Undercover Bride (31 page)

Elise looked up as they entered the kitchen, and a smile dimpled her cheeks.

“Miss Taylor!” she squealed. She ran over to Maggie and wrapped her arms around her. “Where’s Papa?”

“He can’t come right now.” For the children’s sakes she hid her inner torment behind a bright smile

“That’s ’cause he’s in jail,” Toby said without bothering to look up from the contraption he was building.

Aunt Hetty stopped fussing with the kettle on the stove. “He never heard it from me.”

Elise looked up with a worried frown. “How come he’s in jail?”

Maggie didn’t want to overstep her boundaries, but neither did she want to ignore the question. “Some people think that he put that money in your tree house. Maybe you can help me prove they’re wrong.”

Whitewash must have heard her voice because he started to bark and scratch at the door.

After Elise let him in, Maggie stooped to pet him.

Whitewash greeted her with wagging tail and happy barks. Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Crazy as it seemed, she had even grown fond of the fluffy white dog.

“I hope he didn’t dig up your yard,” she said.

“No, he’s been a perfect gentleman,” Aunt Hetty said, distracting the dog with a bone.

Maggie led Elise back to the table. Toby was doing something with a pair of wagon springs. Hoping the wagon he’d raided wasn’t Aunt Hetty’s, she pulled out a chair and sat.

“Whitewash likes it here ’cause there’s no boogeyman,” Elise whispered.

“Oh, so that’s the reason he’s been so good,” Maggie whispered back.

“Uh-huh.”

Anxious to get to the point of her visit, Maggie addressed both children.” All right, now I need you to put on your thinking caps.”

Toby stopped what he was doing and reached for his metal helmet.

Elise’s mouth turned downward. “I don’t have a thinking cap.”

“Oh dear.” Maggie glanced around the kitchen. Spotting a saucepan that looked about the right size, she reached for it. She recognized it at once as Garrett’s work, and the pan slipped from her hand. The clamor startled Whitewash, who ran under the table with his bone.

She bent over to retrieve it and quickly placed it upside down on Elise’s head. “There. How’s that?”

Elise rewarded her with a wide smile.

“All right, now I need you to think carefully.” She paused until she had their attention. She planned to ask them if they had seen their uncle recently, and if so, where? But something Elise said stuck in her brain.

“Why do you suppose there’s no boogeyman here?” she asked. Didn’t children usually take their imaginary friends, foes, and the like with them?

“He doesn’t want Aunt Hetty to see him,” Elise said. “He doesn’t want anyone to see him. That’s why he only comes out at night.”

Maggie glanced under the table at Whitewash, and something clicked in the back of her mind. No holes. No boogeyman. Could there be a connection? Startled by the thought, she covered her mouth with her hand. What if the boogeyman was real?

“Tell me about him.” She rested her hand on her lap and forced herself to breathe. “What does he look like?”

Elise wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a giant and has big feet.”

“How do you know he has big feet?” Maggie asked.

“All boogeymen have big feet,” Elise assured her.

“Oh, I see.”

“And he wears his hair like Aunt Hetty,” Toby added.

Maggie puzzled over this. “You mean he wears his hair in a bun like this?” Maggie turned her head so they could see the back of her head.

Elise shook her head. “He wears it like that.” She pointed to Aunt Hetty’s topknot.

It was hard to know with Elise where reality ended and fantasy took hold. Toby was more realistic—sometimes alarmingly so.

“Can you think of anything to add, Toby?”

“Nope.” He was more interested in the wagon springs than in discussing hairstyles.

“What about you, Elise? Anything else you can tell me about the boogeyman?”

Elise shook her head, and the saucepan fell to the floor. She jumped off her chair to retrieve it and placed it back on her head.

Maggie turned the pan so that the handle stuck out in back. Thinking the boogeyman was anything more than the children’s imagination was crazy, but the thought persisted.

She directed her next question to Aunt Hetty. “You said you hadn’t noticed any holes in the backyard, is that right?”

“Not a one. Why?”

“Just asking.”

She always wondered how such a little dog could do so much damage. Now another thought occurred to her: What if Whitewash hadn’t dug those holes? What if it was Cotton or his partner looking for the long-lost money? Was that the mysterious boogeyman the children talked about?

Aunt Hetty set a cup and saucer in front of her. “I don’t know about you, but all this talk about a boogeyman is making me hungry. How about some tea and cookies?”

She needed to be alone with her thoughts, but rushing off would be rude, and she didn’t want to hurt Aunt Hetty’s feelings. “Thank you,” she said.

She picked up the steaming china cup, but her hand was shaking so much she could hardly hold it steady. Had she inadvertently stumbled upon a clue? Or was she simply grasping at straws?

N
o sooner did Maggie leave Aunt Hetty’s than she raced to the jailhouse.

Already the gallows were being erected in the empty field behind Main Street. Each pound of the hammer felt like someone was driving a nail into Maggie’s heart. What was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they have waited until the verdict was read?

The sheriff greeted her with his usual “No visitors.”

“I’ll only be a moment.” She flashed her Pinkerton badge as she walked by his desk. She no longer had time to play his games.

Garrett sat on his cot writing in his notebook. He looked up as she neared his cell and look surprised to see her. “The children—”

“They’re fine,” she said.

“I was just writing them a letter.”

She nodded. “They’ll like that.” She wished now she’d thought to have the children write to him.

He set the notebook on the cot by his side. “Anything?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He rose to his feet and grabbed the bars. “That sounds encouraging.”

She stepped closer. Casting a look at the sheriff still at his desk glowering, she lowered her voice. “How long have you had your dog?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Whitewash? A couple of years. Why?”

“Was he always a digger?”

“Not so much as a puppy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that important?”

“I don’t know much about dogs, but for such a little fellow, he sure does a lot of digging.”

He frowned. “So what are you saying? And what does Whitewash have to do with my trial?”

“I don’t think he’s responsible for all those holes at the back of your house.”

“You think it’s another animal doing the digging?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” she said. “An animal with two legs.”

At long last Garrett was called to testify. It’s what he’d been waiting for. Now he could tell his side of the story, and by George, the jury better listen. He took his place on the witness stand, and his eyes immediately sought Maggie’s.

Sitting forward in her seat as if to jump to his defense at the slightest provocation, she gave him an encouraging smile. He hated that even now—even after knowing how she’d lied—he still had feelings for her. It didn’t seem possible, but it was true.

He pulled his gaze away, but only so he could concentrate on his testimony. His lawyer said it wasn’t enough to speak the truth; he also had to sound convincing.

He answered his lawyer Mr. King’s questions with a firm, clear voice. He looked at the jury as his lawyer had instructed, but he couldn’t keep from glancing at Maggie, who sat so still he wondered if she were even breathing.

“Your witness,” Mr. King said, taking his seat.

Mr. Fassbender rose and sauntered over to him. He had the same dogged expression as a certain hateful guard he remembered from Andersonville, and it was all Garrett could do to hide his dislike.

“Mr. Thomas, You testified that you hadn’t been in the tree house since your wife died.”

“That’s correct.”

“We heard testimony that you’re a conscientious parent,” Fassbender continued.

“I try to be,” Garrett replied, not sure where the prosecutor was heading.

“Yet, you never bothered to check your children’s tree house. Is that true?”

“Objection,” Mr. King said.

“Overruled.” The judge turned to Garrett. “You may answer the question.”

The implication that he had somehow neglected his children galled him, but he swallowed his anger. “I’m not sure what you mean by
checking
the tree house.”

“Most conscientious parents would keep an eye on what their children were doing and make sure their play area was safe.”

“It
was
safe,” Garrett said. “We made sure of that.”

“Yet, you expect us to believe you never set foot in the place for two years. Not even after knowing what your son was capable of?”

“My son?”

“It’s well known that your son can’t be trusted. Not that long ago, he set his aunt’s chicken coop on fire—”

Paternal rage exploded inside Garrett, but before he could respond King had already jumped to his feet. “Objection. Relevance.”

Fassbender spun around to face the judge. “Your honor, Mr. Thomas testified that he had no reason to check the children’s tree house for safety purposes. I’m simply attempting to understand the logic behind Mr. Thomas’s statement. His son set a coop on fire, and yet his father would have us believe that he trusted his son not to do damage to the barn.”

The judge banged his gavel. “Overruled.”

Fassbender turned back to the witness stand, a smug look on his face. The man had no right to drag his son’s name through the mud. No right at all.

“So, Mr. Thomas, would you please explain to the court why you never bothered checking your children’s play area?”

Garrett inhaled. “It was my wife’s project, and going up there was too painful.” He hated having to admit such a thing, especially in open court, but it was the truth.

“We’ve heard testimony that you are a man of honor.” The change of subject surprised Garrett, but his relief was short lived. “Yet you allowed Miss Cartwright to live under your roof without benefit of marriage. Do you think it would be safe to say that you’re not quite as honorable as you’d like us to believe?”

“Objection,” King said.

“I’ll withdraw the question,” Fassbender said, but by then the damage had been done. The implication was that a man who had so little regard for a woman’s reputation or his own children’s safety wouldn’t think twice about shooting a man and robbing a safe.

After Fassbender finished his questions, King did his best to repair the damage and restore Garrett’s credibility, but it was too late.

The judge banged his gavel. “Court is recessed for the day. Closing arguments will begin tomorrow at nine.”

The day following closing arguments, Maggie waited in the lobby of the hotel for Rikker. He’d told her to meet him there, but already he was twenty minutes late. What was taking him so long? The verdict could come in at any minute. They had no time to lose.

Finally he walked through the door and greeted her with a questioning look. “Where is he?”

She slanted her head toward the hotel restaurant where Cotton had been sitting for the last hour. “Let’s get to work.”

Cotton was at his usual corner table reading a day-old newspaper. He looked up as they approached, coffee cup in hand. “Case you haven’t noticed, this table is taken.”

“We noticed.” Rikker pulled out a chair and sat. Maggie remained standing.

Cotton set his cup down and folded his newspaper. “What do you want?”

“We just want to ask a few friendly questions,” Maggie said.

“And maybe a couple not so friendly,” Rikker added.

Cotton looked from one to the other. “I don’t have to answer your questions, friendly or otherwise.”

Rikker drove a fist into the palm of his hand. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll not only answer them but sing like a canary.”