Brodie's Gamble (11 page)

“A year.”

Sam’s brutal curse echoed off the hard walls of the jail. Whirling around, his back to Brodie, and placing fisted hands on his hips, he looked at the ground, shaking his head as he got himself under control. “Don’t you believe that’s a little excessive given it’s for one night’s fare in a brothel.”

“Nae. I think it’s fair. You could spend quite a long time trying to come up with the money to pay it on your own without a way to prove to the bank who you are, having no way to get in touch with Pinkerton.”

Sam turned back to face Brodie. “You owe me a chance to reach him.”

“Probably.” Brodie’s smile caught Sam off guard.

He took a couple steps closer to the bars, his face resigned. “I’ll give you six months as your deputy, then I leave.”

“Done.” Brodie reached his hand through the bars, waiting until Sam walked up and grasped it.

“I’ll hand it to you, MacLaren. For a small town sheriff, you drive a hard bargain.”

“I do what’s needed to get the job done.” Brodie unlocked the cell.

“And my first job?” Sam walked through the door and into the front.

“Help me find the missing prisoner.”

Chapter Seven

Stumbling from one hiding place to another, Maggie dropped down behind a stack of crates in an alley a few blocks from the jail. She’d been careful, dashing between buildings and crossing streets with little activity. Reaching an area where businesses gave way to private homes, she spotted the empty crates behind a carriage house. Glancing around the corner, she saw an impressive three story home with a wraparound porch and beautiful garden. Even her wildest fantasy never had her living in a place so grand.

“Bring the carriage around to the front, Walter.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Fielder. I’ll do it right away.”

At the sound of voices, Maggie huddled behind the crates, pulling one in front of her, hoping she wasn’t spotted.

“Now, now, Sugar. You just let old Walter get this harness around you so we don’t keep Mr. Fielder waiting. That’s it, girl.”

A few minutes later, the carriage appeared, making a sharp turn down the alley, narrowly missing Maggie by no more than a foot. Letting out a relieved breath, she pushed from her place on the hard dirt, doing her best to brush herself off.

“Hey.”

The sharp voice startled her. Whirling around, she saw a young man, no more than fifteen or sixteen, standing by the doors of the carriage house.

“What are you doing back there?” He walked toward her, his face twisted into a menacing scowl.

Maggie almost tripped on the hem of her dress as she stepped away from him. “I, uh…” Turning, she ran.

“Stop!”

The command did nothing to slow her down, but the sound of boots pounding on the hard dirt had her heart racing. When the alley ended, she hesitated for a brief moment, long enough for a strong hand to grip her arm and spin her around.

“Got you.” The smirk on his face increased her panic.

Drawing back her arm, she fisted her hand, swinging it forward to connect with his jaw. Dropping her arm, the boy staggered backward, wide eyes signaling his shock. This time Maggie didn’t hesitate. Racing between two homes, she made a sharp right turn, then another, then a left turn, hoping to lose him. Seeing the door to a root cellar, she pulled hard, surprised when it opened easily. Taking the steps down, she pulled the door closed and huddled in a far corner behind two wooden barrels.

“Help me, Walter. She ran that way.” The boy’s voice indicated he wasn’t far behind, and someone else had joined him.

Praying she’d made the right decision, Maggie brought her knees to her chest, circling them with her arms, then closed her eyes. Alarm spread through her when she heard voices just outside the cellar. Bringing her hands up, she covered her mouth, afraid she’d cry out in fear. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she dropped her hands and listened.

“No sign of her. I can’t believe it, Walter. I had her in my grasp, and…”

“And what, boy?”

“Ah, nothing. Come on. Mr. Fielder is probably standing out front of the house, wondering where we took off to.”

The voices receded, but Maggie didn’t move. Adjusting to the dark, her gaze landed on a row of shelves. The top one held several old blankets and what appeared to be old clothes. The rest were filled with jars of food, baskets of fresh vegetables and fruit, and sacks of flour. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since supper the night before, but even her hunger wasn’t enough to dislodge her from the hiding place.

When the cool dampness of the ground seeped through her clothes, she stood, shivering at the chill. Listening for sounds outside, she stepped toward the shelves, picking up a glass jar. Her mouth watered when she held it up to the small beam of light coming from a crack in the door. Peaches.

Gripping the lid, she twisted, unable to budge it. Picking up her skirt, she wrapped it around the top, then tried again. This time it gave way. Setting the lid aside, she drank the juice and ate several bites of the fruit, sighing at the wonderful taste.

Leaning against a wooden barrel, she finished the jar, trying to decide what to do next. The smart choice would be to wait until sundown when she could travel without anyone noticing. She’d even be able to take one or two jars of food with her. The hazard would be if someone from the house visited the root cellar. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned, feeling a wave of exhaustion spread through her. She weighed her options. Sleep and slipping out of town during the night were the easy choice.

Grabbing an old blanket, she shook it out, then laid it on the ground. Stretching out, she curled into a ball, resting her head on her hands. Within minutes, she fell into a deep sleep.

Not a trace of her
, Brodie thought as he hunkered over his evening meal. He and Sam had scoured the town, riding up and down every street and alley, between buildings and homes. They’d seen nothing. If only he’d gotten back to Conviction sooner, he could’ve told her his thoughts, found her a decent attorney, and given her some assurance all would work out. Then he would’ve done all he could to find the real killer. Instead, he had to hunt her down and bring her back to jail. An escape attempt never sat well with a judge or jury.

“We can start out at dawn, go door-to-door and ask if anyone’s seen her.” Sam took another bite of beef stew, his mind working over the possibilities of where she might be hiding. “She’s scared. Probably didn’t take anything with her, except what she had on, and we know she doesn’t have a horse. She’s still in Conviction—I’d stake my life on it.”

Brodie nodded. “And there are a hundred places she could hide.”

“Yes, but she’ll have to emerge to eat and, uh…do her business. Someone
will
see her and report her to us. Of course, if the young woman steals a horse…”

Brodie mumbled a curse at the thought of her adding to the growing list of foolish actions that could keep her in jail…or worse.

“Aye. We have to find the lass before she does something more senseless.”

Sam set down his fork, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his arms. “You mean other than killing her husband?”

“He wasn’t her husband and I don’t believe she killed him.” Brodie leaned forward, lowering his voice so diners at the other tables couldn’t hear. “I explained my reasoning. There’s no way she could’ve gotten Arnie outside without leaving a trace. Stoddard had at least a hundred pounds on her. From the amount of dried blood Colin and I saw in the shallow grave, he died outside from the blows to his skull and face.”

“And your doctor is certain it couldn’t have been from the crack on the back of his head?” Sam picked up his cup of coffee, taking a sip.

“Aye. That’s what he says.”

Sam studied Brodie’s face, seeing more than just a lawman losing a prisoner. The sheriff had more vested in finding Miss King than he wanted to admit, and Sam was pretty certain he understood the reason.

“Maybe Jack and I should look for her while you find a good attorney.”

“Nae. I’ll be searching for her, same as you.”

“I may be overstepping, but in my experience, it’s unwise for a lawman to pursue someone they care about. Are you certain you’re the right person to bring her back?” When Brodie stiffened in his chair and stared back without responding, Sam continued. “You want a suggestion?”

Brodie didn’t respond as his gaze narrowed.

“Well, I’ll give it anyway. You stay here and locate a lawyer who can use what you’ve found to make a case to the judge and jury. When we find her, and we
will
find her, you’ll have someone ready to meet with her, hear her story.”

Brodie’s jaw worked, but he held his tongue. Standing, never breaking eye contact with Sam, he tossed his napkin down and braced his hands on the table, his eyes signaling his determination.

“Nae, Deputy. If anyone brings the lass in, it will be me.”

“What the hell happened? Where’s Maggie?” Joel Stoddard stood with his hands clenched at his sides, glaring at his older brother, Syd. They’d never gotten along, but their oldest brother, Arnie, had hated them both, tolerating them enough to use their services when needed. Both had left weeks earlier—Syd to investigate San Francisco banks ripe for robbing, and Joel after another bitter fight regarding Maggie. Neither had seen Arnie since.

Syd smirked. “Appears the wench had enough of our oldest brother. The rumor is Maggie’s locked up in the Conviction jail.”

Joel’s eyes widened. “For what?”

“Murdering her
husband
.” Syd couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“They think Maggie murdered Arnie? That’s not possible.” Joel ran a hand through his hair, pacing the cabin.

“See there?” Syd pointed to the dried blood on the floor. “I heard she hit him on the head with her fry pan. Killed him that quick.” He snapped his fingers. “The sheriff found Arnie’s body in a grave out back.”

“How do they know it was her?”

“She admitted it.” Syd’s laugh sliced through Joel, but he held his temper. It would do him no good to go after his brother. Arnie had been the true villain, and against all definitions of right and wrong, it appeared Maggie might pay the price.

“You heard all this in town?”

“Sure did. Over a game of cards at Buckie’s. Doc’s got the body in his morgue.” Syd lowered himself into a chair and pulled out a cheroot, twirling it between his fingers, then striking a lucifer and lighting the tip of the thin cigar. Inhaling deeply, he let the smoke out in a slow stream. “Guess we got rid of both our burdens, little brother.”

Joel stopped pacing long enough to shoot Syd a withering look. “How do you figure that? Maggie never did anything to you or me. That woman was sweet as a spring day, even after everything Arnie did to her.”

“Ah hell, Joel. You always had a soft heart when it came to women, especially the King gal. She weren’t nothing. Thought she was better than the three of us and didn’t hesitate to let us know it.”

Joel’s irritation grew, anger beginning to take over. “She was an innocent, Syd. Arnie bought her off a man who’d kidnapped her. She did what Arnie demanded in order to survive.”

“You feel sorry for her, even after she killed our brother?” Syd leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, the cheroot dangling between two fingers.

“Hell yes, I feel sorry for her. And I don’t believe she killed Arnie. She isn’t capable of murder, no matter what he did to her.”

“Well then, I guess we have a problem, kid.” Syd snubbed out the burning cigar on the floor, blew off the ashes, then slid what remained into his coat pocket.

Joel’s eyes narrowed at the change in Syd’s voice. “What problem?”

“Someone killed Arnie. If not Maggie, then who?” Syd locked his gaze on Joel, his hand moving to the handle of his gun.

Joel tracked his movements, moving a few steps backward. “You and I were gone. Seems someone else came around, killed Arnie, and scared Maggie off.”

“And her confession?”

“I’ve no doubt if Maggie said she hit him with her fry pan, she did. The woman can’t lie worth anything. Maybe that’s when she ran. Then someone came looking for Arnie and took advantage of him being knocked out.”