any advice, and he certainly didn’t want anyone telling him that he was drinking too much. Adam had tried that once, and it only made him mad. Of course, his uncle had had several glasses of whiskey at the time. Adam had tried to find a time when his uncle was sober to talk the matter over seriously with him, but he had to admit he hadn’t tried overly hard. And somehow that time had never come.
The matchbook fluttered from Uncle Royce’s hand to the porch floor. Adam strode forward and mounted the steps.
�
��Here, let me get that for you.”
Uncle Royce grunted. “What—Adam? Thank you.”
He didn’t sound too drunk.
“Let me walk you home,” Adam said, reaching for the matchbook. He picked it up and stared down at the cover. ARIZONA, THE FORTY-EIGHTH STATE.
He’d given Uncle Royce some of the matchbooks.
He caught his breath and looked at his uncle. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Maybe he had, but he’d disregarded it because Uncle Royce was too old and unsteady to rob a stagecoach single-handed—wasn’t he?
Julia tied the strings of her best Sunday bonnet. She wanted to look nice for her first visit to Mama’s grave, and besides, she might very well see the minister. Oliver waited patiently. They’d both bathed, and Oliver had shaved. Her brother looked quite handsome. Julia wondered why he didn’t have a sweetheart.
She’d have to have a heart-to-heart with him later. He’d written last year that he had his eye on someone, but then he’d dropped the subject. She’d asked what happened, and he’d closed the topic without really telling her anything. She wondered now if the girl he’d fancied had died or moved away—or turned him down, which would be every bit as tragic in her mind.
A knock drew Oliver to the front entrance. Julia picked up her gloves and put them on, watching as her brother opened the door to their caller.
Adam stood there, panting as though he’d been running and still rather disheveled.
“Come with me, Oliver. Julia, you, too. I need you to go down the road with me.”
Julia stepped forward. “What for?”
Adam wiped his cuff across his brow. “We need to go back to the place where the stage was held up.”
“Why?” Julia asked. Adam’s urgency had her heart thudding.
“Oh. Sorry.” He looked from one to the other of them. “It’s just that I—I found a new clue, and I think there’s evidence out there. But I need you to help me find it, Julia.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Adam huffed out a breath and lowered his head, staring at the floor for a moment. “I’ve got Socks, and I stopped by the livery and told Sam and Peewee to saddle two horses for you, pronto.”
Julia looked at Oliver. He was clearly as puzzled as she was.
“If this evidence has been out there all week, will it still be there now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what is it?” Oliver put on his hat as he spoke.
Adam’s confidence seemed to have fled, and his shoulders drooped. “I–I’d rather not say until I’m sure. I don’t want to make the same mistake that I made with you and Clew. When I’m sure…”
“Good enough for me,” Oliver said. “Ready, Jules?”
“Not really. I changed out of my riding skirt.”
“We’ll wait,” Adam said. “But hurry.” She met his gaze with a glare, and he added, “Please.”
Julia hurried up the stairs, removing her bonnet as she went, and took off her dress as soon as she reached her room. The frock was one she’d bought in Philadelphia, and she’d written to her mother and described it for her. The episode had prompted a wave of homesickness, and that returned today, as she realized anew that she’d never be able to share her simple pleasures with her mother again.
She laid the dress on her bed, determined to make the journey to the cemetery yet today. She hated to put on the dusty split skirt, but she saw no other alternative. At least she had a clean shirtwaist. Instead of the pretty hat from Philadelphia, she clapped on her riding hat again and exchanged her fine white gloves for old leather ones.
As she scurried down the stairs, Adam and Oliver both stood at the bottom, watching her. She couldn’t help but notice the light in Adam’s eyes, even though she’d changed into her least attractive outfit. Well, he didn’t look so bad either, though he still had nearly a week’s growth of beard and the stains of travel on his worn clothing.
Julia was puffing by the time they reached the livery. Peewee and Sam had the horses ready. She got the dun again, and that was all right. She was getting rather fond of him.
They rode down the winding mountain road at a quick trot. When they arrived, Adam jumped to the ground.
“All right, Julia. Tell me again what you saw when you came out here. I’m talking about after the robbery—later that day.”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Well…” She swung down from the saddle and looked around. She tried to remember what she’d told him, gave up, and concentrated instead on that afternoon. She’d been frightened, both because Oliver was missing and because Adam had implied that he might be mixed up in the robbery. She’d worried that Oliver was hurt and needed help. And she’d been frustrated because there seemed to be nothing she could do to change the situation.
“There was a mark on the ground, where Chick tossed down the strongbox.” She scanned the dusty road. “I can’t see it now.” She walked hesitantly to the edge of the road, where she could see out over the valley, over the arroyos, and off toward the mesa in the distance. “I think it was right about here.”
“And what else?”
She tried to remember, but shook her head.
“I know,” Oliver said, still in the saddle. “Last night, when we were talking to Adam, you said you’d found a bottle.”
“Oh, that’s right. It was over there.” She pointed to a jumble of large boulders on the other side of the road.
Adam walked over there with her, and Oliver dismounted and joined them.
“Was it lying in plain sight?” Adam asked.
“Nooo…” She walked between the rocks. “It was here somewhere. I didn’t see it until I walked off the road. But it wasn’t what I’d call hidden, either.”
“I should have seen it.” Adam’s face looked as though he was in pain. “Where is it now?”
“I threw it in the bushes.” She led him farther from the road, where the shrubbery began and the ground sloped upward. Beyond were a few piñon trees, but she stopped near some low, prickly juniper. “It’s probably in here somewhere.” She moved some branches aside with her foot.
“If it’s still here, we’ll find it,” Oliver said. He and Adam began to search among the vegetation, between the boulders and the trees.
Halfheartedly, Julia poked around, too. She tried to recall exactly where she’d stood that day and how far the bottle had gone when she’d flung it.
She lifted the low branches of a clump of juniper to peer underneath it and jumped back with a little scream.
“What is it?” Oliver called.
Adam, somehow, was already at her side.
“Snake,” she gasped.
Adam pushed her gently behind him and drew his revolver. “Where?”
“Under that bush.”
“Here?” He pointed to the one she’d been investigating.
Julia nodded. Her heart pounded, and her mouth went all dry.
“Rattler?” Adam asked.
“I—I don’t know. I didn’t hear it rattle.”
He said over his shoulder, “Get me a stick.”
She looked around, but didn’t see any loose sticks long enough to do any good.
Oliver walked over. “Whatcha got?”
“Snake in that juniper,” Adam said. “I can’t see it. Can you find a long stick?”
“How about your rifle?”
“Get it.”
Oliver went over to the horses and pulled Adam’s rifle from his scabbard.
“You want to poke or shoot?” Adam asked.
“I’ll poke the bushes. You’re a better shot than I am.” Oliver leaned forward and used the end of the gun barrel to cautiously lift the branches. Adam crouched, peering into the foliage.
Julia stood a few steps behind them, her heart racing. She put her hands to her ears in anticipation of what was to come. A moment later, Adam fired several shots in quick succession. Oliver jumped back, and the two men stood st
ill for a moment. Oliver reached out with the rifle and prodded at the juniper bush.
Julia lowered her hands. “Did you get it?”
Oliver held up a three-foot section of snake, holding it by the bulbous rattle on the tail end. “In spades. Good shooting, Adam.”
“You shot its head clean off,” Julia said.
Adam smiled and holstered his revolver. “You want to cook that up for supper?”
“No, thank you.” Julia made a face at him. She’d eaten snake two or three times when they lived at Canyon Diablo, but it was by no means her favorite dish. She considered it food for the very poor or the very desperate.
Adam laughed and kicked about in the brush a little more.
“Come over here, Julie.”
She approached warily. Adam reached down into the juniper and straightened, holding a bottle. He held it out to her.
“Is this the one?”
“Looks like it.”
Adam nodded grimly. He turned it in his hands, stared at the label, and inhaled deeply. “My uncle is very particular about his whiskey. This is Kessler—his brand.”
Chapter 16
Walking up the steps to his uncle’s house was harder than watching Julia get on the stagecoach two years ago. Adam dreaded the confrontation. He paused on the porch. Maybe he could send to Flagstaff for the sheriff. But, no. He needed to face this himself.
He knocked on the door and wished he hadn’t. No turning back now. Uncle Royce’s words from Monday night flitted through his mind—“I wondered when you’d come by.” Adam had thought he meant it as a gentle reproof because he hadn’t visited for a while. But maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe his uncle had expected him to put the clues together sooner.
The door opened, and he stood face-to-face with the old man. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then Uncle Royce stepped back.
“You might as well come in.”
Adam stepped into the waiting room.
His uncle shut the door and turned toward him. “So.”
“Uncle Royce…” Adam didn’t know what to say. Officially he knew, but before God, what was the truly right thing to say now?
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