Brodie's Gamble (17 page)

“I know I don’t look like much, Mr. Fielder. My brothers and I came from hard beginnings. Neither Arnie nor Syd ever saw the need for education, neither improving himself by completing school.”

“I take it you did.”

“Yes, sir. I never wanted to work our farm. Ma sacrificed a great deal to make sure I went as far as I could in school. When I graduated, I walked out with a law degree.” He noticed Fielder’s gaze flicker, then narrow. “I practiced a couple years before she died and I returned home. What I’m saying is, I believe in Maggie’s innocence and I’ll do whatever is needed to clear her name and find the real killer.” He held Fielder’s gaze. “My brother was
not
a good man. He and I had words many times about his treatment of Maggie. Did she hate him? I’m certain she did, although she never said as much. Did she kill him, leaving him rotting in a shallow grave with his face bashed in? Never.”

Fielder leaned back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests, steepling his fingers. “Do you have an idea who killed your brother?”

“Yes, sir, I do. And if you’ll let me, I’ll do my best to prove it.”

“Have you ever worked on a murder case, Mr. Stoddard?”

“No, sir. I did attend as many as my schedule permitted while in school and during my two years of practice. I believe I have a good feel of what needs to be done.”

“May I ask where you attended law school?”

“Yale, sir.”

Standing, Fielder walked to a bookcase and pulled out a thick volume, handing it to Joel.

“This, Mr. Stoddard, is the definitive book on successfully defending someone in a murder trial. I’ll expect you to have read it by the time we meet again the day after tomorrow.”

Joel’s eyes popped wide and his jaw dropped. He stood, holding the book in a shaky hand, extending the other toward Fielder, who took it in a firm grasp.

“Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.” Joel turned to leave.

“A good school…Yale. I went there myself.”

Joel stopped, glancing over his shoulder to see a grin on Fielder’s face.

Brodie’s family left town to return to their ranch late the night before, carrying a message requesting Ewan’s attendance at a council meeting the next afternoon. Brodie had been up since four in the morning. His first stop had been the clinic to check on Maggie, who didn’t wake up during his visit. He sat by her side for an hour, holding her hand, then left for the jail to prepare a list of what would be needed to repair the town. The council meeting had been set for one o’clock, giving him enough time to ride through town and check on Maggie once more.

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed tired eyes, then stretched his arms above his head. Several times the night before, he’d been tempted to leave his bed, dress, and walk to the clinic to sit by Maggie’s side. He couldn’t explain his almost compulsive need to see her, and didn’t want to examine it too closely. Brodie finally drifted off to sleep well after midnight. When he woke up, the first person he thought of was Maggie, something else he didn’t want to scrutinize.

“I thought I’d find you in here.” Sam walked in, filled a cup with the several hours old coffee, then sat across from Brodie. “I stopped by the clinic. Maggie is still asleep. Doc said to tell you she had a restless night, but never woke up.”

“I don’t know how he does it.”

“What? Go days without sleep?” Sam sipped his coffee, grimacing at the taste. “I don’t know. It may be one reason he asked Gwen if she’d consider leaving Buckie’s and working as his assistant.”

Brodie’s head snapped up from the list he’d been preparing. “Gwen leave Buckie’s? She’s what makes the saloon so popular.”

Chuckling, Sam set the cup down. “I’ve heard the same more than once. You know, she and I talked about it a few nights before the earthquake hit. She’d never intended to earn her living on her back.”

Brodie nodded. He knew her history. How she’d emigrated from Ireland, then followed her lover to San Francisco. After his death, she moved to Conviction. Unable to find a respectable job, she’d taken what was offered—work as one of Buckie’s ladies. At first, she’d seen it as degrading and humiliating. Over time, she’d come to accept it, forgetting her dreams of one day finding a husband and raising a family.

“Aye. The lass took the only job she could get and has never been able to leave it. This could be the chance for a new start…if the people of Conviction will accept her as something other than what she’s been. Did Gwen accept his offer?” Brodie hoped she had.

“According to Doc, she’s considering it.” Sam picked up his cup, poured some water into it and sloshed it around, then dumped the liquid into a bucket next to the stove.

“The lass would be daft if she turned it down.”

Sam grinned as he opened the door. “We both know she’s anything but daft. Gwen will take the job, I’m certain of it. I need to make the rounds of the north section of town, see if any more damage has been discovered. I’ll be back by the time you leave for the council meeting.”

Brodie glanced up. “Have you seen Jack around?”

“Several times. The young chap seems incapable of sitting still for longer than a few minutes. He’s been helping some of the merchants clean up in between making his rounds of the south end of town.” Sam closed the door as he stepped onto the boardwalk, letting Brodie digest the comments he’d made about Gwen.

The ex-Pinkerton man hadn’t been in Conviction long, yet he seemed to have formed a friendship with her. Brodie knew trusting didn’t come easy to Gwen, especially when it involved men. She was close to a couple other ladies at Buckie’s, and over the years, her fondness for the MacLarens had turned into them seeing her as an older sister, someone they could confide in and who would never betray their trust. Brodie would do anything he could to help her, and knew his cousins felt the same.

“Sheriff. Hold up.”

Brodie glanced behind him, stifling a groan at the sight of Harold Ivers. He’d wondered when the newspaperman would show up again

“I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m already running late for a town council meeting.” Brodie didn’t stop, knowing his refusal wouldn’t halt Ivers from following him.

“Very good, Sheriff. I’m on my way there myself.”

Brodie relaxed. Maybe Harold would focus his attention on the town’s efforts to rebuild after the earthquake instead of trying to dig up more details on Arnie Stoddard’s death.

“From what I know, there is one item on the agenda today—helping the townsfolk rebuild. Nothing else.” He locked his gaze on Harold. “Am I clear?”

“Of course. The meeting is about the earthquake. Afterwards, though, I’d like a few minutes of your time to ask questions about the woman who murdered Stoddard.”

Brodie’s abrupt stop had Ivers tripping over his own feet. “She’s in custody, but has not had a trial. As I said before, I wouldn’t label her a murderess and neither should you.” He continued walking.

“From what I heard, she confessed—”

“To hitting the man, not murdering him.” As always, Brodie’s patience withered as Harold continued to keep pace with him. “Her attorney will work it out and present the case.”

Harold’s steps faltered. “Attorney? I hadn’t heard anything about her hiring someone.”

“Aye. He took the case yesterday.”

“Who is it?”

“August Fielder.” Brodie felt a surge of satisfaction when the pencil fell through Harold’s fingers, rolling on the boardwalk until it slipped through a crack and disappeared from sight. “Hope you have another pencil, Ivers. You’re going to need it.”

“What do you mean you’re helping Fielder defend Maggie?” Syd’s voice roared above the noise of the saloon crowd, causing many to stop and stare. “Do you want the woman who killed our brother to get away with it?” He threw back the whiskey in his glass, slamming it onto the bar, nodding at the bartender for a refill.

Joel watched his older brother, always wary of what he might do. The wrong word or wrong look could cause a blowup, usually ending with Joel sprawled on the ground with a bloody nose… or worse.

Taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, he looked at Syd’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “If she’s innocent, she won’t be getting away with anything.”

“But she killed him,” Syd hissed, gripping his glass tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“You don’t know that, Syd. Neither of us were there when it happened. It could’ve been anybody. Maybe someone Arnie swindled tracked him down and got their revenge.” Joel leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you truly believe Maggie could’ve done what we heard? Bashed in his face, then buried him?” He shook his head. “No. She would’ve knocked him out, then gotten as far away as she could before he woke up and exacted his punishment. You and I both know how ruthless his punishment could be.”

Syd didn’t respond, slipping deeper into his alcohol-induced darkness. Another sign Joel needed to be careful around him.

Joel didn’t know why he’d come into Buckie’s, except to relax after being awake for over thirty-six hours. The thick book Fielder had given him took every minute of his time since leaving the man’s mansion. He’d taken copious notes and reread several chapters in preparation for their meeting later in the afternoon.

No matter what Syd thought, Joel refused to believe Maggie guilty of murder. He also believed the only way to clear her name would be to find the person who did kill Arnie—a monumental task requiring help.

Finishing his drink, Joel set the glass down and cast a wary gaze at Sydney. “You aren’t going to do anything foolish, are you?”

The look Syd shot him would cower most men, but not Joel. “What are you thinking I’ll do?” He signaled the bartender again. This time Joel shot him a warning glare.

“You may want to ease up on that, Syd.”

“My drinking ain’t none of your business. But you defending Arnie’s killer
is
mine.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, knowing Syd was capable of doing just about anything when the alcohol took control.

“I’m going to tell you what I don’t want you to do, then I’m leaving. Don’t take the law into your own hands. Don’t incite people to believe Maggie’s guilty. And, unless you have some proof otherwise, don’t try to stop me. As God is my witness, I’ll push back, Syd, and you won’t like the Joel you see.” Turning, he strode out of Buckie’s, leaving his slack-jawed brother behind.