Undercover Bride (29 page)

She felt a surge of hope. Could this be the breakthrough she’d been praying for? “But why would he wait two years before trying to retrieve it?”

“He didn’t. He first approached me about it before the funeral. Even insisted on following me around the house while I did a search. Made me check the attic—everything.

“He left town shortly after the funeral, and that was the last I heard from him until—”

“After the school fund-raiser.” The timing always bothered her. She glanced at Rikker, who continued to pace back and forth on the porch watching for trouble.

“Who else had access to the hayloft?”

“No one,” he said. “I mean, anyone could have climbed the ladder.” He frowned. “Do you suppose Katherine put it there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“But why hide it in the children’s playhouse?”

“I don’t know.” Was that why Katherine went outside on that dark, rainy night? To hide the satchel? “Maybe she discovered the stolen money inside.”

“But why hide it?”

It was a good question for which she had no answer. Unless… Recalling the letter she found in the attic, something occurred to her. “What if she found the money and knew it was stolen. Maybe she wanted to give her brother a chance to turn himself in.” It would certainly explain the ultimatum she wrote. If Cotton didn’t do what she asked, she would go to the sheriff herself.

Garrett thought a moment. “That sounds like something she might do. She was always trying to get her brother to do the right thing.”

Maggie felt a surge of hope. She was on the right track. She felt it in her bones. Of course, this left yet another disturbing question. What did any of this have to do with Katherine’s death?

While Rikker fiddled with the jailhouse lock, Maggie poked her head outside. Except for the distant screech of a fiddle, all was quiet.

“What if they come back?” The thought turned her insides to ice. She had a real chance of getting to the truth and possibly saving Garrett, but she needed time.

Rikker gave the lock a sharp tap before answering. “I’ll stay here and keep watch till the sheriff arrives in the morning.”

She patted him on the back. He was such a dear man, and she thanked God every day for bringing him into her life.

“Let me stay. You have to testify tomorrow, and you need your rest.”

“You need your rest, too,” he said. “Now quit worrying and go.”

She was anxious to run her latest theory by him, but he was already pushing her out the door. “What about tomorrow night and the night after that?”

“Let’s get through this night and we’ll worry about the rest later.”

“Rikker—”

“Go!”

She continued to argue, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Finally she gave in and returned to the hotel—for all the good it did her.

Instead of using the few hours left till dawn for some much-needed sleep, she practically paced a hole in the carpet. Would Garrett ever forgive her? And what if she couldn’t find the proof needed to save him?

Falling to her knees, she prayed. The truth was out there somewhere, and with God’s help, she would do everything possible to find it. As for Garrett…
Please, God, help him to forgive me.

Was she asking the impossible? Probably. Why should he forgive her? When had she ever shown forgiveness? No matter how hard she tried, she still felt bitter toward her father.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She covered her face with her hands. It’s what brought her to this time and place, and look what it got her. Her need to punish her father might well send an innocent man to his death.

Her eyes flew open.
Punish?

The thought set her back on her heels. Tracking down thieves and murderers was her way of making up to society for her father’s crimes. Or at least that’s what she had always told herself. But were her reasons really so noble?

The question weighed heavily on her mind as she sat at the desk to write a detailed report to headquarters.

Allen Pinkerton demanded meticulous record-keeping. Reports had to be written in cryptic with indelible ink. She was required to give a full description of a suspect, including every known trait, both good and bad. Every relevant conversation had to be recorded verbatim and the time line accurate to the last minute.

Allan often complained that some of his male operatives didn’t put enough details into their reports. Brevity was not Maggie’s problem, wordiness was. She never described eyes as merely blue or brown. It was always shades of cobalt (like Garrett’s) or nut brown; azure or chocolate.

Tonight she described Cotton’s eyes as gunmetal gray. Rikker said he had no prior record but there had to be something, and she hoped that a more detailed description would uncover something in the Pinkerton rogues gallery that had been previously overlooked.

M
aggie rose just as a glimmer of light broke through the darkness. Yawning, she stretched her arms overhead, but her limbs felt heavy. No wonder. Disturbing dreams kept her twisting and turning during the short time spent in bed. It was all she could do to drag herself across the room to the washstand.

Following her morning ablutions, she dressed and left the hotel. The streets were deserted as she hurried to the jailhouse. It promised to be another warm day, but even the glorious pink sunrise couldn’t lift her spirits. Much to her relief, the sheriff’s horse was hitched out front and all looked peaceful and quiet.

Spotting Rikker as he left the sheriff’s office, she picked up her pace and quickly fell in step by his side. “Any problems?”

Despite his whiskered chin and mussed hair, he looked remarkably spry for such an early hour. “None that can’t be fixed with cackleberries, bacon, and some strong hot coffee.”

“And Garrett? Is he—?”

“He’s fine. Though neither one of us got any sleep with all that snoring in the next cell.” He regarded her with a slanted look. “You don’t look like you got much sleep yourself.”

“How could I? I kept worrying about you.”

“You were worrying about Thomas.”

“I was worried about you both. A man of your age—” Too late she bit her tongue. She could feel his hackles rise as they tended to do whenever the subject of age came up.

“I can do everything I could do as a young man,” he said. “I’d just rather not, is all.”

She glanced at his profile. It was the first time he’d admitted to not wanting to do anything. He wouldn’t admit it for the world, but he was obviously feeling his age. A detective’s life was hard, even on the young.

Quickly changing the subject, she said, “I’d feel better if we could put Garrett under twenty-four-hour guard.”

“Yeah, well, there’re just the two of us,” he said. “Let’s hope for the best. The trial should soon be over.”

If he was trying to make her feel better, he failed miserably. Punishment was swift in the West. Once a guilty verdict was announced, a short walk to the gallows quickly followed.

“Do you think we should wire headquarters for reinforcements?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’ll take too long for anyone to arrive.” Rikker sounded as frustrated as she felt. “Besides, the bank has its money. They’re not likely to pay Pinkerton to keep investigating a case that appears to be solved. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

“We know that two crooks robbed the train. What about the second one?”

He shrugged. “Like I said. The bank got its money back.”

She swallowed her frustration. A man died in that robbery, and his family deserved justice. “I have a theory.”

“Of course, you do, Duffy.” It was a joke between them; he always had a plan and she always had a theory.

“I’m pretty certain that Katherine placed the money in the tree house.”

“Are we talking about Katherine, Thomas’s wife?”

She nodded. “I think that’s why she was out in the storm the night she died. Cotton apparently asked his sister to hold on to something for him. A satchel… If it’s the same one I found in the tree house, then there’s no question that he’s one of the thieves.”

“Hmm.” He gave her a cockeyed look. “Would you happen to have a theory as to how to prove it?”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come up with one of your brilliant plans.”

“You know me. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

“You better get some sleep,” she said.

“I will. Just as soon as I catch a bite.”

“I’ll take tonight’s shift.”

“No, you won’t,” he said as if he expected that to be the final word.

She stopped mid-step and whirled about to face him, hands on her waist. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping watch.”

He studied her from beneath a crinkled brow. “I don’t doubt it for a moment, but I’m not capable of letting you. If you recall, there were five of them, none of whom looked like a choirboy.”

She dropped her arms to her side. As much as she hated to admit it, Rikker was right. The only weapon she packed was a derringer—a handy gun for protecting herself at close range, but hardly practical for holding back a mob.

“You can’t keep staying up all night.” She was pretty certain he was putting on a show for her benefit. Already he had gone above and beyond what friendship required. Staying up all night was one thing when you were in your twenties or thirties, but not at Rikker’s age.

“What choice do I have? That lynch mob could come back.”

She shuddered at the thought. “I’m still confused about Cotton’s motivation. Why try to hang a man who already has his neck in the loop? It makes no sense.”

“Revenge seldom does.”

“You think that’s all there is to it? Revenge?”

He shrugged. “He blames Thomas for keeping that money hidden.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe he’s afraid Garrett will take the stand. He’s the only one who can tie Cotton to that satchel.” The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. “When Linc refused to lie on the stand and say that Garrett dropped that hundred-dollar bill, Cotton must have panicked.”

“But why?” Rikker asked. “How would Linc’s lie have helped him?”

“It wouldn’t unless Garrett testified that the satchel was Cotton’s. Linc’s testimony would have placed the stolen money in Garrett’s hand.”

“Ah, so that’s what the lynch mob was about. Keeping Garrett from testifying and implicating Cotton.”

“What I don’t understand is why he doesn’t just leave town?” she asked. “Why stay around and take a chance on Garrett implicating him?”

“I think I can answer that question,” Rikker said. “Katherine’s father cut Cotton out of his will. Apparently he was disgusted that his son hadn’t done anything constructive with his life. Katherine got everything, but she placed almost all of her inheritance into a trust for the children. So if something happened to Garrett and his aunt, Cotton would be the only living relative. That would make him the conservator.”

The thought made her shudder. “What do you bet the children would never see a penny of that money?”

The implications sent a chill down her spine. It certainly explained why Cotton wanted to see Garrett dead. She didn’t even want to think about what that might mean for Aunt Hetty.

They started walking again. The church steeple in the distance gave her an idea. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

She quickened her step, and he called after her, “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

She waved her hand over her head and kept going. “To solve the guard problem.” And maybe even find a miracle.

The morning sun cast a ray of golden light onto the church steeple as she followed the winding footpath to the back of the church. She found Reverend Holly sprinkling flowers with a gray metal watering can. Even at this early hour he wore a bow tie.

He looked up when she approached.

“Ah, the lady detective,” he said. “What brings you here on this fine day that God has made?”

“Garrett Thomas,” she said.

The reverend shook his head. “I’ve known Garrett for a long time. Can’t believe he did the things they say.”

“He didn’t.”

Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “You sound pretty certain.”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Hmm.” Today he was hatless, and his round bald spot shone like a newly minted penny. “I can’t tell you how upset I was when he stopped coming to church. I prayed that he would change his mind. When he showed up that Sunday, I thought God had answered my prayers. But he looked none too happy to see me yesterday when I visited him in jail. Said the only reason he came to church was to keep an eye on his son.”