No Mortal Reason (34 page)

As she tumbled into a gap in the foliage, Diana could hear Lyseth panting and smell his sweat. He was right behind her. Frantic, she wriggled and contorted her body until she was turned around. She used the broken board to ward him off, poking at him when he tried to crawl in after her.

Thank goodness he wasn’t armed.

Thank goodness she’d left off her corset this morning.

But Lyseth was less than three feet away from her. She could see his eyes, full of unreasoning rage. The sound coming from his throat didn’t sound human.

Diana scuttled backwards. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a squeak. He was bent over at the waist, tearing at the fragile barrier between them. And then he charged . . . or seemed to.

Floyd Lyseth flew forward. Diana threw herself sideways just in time to avoid a collision. Then she stared, stunned, at the limp form beside her. Lyseth had struck his head on one of the larger branches and knocked himself unconscious.

An odd sound drew Diana’s gaze to the open space beyond the trees. If a goat could be said to have a belligerent stance and a satisfied expression on its face, Tremont did. As if to make sure Diana knew what had happened, the little animal backed off and butted Lyseth again. This time all she could reach was his foot, but a few moments earlier, Diana realized, Lyseth had presented her with a much bigger target.

Diana didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Relief flooded through her. However absurd her rescue, she was safe now. With less grace than speed, she extricated herself from the maze of branches and roots, flung her arms around Tremont, and planted a smacking kiss right on top of the goat’s head.

* * * *

Ben arrived back at the hotel, together with the sheriff and Myron Grant, just as Diana came into view on the boardwalk. Her hair and clothing were disheveled, her face scratched and streaked with tears . . . and she was accompanied by the hotel goat.

“Are you all right?” Ben asked. And then, when he could see for himself that she was, demanded, “Where’s Lyseth?”

“You
know
he’s the killer?”

“We only just figured it out.” He kept an arm around her as they joined the group gathered on the lawn—Sheriff Irvine and his deputies, Myron, Howd, Tressa, Mercy, and Mrs. Curran.

“He’s in the glade between the boardwalk and the gazebo,” Diana said. “Unconscious.”

“That goat never did like Floyd Lyseth,” Myron said after Diana explained how she’d escaped Lyseth’s murderous clutches.

Ben felt as if he’d aged ten years in the telling, but he had her safe now. He sat with her on the veranda steps and surreptitiously checked her for injuries.

“I’m unhurt,” she assured him. “Just bumps and bruises and scrapes. Stop fussing and tell me how you knew Lyseth was guilty.”

“Pastor Riker turns out to be a reformed sinner. Much as he dislikes this hotel and despairs of the Grant brothers finding salvation, he couldn’t let his accusation stand against an innocent man.”

“He lied about seeing the hotel wagon in the field?”

“No, but he was mistaken about who was driving it. He only saw the man at a distance, bundled up in a heavy coat, stooped over on the seat. He was too far away to tell who it was. In fact, he saw Floyd Lyseth, but when Celia claimed it had been Myron Grant out with the wagon that night, Riker decided he must have seen Myron, too.”

“Then Celia lied.”

“She did, but not with malice aforethought. She repeated what her husband told her to say, but what Lyseth didn’t take into account was how easily she gets things muddled. The time of day, for example. When Riker heard that her story had changed between the time she confided in him and the time, at his urging, that she gave a statement to the coroner, he talked to Celia again, really listened to her for a change. Then they both went to Liberty to retract what they’d said.”

“But she couldn’t have known it was her husband in the wagon. That he was a killer. She—”

“She didn’t. She didn’t see anyone. But she confessed that her husband was the one who convinced her she
had
seen Myron. That was enough to make the sheriff and Coroner Buckley suspicious.”

“And the sheriff is here because . . . ?”

“I went to Monticello to see him. I’ll tell you about that later.”

The men who’d gone to fetch Lyseth had come out of the woods. Lyseth was conscious but he staggered and would have fallen if the two deputies hadn’t been holding him upright. When he’d been loaded into a wagon for the trip to jail, the sheriff approached Ben and Diana.

“Ma’am,” he said to Diana, tipping his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m looking forward to that interview and if you want more than an hour with Sailor Jack, you’ve got it.”

She stammered her thanks but then seemed bereft of speech until the wagon disappeared around the bend in the drive. When only a trail of dust remained, she turned to Ben.

“You arranged that?”

“That was one reason I went to Monticello. I had thought to convince the sheriff to arrest Belle Saugus, for fraud if nothing else, but I understand she ran off during the night with Sebastian Ellington. I can’t think of any two people who deserve each other more.”

Diana reached up, placed one hand on each side of his face, pulled his head toward her, and kissed him full on the mouth. “I love you, Ben Northcote.”

Then her stomach growled.

“Come on,” Ben said, grinning. “Let’s see if Mrs. Ellington can find you something to eat.”

* * * *

By the time Diana had washed up and changed into clean clothing, Tressa Ellington had indeed produced the evening meal. There was a festive air in the small dining room as they gathered to break bread together. A killer had been captured.

Diana had another reason to feel relief as well. Even before he’d arranged the interview with Sailor Jack for her, she’d realized that her love for Ben was too strong to let fear stand in the way of making a life together. When she’d fled from him rather than talk about where they would live after they wed, she’d come to the conclusion that it was not just whether or not she’d be allowed to work that worried her. Marriage vows contained the promise to “obey” but they also bound two people together “till death.” Suddenly the permanence of Ben’s plans for them had overwhelmed her—a house of their own was more than a place to live, it was a place to raise children and grow old together. Was she capable of a lifetime commitment? How could she be sure she wasn’t acting impetuously, as she had when she married Evan? It wasn’t Ben she’d feared to trust. It had been herself.

Had
been, she repeated silently, and sent a radiant smile in Ben’s direction. She no longer had any doubts about marrying him.

They’d just finished eating and exchanging stories when Scorcher turned up. “Telegram for you, Mrs. Spaulding.”

The glint in his eyes told her he already knew what it said, and that reminded her that she had a question for him. She took the message but put off opening it.

“Did you deliver at telegram to Sebastian Ellington in the last few days?”

“Yes, ma’am. Late yesterday afternoon. Didn’t he get it? There was no one around but that lady—” He pointed to Mrs. Curran. “She said she’d give it to him.”

“And she did,” Diana said hastily. Of course she’d taken it to Sebastian. That would have given her an excuse to linger near the family parlor, where she could eavesdrop so much better than from the lobby. Exactly when she’d turned over the telegram hardly mattered. Sebastian had received it and read it before he’d decamped. “Do you remember what it said?” she asked Scorcher.

“Yes, ma’am.” He closed his eyes and recited: “Not buying hotel. Stop sabotage. Leave town or forfeit fee.” With a grin, he added, “It was signed Ed Leeves. He’s mentioned in your telegram, too.”

The paper in Diana’s hand suddenly seemed ten times bigger than it was. She had a bad feeling about its contents, but forced herself to open it and read what it said.

“It’s from my mother,” she announced when she’d skimmed the contents. There was no point in putting this off any longer. “She has married Ed Leeves. They plan a wedding journey that includes a visit to Maine.”

“I didn’t realize your mother knew that scoundrel,” Myron said. “Is that who you were visiting in Colorado? Your mother?”

“Yes,” Diana said, and then quickly added, before she could lose her courage. “My name before my marriage to Evan Spaulding was Diana Torrence, Uncle Myron. My mother is your sister Elmira.”

No one at the table dared breathe. Myron stared, speechless, color rising into his face. Then he looked, really looked, at Diana, and gave a rueful laugh. “Should have seen it. You’re just as stubborn as she always was.”

“You’re not angry?”

The red hue that now stained his cheeks was clearly embarrassment rather than rage. “Been through a lot lately. You jumped in to help. I owe you.”

She remembered his quiet “thank you” when the coroner had taken him away. Rising, she crossed to his chair and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad. I’ve missed having family.”

“Not forgiving Elmira,” he muttered. “Just don’t hold you responsible for what she did.”

“That could make things difficult,” Diana told him. “I want you all to come to our wedding.”

Uncle Myron’s mild expression darkened into a scowl. “Thought you were already married.”

Diana shot a quick look at Ben, then blurted. “I was married by a justice of the peace the first time.” That was true—of her marriage to Evan Spaulding. “Now Ben and I are planning a proper church wedding. It will take place in Maine on the thirtieth of June and I want everyone in my family to be there. All the Grants and all the Torrences. Including my mother and her new husband.”

Uncle Myron grumbled a bit, but in the end he allowed as how he could stand to be in the same room with his sister long enough to celebrate with Diana and Ben.

* * * *

Later that night, Diana and Ben took advantage of the small balcony in their suite to sit out under the full moon.

“You were right,” she told him. “I rush in without thinking. I get myself into trouble. I almost got myself killed today. I will never complain that you are over-protective or high-handed again.”

“Apparently you didn’t need my protection. Not with Tremont around.” He tried to keep his tone light, but did not quite succeed. She’d frightened him badly today.

If their situations had been reversed, Diana knew how she’d feel. Still, she tried to match his lightness. “I did have a pointy stick.”

He pulled her into his arms, as if he had to hold her to be sure she was safe. 

“I’ll always need you,” she confessed, rubbing her cheek against his breast. “And I vow I’ve had enough of murder. Three killers in three months is sufficient to last a lifetime.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Diana. I understand that—”

“I don’t want to be involved with crimes or criminals ever again—not to write about, not to read about, and definitely not to encounter in person.”

He studied her face in the moonlight. “You really mean that.”

“I do. The interview with the sheriff and Sailor Jack will be the last story of that sort I’ll write. If Horatio Foxe fires me over my refusal to do anything but society interviews and travel pieces and stories on woman suffrage, so be it.”

“He’ll keep you on, Diana. He isn’t going to lose a journalist of your caliber just because you’ve changed your mind about the sort of news you want to report.” He frowned. “I suppose we’ll have to invite him to the wedding.”

“Yes, and the members of Toddy’s Touring Thespians, too. I want all our friends and family to share our joy.”

Ben chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just anticipating an event that will soon take place.”

Puzzled, she gave him a questioning look. “You expect our marriage to be a source of amusement?”

“No doubt it will be, and full of surprises, too, but what made me smile was the thought of your mother’s first meeting with mine.”

Author’s Note

A great many people helped out with research on this book. I am particularly indebted to N. Fred Fries for information gleaned from local 1888 newspapers and to John Conway, Sullivan County Historian, who was able to confirm some of my guesses about people and places in 1888. I also want to thank Bill, Bette, Maggie, Geoff, and other members of LibertyNY@yahoogroups for providing wonderful little tidbits to incorporate into the novel. Also invaluable is a book by Manville Wakefield titled
To the Mountains by Rail
.

Sailor Jack was a real person, as were Coroner Buckley and Sheriff Irvine. What I say of them is based on newspaper accounts, but has been fictionalized. All books and newspapers I mention, except for the
Independent Intelligencer
, are also real. Any errors in portraying actual people, places, and events are mine.

Lenape Springs is my invention, although it incorporates bits and pieces of several villages in Sullivan County. I chose the name Grant because it is one of my family names. A real Mercy Grant married Samuel Gorton and their son John was one of the first settlers in Liberty, New York.

I grew up in Liberty and my family on both sides lived in Sullivan County for a number of generations before that. A great many of the details in this book came directly from the memoirs of my grandfather, Fred Gorton, who was born in 1878. Stories told to me by my mother, Theresa Marie Coburg Gorton, also contributed. Her maternal ancestors, the Hornbecks, were among the first settlers in the area. Prior to coming to Sullivan County, Matthew Hornbeck had a store in Samsonville where he traded with the Indians. It was said they told him the location of a lead mine near Sundown. A map to this mine existed for many years, kept in “the blue trunk” at the Hornbecks’ farm-boarding house in Hurleyville, New York. However, an attempt to follow the map, made in the 1920s by my mother’s uncles, was a failure. Not only did they not find any trace of a mine, but the locals took one look at their big black car and Sunday suits and decided they must be gangsters.

It may seem to readers that Myron Grant is unrealistic in his plans to create a resort hotel. In fact, he’s just a little ahead of his time. There never was a second Saratoga Springs in the area, but Sullivan County was well known as a thriving tourist area from the late nineteenth century until the last quarter of the twentieth.