River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1) (10 page)

“We thought you would already know,” Beth added as she welcomed River and Amos inside.

“I don’t understand. Why would I…who…?”

Beth avoided her gaze and said, “They found him dead in Edge Grayson’s barn.”

It wasn’t Edge’s blood.
“Thank God.” River sank down on the nearest chair. Lightheaded with relief, she drew her first deep breath in hours.

“Tell me everything you know.”

Since it was Sunday and both women had attended the morning service, and given the thorough nature of church gossip, Talia and Beth knew a lot. The best news was that when last seen, Edge was alive and well; and Emmett Price was dead, dead, dead.

The bad news was that Edge had been accused of his murder, arrested, and taken to jail to await trial.

“Let’s go down there right now, River, and see what he has to say,” Amos urged.

“He’s not in our jail,” Talia said, and gave them worse news. “Hank claimed our jail was too flimsy to hold the prisoner. Emmett’s murder, being a hanging offense, he took Edge to stand trial in Annon since they already have a gallows built and ready to use.”

“We’ll need to obtain a lawyer for him,” River said, immediately scouring her brain for the names of the best attorneys in the state.

“River, it’s too late for that.” Beth explained. “Judge Stanley is holding court tomorrow and the outcome is a done deal. Your neighbor will be found guilty. Not only was Emmett killed in Edge’s barn, he was killed with Edge’s gun.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A ridiculous affair…

Edge’s chair, either by accident or design, had been positioned so that the escape route he hoped to use, framed a view of the hangman’s rope swinging on the gallows outside. Hank had left the cuffs on him, but hadn’t secured Edge to his chair. He tensed, ready to launch himself toward the window in a feeble get-away attempt. The window was small and he was big so he already knew it was a fruitless mission. That didn’t matter though; he’d rather die by bullet than rope.

The Isaca sheriff gave him a sympathetic look, but kept his hand on his gun. The Annon sheriff held a rifle and stood by the street door, in case Edge jumped and ran in that direction. The message was clear. If the prisoner decided to go for a quick death by bullet, he’d be accommodated.

Stubborn anger kept Edge seated and listening to the different testimonies. He was still trying to figure out what had happened himself. He’d gotten up early to ride to a nearby town. His errand had taken longer than he’d expected.

It was late afternoon by the time he’d returned. He’d ridden into his ranch yard with Sandy snorting, dancing and putting up a fuss. His horse wasn’t given to such behavior, so Edge had dismounted and being cautious, he’d given the ranch yard a good inspection before he’d entered the barn.

Everything seemed fine outside; inside, not so much. Someone had brought Emmett Price for a visit, killed him, and departed, leaving Emmett’s dead body behind.

Edge had been debating whether to ride to the Prescott ranch before he rode to Isaca. Frankly, he’d wanted Amos by his side when going into announce a killing.

Before Edge had settled on what to do, Hank Simpson had arrived with three other men, seen the body and hauled Edge into town. Edge spent a bleak Saturday night and Sunday staring at the jail walls and regretting that he’d missed his dinner with River.

It had begun to seem as if there might not be any future meals either. Hank had taken possession of Edge’s weapon immediately. His shotgun had been labeled
Exhibit A
and now rested on the prosecutor’s table.

Edge couldn’t complain he wasn’t getting a speedy trial. A jury of six had been assembled earlier and since, as the judge noted, Edge had no attorney, the judge acted on his behalf, questioning potential jurists about possible biases.

The first three candidates admitted they’d known his father and agreed that the apple didn’t usually fall far from the tree.

“In the interest of fairness, you three can’t serve. You’ve pre-judged him.” Judge Stanley had set the standard for acceptance. The other six swore to being unbiased and open minded even as one opined, “Damned if he don’t look just like Art Grayson.”

He’d spent most of his life alone and it came as no surprise that he was ending it that way. He looked over the faces of the people packed in the courtroom and wondered why they’d come to see him. He didn’t know any of them.

After the preliminaries were over, the judge banged his gavel and the clerk called for quiet. The trial began with the swearing in of the star witness, Hank Simpson, the Isaca sheriff who laid a careful trail that led directly to Edge.

“Grayson threatened the victim, Emmett Price, with his shotgun during a quarrel on the street outside my office.”

Edge focused on the window instead of the sheriff’s words nailing his coffin shut.
Maybe…

Hank evidently enjoyed his time in front of an audience. He described his observations at length and the people crowding the courtroom began moving restlessly.

To give him credit, the lawyer did ask why the sheriff had watched and not interfered. Edge appreciated that the prosecutor at least found that odd. But, it didn’t change the verdict of guilty the jury intended to find.

They moved on to the more immediate event of Emmett’s death. The attorney handed a document to the sheriff.

“Would you identify this, please?”

“That’s the deed Grayson signed over to Emmett.”

The prosecutor took the deed back and after he’d passed it over to the jury and each had scrutinized it, Edge held out his shackled hands, indicating he’d like to have a look. Sure enough it had
Edge Grayson
scrawled on it.

“It’s not my signature,” he said.

“Quiet.”After the judge banged his gavel, he glared at Edge. “You’ll get a chance to tell your side later.” Then he motioned at the sheriff and said, “Continue.”

Hank Simpson resumed his testimony. “Having recently gone through a property dispute with River Prescott, Emmett said he wanted this to be handled in a similar fashion.” According to Hank, Emmett had taken a page from River’s book, doing everything legal including having the sheriff ride out and make certain Edge moved on in a timely fashion.

The hell of it was, Edge had no way of proving Hank’s testimony untrue. The sheriff spoke with conviction about what he knew happened and was more than willing to speculate on what he thought happened.

“I have to be honest; I didn’t tend to the business right off. With Grayson being a gunman, I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. I figure Emmett got impatient and went to see Edge, himself. They had words and Edge blasted him.”

Hank was still testifying when the heavy door at the back of the courtroom opened and attention shifted to the person entering. Edge tensed, ready to spring for the window when the sound of the voice kept his ass glued to his chair.

“Judge Stanley, what is the meaning of this ridiculous affair?” Miss Prescott had arrived and she telegraphed to all that she was somebody to be reckoned with.

Edge had never seen this side of her, but he was willing to get acquainted. Even he could see she’d clothed herself in respectability—and money. Her conservative costume with its narrow tailored skirt made Edge wonder how wearing it she’d managed to pedal her bicycle.

She wore her hair pulled into a severe bun dulling its molasses color and the way it framed her face made her nose look less like a button and more like a sharp point. She held her mouth in a prim straight line that disguised the delicate bow of the top of her lip and the surprising lower lip’s provocative fullness.

“You have information pertinent to this trial?” the judge asked and frowned over his glasses at her.

“Yes,” she stated firmly and Edge began to feel the noose around his neck loosen.

The judge pointed at Amos. “Do you have testimony, too?” he asked.

“If need be,” Amos answered.

“Sit. Then
if need be
, you’ll be handy.” The judge scowled and directed a chair be vacated for the Prescott foreman. After Amos sat down, the trial resumed and the judge waved away the rest of Hank Simpson’s testimony. “If we need to hear more, we’ll call you back. Stay close.” Then he motioned for River to come forward and take a seat.

On the way to the witness chair, she’d paused to say hello to more than a few people, and in every case, she received a smile and a pleased look at being noticed. Edge figured she was richer than he’d thought and well-connected, too.

But it was more than that. Miss Prescott, though a single female small in stature, exuded the confidence of a giant.

“State your name,” the clerk, who’d been relatively disinterested moments before, now came awake to swear her in.

“Miss River Prescott,” she answered.

“River,” the judge interrupted the clerk again and leaned over his desk to ask his own questions. “Are you still painting and selling those landscapes of yours?”

“Yes,” she answered primly.

“Mamie wants one of those willow tree pictures for over our fireplace.”

She nodded, smiled serenely and quoted him a cost that stunned Edge. In the same breath River added, “But of course, that’s the price my agent presents to northern Yankees. Bring Mamie for a visit and I’m sure we’ll find something that will suit.”

Edge was pretty sure he’d just witnessed a bribe.

Having negotiated for a picture during a murder trial and gotten what he wanted, Judge Stanley motioned the clerk to continue.

“Do you swear to tell the truth…?”

River’s diminutive stature in the big chair made her appear more child than woman, but her ramrod straight posture and air of authority erased any illusion of her being anything other than a competent witness.

“Well, what is it you have to say? Why you are you inserting yourself into these proceedings? Hank says it’s a clear cut case of murder and we have the man who’s guilty.”

“Nonsense.” With that one word, River blew the sheriff’s testimony into dust.

Moments before, Edge wouldn’t have bet on being alive to see the sun go down. That was before River picked up the
Bible
, swore to tell the truth, looked straight at the people in the courtroom and lied her ass off.

“Your prisoner could not possibly have murdered Emmett Price because on the day of the killing, Mr. Grayson was with me.” Miss Prescott gazed at those in the courtroom from eyes as green as willow leaves and delivered her testimony swearing with conviction to a truth that just wasn’t so.

Well damn.
Emmett had been killed Saturday when Edge had been nowhere near River or the Prescott ranch. In fact, he’d made a trip to the red light district in Paris to buy some French letters. River said no babies and though he wanted a whole passel, he figured they’d work that out over time.

”River, are you certain you have the correct day?” The old lawyer serving as the county’s attorney in the case interrupted her testimony.

“Yes, I am. I have reason to remember it.”

If Edge had doubts about Miss Prescott’s ability to hold her own, his worries ended. She smiled benignly at the attorney and told the biggest lie of all. “It was the day Mr. Grayson and I became affianced.”

“What?” Together the prosecutor and the judge asked, looking in shock from Edge to the witness.

“Why didn’t you say you were engaged to River Prescott?” The judge glared at Edge in consternation. He decided to lie on the side of chivalry.

“I preferred to keep my intended shielded from the sordid details. Besides, since I didn’t kill anyone on Saturday, I knew you’d find me innocent of the crime.” It was a hell of a crime, too, since Emmett had died from a shotgun blast to the back of his head.

Judge Stanley seemed to have very little interest in anything Edge had to say. River on the other hand, he subjected to an inquisition, interrupting the prosecuting attorney to insert his own question whenever he thought of something. Evidently, the judge was willing to put the acquisition of an expensive landscape in jeopardy to revisit a former grievance.

“River, half the men in this county traipsed out to your place trying to get you to pay attention to them. What caused you to take up with this man?”

“Mr. Grayson is my neighbor and we met when he began repairing the board fence between our properties. He agreed to allow me to sketch him working. From there, our acquaintance blossomed into more. My friends of course were privy to the relationship.” She nodded at the back of the room where Edge recognized the Isaca store clerk sitting next to another woman. Both women nodded their heads in unison.

Miss Prescott then opened her satchel pulling out a stack of paper and continued her testimony as if her claim to be engaged to him was yesterday’s news.

“I’ve been sketching Mr. Grayson, using him as my model.” She handed the pictures to the attorney. “As you can see, each scene is dated.”

“Let me see what she’s got there,” the judge demanded, holding out his hand for the pictures. His expression was sour as though he’d been sucking on a bitter persimmon. He looked at the drawing in his hand, at Edge, and then back at River.

“My nephew spent time courting you and you told him you weren’t going to marry. If you’ve changed your mind, you need to consider the men from here and not take-up with strangers.”

Edge felt the noose begin to tighten again. It seemed possible the judge might want to eliminate his nephew’s competition.

“River.” The prosecuting attorney, evidently currying favor with the judge, leaned close to the witness chair. “Do you understand that this man you’re claiming to be engaged to is a known killer? Wouldn’t a better matrimonial choice be a local boy?”

“I’m claiming nothing. I’m stating a fact. I’m engaged to Edge Grayson and I know he didn’t kill Emmett Price. That’s the only issue at hand for this court to consider,” River stated tartly.

Someone in the back of the room hooted and the prosecutor’s ears turned a bright red. Edge felt the tide of favor slide back in his direction. “Furthermore, regarding Mr. Grayson’s reputation, yes, I am aware.”

“And that doesn’t concern you? You don’t think the citizens of this county should take umbrage when a violent man moves here? Surely you don’t think it’s a coincidence that a murder has taken place since his arrival; the first I might add that we’ve had in five years.” The lawyer’s voice swelled with dramatic outrage, as he swept the room with his glance.

“I stopped at the undertaker’s and looked at the body before I came here. Had I been informed of the deed, I certainly would have come forward sooner. Sheriff Simpson seems to have hurried the case.”