Brodie's Gamble (12 page)

“Listen to yourself, Joel. Seems to me you’re making excuses for the woman.” Syd stood, walked toward the stove, then poured a cup of stale coffee. “He pushed her too far, she grabbed the closest object, and killed him. Period.” He took a sip, grimacing at the taste, tossing the rest out the door. “Of course, you could always ride into Conviction and plead her case for her. After all, you
did
get that fancy law degree back east.”

Neither of his brothers had ever let Joel forget how their mother had pushed her youngest son to get an education and make something of himself. By the time Joel finished school hundreds of miles away, their mother had been shot in a botched robbery. He’d practiced law a couple years before the pain and anger over his mother’s death pushed him to ride with his brothers—a decision he’d regretted a thousand times.

Joel’s body stilled. The suggestion wasn’t a bad one, unless you included the fact she might accuse him of being one of her kidnappers. Her anger had never been directed at him, though. She’d saved that for his older brothers who treated her worse than if she were a brothel whore. He could ride to town, visit her in the jail, and offer to be her lawyer. What’s the worst that could happen?

“It’s not a bad idea, Syd.” He almost laughed at the disbelieving look on his brother’s face. “I doubt she has money to hire anyone in Conviction, and according to you, no one else will believe she didn’t do it.”

“That’s the craziest dang thing I’ve ever heard. Now you listen to me, Joel. Leave this be. You’ve got no business stirring things up, especially when she killed our brother. We may not have had the brotherly bond people speak of, but he was still kin and she murdered him.” Syd stalked up to Joel, stopping no more than a foot away. “You stay clear of her. You hear me?” He emphasized the last with a stab of his finger.

Joel didn’t back away, but his expression sobered. “Sure, Syd. I hear you.”
In this family, that doesn’t mean a damn thing,
he thought as he strolled out the door toward his horse.

Maggie stirred at the sound of a door creaking and voices.

“I heard you, Mother. Two jars of green beans.”

“Also a jar of cherries.”

“All right, Mother. Cherries, too.”

It took a split second for Maggie to remember where she was…and why. Jumping up, she wrapped the blanket around her and scurried to the other side of the cellar behind the wooden barrels, hunkering low, hoping whoever came down wouldn’t spot her. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to stay quiet and still.

She needn’t have worried. Carrying a lantern, a girl of perhaps sixteen dashed down the stairs, grabbed what she needed, and headed back up without glancing around the small space. Relief washed over Maggie—until she heard the slide of a lock. Her heart plummeted. The door hadn’t been locked when she rushed into the dark space, and she hadn’t noticed one. Now what?

Dropping the blanket, Maggie moved to the stairs and glanced up at the door, her hands shaking as she rested one on the rail. She froze when the first step creaked as she ascended. Waiting, listening, she continued up until she spotted the sliding lock through a crack in the door. The sun had set, the sky pitch black, but she figured it couldn’t be too late or the girl wouldn’t have come down for supper supplies.

The timing was perfect for her to get out of there.

Placing her hands above her head, she pushed the door up and down, a tiny bit at a time, hoping to dislodge the bolt. It moved a little, then the tip became stuck in place. No matter how many times she jiggled the door, the slide wouldn’t budge. If only she had something she could slide through the crack, she might be able to jostle the longer end enough to dislodge the slide and gain her freedom.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Glancing around, she spotted a shelf full of tools. Walking back down, she checked the shelf, picking up one tool after another until she saw a slender file near the back. Perfect. Grabbing it, she turned toward the stairs, then froze at the sound of the girl’s voice.

“Are you sure this is the last of it, Mother?”

“Yes, dear. Just another jar of cherries.”

Maggie clutched the file as she hurried to pick up the blanket, wrapped it around her, and waited.

Not noticing the change in the position of the lock, the girl opened the door, letting it fall open, and came down the steps carrying the lantern. This time, she didn’t rush, her shoulders tensing as if she sensed something different. Holding the lantern higher, she took a slow turn around, then let out a breath and shook her head. Satisfied, she picked up a jar of cherries and left. This time she slammed the door closed, but there was no sound of the sliding lock.

Maggie closed her eyes and prayed the girl didn’t realize her lapse, returning to correct her error. Minutes passed, but she continued to stay in her hiding place. After what seemed an eternity, her panic subsided enough for her let go of the blanket. Walking to the shelves, she selected one jar each of peaches and beans, then spotted a treasure. An old war bag had been tossed into a corner.

Wasting no time, she grabbed it and stuffed the jars, along with the file, inside. Reaching above her, she yanked on the pile of clothes, dislodging them so they fell in a heap on the floor. Combing through them, she slipped on an old jacket, then crammed a tattered shirt inside the bag. Satisfied, she gripped the bag in her hand and started up the steps.

Pushing the door open a few inches, she looked around, unable to see much in the dark. She couldn’t wait any longer. Slipping outside, she lowered the door, ducked down, and skirted along the side of the house to the back alley. Looking one way, then the other, she straightened, tightened her hold on the bag, lifted her chin, and began walking.

Chapter Eight

“Gentleman.” A man of average height with thinning dark hair, a goatee, and slim mustache set his hat on the desk, watching as Brodie finished strapping on his gun belt and stuck out his hand.

“You’re here early this morning, Mr. Fielder.”

“I heard you hired a new deputy. Two in fact. I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.” He clasped Brodie’s hand, then turned toward Sam. “I’m August Fielder and this is my assistant, Walter Higgins.”

“Sam Covington, Mr. Fielder, Mr. Higgins. I’m the newer of the two deputies.” He shook both men’s hands, flashing a wary grin, curious about the man and his business in Conviction.

“Mr. Fielder is one of our most prominent citizens,” Brodie said by way of explanation. “He owns a good portion of the land in town, plus some cattle and mining interests.”

“Impressive. Do you run any businesses in town, Mr. Fielder?” Sam took on a relaxed pose, although his eyes narrowed as he studied the man.

“I’m an attorney by education, so I do practice law on occasion. Along with the cattle, the mine, and some agricultural endeavors, I don’t have much time to run other businesses.” Fielder glanced at Walter and chuckled. “Walter is in charge of finding proprietors who wish to lease space in one of my buildings, which includes much of the land around the docks.” He glanced between Brodie and Sam, getting the impression they were ready to ride out. “It appears you’re ready to leave.”

“We are. Seems a certain prisoner slipped through our fingers and we’re on a search to bring her back.” As one of the men who’d offered Brodie the job, he felt obligated to share what had happened.

“This wouldn’t be the woman accused of murdering her husband, would it?”

Brodie nodded. “Yes, Mr. Fielder, it is.”

“I hear there were extenuating circumstances regarding how she came to live with the man and how he treated her. Is there any truth to the rumors?” Fielder watched Brodie’s expression darken a moment before he masked it.

“It seems Arnie Stoddard forced her to act as his wife, never marrying her—not that she would have accepted. According to her, she was kidnapped from a Denver hotel, then sold to Stoddard. He brought her to California and kept her tucked away in a cabin outside of town.” Brodie hesitated a moment before continuing. “I felt something wasn’t right about the way Stoddard died. When Doc confirmed the cause of death, I decided to ride back up to the cabin and take another look.” He cleared his throat, seeing the interest on Fielder’s face. “I don’t think she killed him.”

“Unfortunately, the woman may have muddled her case by fleeing. It never looks good when someone accused of a crime escapes.”

“Agreed. That’s where we’re headed now, Mr. Fielder. To find her before she does something else that would worsen her case.” Sam picked up his hat, holding it in his hand.

Fielder looked at Brodie. “Does she have an attorney?”

“Nae. And she has no money. I’d appreciate any recommendations you can provide.”

Fielder nodded, rubbing his goatee, deep in thought. “Bring her in and then come get me. We’ll discuss what you’ve learned and see if we can come up with a defense plan.” He nodded at Brodie and Sam, then started to turn away. “Oh. What does the woman look like?”

Brodie described her deep red hair, clear blue eyes, and creamy skin sprinkled with freckles across her nose.

“Oh my.” The three men turned their attention to Walter. “I do believe one of Mr. Fielder’s workers had a run-in with this woman yesterday afternoon.”

Brodie stepped closer. “Tell me about it.”

“He found her behind the carriage house, hiding behind some crates. When he called to her, she ran. I joined him briefly, but we lost her as she ran between buildings.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me, Walter?”

“It seemed insignificant, Mr. Fielder. We thought she was just some vagrant looking for a handout or place to sleep. Now I wish we continued to search for her.”

“And that was when, Walter?”

“Late afternoon yesterday, Sheriff. We lost her between some homes near Mr. Fielder’s house. I would suspect the young woman is long gone by now.”

“Why don’t you follow us, Sheriff? Walter can show you exactly where they lost sight of her.”

Brodie glanced at Sam, who nodded. “Aye. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“This was the last place we saw her, but she was already well ahead of us.” Walter indicated a path between two houses. “She ran down here, then disappeared.”

“Thanks, Walter. Mr. Fielder, Sam and I will go on from here.”

Brodie and Sam walked from the street to the alley before turning around and retracing their steps.

“Oh, Sheriff.” The sing-song voice came from the front porch of one of the houses. “Sheriff MacLaren, I was just going to send my daughter to get you.”

Brodie touched the brim of his hat. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

The older woman eyed Sam, her brows drawing together. “You must be new.”

Sam slipped off his hat, flashing a broad smile. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve only been on the job two days.”

Crossing her arms, she gave him an assessing stare, then returned her attention to Brodie.

“Someone’s been stealing from my cellar, Sheriff, and you need to stop them.”

Brodie cast a quick glance at Sam, keeping his face neutral. “How long has it been going on?”

“Well, the best I can tell, just last night.”

This got their attention. “Show us.” Brodie followed her around the house, Sam right behind him.

She pulled the door of the root cellar open. “Go down and see for yourself. There are some jars of food and a jacket missing. Not sure what else. Whoever did this created quite a mess and I want him found.”

“Do you believe it’s a man?” Sam stepped in front of her, following Brodie down the steps.

“I can’t imagine any woman doing it, Deputy. Can you?” She snorted as if it were the most ridiculous question she’d ever heard.

“Well now, I can imagine a lot, ma’am.” He turned his back to her, hearing her mutter something to herself. “Have you found anything, MacLaren?”

Brodie knelt behind the barrels where the blanket still lay. Reaching out, he plucked a piece of cotton fabric from a nail and held it up.