Deborah Camp (23 page)

Tom Cuddahie’s office was in a two-story frame building on Spring Street. Monday morning Cassie arrived two hours before Cuddahie was due to open his office, so she made her way up the stairs to the second floor and sat outside to wait for him. She checked the contents of her purse, making sure that Shorty’s will was tucked safely inside. Then she rested her head back against the wall and stared blindly at the gold lettering on the door’s frosted glass: Thomas Patrick Cuddahie, Attorney-at-Law.

She yawned noisily and closed her eyes. Rising hours before dawn to saddle Irish and ride away without awakening Rook had tired her out. A rueful frown touched her full lips as her thoughts drifted back to Saturday night after Boone had left her at her own front door. Rook had been sullen, as if he resented her having a good time without him. They’d exchanged no more than a few words before he’d announced he was tired. He had unceremoniously stripped down to his long underwear and climbed into bed, turning his back to Cassie as if she wasn’t sitting less than four feet from the cot. That had galled her. His black silence she could tolerate, but to be treated like an unfeeling thing instead of a lady of morals was intolerable.

She’d spent Sunday away from the cabin, not giving Rook a chance to question her about her activities in town. She’d hunted and fished, bringing home enough meat to fill a good-sized larder. Cleaning her catch had taken hours. By the time she’d returned to the cabin, Rook had already
eaten a cold dinner and was asleep. He awoke but spoke only once to her, just before she went into her bedroom.

“Now that you’ve been with the banker’s son, I guess you’re too good to keep company with the likes of me.”

Now, as she waited for Tom Cuddahie this Monday morning, Cassie smiled as she had done Sunday night when Rook’s cutting words had revealed his hurt feelings. Such a big baby! He was taking her silence personally, when all the while she was only protecting herself. She hadn’t wanted to talk with him until she had settled a few things in her mind and had answers to a few questions. Besides, his treatment of her hadn’t been all that fine either. He’d taken off his clothes in front of her as if she were a fifth chair at the table instead of a full-grown female!

Rook would really be fit to be tied when he woke up and realized that she’d taken Irish. He’d pitch a fit all right, but she’d had important business in Eureka Springs. Important business that couldn’t wait, and she didn’t want to discuss it with Rook until everything was straightened out—one way or the other.

A heavy tread made the floor vibrate beneath her; Cassie stood up quickly and adjusted her gingham bonnet. Tom Cuddahie rounded the corner and filled the narrow corridor, his shoulders seeming to brush the walls as he came toward her. He was a heavyset man with thick salt and pepper hair and an iron gray mustache. His suit was expensively tailored, and on his string tie was a big, decorative chunk of turquoise. His bushy brows rose above his small blue eyes when he saw the willowy girl standing outside his office.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice booming like a cannon’s report. “I’m Tom Cuddahie. Are you waiting for me?”

“Yes, sir.” Cassie stepped away from the door to give Cuddahie room to unlock it. “Do you remember me?”

He studied her closely before shaking his head. “No. Should I?” He threw open the door and motioned Cassie to enter before him. “Please go on in and take a seat.”

The small office was dominated by a bay window and a massive desk. Cuddahie hung his hat and suit coat on a
hall tree, then lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. He looked across the polished surface at the girl who had seated herself in one of the green leather chairs he reserved for his clients. She removed her blue and white gingham bonnet with hands that were delicately formed but showed signs of hard labor. Her whitish gold hair was a feast for the eyes, shimmering like a braided crown on top of her head.

A pretty girl on the brink of being a beautiful woman, Cuddahie decided; then he wondered why she was familiar to him. Where had he met her? He remembered her eyes. Robin’s-egg blue, deeply set and long lashed, with a directness that one didn’t usually find in one so young.

“You said that I knew you?” he asked, resting his elbows on the desk and searching his memory.

“I’m Shorty Potter’s girl.”

“Shorty?” He stared hard at her again, not believing her at first. She couldn’t be that lank-haired string bean he’d met no more than six months earlier. Shorty Potter’s girl had worn a sullen look, a baggy shirt, and a threadbare skirt. Her shoulders had slumped, and she’d dragged her feet across the ground as if she were too tired to lift them. Cuddahie remembered thinking she was destined to be an old maid or some old man’s slave. Nobody worth anything would want her, that was for sure.

“Yes, sir. Eben Potter. I’m his daughter. Cassie’s my name. I met you at Jewel Townsend’s place about six or seven months ago. Me and Pa was visiting there. Jewel’s a good friend of ours … I mean, of mine.”

“And you’re the same girl I met then?” He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe. “You sure have changed, little lady.”

She blushed and looked away until her natural color returned. “Well, I wasn’t in town the other time to meet people. I’d been working since sunup that day and I was … never mind.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a carefully folded paper. “I came to talk to you about this. I found it amongst Pa’s things.” She handed it to him across the desk.

He put on a pair of reading glasses before he unfolded
the paper and examined it. “Ah, yes. Shorty’s will.” He peered at her over the half-moon glasses. “What about it?”

“Is it legal?”

His head jerked back a little as if he had been insulted; then he laughed it off. “I’m a lawyer, Miss Cassie. Of course it’s legal.”

She waved a fluttering hand. “I mean … well, does it mean that I keep the land free and clear? Nobody can take it from me?”

“Nobody except the government, and only then if you don’t pay the taxes on it. Taxes were paid in January, so you’ve got until next January before they come due again.” He removed his glasses thoughtfully. “Is somebody trying to take this land away from you?”

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure it was mine.”

Cuddahie smiled. “It’s yours. Anything else you want to know?”

“Yes, sir.” She stared at the bonnet in her lap for a moment before lifting her gaze to his again. “I didn’t know Pa had drawed up a will. He didn’t tell me about it. I was wondering what made him think of it. Do you know why he did it? It seems strange that he’d want a will and then get killed a few months later.”

“Hold on, little lady,” Cuddahie said, patting the air with the flat of his palm in a placating gesture. “Don’t go off half-cocked on me. There’s nothing strange about Shorty drawing up a will. He was getting on in years, and he wanted to make sure he left you something in case he was called upstairs.” His gaze bounced up to the ceiling, then came back to hers again. “It’s perfectly natural for a man to start thinking about such things when he reaches Shorty’s age.”

“Did he ask you to do it, or did you suggest it first?”

He ran a hand down his face in a thoughtful gesture. “I believe … let me think. Yes, I remember. He came to me and asked about wills. How much they cost, how they’re drawn up. Things like that. We drew it up that very
day. Shorty wanted to get it over with. He said he wanted peace of mind.”

Shorty had always had peace of mind as far as she’d known, Cassie thought with a niggling sense of discord. What had caused him worry? What had happened that he hadn’t told her about? Had he seen someone hanging around the mine? Had someone threatened him? Did he owe money to somebody she didn’t know about?

“I don’t want you to worry about your property being taken from you,” Cuddahie said. “That’s why Shorty drew up the will, so you wouldn’t worry.” He handed the document back to her.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking it back inside her purse. “I’ll put this in a safe place when I get back home.”

“How are you making out?”

“Just fine.” She covered her glorious hair with her bonnet again and tied the ribbon under her short, rounded chin. “I’ve planted a garden and I’ve got me some chickens. I can take care of myself.”

Cuddahie smiled and stood up when she did. “I’m sure you can, but why should you? I should think that a pretty girl like yourself would want to find a partner.” He winked good-naturedly. “Take it from an old married man, Miss Cassie. Life goes down easier when you share it.”

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she smiled weakly and started toward the door. “Thanks for your time,” she murmured before she darted around the corner and walked briskly down the long corridor to the staircase.

Once outside the building she unhitched Irish and rode him to Jewel’s. The sun was up and the town was coming to life. Storekeepers had opened their doors and were hauling goods out onto the sidewalks. Children laughed and chased each other toward the schoolhouse.

Jewel’s place was four stories high, counting the attic, and it was edged in lacy gingerbread work. Its style was a cross between Victorian and Gothic, and to Cassie it looked like a place where a fairy queen might live, not the town whore. Bay windows were framed by lace curtains. A swing was suspended at one end of the porch. Pots of flowers sat on the porch railings. Wild roses climbed trellises
on either side of the house. Even the outhouse was pretty, having a weather vane on its roof and planters of red geraniums and yellow daffodils all around it.

Cassie left Irish at the hitching post and went up the graveled walkway. She admired the fern planters hanging from the porch ceiling and wished her own place could give her the lift of spirits Jewel’s always did. There was something about this house and all its special touches that made the heart sing. Cassie rapped against the front door and waited patiently, knowing full well that it was too early for the occupants to be up and around. She knocked again, loud enough to raise the dead. After a few more minutes she let herself in.

“Yoo-hoo!” she called. “Anybody up yet?”

“Who’s that?” A small-boned, caramel-skinned woman leaned over the banister. “Who’s that walking in here like you owns the place?”

Cassie looked up at the woman in the flower-printed dress and flour-sack gown. “ ’Morning, Delphia. It’s Cassie Potter. Is Miss Jewel up and about by any chance?”

“Chile, it’s not noon yet. Do you really thinks Miss Jewel would be taking visitors?”

“Well, wake her up,” Cassie told Jewel’s maid, “ ’cause I’ve gotta talk to her and I don’t have time to wait until noon.”

“Now don’t you go busting in here telling me what to do. I works for Miss Jewel, and she don’t receive visitors till noontime. She won’t like being roused at this hour.” Delphia held out her hands in a feeble attempt to halt Cassie’s progress toward Jewel’s room at the end of the second-floor landing.

“I mean it, Delphia. I’ve got important business to discuss with her.”

“Delphia, if that’s a customer, tell him to come back after five. If it’s a bill collector, shoot him,” Jewel shouted from behind the door.

“It’s neither!” Delphia shouted back.

Jewel’s bedroom door opened and Jewel stood on the threshold. She squinted at Cassie and Delphia as she tied her dressing gown’s sash. Bags of flesh hung beneath her
eyes and her face was devoid of makeup, making her seem old and colorless.

“What’s going on out here?” she demanded in a sleepy, gruff voice. “Cassie Mae Potter! What are you doing, making such a ruckus at this hour? People are sleeping, you know. And what in the world are you doing in town? How’d you get here? Is something wrong? Did something bad happen?”

“I got to talk with you,” Cassie said, then glanced at Delphia. “I got to talk to you alone.”

“Okay.” Jewel looked aggravated, but she motioned for Cassie to come into her parlor. “Delphia, bring up a coffee tray. If I’ve got to listen, I’ve got to be awake to do it.”

“Yessum,” Delphia said, making a face at Cassie before she closed the door.

“Sit down, sit down,” Jewel said, flinging out an arm toward two brocade gondola chairs and a medallion-backed sofa. Still fidgeting with the silk sash at her ample waist, Jewel fell like a rock onto the sofa. “Now what’s so all-fired important that you’d barge in here at this ungodly hour?”

“I got questions,” Cassie said, sitting in one of the chairs and sweeping her bonnet from her head. “I came into town Saturday with Boone Rutledge and—”

“Boone Rutledge?” Jewel dimpled. “Do tell!”

Cassie waved an impatient hand. “Never mind that. He took me into the bank to show me where he worked, and guess who I saw there?”

Jewel shrugged. “On a Saturday with the bank closed? I don’t know. A bank robber, maybe?”

Cassie laughed without humor. “Right on the nose, Jewel. How’d you know?”

“What?” Jewel covered her heart with one hand as shock lined her face. “You were robbed? Heavens, girl!”

“No, I wasn’t robbed.” Cassie looked around the room, all the while trying to keep a tight rein on her temper. “I was lied to and used, but I wasn’t robbed.”

“Girl, what the devil are you talking about?” Jewel patted her tangled red hair and heaved a long sigh. “You’re not making sense. Come on in, Delphia,” she called out
to the maid, who was standing in the doorway. “Thank heavens! I need a cup of coffee more than anything right now. Mmmm-mmmm, those yeast rolls look good. Put some butter on one of them for me, Delphie, honey.” Jewel smiled, loving the role of queen bee.

“I’m talking about one of your customers,” Cassie said, glaring at Jewel while Delphia buttered a roll and handed it to her. “I saw him in the bank.”

Comprehension dawned on Jewel and she choked, nearly spewing coffee all over everything.

“Miss Jewel, you all right?” Delphia asked.

“Yes, Delphia. Now go on. I got private business with Miss Cassie here. Go on, and close that door behind you.” Once the door was closed and Jewel was alone with Cassie, she leaned forward and asked, “You saw Rook at the bank? You saying he was robbing it?”