Carol Cox (22 page)

M
elanie looked out the front window and sighed. Another slow morning, and this one a Saturday, usually their busiest day of the week. With all her routine chores out of the way, the lack of activity left her with unaccustomed time on her hands. Time enough to notice the way Caleb’s hair curled near the edge of his collar as he bent over the ledger he’d been working on all morning. Time to wonder what it would feel like to weave her fingers through those soft, sand-colored waves.

The object of her daydreaming looked up at that moment and met her eyes, and she averted her gaze. Neither of them had spoken about their waltz to the tune from the music box the night before, and she couldn’t decide whether that made her feel relieved or sorry. She had lain awake long after blowing out her lamp, reliving the warmth of Caleb’s hand on her waist and the feeling of security his arms gave her as he swung her around the floor. It had felt as if they fit together perfectly. And the name of the piece they danced to
couldn’t have been more suited to the magic of that moment: “Liebestraum”—“Dream of Love.” Her breath whispered out on a fluttering sigh.

What about Caleb? That was the question that plagued her through much of the night. Had he felt the same way, or did he now consider his impulsive invitation to dance a mistake?

The bell jingled—finally—just before noon. Melanie looked up with a smile of welcome when she saw Marshal Hooper, but her smile quickly faded at the sight of his grim expression.

The lawman walked over to the table where Caleb was working. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to impose on you.”

Caleb got to his feet and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“I’ve been talking to people around town, trying to get any information I can about Charley and Lucas Weber—who might have talked to them, who might know anything about what happened to either one of them.”

The marshal glanced toward the window. “Folks are starting to get scared, and there’s been a lot of talk.” He looked back at Caleb. “You’ve probably heard plenty of it already from your customers.”

Caleb grimaced. “We haven’t exactly been overwhelmed with customers lately, so I’m afraid we’re in the dark.”

“Rumors are flying, and I’ve seen what that can lead to. There’s no telling what a group of people will do once they get spooked, and I don’t want a lynch mob on my hands.” The lawman hooked one thumb behind his gun belt. “I figure it’s best to get things out in the open in front of everyone all at once, so I want to hold a town meeting. I’d like to use your store.”

“Of course. When do you want to hold it?”

“Tonight. Right after closing, if that’s all right with you.”

Melanie saw the look of surprise that flashed across Caleb’s face, but he nodded his agreement. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll be glad to do it.”

“Thanks. I thought I could count on you. I need to go out now and spread the word. I’ll send a couple men over this afternoon to help you set things up.”

Melanie exchanged a look with Caleb after the marshal left the store. “A lynch mob?” Involuntarily, her hand reached up to press against her throat.

Caleb’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m hoping that was an exaggeration, but if wild stories are circulating around town, a town meeting would be a good way to help calm everyone’s nerves. When people get upset, they can stir up a lot of gossip and do crazy things. This way, he’ll not only be able to let the whole town know what’s going on, but also make sure the word that’s spreading around is based on truth rather than rumor.”

Melanie nodded. “It makes sense when you put it like that.” She caught her breath. “Caleb . . . he said people have been talking. If everyone knows now that the two men were brothers and assume their deaths have some connection with the store, maybe that’s why they’ve been staying away.”

Caleb looked pensive, then nodded. “You may have something there. That could explain a lot.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. That would mean . . .” Melanie caught her breath. “They can’t think we had anything to do with it, can they?”

Caleb chuckled. “I don’t see how they could. Charley Weber died before I arrived in Cedar Ridge, and I’ve been
here longer than you. Neither one of us had even heard of him before the marshal told us about him.” He paused a moment, and his smile faded. “On the other hand, there’s no accounting for the wild ideas people can come up with when they need answers and can’t find any. Let’s pray the marshal’s meeting puts all this to rest.”

Melanie pondered Caleb’s words while she straightened a stack of canned goods. The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt that her theory about their sudden lack of customers had merit. And if that was the case, having the meeting in the mercantile could serve a dual purpose—to disseminate information and to help people feel comfortable about coming back in the store again.

By the time people began filtering into the store that evening, the general air of tension, the nervous glances, the murmurs that fell silent whenever she or Caleb walked by, made Melanie feel more certain than ever that her assumption was correct.

The sight of so many people packed onto the benches reminded her of the church service before Lucas Weber’s funeral. But this time, instead of Pastor Dunstan, it was the marshal who got up to speak.

The murmurs died down as he took his place in the front of the assembly and stared around, looking into each face. “Folks, we all wanted to believe that Lucas Weber was killed by someone who was just passing through Cedar Ridge—maybe even someone Weber had been traveling with—who killed him here and kept on going. To be honest, I hoped that was the case myself.”

His face grew stern. “But that was before I received a letter from his widow, letting me know not only who he was, but why he’d come here. He was Charley Weber’s brother, and he was here to look into Charley’s death. And it appears he may have had good reason for thinking there was something suspicious about the way his brother died. Now it seems we’ve had not one, but two murders here in Cedar Ridge, and they’re connected in some way.”

A buzz of conversation swept over the crowd.

On the far side of the room, Thomas O’Shea got to his feet. “This store is how they’re connected. Charley was staying here, and his brother was killed on the back steps.” He planted his hands on his hips and scanned the faces in the crowd. “Seems like all it takes to be murdered around here is to come to the mercantile. If you ask me, we’re all taking a risk just being here.”

A ripple of murmurs met his statement. O’Shea’s skinny chest puffed up, and he opened his mouth to speak again.

The marshal shut him down with a glare. “You’re out of order, O’Shea. I’m the one running this meeting.” He cleared his throat and began to speak again. “Since those deaths occurred several months apart, I have to assume the person—or persons—responsible is still around.”

From her vantage point at the rear of the building, Melanie could see the others looking around, eyeing their fellow townspeople with a dawning of suspicion.

The marshal continued. “I’m doing everything I can to find out who’s responsible for these deaths, but until that is known, you all need to be aware that this person is dangerous. You need to be careful.

“And if anyone has information about either of these men,
or knows something that could shed light on what happened to them, I want you to come see me without delay. No matter how trivial or meaningless it may seem to you, it might be just the thing I need to put all the pieces together and solve this case.” The lawman nodded. “Thank you for coming. That’s all I have to say.”

Wendell Trask, whose land office stood next door to O’Shea’s Emporium, waved his hand. “Why are you only talking about the Weber brothers? Those aren’t the only deaths we’ve had around here lately.”

Melanie stiffened as a fresh wave of whispers swept through the room.

Marshall Hooper scowled and pointed to the speaker. “What are you talking about, Wendell?”

The land promoter stood and thrust out his chest. “I’m talking about George Ross and Alvin Nelson, two of our own who lived right here in Cedar Ridge . . . and they sure as shootin’ had a connection with this store.”

A connection with the store.
Caleb tossed from side to side in his bed, unable to stem the echo of the words that had been running through his mind ever since he heard them at the meeting.

Could there be any truth to the notion that the mercantile had some link to the recent deaths? On the surface, the idea sounded like the ravings of a madman. But Marshal Hooper hadn’t dismissed it out of hand, as Caleb expected. And judging by the reactions of the townspeople, they hadn’t discounted it, either. It looked as if Melanie had been right about the reason for their business slacking off.

But it didn’t make any sense. Caleb laced his fingers behind his head, trying to sort through his churning thoughts. He had heard stories of the Wild West throughout his growing-up years—tales of Indian raids and range wars. But the great migration of people moving into the West in recent years had brought civilization along with it. Such things belonged to the past.

Or so he’d thought. If he had believed for one moment that kind of danger still existed out here, or that it could strike so close to home, he never would have considered moving to Cedar Ridge with Levi.

But whether he wanted to believe it or not, people had been murdered. Strangers, though—people totally unfamiliar to him . . . until Wendell Trask brought up the possibility that George and Alvin’s deaths might not have been due to natural causes.

Tossing the sheet back, he rolled out of bed and began pacing the dark bedroom, careful not to wake Levi, slumbering away in his little cot. Caleb had been with Alvin during his illness, was sitting at his bedside when he died. He hadn’t noticed anything questionable then, but could he have missed something? Could someone have murdered his kindly uncle? Or Melanie’s cousin? Bile rose into his throat at the thought. But now that the possibility had been raised, it had to be faced.

Assuming it might be true, then why? Caleb knew the mercantile better than anyone else in town, having spent practically every waking moment there for the past four months. He knew for a fact there was nothing about the store that would drive anyone to murder. The idea was simply ludicrous. And yet, people around town seemed willing to accept it as the truth.

Caleb scrubbed his palms across his cheeks. It seemed absurd to think that anything related to the store could be worth killing for. But absurd or not, somebody thought there was.

And Melanie was over there. Alone.

More restless than ever, Caleb went out into the parlor and looked out the window toward the mercantile. He could see no shadows lurking in the darkness, but a glow of light spilled out into the alley from the second floor. It looked as if Melanie couldn’t sleep, either.

Worry knotted Caleb’s stomach. Was she all right? She had a gift for puzzling things out. Had she put two and two together and reached the same conclusions he had? If so, she must be frightened out of her wits.

And maybe not without reason. If Trask’s wild assertion was true, if there truly was some connection between the store and the murders . . . how safe was Melanie?