Paper Roses (41 page)

“Don’t worry.” Clay punctuated his words with a kiss. “I won’t be alone.”

But he was restless. Clay shifted, doing his best to make no sound as he wondered how long he would have to wait. Perhaps this was part of God’s plan to teach him patience. That was one virtue he had in deplorably small quantities. Though he’d entered the house three hours earlier, slipping in the back door while Gunther and Eva made a noisy exit through the front, Clay knew the thief was unlikely to come before dark. Since the sun had set only an hour ago, it was unrealistic to have expected a visitor before now. Perhaps the man lived with others and could sneak out of his house only in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter. Whenever he came, Clay would be waiting. The Lehman house was completely dark now, with Clay stationed in Eva’s room, the door ajar. This way, he could watch the man, unseen until the time was right.

At last! Clay heard the front door open and footsteps cross the main room. The man made no attempt at stealth. Why would he? Gunther had no close neighbors. There was no one to see or hear an intruder. A shaft of light told Clay the man had uncovered the lantern he’d been carrying and had begun his search. The sound of drawers being opened and closed was accompanied by low mutters.
Look at the table
, Clay urged silently. They’d left the bowl in plain sight.

“Well, what do you know? It was here all along.”

There was no mistaking the voice. Clay realized he shouldn’t have been surprised, for all the signs had been there.

“Find what you want, Jean-Michel?” Pulling his six-shooter from the holster, Clay moved into the room.

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Clay might have been amused by the thief’s shocked expression. “Clay? What are you doing here?” Jean-Michel stared at the gun.

“That should be obvious. I’ve been waiting for you.” Clay gestured toward the bowl in Jean-Michel’s hand. “I suspect your father will be surprised when he learns who’s been robbing the townspeople.”

Jean-Michel’s eyes shifted from Clay’s gun to his face. “You have no proof.” Surprise had changed to belligerence.

“What would you call the bowl in your hand?”

“I’ll break it. Then you’ll have nothing.”

Clay shrugged, as if unconcerned by the loss of a supposedly priceless bowl. “That won’t change anything.” He looked at the man who’d created such havoc in the town, trying to imagine why he’d chosen to steal. It couldn’t be because he needed money, for he did not. Though he wanted for nothing, Jean-Michel had stolen from his neighbors and then tried to cast the blame on someone else.

“What’s this?” A piece of white cloth hung from Jean-Michel’s pocket. Clay tugged the handkerchief loose and inspected it. Like the other “evidence” Jean-Michel had planted, the handkerchief bore Léon’s initials.

“I don’t know how it got there.”

A flash of annoyance speared Clay. “I’m not stupid, Jean-Michel, and neither is your father.”

A reasonable man would have admitted his guilt. Jean-Michel was not reasonable. His eyes narrowed as he said, “My father won’t believe you. Everyone knows he didn’t like Austin.”

The two sentences had no bearing on each other, unless . . . Clay tightened the grip on his gun. “Is that why you killed him? To make your father happy?”

The man blanched, and he lowered his eyes. “I didn’t kill Austin. I swear to God I didn’t kill him.” Though his voice rang with truth, Clay said nothing. Jean-Michel might not be a murderer, but he’d done something almost as evil: he’d tried to destroy another man’s reputation.

When the silence grew uncomfortable, Jean-Michel continued, “I’ll admit I took a few things.” He laid the glass bowl back on the table, as if making reparations.

“And cut a few fences?” Though Clay was confident that the same person was responsible for the vandalism as well as the thefts, he wanted there to be no doubt when he approached Michel Ladre. It would be difficult for the man to admit that his son, of whom he was so proud, was a criminal.

“Yeah.” The word came out reluctantly.

“Why did you do it?”

Jean-Michel’s reply confirmed Clay’s thoughts. “For the fun. I liked seeing everyone worried and knowing I was responsible.”

“Then why blame Léon? Why let him get the credit for what you’d done?”

“So Isabelle would marry me.”

Clay stared at the man, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “What made you think Isabelle would marry someone who’d destroyed her brother’s reputation?”

“It was the only way. Léon didn’t like me. He said I wasn’t good enough for his sister.” Clay couldn’t disagree with that assessment. “If everyone hated Léon,” Jean-Michel continued, “he would have to leave Ladreville. Then I’d be free to marry Isabelle.”

Though the reasoning was twisted, Clay could understand how it might make sense to a man as cosseted as Jean-Michel. He saw everything from his own perspective, never considering how others might react. “I suppose you courted Sarah to make Isabelle jealous.”

Jean-Michel nodded. “When that didn’t work, I had to find another way.”

“By stealing and blaming Isabelle’s brother. What were you going to do when someone learned the truth?”

Jean-Michel shrugged. “No one would. I’m smarter than they are.”

Clay forbore mentioning the obvious fallacy of that statement. “We’ll see what your father says.”

Once more Jean-Michel assumed a belligerent stance. “I told you that he won’t believe you. It’s just my word against yours.”

Clay shook his head and turned toward the window he’d so carefully opened earlier that day. “That’s not true. Zach, you can come in now.” Jean-Michel blanched. “That’s right. Zach heard everything you said. I have no doubt that your father will believe him.” Clay gestured with his gun. “Put your hands behind your back. We’re going to tie you up.”

“You can’t do this to me.”

“I can and I will.” Clay watched as Zach tied the thief’s hands. “I’m also going to tell your father that I believe you killed Austin.” That was a bluff. Jean-Michel was a sneak and a thief, but he was also a coward. A coward might have shot Austin in the back, but he would not have had the courage to face him as he pulled the trigger. Jean-Michel might not have killed Austin, but the way his eyes had shifted when Clay had accused him told Clay he knew more than he’d admitted.

“I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t.” Jean-Michel looked from Clay to Zach, his eyes moving wildly as he tried to convince them. “You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t do it, but I think I know who did.”

Though his pulse quickened, Clay forced a sarcastic tone to his words. “Let me guess. You’re going to try to pin it on Léon.”

“No.” A vehement shake of Jean-Michel’s head accompanied the word. “If you want to find the murderer, you should look closer to home. When we heard what happened, we all agreed not to tell anyone that one man left our poker game right after Austin did. No one asked where he went, but he was gone long enough to have killed him.”

A sense of vindication rushed through Clay. This was what he’d believed from the beginning, that the killer was one of the men Austin knew best. Though there were others in Ladreville whom Austin trusted enough to let approach him, no one else would have known the exact time he’d left the barn that night. No one else would have been close enough to intercept him on the way home. “Who was that?”

“David.”

The word echoed in the room. Clay heard a gasp and wasn’t certain whether it came from himself or Zach. “David?” That wasn’t possible. “David was Austin’s closest friend.”

The look Jean-Michel shot Clay was almost pitying. “That’s what he wanted everyone to think. The truth is, he always resented your brother. Austin had everything David wanted: a father, an older brother, a prosperous ranch. Soon he’d have a wife.”

Zach gave Clay a quick look, his expression confirming Clay’s thoughts. As unpalatable as it was, Jean-Michel was telling the truth.

“My guess is that seeing Sarah’s miniature that night sent him over the edge,” Jean-Michel continued. “He didn’t like the fact that Austin would have not just a wife but a beautiful one. I think that’s why he killed him.”

“I don’t want to believe it.” For almost as long as he could recall, David had been part of Clay’s life. How could the man who’d been so close to Austin have killed him? It didn’t make sense. And yet Clay couldn’t forget Sarah’s concerns. She’d been the first to tell him that David resented Austin. It had been Clay’s foolish pride, his belief that he knew David better than Sarah could, that had caused him to dismiss her worries.

“You always said the murderer was someone Austin trusted,” Zach reminded him.

“You’re right. I’ve been blind.” He holstered his gun and took a step toward the door. “Will you take Jean-Michel to his father? I’ve got another visit to pay.”

20

“Sarah! Sarah, where are you?”

Sarah blinked at the unexpected sound of a human voice. Clay and Zach had left before supper, and all the ranch hands were spending their night off in town. With Thea gone, that had left only Sarah and Pa. Though she’d tried to play chess with him, he’d proven a poor companion, falling asleep unusually early. Sarah knew she would be unable to sleep until Clay returned, and so she had gone back to the cabin, hoping that the book she was reading would distract her. It had not. She’d been staring at the same page for several minutes. Instead of caring about the plights befalling Mr. Dickens’s characters, she envisioned Clay inside Gunther’s house, waiting for the thief. Had the man arrived? Was he even now occupying Ladreville’s one jail cell?

“Sarah!” the cry came again.

“I’m here.” Sarah reached for her cane and made her way onto the porch. It was frustrating, moving so slowly when she was needed. Though she had barely recognized her neighbor’s voice, there was no mistaking the urgency. “Oh, Mary!” The cabin light spilled onto the porch, revealing the older woman’s flushed face. “What’s wrong?”

“You gotta help me.” Mary doubled over, clutching her stomach. When she raised her head again, her eyes were glassy, their expression one Sarah had never seen. Even though her experience with illness was limited, Sarah knew something was desperately wrong.

“Take me home.”

Sarah’s heartbeat accelerated as she tried to remember what her mother had said about glassy eyes. They were a sign of a fever, weren’t they? “You’re ill. You should lie down here.” Sarah turned to open the door.

“No, I gotta go home. Herman gave me a tincture. It’s there.” Mary grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Take me home.”

Sarah flinched as Mary tightened her grip. “Did you ride?” If they had only the one horse, Sarah could not imagine how she could get the other woman to her home. She couldn’t ride, and the ranch hands had taken the Bar C’s wagon.

“No.” Mary shook her head. “I brung the wagon.”

Thank goodness. “All right. I’ll drive it.” Sarah kept one arm around Mary’s waist, supporting the ailing woman while she gripped her cane with the other. When they reached Mary’s wagon, Sarah frowned, wondering how she could possibly hoist the older woman into it. It was difficult enough lifting Thea, and Mary outweighed Sarah by thirty or forty pounds.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Don’t fret,” Mary said as she climbed in with surprising ease. “Just get me home.”

“Why did you come to the Bar C?” Sarah asked as she guided the wagon off the ranch. If she had been as ill as Mary, Sarah doubted she would have left her bed.

Mary gripped her stomach again. “No choice. I needed a doctor, and there weren’t no one to take a message. Everyone’s gone.” Though the words made sense, Mary’s voice was devoid of emotion, almost as if she were reciting phrases she had memorized.

“Clay will be able to help you, but I don’t know when he’ll be back from town.” Sarah wouldn’t tell Mary what he was doing. Instead, she said a silent prayer for his success.

“Don’t matter. You’re what I need.” Mary reached a hand toward Sarah, then drew it back. “It won’t be long now.”

It was a sign of her illness that Mary’s words were no longer making much sense. “Won’t be long until what?”

The older woman stared at Sarah, as if puzzled by the question. “Until we reach the ranch,” she said at last. “I can wait.”

Sarah’s alarm increased. She’d had little experience with illness, but Mama had said that people were sometimes incoherent when they had high fevers. That must be what ailed Mary. Thank goodness, they were close to the Lazy B and whatever Dr. Adler had prescribed. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief as she turned off the main road. Just another minute or two.

As she stopped the wagon in front of the house, a man emerged from the barn. Sarah gave Mary a quick look. Hadn’t she said all the ranch hands were gone tonight? Perhaps the fever had addled her brain.

“Oh, you’re still here, Jake.” Mary’s voice was sharp with reproof. “Unharness the wagon, and then you can go into town.”

“But, ma’am—”

“Do as I say.”

He nodded and reached for the horses. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s get you inside.” The fever must be increasing. That was the only way Sarah could explain Mary’s uncharacteristic actions. She led her into the house and opened the door to Mary’s room. “You need to lie down. I’ll find your medicine.”