Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  "Fox," she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. "You should have told me."

  He shook his head. Tears glistened in his eyes again. "All those years in the boarding schools, I imagined she would come for me someday. I thought she would clean up, that she would marry my father, and that we would live as a family. But she never came. Not once."

  Celeste knelt and drew Fox into her arms. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, rocking him as she would a child. "I understand now. I understand it all."

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I did love you. I loved you from the first day. I was just afraid to admit it, even to myself."

  Then he glanced up, meeting her gaze with the darkest, saddest black eyes she had ever seen.

  "Can you forgive me? Can we start again? I need you to love me, Celeste."

  "I love you. I'll love you forever." She brushed her lips against his, their tears mingling. "And I will be your wife."

  He kissed her back. "Good. Because my father told me to marry you."

  "What?" She gave a little laugh as she wiped away his tears with her fingertips.

  "I'll show you later. Now, how about a kiss for a weak, foolish man?"

  "A kiss?" She glanced across the dark room to be sure Adam was sound asleep, then back at him. She curled her arms around his neck and drew close. "I can do even better than that . . ."

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Two days later, Celeste, Fox, and Adam rode the train into Carrington.

  "Cali-fornia," Adam bubbled as they walked off the train with the other passengers. "I can't believe we're going to California!"

  "Now, it may take a few weeks," Fox warned. "We have to sell the mine and the house, though the house could go with a broker."

  Adam hopped up and down as they passed through the aisle between the train seats. "I know. But we can take Silver, right? Dogs can live in vineyards."

  "Best place for a dog is a vineyard."

  Fox disembarked first, then reached up to give Celeste his hand. He winked at her.

  She smiled. Fox and Adam were getting along wonderfully. Fox really did love her, and everything really was going to be all right.

  I love you, Fox mouthed as she walked down the steps.

  She brushed his cheek with her hand as she descended. "And

  "Mr. MacPhearson?"

  Celeste gazed over Fox's shoulder to see one of Sheriff Tate's burly new deputies standing on the loading platform. She knew him because he had often frequented Kate's Dance Hall. He had been one of Sally's best customers before he turned lawman.

  "Mr. MacPhearson." The deputy clamped his hand on Fox's shoulder. "You'll have to come with me."

  Celeste grabbed Adam's hand protectively and led him off train. The dog followed. "What's this all about, Larry?"

  "Sheriff Tate told me to meet every train 'til he came back." He glared. "If'n he came back."

  Adam's eyes grew round with astonishment as the deputy took Fox's arm.

  "Come on, now." Larry threw back his burly shoulders. "I don't want no trouble, but I got no qualms about using this thing if I have to." He tapped the ancient oak-handled pistol he wore on a belt around his hips.

  "Larry!" Celeste stepped up to the deputy. He smelled of chewing tobacco and sour sweat. "What are you talking about? What does Tate want with Fox?"

  "Questioning." He jerked his head. "Come on."

  Larry tried to pull Fox after him and Fox shoved him.

  "I'll come, but of my own accord," Fox said. "You don't have to treat me like a criminal." He smoothed his sleeve. "Now let's get this over with so I can go home."

  Celeste held tightly to Adam's hand and followed the men into the street, the baggage forgotten. "Larry! Tell me why Sheriff Tate wants Fox. What's happened? Has there been another murder?"

  "Murder?" Adam echoed, trying to watch his mother's mouth so he would know what was happening. "Who got killed?"

  "Celeste, take Adam home," Fox told her. "I'll be home directly. I'm sure this is just more of Tate's nonsensical questioning."

  She ignored him and hurried to catch up. "Larry! I want to know why Fox is being brought in for questioning again. He told you everything he knew about that girl he found in the alley."

  "Yes, well, we found another," Larry shot over his shoulder.

  Celeste felt her heart skip a beat. "Who?"

  "The sheriff said I wasn't to tell anybody anything. Just bring Mr. MacPhearson in, and that's what I aim to do." As they walked down the sidewalk, Larry glanced over his shoulder at her again. "Mr. MacPhearson's right. You best go home, Miss Kennedy."

  "I'll do no such thing." She marched up the steps into the jail house with Adam and the dog in tow. "Not until I know what the he—" She glanced at Adam. "What's going on," she corrected herself.

  "What's going on?" Tate met them in the front receiving area of the jail house. "I'll tell you what's going on. Surprised you haven't heard, Celeste."

  She tightened her grip on Adam's hand, sensing she didn't want to hear what Tate would say next. "What? Heard what?"

  Tate hooked his thumb into the waistband of his pants. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this." He looked down at the floor, seemingly genuinely upset. "I know how close you two were, but—"

  Celeste placed her hand on an old table for support, gripping Adam's hand with the other. No. No.

  "But Silky Sally's dead. Killed. Murdered right in your front yard."

  Celeste felt her heart plummet. She yanked her hand off the desk and brought it to her mouth, afraid for a moment that she would be physically ill.

  "No," she whispered.

  "Celeste." Fox tried to reach her, but Tate grabbed him by his arms and pulled him back. It took the sheriff and his deputy to hold him.

  "Keep your hands off that woman!" Tate threatened.

  Celeste tried to take a deep breath and keep her head clear. Her vision was blurry. She couldn't breathe. Sally, sweet Sally was dead . . .

  "Wh . . . when?" Celeste asked numbly. "She . . . she was supposed to leave with Noah. She . . . she was getting married."

  "It was the night of her party. Poor girl never had a chance. He cut her down on your front walk."

  Celeste glanced up through a veil of stinging tears. "You . . . you don't think Fox had anything to do with Sally's death?" she managed.

  "I'd be a fool not to. A man's got to look at the evidence. He walks nights in the town when all decent folk are in bed."

  "That doesn't make a man a killer," Celeste retorted.

  "And then there's that business with the dead woman in California. Bet you didn't know about that."

  "He was questioned and released."

  The sheriff pulled a coat from behind a desk. "And then there's this that we found in a trash heap behind Simon's Boardinghouse."

  Celeste stared at the coat. It was Fox's . . . and covered with blood.

  She met Fox's gaze. She knew there was an explanation for this. She knew he didn't kill anyone.

  With his eyes, he silently thanked her for trusting him.

  "Fox didn't kill that girl, and he didn't kill poor Sally," Celeste said, pushing through the blinding pain of her friend's murder. "You've certainly not done a good job of investigating. He couldn't have. He was with me in Denver!"

  "That right?" Tate lifted a bushy eyebrow.

  "The coat's mine," Fox admitted. "The night I found the girl, I picked her up to see if she was still alive. I got the blood all over my coat. I knew what you'd think if I came to the jail house looking like that, so I just got rid of the coat." He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "It was a stupid thing to do." He glanced at Celeste. "I'm sorry. I was so worried about you, about us, that I didn't think I could deal with any more complications."

  Tate frowned. "Sounds like quite the story."

  "Check with the train station," Celeste said. "Find out when he boarded the train to Denver. You knew he left, right? Why didn't you have the sense to find out when?"

/>   "I'm lookin' into that now." Tate dropped the bloody coat on a chair. "But you best go home, Celeste. We won't need you to talk to Mr. MacPhearson."

  Fox interrupted her protest. "He's right," he said. "You need to take Adam home."

  Celeste glanced down at her son. The boy was afraid. Everyone was talking so fast that he probably couldn't follow the conversation, which at this point was just as well. But she knew how disturbing it was for him not to know what was happening. It was in a group of people like this that he lost his confidence.

  She smoothed Adam's hair and squeezed his hand. "You're right. I'll take him home, but I'll find someone to stay with him, and I'll come right back."

  "Celeste, you stay with Adam," Fox instructed. "It will be easy enough for Tate to check the written records of when I boarded the train, now that he knows to do so." He glared at the sheriff. "So go home and wait for me." He managed a bare smile. "Why don't you whip your menfolk up something decent to eat."

  She forced herself to smile, because she knew that Fox needed to know she was all right. Of course she wasn't all right, but she was strong. She could be strong for Adam and Fox . . . even for poor Sally.

  "I'll be back," she said determinedly, and left the jail house.

  At home, Celeste took the time to show Adam the house. He was worried about Fox, but she brushed over the whole jail incident as a mistake and told him Fox would be home tonight or tomorrow, once the train records were examined. Though he questioned her about the murder, she didn't give him any details; she didn't want to scare him.

  After leading him through the house and showing him the room that had been Fox's, which would be his until they left for California, Celeste escorted boy and dog to the kitchen and fed Adam bread and cheese. It was the only thing she had in the house to eat, but Adam seemed content with the meager meal.

  She lit the kitchen stove, and then sat beside Adam at the table. As she held her warm teacup between her palms, finding comfort in the heat, she wondered what was happening at the jail house. Had Fox been able to reason with Tate? Had someone located the train ticket records necessary to prove that Fox had boarded the midnight train?

  As Celeste sipped her tea, she tried not to think about Sally. When she'd walked up her front walk with Adam, she'd kept her gaze fixed on the door ahead, careful not to look for bloodstains. Right now Celeste couldn't allow herself to be distracted by that which she could not change. First she had to get Fox safely home, and then she would grieve.

  Celeste lowered her head to her hands, warm from the teacup, and tried hard to think with her head, not her heart. What she needed most now was a level mind and her dependable logic. Sally had been murdered the night before she was to leave Carrington. Did that mean the murderer knew she was leaving, and didn't want her to get away? And how did the murderer know to look for her here, rather than at Kate's? Sally had never slept in her house. The decision was made by Celeste and Sally only hours before her murder. How could anyone have known that's where she was going?

  Unless . . .

  Celeste lifted her head and stared blankly ahead, thinking. Adam sat with his bread and cheese, preoccupied with feeding crumbs to the dog.

  Unless . . . the murderer had been at Sally's party, Celeste concluded.

  She slapped her hand on the table. "It has to be someone who was there," she said aloud, raising out of the chair. "Someone who knew her . . . knew her well."

  A friend. It had to be one of Sally's friends who had murdered her . . . one of Celeste's friends. Perhaps this friend had even meant to kill Celeste and taken Sally's life when Celeste went to Denver instead of home.

  "Adam." Celeste touched her son's arm so that he would look up at her.

  "Get your coat. We have to—"

  Silver's head popped up and he barked.

  The echo of the bark was followed by a knock on the front door.

  Celeste hurried to the door, hoping, praying it was Fox, who couldn't get in because he didn't have his key.

  "Oh, Fox—" She threw open the door. Her hopes tumbled. "Joash . . ."

  "Celeste." He nodded, his pale hands poised as if in prayer, as usual. "I heard you came in on the train. I wanted to offer my condolences. I know you cared a great deal for Sally. Mrs. Tuttle would have come, too, but she was feeling poorly—tripped on the steps and banged herself up. May I come in?"

  Celeste stepped back to allow him inside the front foyer. This wasn't the time for visitors; she had to get to the jail house. But Joash . . .

  Celeste grabbed his black frocked arm. "Joash. Could you do me a favor?" She spoke quickly. The killer was still on the loose, and she had to tell the sheriff what she knew. "Could you stay here with my son?"

  "Your son?" His black eyebrows shot up and his protruding Adam's apple bobbed. "You have a son? An illegitimate son!"

  She glanced at Adam, who peeked around the doorway. "I'll explain later, Joash," she said, facing him so Adam wouldn't know what she was saying. "You can preach to me then. Right now, I just need you to sit here with him and be sure he's safe."

  She didn't give Joash time to reply as she smiled at Adam, turning her head so that he could easily read her lips. "Adam, this is Reverend Tuttle, and he's going to stay with you for a short time while I fetch Fox."

  Adam's lower lip quivered. I don"t want to stay here with him, he signed with his hands.

  "I need you to do this. You'll be fine. Joash is my friend."

  "Please, Mama," he said aloud. "Please don't make me stay."

  "Just trust me, Adam. You need to stay here." It tore at Celeste's heart to see Adam upset like this, but she knew it was best if the boy stayed safely inside with Joash. As Adam's mother, it was her responsibility to see that he did what was best for him, not necessarily what he wanted. You'll be fine, Adam, she signed.

  She turned to Joash. "Adam has a little difficulty in hearing, Reverend, but if you'll simply look at him when you speak, the two of you will get along just fine." She grabbed for her cloak. "You'll be fine here with the reverend, Adam."

  She threw her cloak over her shoulders and went to kiss Adam. As she did, Silver thrust his head under her hand and looked up expectantly.

  "No, you stay here, Silver, and keep Adam company."

  The dog followed her to the door and whined as she drew it open. "Silver? What's gotten into you? I said, stay." She motioned to him, but the dog followed her onto the porch. It was almost dark and there was an unseasonably cold wind blowing out of the mountains.

  "You've never been disobedient before," she mused aloud. Her first impulse was to make the dog go back inside, but she stared at him for a moment. Was he trying to tell her something with those big, brown dog eyes of his?

  She sighed. "Oh, all right. You can come." She glanced up at Adam in the doorway with the reverend. "You'll be fine here with Joash." She smiled. "All right?"

  He nodded. She could tell he was trying to be brave. God, she loved her son.

  She waved to him. "Thank you, Joash," she called over her shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

  Celeste hurried up Plum Street with the dog on her heels. It was so cold that she drew her hood over her head. She wished she'd worn her hat with the long woolen black scarf that tied beneath her chin. It was so cold.

  She turned onto Peach, headed into town.

  As Celeste walked, she noticed how desolate the street was. Of course it was a weekend, and most of the miners were on their claims. Those who lived in the boardinghouses were probably working the mines or asleep in their beds, depending on which shift they worked. The bitter cold and the snow flurries must have kept everyone else inside.

  Celeste walked faster, spooked by the darkness and the cold and the empty street. Something didn't feel right, but she didn't know what. She looked behind her. No one was there. She could hear nothing but the whistling wind, her footsteps, and the dog's nails scraping on the wooden sidewalk.

  She took another step forward, still glancing over her shou
lder, and struck something hard. "Oh!" she cried and stumbled back.

  Startled, Silver gave a yipe and trotted backward.

  As she lifted her head, she gave a little laugh at her foolishness. She'd been so busy looking behind her that she'd run into a rain barrel.

  "Scare you too, boy?" She laid a shaky hand on Silver's back and stroked the yellow dog. "You're quite the fierce mutt to be scared of rain barrels."

  They circumnavigated the barrel and walked on. Half a block ahead, she could see the jail house lantern light spilling from its tiny windows.

  "Here we go. Almost—"

  Someone stepped out of an alley directly in front of her so that she collided with him. He was covered from head to toe in a heavy, black hooded cloak.

  Celeste's instinct was to run, but the specter took her unaware. She stopped so suddenly that she lost her balance.

  Silver snarled.

  Celeste opened her mouth to scream, but the cloaked figure was too fast. He clamped a leather-gloved hand over her mouth. At the same time, he yanked her into his arms by a handful of her cloak.

  She kicked wildly and struggled to escape.

  The hand covered her mouth and pinched her nose. She was suffocating . . .

  No! No! No! Celeste screamed in her head. I won't let you do this. After all these years, I've finally found happiness. You won't take my son from me! You won't take my Fox.

  Silver barked and snapped at the cloaked figure. He kicked the dog as he dragged Celeste into the alley.

  She drew up her knee and kicked backward hard, hitting him in the shin.

  Her attacker grunted, but didn't relinquish his iron grip.

  Celeste was dizzy from lack of air. Her heart was pounding, her lungs exploding.

  No! No! No! She told herself. He won't win! Not this time. Not with me.

  So fight-headed that she was on the verge of fainting, Celeste drew her energy and focused on escape. The attacker had her by her mouth and her cloak. If she could slip out of the cloak . . .

  She could hear the faceless killer panting as he struggled to subdue her.