Paper Roses (6 page)

Madame Rousseau raised an eyebrow as she looked first at Isabelle, then at Léon. “I will have to ask your father.” She turned toward the interior door.

“That means yes,” Isabelle whispered. “Papa always does what Maman wants.”

Though she gave no sign that she had heard her daughter’s words, Madame Rousseau halted, her hand on the doorknob. “If my husband should agree, and mind you, I’m not saying he will, but if he should, you must make arrangements for the child. The store is no place for her.”

Sarah nodded slowly, her initial excitement starting to ebb as she realized she had solved one problem only to create another. What had she expected? Nothing had been easy since that day in September. Only a fool would have thought her luck would change. Sarah Dobbs, it appeared, was a fool.

3

“Good morning, Mayor.” As Clay had hoped, since Michel Ladre hadn’t been expecting him, the man who’d transplanted a bit of Alsace into the heart of Texas a decade before was in his office.

“Good to see you, Clay.” The older man rose from behind his desk. Though of modest height, he was still a commanding presence, his brown eyes intense, his dark hair only slightly mottled with gray. At forty-eight, he was the same age as Pa. The years, however, had been far kinder to Michel Ladre than they had to Clay’s father.

Clay looked around, his lips tightening. The town’s founder, mayor, sheriff, and self-appointed arbiter of every dispute kept a map of Alsace on his wall, along with pictures of the succession of rulers who’d invaded, conquered, and oppressed Alsace’s citizens. They were, he claimed, reminders of all the townspeople had overcome. Austin had scoffed every time he’d spoken of those pictures, declaring that the colonists hadn’t bettered their lives the way they’d hoped but had merely exchanged one form of despotism for another.

Clay’s lips tightened again. His brother had worried about the townspeople. Clay did not. He had enough worries of his own, starting with why Michel Ladre was treating Austin’s murder as if it were nothing more than a petty crime.

Before Clay could speak, the mayor pulled out his watch and frowned. “Unfortunately,” he said in a tone that sounded anything but regretful, “I was on my way out. I’m afraid that the matter is urgent.”

Since Ladreville’s founder had been sitting with his boots propped on the desk, the picture of indolence, when he arrived, Clay doubted the story was true.

“This will only take a moment.” Michel had not invited him to sit, and Clay preferred not to. Some things were best discussed standing up. But he did position himself in front of the door to keep the mayor from leaving. “I want to know what progress you’ve made in finding my brother’s murderer.”

“Je regrette.”
Michel frowned, then reverted to English. “These things take time.”

That was the same thing he had said when Clay had seen him three days ago. “How long can it take to talk to seven men?”

The mayor frowned again and shook his head slowly. When he spoke, his words were deliberate, his tone one Clay imagined he would have used when speaking to a small child or a not-very-bright adult. “If only it were that simple, Clay. Austin’s murderer could have been anyone, even a Comanche.”

Biting back his anger, Clay forced himself to respond calmly. There was no point in alienating the town’s only lawman. “My brother would not have allowed a Comanche to come that close to him. Austin didn’t even pull his gun. That means the man who killed him had to be someone he knew and trusted.”

“Many more than seven men fit that description. It could include everyone in Ladreville. Your brother knew everyone.”

While that was true, Clay wasn’t certain Austin had trusted them all. He knew for a fact that Austin hadn’t trusted the man standing next to the desk, at least not with the town’s finances.

Keeping his voice as even as if he were discussing the weather, Clay said, “It makes sense that the killer was someone Austin was playing poker with.” Those men were the ones closest to him. They were the ones who knew where Austin was that night and what time he left the Brambles’ barn.

“It may make sense to you, Clay,” Michel said in that infuriatingly condescending voice, “but let me remind you that I’m the one who’s conducting this investigation. I need to consider all possibilities.”

“What harm would there be in starting with the last people who saw Austin alive?”

“None, other than to waste my time.” The mayor picked up his hat. “As much as I regret being unable to continue this conversation, I must leave.”

It was as Clay had suspected. Michel Ladre had no intention of questioning the other poker players, perhaps because his own son had been one of them, perhaps because Michel himself had few regrets that Austin was dead.

“If you’re not willing to talk to those men, I will.”

The mayor clenched his fist. “I’m afraid I cannot permit that.”

“I’m afraid you cannot prevent that.” Clay had already spoken to the men, but he’d kept the conversations casual. In doing that, he’d learned nothing. Each of the seven had the same story: they’d all remained in the barn from the time Austin left until well past the hour when Nora had arrived back at the Bar C, Austin’s body slumped over her back. Clay didn’t believe them. One of them had killed his brother, and if Michel Ladre wasn’t willing to find out who it was, Clay had no choice but to do it himself. Austin’s murderer would pay for his crime.

“You might be on the lookout for Austin’s watch,” Clay told the man who claimed he was investigating the murder. “Austin had it when he left that night, and it wasn’t in his pocket when he—”

Michel didn’t let him finish the sentence. “He probably lost it,” the mayor said, dismissing Clay’s suggestion.

Clay shook his head. “That watch was Austin’s most prized possession, especially that day. He’d just put Sarah’s miniature in it and was planning to show it to his friends.” Though he doubted Michel would take any action, Clay continued, “Like I said, Mayor, someone needs to question those men. Thoroughly.”

Michel took a step toward Clay, his position menacing. With a gesture toward the side door, he hissed, “If you interfere with my investigation, you’ll find yourself sitting inside that cell.”

“Then do your job.”

The man’s face flushed as the implication registered. “I am, and I’m doing it far better than you could.” Michel’s voice seethed with anger. “Face it, Clay. There’s a reason why I’m the mayor and sheriff of this town, and you’re a doctor. If you’re wiser than your brother, you’ll do your job and leave me alone to do mine.”

Clay stared at the man who held the power of life and death over the citizens of Ladreville. Michel Ladre was wrong on many counts. He was wrong about who had killed Austin. He was wrong about his own abilities. And he was wrong about Clay. Clay wasn’t a doctor. Not any longer.

They were waiting for him, just as they had been a day earlier. The wagon was the same. The passengers were the same. He was even late again, although for a different reason. Today he had chosen to be late, deliberately waiting until his temper cooled before he headed back down Hochstrasse. That wasn’t the only difference. Today, instead of standing on the street, her annoyance clearly apparent, Sarah was smiling and talking to Isabelle Rousseau as if they had been friends for years, while Thea appeared to be joining the conversation.

Clay never had understood why the females of the species spent so much time jabbering. Even Patience had talked more than Clay would have liked. Fortunately, Sarah hadn’t subjected him to that same degree of chatter on the ride from San Antonio, and she’d seemed to sense his need for silence when they’d driven into town this morning. That was good. What was even better was that once today was over, she’d have limited opportunities to say anything to him.

Clay halted the wagon in front of the mercantile, then climbed out to assist Sarah and her sister.

“Papa!” He’d no sooner put his feet on the ground when Thea raised her arms toward him. She was a child, Clay reminded himself, but surely even a child could learn that he was not her father. Apparently oblivious to Clay’s frown, the little girl giggled. Then, when he did not immediately pick her up, she wrapped her arms around his leg. Clay’s frown deepened.

With an apologetic glance at him, Sarah untangled the child’s arms. “That’s Mr. Canfield, sweetie.” She knelt next to her sister. “Say it: Mr. Canfield.”

Thea looked up at Clay, those brown eyes so like her sister’s glowing with happiness.

“Papa Clay,” she announced.

Though Sarah frowned, Clay heard laughter. He glared at the source and said slowly, “Good morning, Miss Rousseau.” Unlike Thea, Isabelle Rousseau understood anger when it was directed at her. Her face red with embarrassment, the young woman bade Sarah farewell and returned to the store.

Once Clay had Sarah and Thea settled in the wagon, he flicked the reins. The sooner he was across the river, the better. During the time he strode along the Medina’s banks, trying to beat his anger back to manageable levels, Clay had decided to give Michel Ladre one more week. If the man had made no progress in finding Austin’s killer by the end of that time, Clay would take matters into his own hands. And— with only a modicum of luck—within that week Miss Sarah Dobbs and her sister would have realized that Ladreville was not their home.

“Were you able to find everything you needed?” he asked Sarah as the horses started to ford the river. The package she’d stowed in the back of the wagon was smaller than he’d expected. Perhaps she’d already realized how unsuitable Ladreville was and had purchased only what she needed for the return journey.

Sarah nodded. “In fact, I accomplished more than I’d hoped.” There was no ignoring the excitement in her voice. That was not a good sign. She was supposed to be discouraged and disillusioned. Instead, Clay had a feeling that he would not like her next sentence. He did not.

“The Rousseaus have hired me to work in their store.”

Clay kept his eyes on the river while he tried to dislodge the large, immovable lump that had settled in his stomach. Luck—even the tiny bit he’d hoped for—was not with him. Clay knew, as surely as he did that Austin hadn’t deserved to die, that if Sarah was employed and became part of the community, she and her sister might not leave Ladreville. Ever.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked, searching for a way to dissuade her.

“You mean, remain in Ladreville?” When Clay nodded, Sarah smiled one of those smiles that made her almost beautiful. “Yes,” she said. “I want this to be our home.” With a self-deprecating shrug, she continued, “I’ll admit I’ve never worked in a store before, but I’m confident I can do it.”

Clay wouldn’t dispute that. The letters she’d written to Austin had revealed a good measure of determination. So, too, had her actions in the past day. If the knowledge that her bridegroom was dead hadn’t made Sarah flee, Clay suspected that not much would discourage her. Still, he’d hoped she would come to her senses and return to Philadelphia.

She was silent for a moment, and Clay could see the indecision on her face. “There is a small problem,” she admitted at last. Her voice told Clay the problem was larger than she wanted to acknowledge.

“What kind of problem?”

Sarah hugged her sister, then stroked the child’s head. “I can’t take Thea with me. Madame Rousseau was adamant about that.”

After watching them together, Clay knew that was a very large problem. Sarah did not like to let her sister out of her sight, even for a few minutes. She wouldn’t, as Pa used to say, take kindly to the idea of being separated for the entire working day. On the other hand, Clay understood the Rousseaus’s position. He had been inside the mercantile and could not imagine as active a child as Thea spending hours there. What would Sarah do?

When Austin had learned of Thea’s existence, he had told Clay the presence of a child was another part of God’s plan. They had both discussed the fact that, although a bride would normally be in charge of the household, Martina could not be displaced from her position as housekeeper. Not only was their father dependent on her, but he had promised Martina and Miguel positions on the Bar C for the rest of their lives. That was the crux of the problem. Although no one expected Austin’s wife to work on the ranch, both Clay and Austin knew she would require something to occupy her days. Caring for Thea, Austin had declared, would give Sarah something to do while they waited to be blessed with a child of their own. That was God’s plan, he claimed. Unfortunately, the plan was not working out the way Austin had envisioned.

“Martina’s too busy to watch Thea,” Clay told Sarah.

She nodded. “I assumed that. I’m hoping to find someone in town who’d be willing to keep Thea during the day. Isabelle mentioned a woman named Frau Reismueller.”

The Reismuellers had six children of their own. While Clay doubted they’d object to caring for another, he was not certain it was the best place for Thea. She was accustomed to a lot of attention, and that was something Frau Reismueller could not provide.

Stop it!
Clay told himself.
This is Sarah’s problem, not
yours. If Thea’s unhappy here, maybe they’ll leave.
But, despite his admonitions, Clay could not stop thinking about the child.