Sundown, p.8
Sundown, page 8
A purple glow of dawn inched its way above the horizon as shame and regret washed over him. He’d lost any chance for Grace’s help with Travis’s case, but that seemed less important than the ache he'd inflicted on her heart. He’d left behind the broken pieces of a night that, had he been a wiser man, he might have remembered fondly forever.
Grace was right; he was a coward, a liar and a cheat. How could he do that to her?
How could he do it to Sadie?
Sadie’s innocence had been apparent from the moment they met. Wyatt had been her first and only lover. They’d often talked about fidelity, trust and honor, traits that made him a good lawyer and, until this night, a good man.
He had to tell her, but how? He couldn’t keep something like that inside, even if the encounter was only a one-time indiscretion. They could never start a marriage with such a secret hanging over their heads.
When a light blinked on in the café, he headed for the hotel. Rubbing his throbbing forehead, he went inside and ordered a cup of coffee. “You have anything for a no-account who drank too much whiskey and made a dang fool of himself.”
The gray-haired waitress grinned. “I got just the thing.”
While he waited, he took out his notebook to write a letter to Sadie.
The waitress returned and set a glass in front of him. “This will fix you up. It's on the house if you let me watch you gulp it down.”
Wyatt sipped the concoction and shuddered. “What’s in it?”
“Water, vinegar, a raw egg, cayenne pepper and gunpowder.”
“Gunpowder. You’re joking!”
The waitress grinned. “Just about the gunpowder. Don’t sip it. Drink it down, and I’ll fetch you an order of eggs.”
Wyatt swallowed the concoction in one shuddering gulp. He wiped his mouth and began to write.
In the letter, he didn’t mention Grace but told Sadie he missed her. He wrote about his frustrations with the case and his doubts about his ability to save his brother’s life. He stuffed the letter in his shirt pocket when the waitress returned.
Wyatt managed to down his breakfast. He stared at his empty coffee cup. He couldn’t shake his guilt, but he owed it to Travis not to spend his day consumed by regret over his behavior. He forced himself to forget his personal problems and focus on freeing Travis. He paid the bill and walked to the hotel lobby, where the young clerk, Tommy Garcia, was cleaning his glasses. Wyatt introduced himself.
“I know who you are, Sir. You’re Travis McCrea’s brother.”
“Silas Thornton stay at this hotel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened to his personal effects?”
“They’re in a box in the storage room. You think there’s something there that might be helpful in the trial?”
“I don't know.” Wyatt reached into his pocket. “Oh, before I forget could you see this gets mailed?” He gave him the letter with Sadie’s address and a half dollar.
“Of course, Mr. McCrea. I’ll take care of this right away.” The young man led Wyatt down the hallway. He unlocked the door and stepped aside. “You’re the second person in two days to ask about Mr. Thorn‐ ton’s belongings.”
“Who else asked?”
“Emma Sullivan. Said she was writing a follow up story about the murder.”
Wyatt had a sinking feeling in his gut and rushed inside. Dusty clutter was stacked everywhere. “Where’s the Silas Thornton things?”
“In a crate at the corner, clear as daylight.” The young man stepped inside and froze. His face turned white. He looked around and shook his head. “It’s gone.”
Emma must have taken Thornton’s things. Wyatt hurried outside and headed down Main Street. She must have found something important among Thornton’s possessions. Would that help or hurt Travis? He had to find out.
Emma was standing outside Clint Hackett’s office and appeared to be bickering with the attorney. From the way she was flailing her hands, she was more than upset, and it seemed personal. Emma and his legal rival?
Wyatt stopped in front of Hook's General Store to wait for the argument to end. He went inside to buy candy for Miles. The room was dimly lit as the sun peeked through dusty windows, casting long shadows on the shelves of goods. The air was thick with the mingled scents of leather, smoked meats, kerosene and spices.
As the store clerk was engaged in helping a comely woman with spectacles and a meticulously pampered bun, Wyatt browsed the store. The wooden floor‐ boards creaked like an old man grumbling about the weather, long having born the weight of patrons who'd come to peruse the bounty of shelves teeming to the point of overflow, flour and sugar, kitchen pots and pans, makeup, canned goods and medicine.
He picked up a cotton shirt Travis would like if he wasn’t in jail. He put the shirt back, then went to a barrel near the counter, grabbed the dipper and took a refreshing drink.
Although the sign out front said Hook’s General Store, the man behind the counter was the same man he’d always known, Clem Naylor.
In the corner, three women were looking his way and whispering among each other like he’d left home without pants.
Wyatt tipped his hat. “Ladies.”
They turned their backs, then hurried out of the store.
The woman at the counter wore a simple gray dress with a locket around her neck. She pulled something from her pocket and laid it on the counter. “Here’s three more doilies I crocheted.”
Clem sighed and pointed to a shelf behind him. “The five you dropped off last week are still there. No one’s buying. Sorry. If it was up to me…”
The woman hung her head and gathered up the three doilies. She looked like she needed the money.
Wyatt peered over her shoulder. “I could use a couple of doilies. I want to fix the place up when Travis comes home.”
The woman turned and faced Wyatt. “You must be Wyatt.”
“I must be.” He shook her hand. “Can I see your doilies?”
She showed them to him.
Wyatt inspected them like they were fine silk. “You crochet these yourself?”
“I sure did.”
“How much?”
Clem held up one hand. “Now Wyatt, Miss Baker has an arrangement with me to sell her items.” He took the five doilies off the shelf and spread them on the counter. “Each one is different.”
The woman smiled. “Like snowflakes.”
“I like these.” Wyatt held the two doilies in his hand.
Clem shrugged. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Wyatt gave the man two-dollar bills and a half-dollar. “Pay the woman, Clem.”
Clem handed the bills to the woman.
“Thank you, Mr. Naylor.” Smiling, she took the money and stuffed the bills in her dress pocket. She held out her hand. “I’m Miss Baker, the schoolteacher.”
He shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Your brother and I belong to the same church. I see him around, until recently, that is.” She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry that sounded cold and uncaring.”
“Not at all.”
“Do you think it would be… proper if I visited him in jail?”
Proper? “I’m sure Travis would enjoy seeing you. I know Preacher Taylor visits him from time to time.”
“Maybe I could join Preacher Taylor the next time he visits. Well, I’ve taken up too much of your time. Nice to meet you, Mr. McCrea, and thank you for purchasing the doilies. See you next week, Mr. Naylor.”
She headed for the door. Wyatt opened it for her, and she walked past him and scurried down the walkway.
He turned back to the counter. “I need a bag of rock candy.”
“Coming right up.” Clem filled a scoop full and dropped the candy in a bag. “That’ll be fifty cents.”
Wyatt handed him a half dollar and took the bag. “What’s with the sign out front, Hook’s General Store?”
Clem shrugged. “Mayor Hook made me a great offer last year, so I took it.”
“You get to work for the mayor, and he keeps the profit?”
Clem scratched his head. “Well, if you put it like that, it doesn’t sound like such a great deal, does it?”
Wyatt chuckled.
“You chase away three customers earlier?”
“Guess I did. They took off like I might have the measles.”
“Since your brother was arrested, Sundown’s become divided between those who know damn well that Travis wouldn’t shoot anyone and those… who are idiots.”
When the door opened, a young couple came in. Wyatt tipped his hat to Clem. “I’d better leave before I chase them away, too.”
He stuffed the candy in his pocket and tipped his Stetson to the couple.
By the time he came out, Emma and Hackett were still arguing. She crossed her arms, then turned away from the attorney, entered the Gazette’s office and slammed the door.
Wyatt waited until Hackett went into his office before heading to talk. He reached the Gazette office and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t bring up the argument he’d witnessed. He had to find out about the content of Thornton’s effects.
Inside, the morning gloom showed through the windows. Shadows danced in the corners cast by a single flickering oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. The presses in back stood silent for now, their iron bulk hulking in the dim light.
Emma was lifting a stack of newsprint onto a long table. Her fiery red hair was a beacon in the muted light. She sat at her desk, her forehead furrowed in concentration as she scribbled on the sheet of paper.
As he approached, she glanced up and flashed an amused smile.
“Something wrong?” Wyatt asked.
“Not a lot of people would notice, but I’m a newshound. You’re wearing the same clothes you had on at the Purple Sage when I left you with your school girlfriend, Grace. Looks like you have a girl in Sacramento and in Sundown.”
Wyatt didn’t find anything funny about his indiscretion. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The box with Silas Thornton’s effects. I know you took them.”
“I took them to the sheriff because I wanted him to see these.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers.
Wanted posters, ten of them, what bounty hunters use to track down reward money. “So, we know he was a bounty hunter.”
“Notice anything unusual about them?”
Wyatt pulled up a stool and sat across from her. He flipped through each of the posters: a man wanted for murder in Montana, another in Ohio, one in Dakota. “California, Oregon, Nevada, Colorado, Washington, another in Cheyanne.”
What was he missing? Wyatt held out his hands. “What?”
She groaned. “He was born and raised in New Orleans. Told people in town that he fought for the South. So why aren’t any of the handbills from southern states? Why just northern locations?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. The Sheriff looked them over and wasn’t interested in my theories, so I sent telegrams to the sheriffs who put out those handbills asking for information about Silas Thornton.”
“Have you heard back?”
“Not yet.”
“So who was Thornton after in Sundown? Any ideas?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Wyatt didn’t like the expression on Emma’s face. “Not who, but what. Thornton was asking around town about Confederate gold coins. There's a connection. Silas lived in New Orleans, a location of one of the South’s three mints.”
Wyatt let out a sigh. The rumor just wouldn’t go away. “I did some research in college. The Confederacy never minted gold coins. New Orleans minted silver half dollars but no gold coins.”
“That we know of… It doesn’t matter if Travis has any buried treasure, just that Silas Thornton believed he did.”
“That points the evidence toward Travis.” Wyatt folded his hands. “Let me see if I can summarize the story you plan to write. You think my brother made off with Confederate loot, brought it with him to Sundown. Six years after the war ended, Silas Thornton tracked him down, wanting a piece of the prize. Travis didn’t want to pay blackmail, so he shot and killed him.”
“You’re so pigheaded!” Emma’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I don’t think that at all! My theory is some person in town reached out to Thornton saying someone in Sundown had Confederate gold, and that someone was your brother.”
“Must have been convincing enough to get him to skip his bounty hunting to come to Sundown.”
“Maybe Thornton and whoever contacted him fought over how to split up the spoils after they got it from Travis.”
“For a newswoman who deals with facts, that’s quite a yarn.” Wyatt scratched the stubble on his chin. Emma’s theory made sense, more sense than Travis killing a bounty hunter, even if he might have been a blackmailer. How could he turn a plausible theory into a legal defense? “I don’t have a lot of time.”
“We both want the truth about the shooting. We could save time if we work together.” Emma reached across the table and squeezed Wyatt’s hand. “I think we make a good team.”
Wyatt looked down at her hand. He’d had enough betrayal of Sadie for one day.
She snatched her hand away. “If we can’t come up with evidence someone else killed Thornton, then we need to prove Travis has an alibi.”
“A woman.”
“Exactly, but there’s a lot of women in town, and your brother was…very popular.” Emma leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head. “From a newslady’s perspective, Travis hasn’t been serious about anyone besides the few regulars at the Purple Sage…” A smile curled from her lips. “… like Grace.”
Travis coughed and choked.
Emma jumped to her feet, and grabbed a pitcher of water. She poured a glass and set it in front of him.
Wyatt nearly drank the whole glass. “Travis and Grace?”
“Nothing significant, certainly not a romance. Their relationship didn’t last long… oh, I see what’s bothering you: Travis and Grace, you and Grace.” Emma rubbed a hand over her face failing to conceal a delighted smile. “Might be awkward when the family gets together over a Thanksgiving meal.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Delight danced in her eyes. “More than I should. It’s really none of my business.”
“It really isn’t.”
Emma’s expression changed. She leaned forward on the desk and her voice sounded serious. “Why won’t Travis tell you who he was with?”
“My best guess is because he cares about the woman and revealing her identity would destroy her life, if she was married.”
“So, he’d hang before ruining a girl’s reputation? Damn, I’ve heard of chivalry, though I’ve never witnessed it myself, but that’s just plain silly.”
“Travis thinks he doesn’t have to give up the woman’s name if I find out who really killed Thornton.”
Emma shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not going to be easy.”
She blew a strand of her red hair from her face. “Unless I hear back from the sheriffs I telegrammed soon. I’m hoping one or more could shed light on who in Sundown would have a motive to kill the bounty hunter, like an angry family member or friends.”
“If you hear back, and if you hear before the trial, and if they have information that would implicate someone else.”
Emma shrugged. “Until I hear back, let’s see if we can discover who can prove Travis’s alibi.”
Wyatt drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m thinking Travis might have become involved again with an old girlfriend, now a married woman. I need to track them all down. From what Amos said, most are living on ranches outside town, with their husbands and kids.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’d better get started.” Wyatt slid the stool back and stood.
Emma’s forlorn expression brightened. “There’s a way you can talk to most if not all of them in one day, or shall I say one night. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“The dance at the town hall.”
“Nearly all the likely women in town and from surrounding ranches will be there. Just don’t get all defense lawyer on them. Pretend you’re there to have fun. You could take Grace.”
“She’s not talking to me.”
Emma snorted. “Already?”
“I'm thinking...”
“Thinking what?” Emma cocked her head.
“That you and I could go to the dance together, act like a real couple so people relax and, like you suggested, won’t think I’m there as a lawyer pumping them for information. At the end of the dance, I’d like to compile a list of women most likely to have hidden Travis.”
“Okay, I’m game.” Emma bit her bottom lip. “So…” “I could pick you up in Travis’s buggy. We could ride in style.”
“That’s a deal.” She shook hands on it like they were closing a business deal. “She scanned his wrinkled clothes. “Seven o’clock. But clean up and find a razor.”
Wyatt rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “And you?”
Her playful smile returned, “I have a dress, or two… somewhere, unless I made a quilt out of ‘em.”
CHAPTER 12
Wyatt left Emma’s office with a sense of accomplishment. At least they had a plan.
Deputy Stone ran toward him and skidded to a stop. “Judge Rawlings wants to see you.”
He glanced toward Hackett’s office. “Just me?”
“Just you.” She shook her head. “You might run a comb through your hair. You look like a saddle tramp.”
Wyatt removed his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair.
Stone rolled her eyes. “Oh, that looks so much better.”
Wyatt set the hat on his head and hurried toward the courthouse. As he reached the front steps, a voice called to him. “Over here.”
Judge Rawlings was sitting in the shade on a bench. He held a bag of sunflower seeds feeding a half dozen pigeons.
When Wyatt reached the bench, the judge put on his glasses and looked him over. “Maybe you should remain standing. Apparently, the reports I heard are true.”
