Search for the Shadowman (12 page)

In spite of his trip to the library, Andy was still the first one home. Not even stopping for something to eat, he booted up the computer and clicked on
e-mail.
The message from DrPR was still there, so Andy clicked on
reply
, and a fresh writing screen came up.

“Thanks for the information about
The Handbook of Texas
,” Andy wrote. He went on to tell DrPR about his guess that Coley Joe might have been killed in San Elizario. “He was probably medium tall,” Andy wrote, “with dark, curly hair. He may have died without any identification, but he wore a horseshoe nail, hammered
into a circle, on a leather thong around his neck. It wasn’t valuable to anyone except the men in the Bonner family, so it wasn’t likely to have been stolen. If you can find a news story in your collector’s copies of
The Lone Star
that describes any of the unidentified victims found after the battle, I would really appreciate hearing from you by e-mail.” He thought a moment and added, “as soon as possible.” Then he ended with “Thank you.

Before sending the message, Andy hesitated. He jumped out of the chair, raced upstairs, and grabbed the hammered nail, pulling the thong over his head. Without a pause, he galloped down the stairs into his dad’s office and clicked on
send.
It wasn’t that he was superstitious or anything like that. He, Andy, was a Bonner and related to Coley Joe. He would wear the Bonner nail until he closed the circle by proving that Coley Joe was not a thief.

He reached out to disconnect the modem when the computer’s voice announced, “You’ve got mail.”

Andy clicked on the mailbox icon, holding his breath as he saw that there was an e-mail message for him from DrPR. He pressed
enter
, and up came a letter.

“You know about my collection, Hunter, so you must know my name. How did you find out?”

Andy wrote back, “Through the Texas History Department of the El Paso Public Library. They gave my librarian your name and address. I’m the one who made
the e-mail connection. I didn’t write to you by snail mail, because if I don’t come up with the answers this week, my dad says I have to stop my search. Do you want to know more about Coley Joe?”

The answer arrived less than a minute after Andy had sent his message. “I’m very much interested. And I’m interested in you and why you’re researching this person.”

Andy told DrPR about Coley Joe and how everyone had believed that he’d stolen his parents’ money and disgraced his family. He told him that Coley Joe had written to his girlfriend that he was going to San Elizario to buy cattle from someone who was eager to sell. Then he wrote that he, Hunter, was in the seventh grade and all this had started with a homework assignment to interview older family members about their lifestyles when they were young.

The answer Andy had hoped for came back. “Here’s something I found in a December 1877 issue of
The Lone Star.
This might be the information for which you’re searching.”

DrPR went on to copy part of a newspaper article:

Andy let out a yelp and jumped up so fast, his chair toppled over. “It was Coley Joe!” he shouted. “I found Coley Joe!”

But as Andy thought again about what he had read, he pictured Coley Joe lying dead among strangers, no one even knowing who he was. With a sorrow that made his eyes burn and his throat ache, Andy righted the chair and lowered himself into it. “I’m sorry, Coley Joe,” he said aloud. “But all along I knew you hadn’t taken the money. This news story proves it. Now maybe everyone will believe me.”

Andy printed the letter, then sent an e-mail message to thank DrPR.

“It was a pleasure to help you in your quest,” DrPR replied. “I hope we may correspond again.”

Andy exited Windows and turned off the computer.
So excited that his heart was thumping in his ears, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the poetry book. In his mind rose the vision of the sad-eyed woman who had looked at him so beseechingly in his dream. He felt as if he were back in the dream, gray mists swimming around him. “Miz Grace Elizabeth, your son didn’t steal your money,” Andy murmured aloud.

The telephone suddenly rang, whamming Andy into the present. He started so violently that the book sailed from his hands, slamming against his chest of drawers.

Andy ran into his parents’ room and caught the phone on its third ring.

“Andy dear.” Miz Minna’s voice purred in his ear.

Andy grimaced. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to was Miz Minna. “I’m sorry,” he said politely, “J.J.’s not here.”

“Oh, I know that,” Miz Minna said. “I don’t want to talk with J.J. He’s gone shoe shopping with his mama and won’t be back for a couple of hours. It’s you I want to talk to—while J.J.’s not here.”

“Miz Minna, ma’am, I don’t think I—”

Her voice sharpened. “Andy, we need to talk. I’d very much appreciate it if you’d come on over here within the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Lila will let you in.”

As Andy paused, she said, “I told you about proof
that Coley Joe stole his family’s money. Well, I’ve got that proof, and now I’m willing to show it to you.”

Andy thought about the information he’d received from Dr. Palius Rundle. “I don’t need to see it,” Andy said.

Miz Minna sighed and said, “My, my, you’re a stubborn boy. Well, here’s one warning you just might pay attention to. You get over here and see what I’ve got to show you, or I’ll send a copy of it directly to Miss Winnie. Maybe even to the newspapers.”

Andy frowned at the phone. Miz Minna had no right to hurt Miss Winnie. And he knew that Miz Minna had no real proof that Coley Joe was a thief. She was either mistaken or lying to him. But Andy’s curiosity was growing. The least he could do was see what she insisted on showing him.

He walked slowly back to his room and bent to pick up the poetry book. Its front cover was twisted back, the endpaper pulled away from the binding, exposing dried splotches of glue.

As Andy gently picked up the book, he saw two thin, folded sheets of paper that had been tucked underneath the endpaper.

They were brittle, and they crackled as he carefully smoothed them out to read them. As he recognized the handwriting on the first letter, Andy sucked in his breath.

Dearest Mother
, the letter began. As in the letters
Coley Joe had written to Felicity, he described the thriving town of El Paso, with its heat and bustling traffic that kicked up clouds of choking dust on its dry streets. He even spoke about its background of purple-shadowed mountains, whose rugged peaks stretched into a clear, cloudless sky.

Then he wrote:

Coley Joe had written loving messages to the rest of his family, but Andy was unable to read them. Stunned by his discovery, he sat with the letter on his lap, staring into space. What had J.J.’s information sheet said about the first James Jonathan Gasper? He had come to Hermosa in January 1878. That was one month after Coley Joe’s death.

And J.J. the First had come to Hermosa with enough money to open a mercantile store and found a bank, even though Coley Joe had written to Felicity that his friend had little money and was underpaid.

With trembling fingers Andy picked up the second letter. It was written in a bolder hand than Coley Joe’s,
and the signature at the bottom was that of James Jonathan Gasper.

Dated March 1878, the letter began:

Andy folded the letters again and tucked them into the poetry book.

Coley Joe had been shot and killed. His identification and his family’s money had been stolen, and a terrible lie had been told about him—a lie that would keep Felicity, as well as his parents, from hunting for him.

What am I going to do?
Andy wondered. His search for Coley Joe had turned up the truth, as he had hoped.
But the truth meant that Andy’s best friend’s great-great-great-great-grandfather—a founding father and leading citizen in Hermosa—had been a liar, a thief, and a murderer!

A
ndy was still shaky when he arrived at the Gasper house. Although Mrs. Martinez tried to tease him as she led him to Miz Minna’s room, he couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Don’t be scared of Miz Minna,” Mrs. Martinez whispered. “She rarely bites.”

Andy didn’t try to explain. He just shook his head and followed Lila Martinez into Miz Minna’s room.

“How about a Coke? And brownies?” Mrs. Martinez asked Andy.

“No thanks,” Andy said. “I’m not hungry.” He pressed a hand against his stomach, which ached the way it had when he’d come down with the flu.

Miz Minna was seated in her big armchair, pearls draped in two long rows across her chest, a faded cloth-covered
book in her hands. She bowed her head toward Andy as though she were queen and he had come to ask a favor.

“Sit down over there, Andy,” she said in a voice as warm as honey. “Be careful of the flowers. Don’t tump over that vase.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Andy said.

As Mrs. Martinez left, Miz Minna held up the book so that Andy could see it. He reached for it, but she snatched it back. “I told you I had the first James Jonathan Gasper’s journal. Remember?”

“Yes,” Andy said.

“And I told you I had proof that your Coley Joe Bonner was a thief.”

“No, Miz Minna. You don’t.”

“What do you mean, I don’t?” Her eyes darkened, and her gaze flickered across Andy’s face. “I do, indeed, have proof, and I’m going to read it to you right now.”

Miz Minna opened the journal to a page marked with a bookmark and read aloud, “ ‘Coley Joe Bonner’s parents contacted me by mail and asked if I knew the whereabouts of their son. It took me by surprise. I didn’t know he had given them my name. There was nothing to do but inform them that their son had headed west to seek his fortune in California.’ ”

She closed the book and smiled triumphantly. “There you have it,” she said. “The words are in his own handwriting.”

Andy stared into Miz Minna’s eyes. “You don’t believe what he wrote, either,” he said. “That’s why the warnings. You’re the one who’s been threatening me.”

Miz Minna gasped, her hands flying to her throat. “What are you talking about? What warnings? What threats?”

“Until a little while ago I didn’t know who wanted to stop me from finding out the truth about Coley Joe, or why it would be important to anyone.” Andy sighed. “I even wondered once if it might be J.J., because the warnings had to do with things I’d told only him. But you knew, too. You asked J.J. what I was discovering, and he trusted you. He told you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Miz Minna said.

“When you telephoned me half an hour ago, you said that this was one warning I’d pay attention to. So you knew about the others. You sent me the others.”

She smoothed down her skirt with nervous fingers and picked up a small brass bell. “You’d better leave. I’ll ring for Lila.”

“Miz Minna,” Andy said. “I have proof, too. Mine comes from a newspaper called
The Lone Star.
In an article in the paper that told what San Elizario was like after the last battle of the Salt Wars, the reporter described the body of Coley Joe. He’d been shot in the back of the head. His money, his ID, his shirt, and his coat had all been stolen. But the murderer had left
something he didn’t know was valuable. He’d left the Bonner circle around Coley Joe’s neck.”

Andy pulled his own circle from inside his shirt and held it out so that Miz Minna could see it.

She stared, not at the circular nail, but at Andy, her face so pale that little spots of pink rouge on her cheeks stood out like a rash.

“For many years, since you and Miss Winnie were kids, you made her unhappy by telling her what you just read to me,” Andy said. “But I think that when you got so interested in the genealogy of your family and started adding things up, you realized the famous James Jonathan Gasper the First was a liar, a thief, and a murderer. Then when I began searching for information about Coley Joe, you got scared that I’d find out, too, and Miss Winnie and the rest of Hermosa would know the truth.”