Paper Roses (10 page)

“And you’re a miracle worker.” The smile Isabelle gave Sarah underscored her words. “Even if he didn’t mean it, I can always remind Léon that he once called me perfect.”

Her brother walked slowly, studying each of the shelves. “All right, perfect sister, what have you and Sarah done with the store? It looks as if I need to restock.”

“If you hadn’t been so busy trying to convince Karl Friedrich he should hire you, you’d know that we’ve had more customers in the past three days than we normally do in two weeks.” The momentary truce was ended, and Isabelle’s voice held a hint of asperity. “I told you and Maman that hiring Sarah would be good for all of us.”

Sarah grinned. “Are you ever wrong?”

“Only about a hundred times a day.”

“If that’s true, I’m Napoleon Bonaparte.” Sarah pretended to slide her hand inside her bodice, imitating the portraits she’d seen of the French emperor.

“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but you don’t look like Napoleon Bonaparte.”

Sarah blinked at the sight of the newcomer. Surely he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, blessed with classic features, dark brown hair, and eyes that reminded her of Madame Rousseau’s hot chocolate.

“Of course she’s not Napoleon,” Isabelle declared. Though her expression remained guarded, she slid off her stool and emerged from behind the counter, her hand tugging Sarah’s so that she had no choice but to follow. “Sarah, may I present Jean-Michel Ladre?” No further introductions were necessary, for Isabelle had already explained that this man’s father, Michel Ladre, was the town’s founder, who’d purchased property and water rights from both the Canfields and the Texas government, then convinced a group of Alsatians this was the Promised Land.

Jean-Michel bowed, his courtly gesture more suited to a ballroom than the frontier. “It is my pleasure to meet you, Miss Sarah Dobbs who does not look like Napoleon Bonaparte.” His eyes sparkled with mirth. “You’re even prettier than your picture. Almost as pretty as Isabelle.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you speak the truth.” Sarah turned to stare at Léon. Gone was the friendly bantering that had characterized his conversation with Isabelle. This time his words were laced with venom.

Jean-Michel made a show of sniffing the air. “What is that odor? Can it be a skunk? But, no, it is the peasant who works in the fields.”

“Farming is good honest work.” Léon’s face flushed as he defended himself.

“For a German. I should have known to expect nothing more from you. You may bear a French name, but you’re a dirt-digging German at heart.” Jean-Michel gave Sarah a brief bow. “My apologies, mademoiselle. I shall return when we can converse without interruptions.”

“What was that all about?” Isabelle demanded when the door closed behind Jean-Michel. She took a step toward her brother, her eyes flashing with anger. “You started the fight. Why?”

“I don’t trust him, that’s why.” Léon adopted a pugilistic stance. “Last week he was here, making eyes at you, and now he’s doing the same to Sarah. He’s like that old coon dog, always sniffing around.”

Though Sarah expected a vehement reply, to her surprise, Isabelle laughed. “Oh, Sarah, Maman always warned us to be careful what we asked for.” The anger had vanished, replaced by amusement. “You said you wanted a brother. I give you my deepest condolences, for it appears Léon has adopted you.”

Clay paused at the top of the hill, his spirits rising as he recognized the rider fording the river. Though he hadn’t planned to start his questioning today, he couldn’t ignore the opportunity that had just presented itself. Perhaps this was an omen, a good one. It was about time. “Let’s go,” he said to Shadow.

“Good morning, David.” Clay waited until he was close enough not to shout. “How was your trip into town?” He cared not a whit, but only a fool would blurt out the questions that were foremost in his mind.

David grinned. “Mighty fine. I met Miss Dobbs. That is one mighty purty woman. She’ll be a real looker when she gets out of them ugly clothes.” The grin was almost a leer as David added, “I reckon anyone can see why Austin picked her.”

The words shouldn’t have rankled. The truth was, black was not the most becoming color for many women, Sarah included. She needed brighter shades—perhaps the deep pink of a sunrise or the vibrant blue of the Texas sky—to flatter her. But the woman was in mourning. She wore the drab garments for the same reason he was wearing this confounded armband: respect.

Clay tried to bite back his annoyance. There was no point in alienating David, not when he needed answers about something far more important than Sarah’s clothing. But he couldn’t let the insinuation that Austin had been swayed by her beauty stand. “Miss Dobbs’s appearance had no bearing on my brother’s decision. He knew she was the bride he wanted months before he received her miniature.”

Though the hat shaded his eyes, Clay saw his neighbor nod. “Yeah, Austin told me that. He said God had led him to her.”

“The same God who let him be killed.” Clay clenched his fists. “That’s not the God I want in my life.”

David’s head jerked up and he stared at Clay, his expression stern. “I reckon your ma woulda washed your mouth out with soap if she heard you say that.”

“I suppose she would have.” His anger faded as quickly as it had flared. “The fact is, Austin tasted soap more often than I did.”

As his horse pawed the ground, eager to move, David let him walk. “That temper of his got Austin in trouble more than once.”

It was the opening Clay sought. Though his heart began to pound, he kept his voice as even as Shadow’s steps. “Is that what happened the night he was killed? Did Austin argue with someone?” Eight men had gathered in the Brambles’ barn for their weekly poker game. Only seven had gone home.

David shook his head. “I don’t reckon nothin’ coulda bothered Austin that night. Fact is, he was happier than I ever seen him. He kept showing us all Sarah’s miniature and talking about how glad he was she was comin’.”

That sounded like an encore of Austin’s supper conversation. Clay hadn’t bothered to do much more than nod at appropriate times. “Something must have happened. After all, someone killed him.”

“It weren’t any of us. Austin left early, but no one else did. The rest of us stayed and had another glass of beer. Truth is, I reckon we were all a little envious of your brother, what with Sarah being so pretty and all.”

Clay didn’t want to hear about beer or even envy. He wanted to know who was responsible for Austin’s death. “The killer had to be a friend or someone he trusted. Austin wasn’t careless. No matter how preoccupied he was with thoughts of his bride, he wouldn’t have let a stranger get close to him.” Some things were instinctive, and in this country, self-preservation was one of them.

David gave him a long look, then turned to stare into the distance. “I reckon you’re not gonna like my advice, but you oughta stop trying to find the killer. It don’t matter what you do; you can’t bring Austin back. Why try? You oughta be thinking about the future. In a couple months, you’ll be out of mourning for Patience. You could marry Sarah then.”

Marry Sarah? What a crazy idea! David was right. Clay didn’t like his advice. Not one bit. He wasn’t going to marry his brother’s fiancée, and he most definitely was not going to abandon his search for Austin’s killer. In fact, he was going to redouble his efforts.

“Will you join us for dinner?” white-haired Frau Friedrich asked half an hour later when Clay knocked on his other neighbor’s door.

Though the aroma of chicken and dumplings was enticing, Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I came to see Karl. Do you know where he is?”

His mother nodded. “
Ja.
He said he’d be working in the north field. I’m surprised you didn’t see him on your way here.”

There was only one road on this side of the river, extending south from the Lazy B, past the Bar C, and ending at the Friedrich farm, its sole purpose connecting the three ranches. Clay retraced his path, his eyes searching the farmland, looking for Karl. When he saw him, he cut into the plowed fields.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Karl said as Clay approached. Several inches shorter than Clay, Karl had the same blond hair and blue eyes. Only his stocky build kept him from being mistaken for Clay’s brother. “I’ve got something to show you.” Wordlessly, Karl led the way to the fence marking the boundary between the Friedrich farm and the Bar C. Though most of the land was open range, when Karl and his parents had bought the Preble ranch and decided to turn it into corn fields, they’d erected a fence line. Today that fence had a gaping hole.

“You know anything about this?” Karl asked. “Some fifty head of your cattle got through and trampled my corn.” Justifiable anger tinged his words.

“I don’t understand. I checked all the fences earlier this week.” It was true that the Bar C’s being shorthanded kept him from riding the fence line weekly the way Austin had, but Clay had been here only four days ago. He dismounted for a closer look. Though it was not unheard of for cattle to damage a fence, it was unlikely. He frowned. There was no doubt about it; the barbed wire had been cut. “Why would someone cut it?”

Though he’d meant it to be rhetorical, Karl appeared to be pondering Clay’s question as he leaned back in his saddle. “Some would say it’s a way to save on cattle feed.”

A bolt of anger shot through Clay. “Are you accusing me of cutting the fence?”

“Nope. Just pointing out one possibility.” Karl glared at the fence once more before he dismounted and joined Clay. As they worked to repair the wire, he said, “I reckon the person who did this is the same one who’s responsible for the other problems—the salt in Granny Menger’s well, Gunther’s cracked millstone.” He tugged the wire taut. “I tell you, Clay, I don’t like it. Ladreville used to be a peaceful town.”

“And now it harbors a murderer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“All the evidence points to it. He could even be one of your poker group.”

Karl stared at Clay, his blue eyes hot with anger. “Are you accusing me?”

“Just making an observation.”

“I didn’t do it. Mind you, I’m not saying your brother didn’t rile me. Everybody knows we had our differences. But I didn’t kill him, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how any of the others could have, either.”

That was not what Clay wanted to hear. It was hard to believe all the men who’d been with Austin that last night would lie, but the other possibility—that the killer was a stranger—was even less palatable. Clay took a deep breath, reminding himself that today was almost over. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

That thought buoyed his spirits until he reached the Bar C and found Martina waiting for him, her face lined with concern. “She asked me not to tell you, but I thought you ought to know.”

When the housekeeper finished her story, Clay’s fists were clenched. What else could go wrong?

“All right, sweetie.” Sarah gathered the crying child in her arms. When she’d entered the Bramble house, she’d found Thea sitting in one corner of the parlor, her eyes and nose reddened from tears. The same scene had greeted her the previous two days.

“Go home.” Thea clutched Sarah’s neck and repeated the phrase.

“Yes, we’re going home. Soon.” But first Sarah needed to talk to Mary. She lowered herself carefully onto one of the fancy chairs, mindful of her leg’s ache and fearful of dropping Thea if it buckled. “Has she been crying all day?”

Though she’d said nothing while Sarah maneuvered herself, Sarah saw a hint of pity in Mary’s eyes. Whether the pity was for Sarah or Thea wasn’t clear. Mary shook her head. “Less than yesterday. She was cheerful as could be when we made biscuits.” The bits of flour in Thea’s hair confirmed the biscuit baking story. “I reckon she’s just tired now,” Mary continued. “Take a mother’s advice and don’t fret so much. It’s normal for a child to miss her mama. She’ll adjust.”

Sarah hoped so. By the time they reached the ranch, Thea’s tears had dried and she was bouncing on the seat, her arms stretched out toward the horses, acting as if nothing had bothered her. If she’d been tired, she’d caught her second wind, for all traces of the petulant Thea were gone, replaced by a child with more energy than Sarah could ever match. As Mary had predicted, Thea was resilient.