The Bride's Prerogative (31 page)

“He coulda lit out for Reynolds,” Augie Moore put in.

“Yes, he could have.” Ethan sighed. Probably the smartest thing would be to head back to Fergus. Most of the ranchers along the way had been alerted. The posse could go out in the morning and try to pick up the trail. He doubted they would. If they hadn’t trampled the outlaw’s tracks, they’d be mingled indistinguishably with the other hoofprints on the dusty roads.

“Gentlemen, I don’t know as we have much chance of finding this fellow tonight,” Ethan said.

“He’s got my horse,” Ralph Storrey called.

“I haven’t forgotten that.” Storrey’s ranch was on the south side of town, in the opposite direction to the one the outlaw had taken. Ethan puzzled over what little he knew.

“Let’s at least go out by my place,” Cyrus said. “We can ask if anyone out that way heard a rider go past.”

When no one presented a better plan, Ethan lifted his boot to the stirrup and swung onto Scout’s back. “All right, let’s go.”

“So the sheriff’s been collecting all these pennies from the crimes and trying to figure out who left them?” Starr’s eyes shone with the challenge.

“That’s right.” Gert faced all the women in the Walkers’ parlor and wondered if she’d made a wise decision. “I hoped the Ladies’ Shooting Club, and you other ladies, too,” she said, nodding deferentially to Bertha Runnels and Jessie Tinen, “could help us out. Seems to me, if we all put our heads together, we should be able to tell who the killer is.”

“Well, he’s not one of the posse,” Goldie said. She’d come over from the Spur & Saddle with a bottle of whiskey. Miss Shepard thought they might need it for the mayor, she’d explained. Apphia had gingerly accepted the bottle and carried it to the bedchamber as though she held a wriggling snake between her fingers.

“Now, that’s a good thought.” Gert pointed her index finger at Goldie. “See? I knew this would be helpful.”

“So, who was in the posse?” Ellie Nash asked.

“And who did you see at the Spur & Saddle after the outlaw rode away?” Myra added.

Libby jumped up. “Excellent! Let me get a pencil and a sheet of paper, ladies. We can make a list of men we know are innocent.”

Gert exhaled, feeling as though a huge rock had rolled off her chest. It wasn’t the same as naming the killer, but eliminating the better part of the town’s residents might bring them closer to the truth.

She looked around at the rapt faces. “All of you be thinking while she gets it.”

A minute later, Libby returned with a piece of brown wrapping paper and a pencil. She settled down on the settee next to Apphia, who handed her a book to use as a lap desk.

“All right,” Libby said. “Gert, you were there. Tell us which men you’re certain this infidel is not.”

“Well, Ethan Chapman, for sure. And Ralph Storrey. His horse was stolen.” Gert lowered her eyebrows, mentally counting the men who had poured out of the saloon. “Augie Moore. Ezra Dyer. Mr. Tinen—junior and senior. Uh … Parnell Oxley. One of the Storreys’ ranch hands. Mr. Runnels …” Gert’s gaze caught Goldie’s. The girl seemed barely able to contain herself. “Of course, Goldie was there, too. She might be able to tell us who was
inside
the Spur & Saddle when the shooting took place.”

Names spilled out of Goldie’s mouth faster than Libby could write them down. “Mr. Colburn, Maitland Dostie, Josh Runnels, Nealy and Clem Higgins. A drummer that came in on the Boise stagecoach. That feller who’s got a mine down the river. Micah Landry and the ranch hand Miss Dooley mentioned. Buck, they call him.”

“Well!” Gert felt a new admiration for the girl. “Anyone else?”

“Hmm …” Goldie’s brow furrowed. “Of course, Miss Bitsy was there, and Vashti and me.”

“Do you think it could have been a woman?” Florence asked. Everyone stared at her.

“I … I don’t think so.” Gert wished she could state emphatically that the killer was a man.

“All right,” Libby said, scribbling the last of the names. “If anyone else can positively give someone an alibi, tell me now.”

Most of the women quickly vouched for themselves and their husbands.

Isabel cleared her throat. “What about my father?”

Gert winced. “He came soon after the shooting. I believe he was … at the other end of town when it occurred.”

“Yes, I expect you’re right.” Isabel’s face was stricken. “I had two customers take rooms at the boardinghouse today. One was the salesman that Goldie mentioned. The other was an older gentleman who went to his room as soon as he’d had supper. Bill Stout was going to sleep there tonight, too, but he’d gone out.”

“Probably to the Nugget,” Gert hazarded. She wondered if the saloon girls on that end of town could give her a list of patrons.

Hester Tinen had fallen asleep on her mother’s lap. Starr curled a lock of the little girl’s hair around her finger as she spoke. “You know, we can’t rule out anyone who was at the Nugget tonight. Unless they vouch for each other, that is.”

Isabel shrank down in the corner of the sofa.

Gert pressed her lips together. She wished she could shout out, “Your father is innocent, Isabel.” But she couldn’t do that. She doubted Cyrus’s guilt now, but could she say that for certain? And could the shooter have ridden out of town then sneaked back to join the posse? She rejected that idea. Storrey’s horse was still missing, after all.

Silence hung over them for an agonizing moment. Gert inhaled deeply. “I don’t think the man I saw was Mr. Fennel. Of course, I can’t be certain, but Mr. Fennel is a tall man. As is Griffin Bane. When the killer mounted Mr. Storrey’s horse, I didn’t have the impression of an overly large man. And I’m sure I’d have recognized Mr. Bane’s build, so I’ve ruled him out as well.”

“He’s quite distinctive, isn’t he?” Bertha asked. A chuckle rippled through the room.

Gert nodded. “He is.”

“What was this thing you mentioned about pennies?” Myra asked. “The sheriff has found a penny after each killing?”

“Yes,” Gert said. “After the fires at the emporium and the mayor’s warehouse, too. There are five now. One from Sheriff Thalen’s murder, one from Milzie Peart’s, and the one the man threw tonight. It landed on the steps of the Spur & Saddle next to Mayor Walker.” Would Ethan be upset if she revealed the rest? Gert gulped and said as calmly as she could, “All five were minted in the same year—1866.”

“That’s a long time ago,” Starr said.

Florence nodded. “The year I was born.”

Libby cleared her throat. “They’re common though. Gert and I have discussed this some. I didn’t come to Fergus until a few years after that, but my husband was here then. I can’t think of anything Isaac ever told me that could be connected to these crimes. We wondered if any of you older ladies can recall what went on in town that year. Did something happen that would make this person angry?”

At that moment, Annie and Orissa entered the parlor, and all the ladies fell silent.

Apphia stood and walked toward them. “How is the mayor?”

“He’s resting,” Annie said. “The pastor is sitting with him. I thought it would do Orissa good to have a cup of tea and something to eat.”

“I’ll get it.” Ellie rose and hurried toward the kitchen.

Orissa’s skin was stretched tight over her face. Even her hands were pale. Apphia took her arm and guided her to the spot she had vacated on the settee.

“We’ve been praying for your husband, and for you, my dear.” Apphia squeezed her hand.

“Thank you. Annie is optimistic.”

All eyes turned to Annie for confirmation.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a serious wound, but none of the vital organs seems to be hit. We’ve got the bleeding stopped, and he’s resting easier. We’ll see what a good night’s sleep will do for him.”

Orissa looked around at all of them. “What was it you were discussing when we came in? Something about the town’s history?”

Everyone looked to Gert. She nodded. “We were saying how the people who’ve been attacked by this outlaw all seem to be among the town’s founders. The sheriff has some clues that point to something in the past—something that perhaps happened in 1866.”

“Charles and I were here then,” Orissa said. “Do you think it’s someone who’s carried a grudge for near twenty years?”

“It could be.”

Ellie came in with a tray and took tea and a few cookies to Mrs. Walker.

“That was the peak of the gold frenzy,” Bertha said. “My husband and I came the next year. The mines were already starting to play out.”

“Yes. Fergus was a lawless place back then.” Orissa reached for the teacup. “A thousand men would come to town every weekend.”

Libby said, “We’ve asked all the ladies to think about what the town was like then. There were several businesses that have closed since, and the boardinghouse was in its heyday.”

“The stamp mill over to Booneville had begun operating,” Bertha said. “A lot of ore passed through there.”

“My family was here,” Isabel said quietly.

Something clicked in Gert’s mind. She glanced over at Libby. “Ladies, think about this. Isaac Adams was here in 1866. A few weeks ago, his widow’s business was set afire. Cyrus Fennel was here that year. Milzie Peart was killed in his office. Mayor Walker was here. Both his business and his person have been attacked.”

Bertha clapped her hand over her mouth. “Cyrus, Charles, Isaac … they were all here when we moved to town. Of course, Charles wasn’t the mayor then. He started out mining, didn’t he, Orissa?”

“Oh yes. They all did. Cyrus took over the assay office in ‘65, I think. My husband gave up mining soon after. It didn’t go as well as he’d hoped. But we’d saved enough to build a decent house and start a business.” She nodded and took another sip of tea.

Gert frowned, reaching for something. “What about Bert Thalen? Was he here in ‘66?”

“And Milzie Peart,” said Ellie.

“Well … I’m not sure it’s so important when Milzie arrived.”

“But she was killed,” Starr said, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, but …” Gert swallowed hard. “Right now my theory is that the outlaw didn’t set out to kill Milzie. He only did it because she got in his way.”

“In Father’s office,” Isabel said.

“Yes. The sheriff and I both think the killer was waiting in there to ambush Mr. Fennel. Poor Milzie went in, and he attacked her instead.”

“If that’s what happened,” Goldie said soberly, “then the same person killed her as shot the mayor and killed the old sheriff, but not for the same reason.”

Gert nodded. “That’s my thinking, all right. So why did he do these things? What made him go after Bert? And the mayor and

Mr. Fennel?”

“And what about Griffin Bane?” Starr asked.

“He came to town later,” Libby said with certainty. “After Isaac and I had married. He bought the smithy, and later on he took over the livery, too.”

“Libby doesn’t fit in,” said Apphia. “From what you’ve told me, the killer has attacked men who were here during the town’s boom years. Libby told me she came about twelve years ago and married Mr. Adams then.”

“That’s right,” Libby said. “We were married in 1873. But Isaac had already stopped mining and established the emporium.”

“That’s why he didn’t kill you,” Emmaline said. Several jaws dropped, and she hurried to explain her thoughts. “Suppose this killer was angry at your husband. Isaac was already dead when he came, and it was too late for revenge. Maybe he thought he’d do something bad to you, his widow, but not …”

“Not as bad as he’s done to the others,” said Myra.

“If what you’re saying is true, my father is in grave danger.” Isabel’s gray eyes pinned Gert. “That man tried to kill him and failed, perhaps more than once. He succeeded with Sheriff Thalen, and the mayor lies in grave danger under this roof. Isaac Adams is already dead. My father could be next.”

Gert’s mouth went dry. “That’s so. And Cyrus went with the posse.”

“Yes. He insisted on helping find the man who shot his old friend.” Isabel’s lips trembled, and she clamped them firmly shut.

Gert nodded. “I fear you’re right. If anyone is in danger tonight, it’s Mr. Fennel. So … what did those four men all do to cause such hatred?”

“There were a lot of gold strikes in the early years,” Orissa said, her eyes unfocused as she looked back over the years. “The first miners came here in 1862 or ‘63, I think. Charles heard about it, and we got here in the fall of ‘63. I’m not sure if Bert Thalen was already here, or if he came the next spring—there were a lot of rough men about, and I stayed close in our lodgings that winter. But Bert and Charles met by spring and became partners.”

Gert sat up straighter. “Business partners?”

“They had a claim together with …”

“Why, yes,” Libby said. “Now that you mention that, I recall my husband telling me about it once. Isaac was in on a mining claim with the mayor and Mr. Thalen. And Cyrus, too. Isn’t that right?”

Orissa nodded. “Yes. All four of them invested in a tract down the river. They thought they’d strike it rich. They sluiced out a fair amount of gold, but nowhere near as much as the few really rich claims you’d hear tell of. They each put away a stash and bought some land.”

“Who owns the claim now?” Gert asked.

“I don’t know.” Orissa looked blankly to Libby.