River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1) (11 page)

“Emmett got killed at a good time to catch me on the circuit,” the judge explained. “The trial can’t last long. Over the other side of the county, I’ve got a bank robber case to preside over Wednesday this week.”

“Well, rest assured, Judge Stanley, you have the wrong man here. Aside from the fact that Mr. Grayson was with me and couldn’t have done the killing, it’s not his style.” River’s eyes sparkled though she assumed an expression of long-suffering patience.

Edge wanted to smile but he wasn’t free yet although the little lady wasn’t budging on her testimony.

“What would you know about how he conducts his killings?” The prosecutor puffed up importantly and glared at her.

Edge remembered the question later because it was the moment the lawyer lost control of the proceedings and River took over.

“I’ve done my research, of course,” she said crisply. “First, Mr. Grayson is known to be a gunslinger. Right, Billy?” She nodded at one of the men in the room who earlier had been ready to lynch Edge without a trial. The man’s head bobbed up and down, agreeing with her.

“Billy, does Edge Grayson have a reputation for sneaking up behind a man and blowing his brains out with a shotgun?”

“No ma’am. He’s a fast draw who hires out his six-gun to those who need protection. Guess Emmett should have hired him.” From his tone and expression, Billy didn’t seem to be grieving over Emmett’s death.

River switched her attention elsewhere, questioning another man.

“Carl, I heard you had words with Emmett over a family concern. Isn’t that so?” When the man nodded hesitantly, she said, “A lot of people had reason to quarrel with Mr. Price including me.”

“That’s right, River.” Carl looked nervously at Hank Simpson who’d all but had the knot tied around Edge’s neck. “Emmett was a hard man when he was drinking.” He gulped, looked around, and muttered, “Hell, he was a mean ‘un even when he was sober.”

The county’s paid attorney stood alone and ignored as members of the audience contributed stories about the deceased’s poor character. To Edge, it sounded as if the killing was long overdue.

River timed things just right. She must have been watching the judge from the corner of her eye because as soon as he set the pictures down and opened his mouth, she cut him off with her own assessment of the case.

“We’ve established that most of the people in town had a reason to kill Emmett and Mr. Grayson couldn’t have done it because he was with me.”

She folded her hands, smiling benignly at the judge as if that ended the discussion. As far as Edge could tell, with all the courtroom spectators, it pretty much did.

“I’m telling you he threatened Emmett with the shotgun that killed him. I saw it. Everybody knows that River hated Emmett. Hell she’d alibi the devil if he was on trial. She ain’t gonna marry Grayson anymore than she’s gonna marry your kin, Judge.” Hank Simpson chimed in from where he stood waiting.

“I don’t trust your sight and hearing, Sheriff Simpson,” River said flatly. “Emmett threatened me the same day and you saw nothing and heard nothing.”

“River,” the judge interrupted her. “Grayson owns a shotgun, he was found standing over the body at the scene of the crime and he had a motive.” The judge looked genuinely sorry and Edge felt all of his new found confidence go in the crapper.

Judge Stanley thought she was lying and Edge was guilty. But, he underestimated River’s tenacity.

“You own a shotgun, if I recall, Judge Stanley. Does that make you a suspect?”

“He was at the scene of the—”

“He’d just returned from my ranch.”

“He could have killed Emmett, ridden to see you and returned in time to run into me,” Hank improvised, calling his testimony from the side of the room where he waited.

“Mr. Grayson spent the night—by my side.”

Suddenly, River’s social life seemed a lot more interesting to the courtroom audience than finding Emmett’s murderer.

“Judge,” Edge said and stood. “I believe this issue should remain between my intended and me.”

“I’ll run my court, not you.” Judge Stanley answered. “River you may be fond of this scallywag but I can’t let you sully your name and perpetrate a fraud upon the court. I am certain that if you consider the implications, you will remember that Mr. Grayson did not spend the night with you.”

“He has a scar on his left buttock.”

Total silence blanketed the room before Judge Stanley waved his gavel and said, “Clerk, Chambers. Both of ‘em. Now.”

*

River hadn’t actually intended to scandalize the town with her testimony. But there was no way she would let Edge’s life be at risk over a silly thing like a reputation.

Once they were in the judge’s office and Judge Stanley confirmed the scar on Edge’s rump, he sat at his desk, staring at his hands as if deep in thought.

Finally the judge looked up and leaned toward her. “I knew your parents. Your mother was a lovely woman.”

“Yes,” River agreed. “As you’ve noted many times, I resemble my father.”

“Your father and I were friends. We agreed upon most things.” As if her words recalled him to his duty as a friend, he said, “For instance, we agreed that marriage is a great reforming agent for wild women.” His reasonable tone began to alter. “River, what do you call those indelicate breeches you wear while you’re gallivanting all over the county on that contraption of yours?”

“Bloomers,” she said crisply. “They were designed by—”

“I don’t give a fig who invented ‘em. They’re not decent.” The judge cut her off.

“My daughter says she’s getting a pair; says she wants one of those Rovers like yours, too.”

Judge Stanley stood up, glaring at River, his voice rising. “She says she intends to go away to school—like you. She wants to be independent— like you. The other day, her mother found a book by the English female seditionist, Mary Wollstonecraft.”

“Miss Wollstonecraft was a feminist, not a seditionist,” River corrected him, her demure posture replaced by a pugnacious stance as she glared at the judge.

“Mr. Grayson, rise.” Judge Stanley glanced at Edge and motioned him to stand up. “This is your lucky day.”

“Release the prisoner,” the judge ordered the clerk. “Amos, get over here. You’ll do fine to give the bride away.”

The clerk took off the handcuffs and Edge stood beside River.

“Amos, would you fetch that box from my saddlebag?” Edge asked, looking mysterious.

“What,” River asked.

As soon as Amos handed him the box, Edge flipped it open, took out the ring and handed it to her. “It’s not big but the way it twinkles and catches the light, it reminded me of you.”

So he was planning to ask me to marry him?
River was confused. But, her bewilderment didn’t slow down Judge Stanley. In less time than Edge claimed it took an ostrich to win a horse race, River Prescott became Edge Grayson’s wife.

After the judge pronounced the words, he pointed his finger at Edge. “Son, you just got saved from the hangman. Be grateful. And remember, it’s a husband’s task to keep his wife on the straight and narrow. I figure I just sentenced you to a life of hard labor.”

“We need a word with Hank before we go home,” River told the judge, interrupting his pithy matrimonial instructions.

“You need to go home, with your husband, and behave like a married woman should.” In the absence of his gavel, he smacked his desk with the flat of his hand and told the clerk to clear the room. River expected no less. Her first moments as a wife and her wishes meant nothing.

“Hold up,” Edge said. “River says we need to talk to the sheriff, so get Hank.”

Well that was certainly better. Amos stepped to the office door and called for Hank. Seeing the handcuffs off and River and Edge side by side, Hank stalled in the doorway and would have retreated had the lawman from Annon not been behind him and bumped him through the door.

“Hank, I have some questions,” River told him.

“Aw, River, it’s late. Can’t it wait?” the lawman whined, answering her at the same time he watched Edge move to the door to cut off his retreat.

“I’ll be quick. Just a word about your evidence I’d like to clarify since I missed the beginning of your testimony.” River appointed herself the town sleuth in lieu of anyone else qualifying for the job. When she laid her satchel on the table, the tiny diamond in her ring caught the light and the sparkle made her smile.

“Hank, I know you want to help us get things straightened out. Judge Stanley has confirmed that Edge was with me, as I testified. But, we all know that until Emmett’s murderer is identified, there will always remain doubt.”

She laid her satchel on the table in front of them and rummaged inside.

“See, look at this, Hank.” She laid her drawing on the table and pointed at the dead body she’d sketched. Emmett was face-down and she’d marked an
x
where each blood splatter had landed.

“How close would the killer have to be to cause that kind of impact spray?”

She already knew the answer because she’d discussed it with the coroner in depth. But she didn’t volunteer her knowledge.

“Ten feet or such, I expect,” the sheriff answered.

“More like six, I’d think,” she corrected him, whipping out another rough drawing, this one showing a standing figure. “In my work, I often have to consider angles and distance.” River droned on about scatter, and trajectory, pointing at one sketch after another.

After satisfactorily convincing them that she knew what she was talking about, which she didn’t, she concluded. “I would like to enter these pictures as evidence into the investigation of Emmett’s murder.” She bundled them into a stack and turned them face down. “I’m sure if we band them together, one signature from each of us should suffice to mark them as today’s evidence.”

“Anything to get this done,” Judge Stanley grumbled.

“We’ll use this page. Sign the back please.” She laid the document next to the other papers on the table. The judge scribbled his name and pushed the papers toward the Annon sheriff. He signed too and handed the pen to Hank.

Hank scrawled
Hank Simpson
on the paper and laid the pen on the table. As he turned to leave, River slid a second sheet of paper next to the first, lining up the two signatures side-by-side
.

“A moment please, Hank,” she said. Without speaking further, she tapped the
son
on
Grayson
and
Simpson
and then stared pointedly at the Isaca sheriff, waiting.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit. How did you know?” Hank asked, shaking his head, not even trying to deny his crime.

“Carl’s your brother-in-law, isn’t he, Hank?”

Hank nodded and started mumbling and crying. “That damned sonofabitch… my niece… fifteen… had to send her away.”

River felt sorry for Hank and his family troubles caused by Emmett.

“When was that?” Edge asked.

“Two months ago,” Hank muttered.

“So you decided to kill him with a shotgun when you saw the opportunity to blame me?” Edge asked.

Put like that, River’s sympathy evaporated. The Annon sheriff didn’t have any trouble taking charge and hustled Hank off to occupy the cell Edge had just vacated.

“I’m going outside now. I’ll be waiting with Talia and Beth.” River tried to seem self-effacing and hesitant. Only a fool would have believed her meek pretense but for the sake of her mother and father and the scandal that could be brewing, she thought pleasing Judge Stanley might be a good idea.

“Mind you don’t forget Millie’s picture,” he told her as she left.

Edge didn’t say anything, which for some reason made her want to cry. In fact, she felt perfectly awful as if she might break into a thousand pieces. Her wild emotional inner despair at the idea of Edge’s death had turned to relief, leaving her feeling weak and teary-eyed.

If I’d wanted to marry I would have chosen a man like Edge.
Now, she’d never know whether he’d married her because he wanted to or because he’d had to. River looked at her hand and her somber thoughts turned to delight.
Of course I know.
The little diamond twinkled up at her, reminding her of the teasing gleam in Edge’s eyes when she’d proposed being lovers.

*

Edge felt almost light-headed at the speed of changing events.

“She’s an original.” The trial’s prosecuting attorney spoke, jerking him to attention. “It’s a shame she figured out it was Hank. As worthless as Emmett Price was, it would have been better if we’d just called it suicide. He was a sonofabitch.”

“Kind of hard for a man to blow the back of his own head off,” Edge observed.

“Yes, there is that.” The old man stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “You might not have caught my name in all the excitement. I’m Horace Murdock. I fill in as the town’s attorney when it’s needed.”

Edge could almost have liked the lawyer if he’d not been trying to hang him less than an hour before. There wasn’t a lot to say all things considered.

“You’re a Grayson for sure. It’s nice to see the family still represented here.” Not deterred by the tepid encouragement, Murdock continued the one-sided conversation. “From River’s pictures, I see you’ve been hard at work on your place. I knew your granddad. Glad he found his kin before he died. Welcome to Isaca.”