Hidden Motive (9 page)

“Sorry, but as trite as it may sound, your actions speak a different language.”

She scowled. “You could be reading my actions in the wrong way. I'm a doctor. If you're referring to my so-called healing touch, I try to do that with all my patients.”

“Seems to me I've picked up on a little more than professional interest,” he said.

“You don't have a problem with self-confidence, do you?”

“Actually,” he said, then paused thoughtfully, “when it comes to you, I feel extremely insecure, but with something that could become important to both of us, I think it would be a mistake to turn tail and run.”

She blinked in surprise. Transparent honesty? Wow.

“Besides which,” he continued, “come to think of it, you did tell me, in so many words, how concerned you were about my welfare. Remember? Up on the hill?” He gingerly touched the welt on his cheek. “I think I can take that personally.”

“You're too pushy, Paul Murphy. It could land you in trouble someday.”

To her surprise, she caught a glint of amusement in his expression. Feeling a sudden, inexplicable smile attempting to take over her face, she swung back toward the staircase.

“Wait a minute, where are you going?” he asked.

“Downstairs to check on the food. I'm cold and hungry, and arguing with you isn't helping.”

“If it's okay with you, I'd like to look around the attic. I know you said your grandfather put all his important things in an impenetrably locked safe, but it doesn't hurt to keep trying. Maybe I can even figure out the combination.”

Sable hesitated.

“Do you need me to come downstairs with you for some reason?” he asked.

“No, I just…”

His expression changed, and all the teasing lightness in his eyes vanished. “You don't trust me alone in the attic.”

“I trust you, but you could be attacked up there as easily as you were attacked outside.”

“Oh.” Some of the lightness returned. “Then keep watch. Everyone is downstairs, right? Make sure they stay there. And keep Dillon with you.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I'll see you later.”

She watched as he padded up the attic steps in his stocking feet, then she went downstairs. Every time she was with Murph she felt as if tiny fibers of friendship, mutual support and attraction were drawing them closer. This was the worst possible time to consider a relationship. And yet…Paul Murphy was a hard man to put out of her mind.

When she reached the display case with the rock collection downstairs, she studied the specimens again. Nothing was missing, just rearranged. The chunks of galena and sphalerite—the only specimens Grandpa had collected from his own cave—were still there.

“I've been meaning to ask you about that stuff,” a voice came from behind.

Sable started and swung around to see Jerri coming toward her from the direction of the family room. Jerri had short, curly hair the color of sweet potatoes, streaked blond at the temples. She was slightly shorter than Sable but weighed about forty pounds more—mostly muscle.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you.” Jerri's voice was low and melodious. “Craig told me a little about how your grandfather went around collecting all these rocks. He sounds like an interesting man.”

“He was.”

“Craig sure has a thing for all this stuff. He told me about the different stones and the minerals they contain.”

“Craig's a spelunker and amateur rock hound from childhood. He knows these hills better than I do.”

“He's smart, all right,” Jerri said. “Never thought a plain old rock could be so interesting.” She paused and winked. “Of course, that might have something to do with who's talking. But really, Sable, are any of these pieces worth anything?”

“Only memories.” Sable picked up a geode and watched the sparkles inside the hollow rock reflect light from the room.

“So that story about the history of this place was just a story?”

“No, it was true enough. I mean, those two partners actually did own this place, and they did disappear. But as for the silver, you know how rumors get started. Someone probably found a piece of galena down in the cave and jumped to conclusions.”

“Must've been somebody who didn't know much about minerals. Even I know what galena looks like, all boxy, straight sides.” She indicated the piece of galena on the shelf.

“Really?” Sable said. “Not a lot of people know the difference. Are you interested in geology?”

“I'm interested in a little of everything, especially when Craig Holt is doing the talking.” She grinned. “Maybe those partners started the rumor about silver so they could sell the cave for a profit.”

Sable winced at the words. Was that really what Grandpa had done with the Seitz mine? “That's a thought.”

“Good as any, huh? Wonder how dinner's coming. I'm getting hungry. Think I'll go take a look.”

Sable watched Jerri leave, then turned back to the case, hating the suspicions that persisted in her mind, hating her jumpy nerves every time someone spoke to her.

Audry poked her head out of the kitchen door. “Food's ready as soon as Murph and Craig and Simmons come in.”

“Simmons? I thought he was in the dining room.”

“His jacket wasn't on the hall tree. He must have gone outside.”

“Okay, Audry. I'll wash, then go find them if I can.” She called Dillon to follow her upstairs.

The moment she stepped into her bedroom, Dillon growled behind her.

She froze on the threshold. “What?”

He brushed past her, obviously on alert, his legs stiff, the fur of his ruff prickling upward. He sniffed the comforter.

“No, wait. Dillon, get back.” What if someone was in here under the bed or in the closet or even hiding in the cedar chest? “Let's get out of here.”

M
urph was descending the last of the squeaky attic steps, brushing cobwebs from his arms and shoulders, when Sable appeared in the entryway, blue eyes wide.

“Dillon thinks someone's been in my room,” she said.

“I'll check it out. You stay here.” Instinctively, Murph reached beneath his shirt and freed the Detonics from its holster, wishing he had informed Sable earlier about the loaded weapon he carried. Now there was no time.

She gasped when she caught sight of the pistol.

“Stay here.” He gripped the gun in both hands and crept down the hallway. Dillon followed, his growls still rumbling. When they reached the open door, Murph paused and listened.

He heard only the chatter of voices downstairs, and Sable's frightened breathing behind him…directly behind him.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” he muttered.

“Is anyone in the room?”

“I don't know yet.” He allowed Dillon to enter first.

The dog growled softly as he approached the cedar chest. He sniffed it thoroughly, then followed a scent to the straight-backed chair beside the antique chest of drawers. He didn't growl this time, but sniffed at the drawer handles.

“I don't think anyone's here now.” Still, Murph entered carefully, arms braced. He crept to the closet, opened the door. No one.

He stepped over to the cedar chest and lifted the lid. Nothing. With one foot, he raised the dust ruffle of the bed and peered underneath. “I think it's clear.”

Sable came in behind him. “But someone's been here.” She gestured toward the cedar chest. “This has been moved away from the bed. I know, because I tried to pull the comforter up last night and it was tucked between the chest and the bed frame.” She checked the closet and the bureau drawers.

“Is anything missing?” Murph asked.

She shuffled through a stack of folded underwear. “The letter is missing.” She looked up at him. “The one Grandpa wrote to Mom that we read last night.”

“Not the confession note?” Murph asked.

She patted her pocket. “I have it here. But I put the other letter in this drawer this morning when I dressed, and it's gone. Obviously, Perry wasn't imagining things. I wonder if the other rooms have been searched.”

Murph engaged the safety of his pistol.

“Paul, where did you get that gun?”

“I've carried it with me since I arrived in Freemont.”

She sank onto the bed. “It's yours?”

“Of course it's mine. I'll explain later. Right now we have more important things to discuss.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a three-inch by four-inch photograph. He held it to the light from the window. “Recognize any of these people?”

Her interest focused. “That looks like a really old picture of Grandpa and Otis Boswell, and…the woman? Audry?”

“I thought so, too.”

She took the picture from him and carried it to the window, held it to the light. The woman's hair was dark, cut in a pageboy, a few tendrils fanning across a very attractive face. “It is her.”

“But this had to be taken thirty-five or forty years ago,” he said.

“She told us herself she once lived in Eagle Rock. She knows this area. Remember?”

“But why didn't she say anything about knowing Josiah?”

“There could be any number of reasons.”

“What's your first guess?” he asked.

“Obviously I'm suspicious. It could be she either knows something she doesn't want to talk about, or she's still connected to Boswell in some way.”

Sable stepped away from the window. Dillon paced along beside her, a loving, protective shadow. She stopped in front of Murph and looked up at him. “I think I'd better have a talk with her.”

“What if the outrageous is true and she's our stalker? Shouldn't we treat this as just more evidence, and keep our mouths shut for now?”

Sable studied the photograph a moment longer, then handed it back to Murph, pointing at the proprietary hand Audry had on Grandpa's arm. “What does that look like to you?”

“Don't jump to conclusions, Sable,” he said gently.

She turned away, and her hand reached up and grasped the old pocket watch that hung from a chain around her neck. Her fingers rubbed across the smooth metal.

“You're always doing that.” Murph gestured to her hand. “Reaching up for it, as if it reassures you. I'm curious why Josiah would give you a watch that didn't work. I know it's a keepsake, but surely it wouldn't be too expensive to replace the mechanism inside.” Murph reached out and fingered the delicate design of the watch, then took it in his hand and tested the weight. “I wonder…I'd've expected Josiah Kessinger to have this watch repaired before he gave it to you, unless there was some reason he couldn't.”

She turned the watch over. “He had it engraved.”

Murph read the words on the smooth metal. “‘To Sable with love. A treasure for a treasure.'” He smiled at the sentiment. “Maybe I'm just grasping at straws right now. Maybe that bump on the head affected me more than I thought, but have you checked the inner workings?”

“I never thought—”

“Now might be a good time to look.”

She slipped the chain over her head. “I just took it for granted Grandpa was giving this to me because it had been so much a part of him, and he knew I loved it.”

“But it wasn't working when he gave it to you.”

“No, and it had always worked before. I remember what he said when he gave it to me, too, because at the time it sounded kind of strange. He said, ‘You may need it someday, punkin. I know all I have to.' But I wondered what he meant.” She tried to twist the back plate without result. “Do you have a pocketknife?”

Murph pulled one out, opened it, handed it to her. “Wouldn't hurt to check.”

She slipped the point of the blade into the tiny groove between the back plate and the body of the watch. With care, she pried at the plate until it slipped into her hand.

A square of thin, white paper was stuffed into the casing where the inner workings of the watch had once been. Sable used the knife to pry this out, as well.

Murph barely caught the small, shiny nugget that fell from the folds of paper.

“Galena?” Sable asked, reaching for the nugget. She caught her breath when he dropped it into her hand. “That isn't galena. That's…it looks more like…”

She grabbed the paper from Murph and unfolded it quickly, tearing off a corner in her haste. She scanned the page quickly. “Murph, this is a metallurgist's assay sheet for a sample of high-grade silver,” she whispered.

“From where?”

“I don't know.”

“You sure Josiah never said a word about this?”

“Don't you think I'd remember something like that?” She held the nugget to the murky light from the window.

“Could it be on this place somewhere?” Murph asked.

Sable looked up at him. “As far as I know, there's never been silver found in this part of Missouri before, especially not a vein of high-grade silver like this.”

“Could that story about the cave be true?” Murph asked.

“You're the second person to ask me that in the past twenty minutes.”

“Could it have something to do with your grandfather's death?”

The words fell between them like chips of ice, solid with frightening possibilities.

“I don't know what to think right now,” she whispered.

Murph refolded the analysis sheet with the silver and stuffed it back inside the watch. He took the back plate and snapped it on. “There's still not enough evidence to do more than guess. The best place for this is where it's always been.” He slipped the chain over her head, then smoothed a tendril of soft black hair from her face. He wished he could smooth all her heartache away, protect her from all harm and prove that the world wasn't really as frightening as it looked right now.

He could only pray that God would. “Meanwhile, stay close to me,” he told her. “If you find something even remotely questionable, tell me immediately.” His fingers caressed her soft cheek, and then, as if he couldn't help himself, he allowed a featherlight touch along her neck to rest against the beating pulse at her throat. “Your heart's racing.”

“Of course it's racing. I'm scared.”

“Me, too.”

“Murph, if you can have a gun, I want to carry one, too. There's an old .22 pistol down the hall in the closet. My brothers and I used it for target practice. I'm going to—”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not? You're carrying one, and you've obviously been carrying it for some time. If you can have a concealed weapon, why can't I?”

“You don't have a license. I do.”

This bit of news obviously surprised her, but she recovered quickly. “Are you an undercover cop or something?”

“No. I had to work a job out of the country for a while, and I was required to carry this for protection.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, Murph, your macho attitude is getting on my nerves just a little. Grandpa would have been proud, but I'm not impressed.”

In spite of the serious circumstances, Murph felt a grin spread across his face, and he couldn't stop it. He saw Sable's eyes narrow, and he braced himself for an onslaught. It didn't come. Instead, she pivoted away from him suddenly, reached for a flashlight on the bureau and stalked out of the room. Dillon followed at her heels.

Murph had no choice. He had to go with her. “Sable, are you willing to shoot someone, to take a life? Do you even remember how to use the gun?”

“It's been a while, but I know how.” Her footsteps didn't falter as she led the way down to the other end of the hallway, past the staircase, and opened the door to a walk-in closet. “This is where Grandpa stored his hunting gear.”

The heavy smell of gun oil mingled with rancid doe scent that hunters used to attract bucks during hunting season. Sable didn't even pause to catch her breath. “I hated hunting season.” She opened the lid of a long, metal gun chest and pulled out a black .22 pistol. It fit perfectly in her hands.

“You did say you knew how to use that,” Murph said.

“Would you quit worrying? It's simple. Let's see…there are some bullets here somewhere.” She searched all the junk in the chest, which was filled with gun cloths, hunting caps, everything but bullets. Cleaning wires and three half-used cans of gun oil tumbled onto the floor. Beneath it all lay a cardboard box. She opened the lid, and the flashlight beam fell on shotgun shells—and cubed chunks of silvery ore.

Murph heard her swift intake of breath. “Galena,” she whispered.

Murph picked up a broken shotgun shell. Galena spilled from it. “No.” The beam of Sable's flashlight faltered.

Murph replaced the shell, and reached out to hold the flashlight steady. “Sable, I've already warned you not to jump to conclusions.” He laid a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged him away and slumped against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, Grandpa, how could you?”

“Sable.”

“Don't say anything right now.” She reached over to a glass gun case and swung the door open. The case was empty except for one short-barrel shotgun. She pulled it out. “He salted the mine. What else could it have been? He used this gun to shoot the ore into the soft sides of the Seitz mine.”

“You can't be sure.”

“See that reloader over there in the corner? He used it to fill these shells with ore, then he—” her voice caught “—he salted a barren hole in the ground.”

Murph took her arm. “What are the gun and reloader doing here if he used it in Oklahoma?”

“He brought it back here. He certainly wouldn't want to leave evidence lying around Freemont.”

“I'm sorry, Sable. I know you feel awful. I know how I would feel if—”

“Do you?” She shoved the shotgun back onto a shelf, kept the .22 pistol and closed the door. “Did you ever have to live with the humiliation of knowing a close family member cheated people out of their money?” Tears sparkled from her eyes in the dim light. She slumped onto a rickety chair.

He knelt beside her and took her hands in his. “Wait. We don't know all the facts—”

A faint, panicked female voice reached them suddenly from somewhere outside. “Help! Somebody come quickly! There's been an accident!”