Truth Be Told (25 page)

To her surprise, Ben shook his head. “It would definitely have repercussions for the people living here, but there's nothing illegal about any of that, at least as far as what we can see. And that is what concerns me—Merrick had no reason to react the way he did unless there's something more at stake.”

Amelia nodded, catching his drift. “Legitimate businessmen
don't send thugs around to intimidate people. And then there's that whole business with Millie Brown.”

“That's right. And it would also explain why Merrick was so bent on assigning me to spend time with you.” Ben snapped his fingers. “I haven't told you yet what else I found while I was going through the financial records. It seems a company called Southwest—”

Amelia raised her hand to cut him off. “Wait a minute. Merrick
sent
you to get acquainted with me?”

Ben looked startled at her sharp tone, then he gave a small shrug and chuckled. “He had a plan for me to strike up a friendship with you to try to sway your opinion of the company and convince you to print a retraction of those articles your father wrote. If he had any idea you had access to all this and we might join forces to piece it together, a retraction would have been the least of his worries.”

He went on speaking, but Amelia seemed locked in a moment where time stood still. She could hear Ben's voice going on, but a loud buzz filled her head, and she couldn't make out the words.

She fought to fill her lungs with air. The deep breath cleared her head, and she turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Are you telling me the reason you started paying attention to me was because you were following Owen Merrick's orders?”

Cut off in midsentence, Ben snapped his mouth shut and stared at her. “That was his plan to begin with, but—”

Her chest heaved, and her hands tightened into fists. “The invitation to the poetry reading the first time you approached me—was that your idea, or his?”

His hunted expression was answer enough. Remembering
Homer's suspicions, she advanced on him and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Did you do something to disable that buggy so you'd be able to come along and be my valiant knight? So you could worm your way into my good graces?”

Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and marched out into the printing office. He caught up with her near the Peerless press. Catching her arm, he turned her to face him. “Everything I already told you about what happened that evening was the truth. I saw you driving out of town and thought if I could catch up to you, it would give us a good opportunity to talk and get acquainted. But I had nothing to do with that buggy wheel coming off.”

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and felt a tear trickle down her right cheek. She dashed it away with an angry swipe of her hand. “So that's all I was to you—a project? An
assignment
?”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. “I'll admit, our first encounter stemmed from my following orders. But once I got to know you—”

She pushed his hands aside and backed away from him. “I stuck up for you with Homer and told him you were a man we could trust. I even thought—” Her mouth twisted as the memory of their near kiss played through her mind. She choked back a sob. “I think you'd better leave.”

He spread his hands wide. “But, Amelia, I—”

“Not now, Ben. Please, just go.”

B
en handed the money for his fare to Thomas Rafferty, who slid a pasteboard ticket across the depot counter in return.

“You won't have long to wait,” the station agent told him. “The train's due in just a few minutes.”

Ben nodded his thanks and carried his satchel across to the lone bench on the platform, where he sank down onto the wooden seat. Just a few minutes, Rafferty had said. He glanced down the length of First Street. If he hurried, he could make a quick dash to the
Gazette
and tell Amelia good-bye.

He got to his feet, hefted his satchel in his right hand, and trotted down the platform steps to the streets. It was unlikely she would welcome a visit from him after the way things had ended the night before. Still, he had to try.

He strode along briskly past the false-fronted buildings that lined First Street. What had possessed him to drop that comment about Merrick's assignment to him in such a casual manner? That slip of the tongue was almost as stupid as taking the duty on in the first place. But if he hadn't done it, he might never have gotten to know Amelia.

He had long ago discarded Merrick's order as his reason for continuing to seek out her company, but Amelia had no way of knowing that. And considering the way he'd blurted out the information, he couldn't blame her for the way she had reacted.

As he passed the Great Western building, a blaze of anger rose within him. Owen Merrick had gotten him into this situation. By ordering Ben to finagle his way into Amelia's good graces, the man had undermined any possibility of his relationship with Amelia beginning on a completely open footing.

Be honest, Ben
.
He turned his anger toward its rightful target—himself. He could have said no to Merrick's ill-advised scheme right from the start. It would have been the honorable thing to do. But he'd been too excited at the prospect of being hand-picked for an assignment that seemed sure to win Merrick's favor and help him move forward in the company.

A long sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head. Merrick had played him for a fool, just as he'd tried to do with Amelia over the spurious agreement between her father and the local brothel owner.

What an idiot he'd been! His thoughts returned to Amelia and the confusion he had created in her mind. How could she possibly know his feelings about her when he had never managed to put them into words?

He had to make that right. There must be some way to win her trust again. The trip he planned to make might prove to be a start. Thoughts of Southwest Land Development had preyed on his mind all through the previous night. Merrick had shut down when he'd questioned him about it. If he could uncover
information on that company, it might prove to give them the final piece they needed to solve this puzzle.

“Hey, Mr. Stone!”

Ben looked up to see Jimmy Brandt clattering toward him along the boardwalk.

The boy fell into step with him. “Did you send that telegram about those toughs I spotted yesterday? I've been looking around today, but I haven't seen them anywhere.”

It took Ben a moment to refocus his thoughts and remember the men the lad had spotted the evening before. “Let's hope they've already left town.” He aimed a stern look at the boy. “But just in case they haven't, remember what Miss Wagner and I told you? You are not to go anywhere near them. Do you understand?”

Jimmy's face scrunched into a scowl. Then he glanced up and caught Ben's unwavering stare. “Oh, all right. But I can still keep my eyes and ears open.”

A piercing whistle sounded from the direction of the depot. Ben came to an abrupt stop. He cast a glance toward the
Gazette
, only a few buildings away. If he took time to see Amelia, he would miss the train. With a muffled groan, he spun on his heel. “I need to get back to the station, Jimmy.”

The boy's eyes widened as he took in Ben's satchel. “Are you goin' somewhere?”

Ben gave a brief nod. “I have to take care of some business.” He reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. “Take care of yourself, Jimmy, and be sure to stay out of trouble.” With a last look in the direction of the
Gazette
building, he turned and sprinted toward the depot.

T
he sudden clatter of the telegraph key seemed loud in the small office. Ben looked up from the bench where he'd been waiting and focused on the telegraph operator. The bespectacled man glanced up long enough to give him a quick nod before turning his attention back to the incoming message.

Ben strode to the counter, where the operator handed him a sheet of yellow paper. “I think this is what you've been waiting for, Mr. Stone.”

Ben skimmed the message, and his lips drew tight. “It looks like I'll be staying around Prescott awhile longer. Can you recommend a good hotel?”

“You might try the Hotel Burke. It's right across from the courthouse plaza, on Montezuma.”

Ben nodded his thanks. “I'm expecting another wire. When it comes in, that's where you'll find me.” He took his time reading over the telegram once more as he walked down Cortez Street to the town square.

WILL ASK SOME OF MY FRIENDS HERE STOP WILL GET BACK TO YOU AS SOON AS I HAVE INFORMATION STOP

DAD

Ben sighed. His visit to the county recorder had yielded some, but not nearly enough, of the information he sought. The records for Southwest Land Development didn't include any names, only an address in Washington, D.C. His father was the one person he could think of who might be able to access more details in a hurry. But apparently it was going to take some time for his father to collect the information he needed.

He glanced at the last line of the message again and winced. He felt guilty about urging his father to ask questions without spelling out his suspicions about Owen Merrick, but there was no way he could explain his doubts about his father's trusted friend in a brief telegram. Regardless of how things worked out, he would have to follow up his request with a long letter, detailing recent events and what he had uncovered. He didn't relish the prospect. His father would be heartbroken at the news.

Once he located the hotel recommended by the telegraph operator and checked into a room, he found himself at loose ends, having no idea how long it would take for his father to reply or what he should do with himself in the meantime. He opened the satchel to unpack the single change of clothes he'd brought with him, and his fingers brushed against his Bible.

A smile touched his lips. He couldn't think of a better way to pass the time than communing with the Lord. Pulling the
upholstered chair over to the window, he sat down with the Bible in his lap and settled in for a long wait.

“Are we running Walt Ingram's ad in the same place next week?”

Amelia glanced up and met Homer's questioning look. “I'm not sure. Let me see if there's a better spot for it.” She set down the half-filled composing stick she'd been working on, relieved to have an excuse to leave off setting the type for Hyacinth Parmenter's latest offering. She glanced down at the local poetess's most recent work:

. . . O rapturous bliss of love's young dream

that in one's eye ignites a gleam . . .

She scrunched up her nose. The cloying sentiment rankled, even when read backwards in the type she'd just set. The last thing she needed today was a reminder of young love. Walking around to the other side of the Washington press, she joined Homer, who looked as tense as she felt. Trying to piece the newspaper together with the type they had been able to salvage put him under even more time pressure than usual—it would take them days to set next week's paper. She could only hope it wouldn't be too long before the order arrived from the foundry in St. Louis so they could have their normal assortment of type available again.

He pointed out the ad in question, ready to place in the chase. “I can find room for it on the next page, if you'd rather.” When she hesitated, he lifted a bushy white eyebrow and added, “Or I can make the call on it myself, if your mind is elsewhere.”

Amelia felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. She should have known her brooding wouldn't have gone unnoticed. The night before last, Homer had returned to the newspaper shortly after Ben left, with his spirits much improved after a long conversation with Pastor Edmonds. He'd found her in tears at her desk and spent the next thirty minutes coaxing out the story of her quarrel with Ben and the way she'd ordered him to leave.

She swallowed now as she tried to focus on the ad in question. “Ben didn't come around at all yesterday. I've been hoping he would stop by sometime this morning, but . . .” She broke off and looked at Homer.

Instead of the encouraging response she hoped for, he pressed his lips together and shook his head. “A man has his pride. After you threw him out like that, it's probably going to take him a while to cool off and sort things out in his own mind.” He reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “I know your feelings were hurt, and I don't fault you for that, but I can't help thinking about what you told me back when I was having my own doubts about him.”

Amelia sniffled and reached for her handkerchief. “What do you mean?”

Turning back to the press, Homer carefully moved the hardware ad to a new position. “You told me then to look at his actions and judge the man by what he was doing, not by my own preconceived notions. I'll agree that accepting an assignment like the one Merrick gave him looks bad, but that happened before he got to know you. Seems to me a lot has changed since then.”

Amelia bit her lip and went back to finish setting the syrupy verse. Had she judged Ben too quickly, too harshly? He had
openly admitted his first overtures to her were in accordance with Merrick's order. But what about the times they spent together after that?

One scene after another flashed through her mind like one of the magic lantern shows she'd seen in Denver. There was the day they first met, when he'd rescued her and the buggy, the way Ben had come to Homer's aid when he'd been injured—and again last night, when he spoke to Homer with compassion about deepening his relationship with the Lord.

He had even made the effort to go through the company files. And what he found not only caused him to come around to her way of thinking, but he'd quit his job because he wouldn't align himself with underhanded business methods.

Were those the actions of an untrustworthy man?
Hardly.

Hot tears stung her eyes as other images sprang to mind—the times when Ben's nearness had made it hard for her to concentrate on anything else. And that moment after leaving the Odd Fellows Hall on the night of the concert, when she'd been sure he was about to kiss her.

She blinked rapidly to chase the tears away. “I guess I've been a bit on edge lately.”

Homer's snort was soft but carried a wealth of meaning.

“All right, more than a little on edge.” Her preoccupation with finding out what was happening at Great Western had clouded her judgment. If she could only resolve the questions that plagued her like a swarm of persistent gnats, surely life would settle back into some kind of order.

She had felt close to finding the answers when Ben agreed to look at the map she'd been working on. A soft smile tugged at her lips at the memory of the way his face lit up when he
pored over the drawing on her desk, and her breath quickened when she remembered the warmth of his arm pressing against hers while they bent over the desk together.

Then a few brief words—and her reaction to them—had shattered that lovely moment. She went over the painful scene again in her mind. Ben had mentioned another company—Southwest something or another—when she'd interrupted him. What had he been about to say? He might have given her information that would have provided the key to unlocking the mystery right then, if only she had given him a chance. Instead, she had seized on his comment about Merrick, letting it drive every other thought from her mind.

She sucked in her breath, calling herself every kind of fool. Setting the composing stick aside, she buried her face in her hands. Regaining control of her emotions, she swiped at her cheeks with her fingers and turned back to Homer. “I'll be back later. I need to go find Ben.”

His eyes lit up, and he gave her an approving nod. “Take all the time you need. I'll be praying for you both.”

She hung her apron on its hook and spent a few moments tidying her appearance before she set out. Once on First Street, she considered where she should start looking.
His
boardinghouse
, she decided. If he wasn't there, maybe his landlady could give her some idea of where she might find him.

She had taken only a few steps before Jimmy jumped out of a doorway and ran up to her. “Where are you going, Miss Amelia? Are you after those thugs? Want me to come along and help?”

Amelia stopped in her tracks and tried to sort through the onslaught of questions. She hadn't seen any more of the ruf
fians Jimmy had spotted, and she assumed they had slipped out of town. With her concerns about the damage she'd done to her relationship with Ben, it had proven to be a case of “out of sight, out of mind.”

She looked down at the boy. “Thank you, Jimmy, but I don't need any help at the moment. I'm just on my way to see Mr. Stone.” When she started to move away, he fell into step beside her.

“You aren't going to find him.”

Once again, she halted and turned to face the boy. “Why not?”

“'Cause he isn't here. He left on the train yesterday morning.”

“What?” Amelia's jaw sagged. “Are you sure?”

Jimmy nodded vigorously. “I was talkin' to him when the whistle blew, and he took off running for the depot like something was after him. I watched him get on the train just before it started off.”

Her knees threatened to buckle, and she grabbed at a nearby awning pole to hold herself upright. “Where was he going?”

Jimmy shrugged. “He didn't say.”

Amelia's chest constricted, like a band was tightening around it, driving the air from her lungs. “When is he coming back?”

“I dunno. He just told me to stay out of trouble and take care of myself.”

He's gone
. Amelia clung to the awning pole while she let the truth sink in. And he'd left without saying good-bye. She had driven him away, and she would never have the chance to complete that interrupted kiss and tell him how much she cared for him.

Pushing away from the post, she tottered over to a nearby bench and sank down on the seat.

“Are you all right, Miss Amelia?” Jimmy stood before her, his face crinkled into an anxious expression. “Want me to get you a cup of water or some of them smelling salts?”

She raised her hand to wave away his offer. “I'll be all right. Just give me a few minutes.” Even as she spoke, she called herself a liar. She had destroyed her budding relationship with Ben and broken her own heart in the process. After all the ways he'd come to her aid, after he had believed in her, supported her . . . How could she have treated him like that?

Pulling a handkerchief from her reticule, she dabbed at her eyes. Then she shook herself mentally. She wasn't some languishing heroine, the kind Hyacinth Parmenter might feature in one of her poems. She had failed Ben as a friend, but she was still a reporter.

Her eyes strayed to the opposite side of First Street, and her lips hardened when her gaze lit on the Great Western building. She might not know how everything linked together, or what schemes the company had in mind, but she felt sure of one thing: Owen Merrick was behind it all. He held the answers she needed.

And he no longer had any hold over her, not since she and Ben discovered the “deed” to Millie Brown's business had been forged.

At that moment, the object of her musings appeared at the opening to the alleyway behind the Great Western building. Amelia sat up as if an electric current had just run through her. What if she confronted Merrick right now and faced him with her knowledge of that forgery—the one tangible piece of
proof she did possess? She might not know the whole story, but if she could make him believe she did, maybe he would be startled into giving away valuable information. She pushed herself to her feet. There was no guarantee her plan would work, but it was worth a try.

Jimmy bounced on his toes, looking ready for action. “Where are you off to now? Can I come, too?”

Amelia shook her head and smiled at the eager boy. “I have to take care of something. You remember what Mr. Stone said and stay out of trouble, all right?”

Turning back toward her objective, she paused for a moment. Was she crazy to think of facing the lion right outside his den? But Merrick was now a toothless lion, she reminded herself. Her discovery of the forgery had pulled his fangs, and there was nothing more he could threaten her with. Before she could change her mind, she marched across the dusty street.