Truth Be Told (14 page)

A
melia bent over the jumbled stack of papers on her father's desk and rubbed her eyes, hoping the action would bring the printed words back into focus. Over the past week, she had expanded her search in her quest to learn more about Great Western, poring over every issue of the
Gazette
since the company started doing business in Granite Springs nearly a year ago.

So far she had learned that Owen Merrick came from the Washington, D.C. area, he'd arrived with a substantial amount of cash to finance the company's initial operations, and he seemed to be held in high regard by his acquaintances in the East—points worth noting, but nothing that helped move her investigation forward.

If only Ben had agreed to help her! She heaved a sigh. Another week had come and gone without making any headway. Another issue of the
Gazette
would go to press tomorrow without the big story she hoped for.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall facing the desk told her it was after three o'clock. She stretched wearily, trying to
straighten the kink in her neck. Had she really wasted the entire afternoon chasing down a rabbit trail?

And where was Homer? He'd volunteered to go out in search of news to fill the front page—“just in case nothing pans out for you here.” Intent in her search, she'd let him go without making any objection. But that had been hours ago.

She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of saddling him with news gathering along with his regular chores. The first day she arrived, he had looked almost this harried, trying to run the paper on his own and look after her father, as well. Her heart had gone out to him then, yet here she was, putting him back in a similar predicament.

But she had to find out what was going on with Great Western. Her father's words on the night of her arrival were permanently etched in her memory. He had seemed so certain that something was amiss with the company, something even more nefarious than his articles on hydraulic mining brought to light. If his suspicions were correct, she had a duty as a journalist to uncover it.

She looked at the notes she had jotted down, then tossed them back onto the desk with a frustrated moan. The answer—or at least a lead—had to be there. She just wasn't seeing it.

Shoving her chair away from the desk, she rose and started to pace the office. Something was wrong at Great Western. She felt it in her bones. Why else would her father's articles have upset Owen Merrick so much? After reading through them numerous times, she could see how her father's words might have stepped on Merrick's toes, but they were hardly enough to bring about a demand for a retraction. Or an offer to buy out the paper, for goodness' sake!

Thinking of Merrick, her steps slowed as she considered the cryptic comment he made the week before, when he warned her against digging deeper. What had he meant by that? Had it only been an angry man's way of lashing out because he didn't like being cast in an unflattering light? Or was it intended as a serious attempt to shut down the truth?

A dull throb took up a steady beat in her temples, and she pressed her fingertips against her forehead to ease the pounding. Trying to find the answers she needed was like working a jigsaw puzzle without any idea what the completed picture was supposed to look like.

If only her father's notes had been clearer! Such haphazard documentation was totally unlike him. Again, she wondered if his illness might be the cause of that lapse. When she was younger, he had been a model of organization, able to put his finger on the facts he needed at a moment's notice.

And once he'd started on a story, he never gave up until he was finished. Amelia chuckled, remembering how Homer had once compared him to a rat terrier, saying that once her father got his teeth in something, it was impossible to make him let go.

Homer had been right. How often had she heard her father tell her to chase a story down and keep digging until it yielded all its secrets?

“I know that's what I need to do, Papa.” She whispered the words aloud, as though he were in the room with her. “But how am I supposed to dig when I have no idea where to look? I wish you were here so you could make sense of this for me.”

What more could she do? Besides going over the pages in her father's files, she had talked to Martin Gilbreth the day he asked Ben to accompany him to the Great Western office.
In response to her questions, Martin had affirmed he sold his property to Great Western of his own free will. In addition, he had given her the names of several others who had sold to Great Western in recent weeks. Those she was able to contact said much the same thing, leaving her back where she had begun.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. For the moment, she had done everything she could think of. Unless some new inspiration struck, she needed to come up with some inside information. And given Ben's unwillingness to help in that department, she had no idea how to go about obtaining that.

The street door opened, and Homer walked in. While he hung up his hat and jacket, Amelia hurried to greet him, trying to appear more cheerful than she felt.

“You've been gone quite a while. Does that mean you managed to turn up something interesting for the front page?”

He pulled a notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “I heard talk about a man named Copeland going missing down in Prescott. Sounds like there's been quite a stir, since he's on the board of directors for the Peavine. I don't have all the particulars, but we can make mention of it in tomorrow's issue and add more in the next.”

He consulted the notebook again. “There are a few snippets here and there we can use to fill space. And I spent quite a bit of time talking to Walt Ingram and Emmett Kingston about the upcoming concert at the Odd Fellows Hall. They gave me plenty of details, so we can use that for the lead story.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “Unless you turned up something on that piece you've been working on.”

Stung by the reminder that Homer's efforts had produced more than her own obsessive research, Amelia looked away.
“I don't have a thing. Not one single thing to show for all the time I've wasted on Great Western. I'm sorry I've let myself get so focused on this. You shouldn't be out trying to do my job as well as your own.”

He gave her a clumsy pat on the shoulder. “Don't you worry about it. Your daddy was on to something—you and I both know that. It'll come to light one of these days. Just wait and see. Then maybe we can send that whole brood of vipers packing.”

Amelia swung around to face him. “You can't lump everyone who works at Great Western into that category. Not until we find out what's going on and who all is involved.”

Homer propped his notebook up on the type cabinet and gave his notes a quick glance. “You're talking about that young Stone fellow, aren't you?” Picking up a composing stick, he started setting type in place, putting the story together while he worked rather than taking the time to write out a first draft on paper.

Amelia pulled her printer's apron from its hook on the wall and tied it around her waist. If Homer was willing to do her work for her, the least she could do was help him in return. “What are you using for a headline?”

“How about ‘Fort Whipple Band Coming to Town'? It's simple and to the point.”

She nodded and watched him reach for a set of larger type. “Ben isn't like Owen Merrick. I simply can't believe he's involved in any wrongdoing.”

Homer grunted. “I know he's handsome enough to turn a young girl's head, but he's still part of Great Western, and I don't trust a one of them.”

“But look at the way he helped me with the buggy, and how willing he was to help when you got hit on the head.”

He ran his fingers through his shock of white hair as if reliving the memory of that night. “I'll allow he was helpful enough. But maybe he was just trying to worm his way into our good graces.”

At that moment, the bell over the street door jangled, and the object of their conversation walked inside. Amelia couldn't hold back the grin that spread across her face.

The warmth of Ben's smile chased away her weariness. “I had to take something down to the station, and I thought I'd stop in to see you while I was out. It looks like you're both busy.”

“We are, since the paper goes out tomorrow. It always gets hectic at this point in the week.”

He glanced from Amelia to Homer to the press. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well . . .” Amelia looked around, ignoring Homer's muffled grunt. “The inside pages are set and ready to print. You could help me with that while Homer finishes setting the lead story.”

Ben grinned. “Just tell me what to do.”

She showed him how to fit the paper into place while she rolled the brayer across the marble stone and inked the set type. With Ben's help, she lowered the tympan holding the paper onto the bed of the press and motioned for him to turn the crank, rolling the bed forward.

“Like this?” he asked.

Amelia nodded and reached out to pull the lever that pressed the paper against the inked type.

She smiled up at him while she peeled the printed page from
the tympan and turned to hang it up to dry on one of the clotheslines stretched along the rafters around the perimeter of the ceiling. “That's the first one. From here on out, I'll handle the inking, and you're in charge of operating the press. We only have two hundred and forty-nine more to go.”

With a laugh, Ben set the next page in place, and they repeated the process until Amelia called a stop.

Placing her hands against the small of her back, she twisted from side to side. “I don't know about you, but I could use a break.”

“You're the boss.” Ben's playful tone made her laugh as he leaned back against the counter.

Homer set his composing stick down and started for the kitchen. “I need a drink of water. I'll bring some back for the three of us.”

Amelia couldn't help but smile at the way he'd accepted Ben's presence. As soon as he left the room, she moved closer to Ben. Keeping her voice just above a whisper, she asked, “Have you learned anything about the company's plans?”

His mouth tightened, making her regret her impulsive question. “I told you I wasn't going to spy on my employer.” When her shoulders sagged, his expression softened, and he added, “But if I happen to hear of anything that might help, I'll let you know.”

Homer returned with three glasses of water, and they drank their fill before returning to work. When the last of the inside pages had been hung up to dry, Amelia surveyed all they had accomplished with a sense of satisfaction.

“I don't know how to thank you for your help. You've lightened my load considerably.”

“You don't have to thank me,” Ben told her. Then his eyes twinkled. “But if you really feel you need to pay me back, how about having dinner with me at the Cosmopolitan this evening?”

“I wish I could.” When she saw the light in his eyes fade, she hastened to add, “I hate to say no, but we still have a lot to do to get the paper ready to go out tomorrow.”

He accepted her explanation with good grace. “Another time, perhaps. I was glad to help, by the way. There's a lot more that goes into producing a paper than I realized.”

After he left, Amelia turned to Homer. “So what do you think now? He only stopped by to say hello. He certainly didn't need to spend all that time helping out. Seems to me like that kind of effort goes above and beyond the call for someone trying to worm his way into our good graces.”

“It does, at that.” Homer finished tightening the type for the front page into the chase, ready to be printed the next morning. “To all appearances, the man's an upstanding fellow.”

Buoyed by his words, Amelia smiled as she reached for a rag to clean her hands. As she leaned past Homer, she could barely hear the words he muttered under his breath. “But I've been fooled before.”

H
ere's the paper, Mr. Stone. Right off the press.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

The young newsboy bounced on his toes. “Anything going on around here that would make a good story for Miss Amelia?”

Ben shook his head. “Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. It's pretty much business as usual.”

Jimmy screwed his mouth to one side. “And if you knew anything, you'd probably tell her yourself. You've been spending an awful lot of time around the newspaper office.”

Ben chuckled as he pulled a dime from his pocket and tossed it up. The young newsboy snatched it out of the air with a grin. With a quick wave, he scooted out the door of the Great Western building and turned left onto First Street.

Ben tucked the newspaper under his arm and watched Jimmy scamper away on his appointed rounds. So the latest issue of the
Gazette
was on the street. The weekly pressure would be off Amelia's shoulders, for the moment at least. She had been too swamped with work to go out with him the night before, but she just might be free this evening. Tossing the paper onto
his desk, he slipped into his jacket, reached for his hat, and sauntered out the door.

He could see Jimmy popping in and out of doorways farther along First Street. That must mean Homer would be out making his deliveries, too. Ben grinned at the knowledge that he'd be able to talk to Amelia without the distraction of Homer's disapproving gaze.

He wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the older man's distrust, but perhaps that dislike wasn't personal. Before Amelia arrived in Granite Springs, he hadn't had much interaction with Homer Crenshaw or Andrew Wagner. But neither of them made any secret of their antagonism toward Great Western. In Homer's mind, that apparently extended to all the company's employees.

At least Amelia didn't seem to share that distaste where Ben was concerned. His spirits rose, remembering the way she invited him to pitch in and help the night before. To his surprise, he'd enjoyed the activity almost as much as spending time with Amelia. After months of doing little but paperwork, it felt good to do something more physical.

Making his way to the
Gazette
office, he swung the door open and stepped inside. Amelia looked up from sweeping the floor when the bell jangled. Without hesitation, she propped the broom against the wall and stepped forward to greet him with a pleased expression. “What brings you here this afternoon?”

Ben swept off his hat and turned the brim between his fingers. “I hope I'm not interrupting. I saw Jimmy out delivering papers, so I thought this might be a good time to talk to you.”

“It's perfect. The evening after the paper goes out is one of the few moments I have all week long to catch my breath.”

So his timing had been right, as he'd hoped. “In that case, I'd like to extend another invitation to have dinner with me.”

Her eyes flew open wide. “Right now?” She put her hand up as if to straighten her tangled brown curls, but stopped when she noticed the ink stains on her hand. She wrinkled her nose and thrust her hands behind her back.

Ben couldn't help but grin. “I was thinking more along the lines of later this evening. Would six o'clock work for you?”

She gave him a radiant smile that seemed to light up every corner of the printing office. “That would be perfect. It will give me time to put things in order and make myself presentable.” Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled as she locked her gaze on his. “Thank you. I'm looking forward to it.”

“So am I. I have a little work to finish up, and I'll meet you here at six.”

Back at the office, Ben looked at the mound of papers on his desk. Lately, he'd been so lost in thoughts of Amelia, he had neglected to keep things organized as well as he usually did. This would be a good time to rectify that.

He busied himself with sorting papers into neat piles, ready to be slipped into the appropriate folders. Pulling open one of the drawers in the first file cabinet, he stopped and stared down at the documents in his hand.

Was this the work he wanted to do for the rest of his life? After the satisfaction he'd felt in helping Amelia and Homer at the
Gazette
, shuffling papers suddenly seemed tame in comparison. Thinking back to the visit Owen Merrick made to his father's home early in the spring, Ben remembered his
excitement at being offered a position with Great Western. At the time, it seemed like an opportunity full of promise. What had changed in only a few short months?

Sensing his eagerness to relocate—if not the reason behind it—his father had encouraged Ben to take the job. Owen Merrick had been Paul Stone's trusted friend ever since saving his life just after the Battle of Spotsylvania Court House. He knew his former comrade-in-arms would take good care of his son.

Coupled with Ben's own desire to leave, his father's urging had been all it took for him to jump at the opportunity presented and accompany Merrick to Arizona.

It had proven to be a good move. He'd been happy in Granite Springs . . . hadn't he? Negotiating deals that benefited both the company's investors and the people who sold land to Great Western satisfied his desire to be of service. To all appearances, Merrick seemed sufficiently pleased with his work and showed more trust in him all the time. After all, he'd handpicked Ben for the task of winning Amelia's favor. That had to count for something. As long as he continued to measure up to his employer's standards, a bright future with Great Western was his for the taking—if he wanted it.

He glanced around the office, noting that his co-workers showed signs of getting ready to leave for the day. A thought struck him—the building would soon be empty. If he lagged behind after everyone else had gone, it would give him a chance to do a little looking around and see if he could come up with the answers Amelia sought.

Eddie Franklin walked out the front door first, followed by Norman Dickerson. Josh Brady lingered after the others had gone, but eventually he left, too, giving Ben a wave of his hand.

Now's the time.
An opportunity like this might not present itself again. Rising from his desk, he crossed the floor to the set of file cabinets behind Josh's desk, where the company ledger was kept. He halted in midstride when he heard low voices coming from behind the closed door to Merrick's office.

He stood for a moment, like a small boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, then started to retrace his steps. He'd gotten halfway back to his desk when the door to Merrick's office swung wide, and his employer stepped into the room. “Josh?” he called.

Ben cleared his throat. “I'm afraid he's gone for the day, sir. He left just a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, Ben!” Merrick's face brightened. “I didn't realize you were here. Come in, my boy, there's someone I'd like you to talk to.”

Ben straightened his collar and followed his boss to the inner office, where a tall, distinguished-looking man stood beside Merrick's desk.

Merrick swept his arm toward the visitor. “I believe you know Thaddeus Grayson.”

It took a moment for the name to register, then Ben stepped forward and extended his hand. “Certainly. I met you once at a function in Washington—at Senator Drake's home, if I remember correctly.”

Merrick stepped over to join them as the two shook hands. “I was sure your father and Thaddeus moved in the same circles. Thaddeus is the head of the Colorado Mining & Exploration Company in Denver . . . and the owner of Great Western, as well.”

Ben struggled to keep his surprise from showing. “What a pleasant surprise, sir. I didn't realize we had this connection.”

Both Merrick and Grayson chuckled. “You have more than that in common, Ben,” Merrick said.

Ben shot a quizzical look at the smiling men.

Grayson rocked back on his heels and tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his pearl-gray vest. A jovial smile lit his face. “I hear you've been keeping company with my stepdaughter.”

“Your stepdaughter?” Ben echoed. Who could he mean? There was only one woman he'd been spending time with in Granite Springs. But surely . . . “You mean Miss Wagner? Amelia?”

A deep laugh rumbled from Grayson's broad chest. “That's right. I recently married my childhood sweetheart, who happens to be Amelia's mother.”

Ben's jaw sagged. Amelia didn't talk much about her family in Denver, and she had never mentioned a stepfather. “Does she know you're in town?”

“Not yet. I just arrived on the afternoon train, and I came straight to the office to discuss certain matters with Owen.”

Ben's mind whirled, trying to assimilate this new information. He realized Merrick was speaking and pulled himself back to the moment. “Sir?”

“I was just telling Thaddeus you've been spending quite a bit of time with Miss Wagner. Isn't that right?”

Ben nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. “That's correct. As a matter of fact, we're having dinner together at the Cosmopolitan this evening.”

A spark glinted in Grayson's penetrating eyes. “Why don't I join you? I need to speak to Amelia about some family matters.”

Ben floundered for a reply. “I . . . I suppose that would be all right. I planned to call for her at six.”

Grayson consulted the clock on the office wall and nodded. “Perfect. That will give me enough time to get settled in my room at the hotel before meeting you at the restaurant.”

Ben swallowed and nodded, hoping to mask his dismay at having his plans for the evening rearranged. “I'll go back to the newspaper now and let her know you'll be dining with us.”

Grayson's eyes crinkled at the corners. “No, my boy. Why don't we keep that to ourselves? I'd rather let it be a surprise.”

Once the door closed behind Ben, Merrick turned to Thaddeus Grayson. The affable expression had vanished from the other man's face, and he stared after Ben with a speculative gleam in his eye.

“So this is the young fellow you have working to win Amelia's trust?”

“That's right.” Merrick's clipped words matched the other's tone. “And he's doing a fine job. There hasn't been a hint of negative comment in the
Gazette
since I gave him the assignment.”

“And you think that's evidence that everything has been taken care of?” Grayson's lip curled. “Our plans aren't secure as long as that paper is in operation.”

Merrick bristled. “Her father is dead. She's asked a few questions—but without any solid answers, where can she go? A budding friendship with young Stone should help allay any suspicions she may still harbor. In fact, I haven't given up hope of getting a retraction, if things develop between the two of them the way I expect they will.”

Grayson shook his head and gave him a dour look. “You don't know the girl like I do. She has every bit of her father's tenacity. If she comes across any incriminating information he may have left behind, this whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

He turned and fixed Merrick with a menacing glare. “It's taking too long. We need to have that newspaper shut down.”

“You've always been impatient. I prefer taking a more subtle approach.”

Grayson's eyes took on the color of cold steel. “I am a man of action. I like to have things cut and dried.”

Merrick willed himself not to take a step backward. He didn't consider himself a coward—far from it! But he'd heard more than one story about people who had crossed Grayson in the past. He cleared his throat and forced a stern note into his voice. “Be careful. You know what the West is like. If you harm a woman, you'd be signing your own death warrant.”

Warmth returned to Grayson's eyes, and one corner of his lips curled upward. “Who's talking about hurting her? There's more than one way to neutralize a problem.”