Carol Cox (19 page)

Caleb looked up from the coffee grinder with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

When he continued to stare at her as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue, Melanie planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. “You know very well what I mean—the china teacup that broke when you came back last night.”

Caleb shook his head slowly. “What are you talking about?”

Melanie felt her irritation rise. “Don’t deny it. I heard you. I came downstairs and called your name. You must have been going out just then, because all I heard was the click of the door latch.”

His face softened, and a slight smile curved his lips. “I was never here last night. You must have been dreaming.”

Melanie let out a huff. “It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t my imagination.” She strode over to the wastebin. Picking it up, she carried it to where Caleb stood and held it up so he could see the broken shards inside. “I certainly didn’t imagine this.”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at the remnants of the shattered cup a long moment before he lifted the wastebin from her hands and set it on the floor. When he
straightened, deep lines creased his forehead. “How could that have happened?” he muttered.

Melanie bristled. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

He leaned toward her and cupped her shoulders in a light grip. “I’m sorry the cup got broken, but I can assure you I had nothing to do with it.”

Melanie stared into his eyes, mere inches from her own, and saw only truth reflected there. The warmth of his gaze and his touch on her shoulders nearly made her knees buckle. She glanced down to break the spell, and Caleb stepped away.

When she looked up again, she saw the Professor step over to the shelf where the music box stood and run his finger across the top. Lifting the lid with tender care, he stared at the inner workings with a look of admiration. “An exquisite piece,” he said. “What wonderful craftsmanship.”

Melanie shook herself and tried to pull her thoughts together. “Thank you. I thought it was wrong to keep it hidden away in the back. I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

The Professor lowered the lid and turned to face her. “It’s obvious you have an eye for beauty. I have quite a collection of interesting items at my home. Would you be interested in dining with me one evening? I’m sure you would enjoy seeing them.”

Melanie’s lips parted. She didn’t know the Professor well, but he hadn’t struck her as the type of man who would invite a woman to visit his home unchaperoned.

As if reading her thoughts, the Professor smiled and inclined his head. “The invitation is meant for Caleb, as well. And Levi, too, of course.”

Caleb looked up from sacking the ground coffee. He looked at Melanie with a question in his eyes, then he smiled and
nodded. “If Miss Ross is agreeable, we’d all be happy to enjoy your hospitality.”

Melanie felt her spirits lift, buoyed more by Caleb’s smile than the prospect of dinner at the Professor’s house. “Thank you. We’d love to.”

The bell jingled, and Marshal Hooper strode through the door.

The Professor reached for the sack of coffee. “I’d better be leaving now. Would you put this coffee on my tab, Caleb? I’ll plan on seeing you at my house the day after tomorrow, if that works for you.”

Melanie watched him leave, then turned back to see the marshal saunter over to where Caleb was wiping down the coffee grinder with a clean rag.

“Good day to you,” Caleb said. “You’re out and about early this morning.”

Hooper nodded toward the Professor’s departing figure. “I’m not the only one.”

Melanie drifted over to join them.

The marshal tilted his hat back on his head and eyed Caleb. “Does the name Lucas Weber mean anything to you?”

Caleb set his rag down and squinted at the abrupt question. “No, I can’t say it does.”

“What about you, Miss Ross?” The marshal turned to Melanie. “Have you ever heard that name?”

Melanie edged closer to Caleb. “No, I don’t believe so.” She exchanged a quick look with him. “Why?”

The marshal studied them both as he spoke. “That’s the name of the man you found on your doorstep.”

Melanie caught her breath. At last they knew his name. She felt the sting of tears and tried to swallow past the lump that swelled in her throat. She raised her hand to dash the moisture from her eyes but caught the marshal’s stony stare and linked her hands in front of her waist instead.

The lawman cleared his throat. “You remember that letter I received yesterday?”

Melanie nodded, recalling the envelope addressed to the marshal that had arrived in the previous day’s mail delivery.

“It was from Lydia Weber, Lucas’s wife. She said he was missing. She hasn’t heard anything from him since he set off on a trip to Cedar Ridge, and she wanted to know if I’d seen him or knew anything about his whereabouts.” He pulled a small photograph from his vest pocket and held it out. “She sent this tintype along so I’d know for sure if I’d run across him.”

Caleb took the tintype from him. After a long glance, he handed it to Melanie. She held the picture up, studying every detail.
So that’s what he looked like in life.
She remembered the slack features and the grayish skin and shuddered, wondering if she would ever be able to banish that image from her memory.

The bell over the door jingled. Doc Mills entered, squinting as he peered around the store. When he spotted the three of them, he ambled over and took up a stance next to Melanie.

She wrinkled her nose against the lingering odor of stale alcohol and cigar smoke that seemed to accompany the doctor wherever he went, and backed away a half step, hoping the move wouldn’t be too obvious. Turning her head slightly to one side, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. Looking at his shaking hands, she wondered that any patients at
all sought his help and sent up a quick prayer of thanks for her own good health. What a sad thing, to see the toll drink could take on a man!

Doc looked at Caleb, moving his head from side to side, as if trying to bring him into focus. “I’ve got a sizable order for you. The list is right here.” He held up a sheet of paper half covered with writing.

“We’ll be with you in a minute,” Caleb said. “Just as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Marshal Hooper has learned who the dead man was,” Melanie told him. “He was telling us about it just now.” She held up the tintype.

Doc gave the photograph a cursory glance, then let out a puff of air that stirred his drooping mustache. He pocketed his list and turned away. “I can see you’re busy. Why don’t I come back when you have more time?” With a nod that included all of them, he shuffled toward the door and went out. Through the window, they could see him turning left on the boardwalk.

“Probably on his way to the Silver Moon for a little hair of the dog that bit him last night,” the marshal muttered.

Melanie followed the doctor’s unsteady progress along the walk, then turned back to the marshal with a sigh and handed him the photograph. “You’re going to return this to Mrs. Weber, aren’t you? It will be doubly precious to her now that her husband is gone.”

Marshal Hooper shook his head. “She said she has another and told me to hang on to it. I’m hoping it will help me in my investigation.” He tucked the tintype away again, then hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “You’re sure you don’t recognize the name Weber?”

“No,” Caleb repeated. “Why?”

Melanie drew her brows together. They had already told him the name was unfamiliar. Why did he keep harping on the question? From Caleb’s expression, she suspected he wondered the same thing.

The marshal raised one hand and stroked his chin. “According to Mrs. Weber’s letter, her husband came to Cedar Ridge to look into his brother’s death.”

His brother?
Melanie looked up at Caleb, who appeared to be every bit as confused as she felt. Then comprehension lit his face.

“Weber? Wait a minute.” He bowed his head as if deep in thought, then he nodded. “I remember now. I think a letter came to my uncle from an L. Weber—in Colorado—shortly after his death. I returned it, marked
Deceased
.” His brows knit together. “You mean to tell me the man who sent that letter was the same man who was murdered?”

The marshal nodded without speaking.

Melanie stared from Caleb to the marshal. “I don’t understand. Who was his brother?”

The lawman turned his attention back to her. “Charley Weber was one of George and Alvin’s old prospecting buddies. He came into town last November, all fired up about a gold strike he’d heard about in South America, thinking he would talk them into pulling up stakes and joining him so the three of them could have one last adventure together.” He patted the pocket where he’d put the tintype.

Caleb rubbed his forehead. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” He looked at Melanie. “Do you know anything about this Charley?”

She shook her head. “I don’t ever remember Cousin George
mentioning him, but he didn’t really mention anyone other than Alvin—in his letters or when he visited us.” She looked back at the marshal. “So what happened to Charley? Obviously they didn’t all go off together.”

Marshal Hooper shook his head. “Nope. Both George and Alvin told him their roving days were over. They’d had their fill of panning for gold in icy streams and sleeping on the cold, hard ground. They said they’d found their last home right here, and they intended to stay in Cedar Ridge for the rest of their lives. Which they did.”

He rolled his shoulders. “Of course, no one knew then how little time any of them had left. Charley got sick and died before he ever got a chance to head off to that new strike. And he was quickly followed by George and then Alvin. All three of them are buried out there in the cemetery. And now I’m wondering about the real reason Charley showed up in Cedar Ridge.”

Caleb frowned. “What do you mean?”

Marshal Hooper rested one hand on his holster. “Lucas Weber’s wife—his widow, I should say—said her husband got a letter from your uncle Alvin, saying he had some misgivings relating to Charley’s death. Lucas wrote back to Alvin for more information, but his letter was returned.” He eyed Caleb, who swallowed and nodded.

“My uncle was already gone by then,” Caleb said. His brow furrowed. “But that was nearly three months ago. Why did Charley’s brother wait until now to come out here himself?”

“Lydia Weber wrote that she’d been ill for several weeks. He didn’t want to leave her until he was certain she’d recover.”

“And now he’s left her forever.” Melanie’s breath came out in a soft sigh. “How very sad.”

The marshal folded his arms, and his probing gaze returned. “Sad, yes. But I also find it a little odd that we now have one murder and one suspicious death occurring in Cedar Ridge in a few months’ time—especially since they both have a connection with this store.”

I
had no idea your house was filled with so many wonders, Professor.” Caleb waved his arm, taking in the large room where they all sat sipping coffee after a congenial meal. “It’s almost like a museum.”

“Thank you.” The Professor’s angular face grew pink with pleasure. “Learning about the past and the people who inhabited it is one of my greatest joys in life.”

Melanie could well believe that. She stared around at the glass cases that lined the whitewashed walls of the rambling adobe building the Professor called home.

The Professor got up and beckoned to Levi. “Do you know what this is?” He knelt beside a porous oblong stone the size of a breadbox and rubbed his hand along its concave surface.

Levi walked over to inspect the stone and shook his head.

“It’s called a
metate.
It was used to grind corn and other grains into meal.”

Levi’s brow wrinkled. “How does it work?”

“Like this.” The Professor picked up a smaller stone the size of a brick and hefted it in his hand. Kneeling beside Levi, he reached into a small stone jar and drew out a handful of dried corn, which he sprinkled across the metate’s surface. “Put your hands here,” he directed.

Levi knelt in front of the Professor and gripped the smaller stone in both hands.

“Good. Now push it back and forth over the corn.”

Levi complied, grunting with the effort to roll the stone grinder across the dried kernels. A few minutes later, a grin wreathed his face. “Look! I did it!”

“So you did.” The Professor chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“That’s fascinating,” Melanie said. “I’ve never seen one of those before.” She took another sip of coffee and walked over to get a closer look at some of the other items on display. “What a marvelous collection you have! How long has it taken you to accumulate it all?”

The Professor joined her, and Caleb followed. “I’ve picked it up one piece at a time over the past twenty years or so.” He surveyed the room with a loving eye. “Some would see the life I’ve chosen as a lonely existence, but it suits me well.”

He tilted his head to one side and looked at Caleb. “Local gossip has it that the marshal now knows the identity of the murder victim. Is that true?”

Caleb blinked at the abrupt change of subject, then he gave a sour laugh. “For once, the rumor mill got it right. The man’s name was Lucas Weber. It seems he came out here to check on the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death. Apparently my uncle had some suspicions and wrote to Mr. Weber about them.

“I didn’t know his brother, Charley—hadn’t even heard about him dying out here until the marshal filled us in. All that happened before I came to Cedar Ridge.”

He looked over and saw Levi arranging a series of arrowheads in a neat row according to size. “Leave those alone, son. They don’t belong to you.”

The Professor waved away his concern. “What he’s doing won’t hurt them a bit.” He watched Levi for a moment, then added, “I believe you can expect great things from that boy. He has an orderly mind.”

Melanie wondered if the Professor saw in Levi a reflection of himself as a child.

The Professor smiled at his guests. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this evening. It is a rare pleasure for me to be able to share my collection with people who can appreciate them.”

He ran his fingers along the top of a display case, then turned back to Caleb and Melanie. “I remember Charley Weber.”

Melanie stared at him. “You do?”

The Professor nodded. “He was an old mining associate of George and Alvin’s.”

“That’s what the marshal told us,” Caleb said. “Funny, but I never heard Uncle Alvin mention him. I’m surprised he didn’t say anything about a friend of his dying while visiting, especially if there was any question as to what caused his death.”

The Professor tilted his head. “I don’t find it odd at all. That fits perfectly with Alvin’s character. He wasn’t a man to stir up gossip or indulge in idle speculation.”

“True.” Caleb glanced down at the floor, then turned his
gaze back to the Professor. “Do you remember anything about the way Charley died?”

The Professor took a moment to straighten his jacket cuff before answering. “As I recall, he had been here a couple of weeks when he became ill. He seemed to be recuperating nicely, but then he took a turn for the worse and died quite suddenly . . . in his sleep, I believe. His death took everyone by surprise.” He narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin. “Or maybe not everyone.”

Melanie started. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see? If Alvin’s suspicions were well founded, and Charley Weber was murdered, there was at least one person who expected it.” The Professor spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that sent gooseflesh chasing up her arms.

She leaned forward. “But people get sick and die unexpectedly all the time. You said Mr. Weber passed away peacefully in his sleep. He wasn’t stabbed or shot or—” she gulped—“hit over the head.”

A smile touched the Professor’s thin lips. “True, but not every murder involves something so violent . . . or so obvious. Poison, for instance, has been used for centuries.”

A long silence followed his statement. Melanie found her voice first. “So you think someone poisoned Charley Weber?”

The Professor shrugged. “Who can be sure? It’s certainly one possibility. Anyone who was around him during the time of his illness could have added some substance to his food or drink that would have had the desired effect.”

Caleb drew himself up. “If you’ll remember, he was staying with my uncle and his partner at the time. I hope you aren’t suggesting either of them had anything to do with this?”

The Professor held up his hands. “Not at all. I knew both
George and Alvin well, and I cannot conceive of such a thing. But”—he raised one forefinger—“with him staying in the rooms above the mercantile and so many people passing through on a daily basis, it opens up a wealth of opportunities.”

“What did you make of all that?” Melanie asked while Caleb guided the wagon along the road on their way back to town. Silvery moonlight glinted on Levi’s hair as he drooped against her side. She circled her left arm around his shoulders.

“He really does seem like some sort of a professor, doesn’t he.” Caleb chuckled. “Throwing out all those theories and challenging you to come up with a logical solution.”

Levi slumped farther down in the wagon seat, coming to rest with his head in Melanie’s lap. By the light of the moon, she could tell his eyes were closed, and he appeared to be fast asleep. She smiled and stroked the boy’s silky hair with her fingertips.

The wagon jolted as one of the front wheels bounced over a rock in the road. Melanie gripped the edge of the seat with one hand and held Levi steady with the other. The sudden lurch threw Caleb’s shoulder hard against hers.

He righted himself and brought the wagon under control, then gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. Their eyes met and held, and the smile faded from his face.

“Don’t apologize. I’m all right.” Melanie’s voice came out in a breathy whisper. Lowering her head, she readjusted her position as best she could without waking the sleeping child, still able to feel the pressure of Caleb’s shoulder against her own. She watched his hands, strong and sure on the reins, then risked a quick glance at his face.

Seeing his eyes focused on the road ahead, she let her gaze linger over his profile, silhouetted in the moonlight. It was a strong face, one she could imagine looking at for the rest of her life.

The thought left her breathless, then she pulled herself together. What was she doing, building up castles in the air?