Truth Be Told (16 page)

“Of course.” He jumped to his feet. “Let me escort you home.” He looked around as if trying to catch the waitress's attention.

Grayson waved his hand. “No, no. I'll take care of the bill. The important thing is to make sure Amelia is taken care of.”

Ben hovered over her on their walk back to the
Gazette
in a way that reminded her of a concerned mother hen. “I'm sorry you aren't feeling well. Was something wrong with your meal?”

Amelia tucked her hands close to her sides. “No. It was the company.”

Ben's eyes widened, and his face went slack. “Are you talking about your stepfather, or me, or both? I already picked up on the fact that your stepfather's surprise wasn't a welcome one.”

“I shouldn't blame you for that. You couldn't have known.”

“Known what?”

Amelia glanced up at him, then looked away. “My mother and Thaddeus Grayson have known each other for years—most of their lives, in fact. He began to squire her around when he moved back to Denver, about a year ago.”

“But your father—” Ben broke off and looked as if he wished he could take the words back.

“That's right.” Amelia sighed. “They were seeing each other while my father was still alive, long before he took ill. And they didn't waste any time jumping into marriage after his death.”

Her voice shook, and she pressed her lips together until she regained control. “But I wouldn't be in favor of this marriage, no matter how long they waited. Thaddeus Grayson is not a man I admire.”

When they reached the
Gazette,
Ben paused before opening the door. Amelia searched his face, wishing she knew what lay behind his solemn gaze. “This ‘surprise,'” she said, “was it your idea or his?”

Ben started and shook his head emphatically. “Are you asking if I invited you to dinner tonight for the purpose of meeting him? The answer is no. I only met Grayson once, years ago. And that was just in passing. I had no idea he was in town until after I talked to you this afternoon. And I certainly never dreamed there was any connection between the two of you before he told me today.”

He raised one hand and trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I'm so sorry our evening was ruined. This wasn't the way I planned for it to go.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, knowing she would have enjoyed the contact more had her emotions not been in such turmoil.

“Perhaps another time?”

She opened her eyes to study his face again. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I'd like that. Thank you for seeing me home. Good night.”

Homer looked up from his book when she walked in and closed the door behind her. His bushy eyebrows shot up. “Back so soon?”

Amelia set her reticule on the counter. “Things didn't go quite the way I expected.”

Homer stood and laid the book on the floor next to the press. His face took on a stormy hue. “Did that scoundrel do
something out of line? I'd be happy to pay him a visit and give him a piece of my mind—or more, if he needs it.”

Despite her taut nerves, a laugh gurgled from Amelia's throat. She walked over to give her protector a hug, feeling her tension begin to slip away. “Nothing like that. Ben was a perfect gentleman. It's just that . . .” Her shoulders tightened. “My stepfather is in town.” Reaching for her reticule, she pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and scrubbed at the spot on her cheek where Grayson had kissed her.

Homer pushed his chair toward her. “You need to sit down?”

She shook her head. “No, I could hardly hold myself up when I first saw him, but I'm fine now.” In fact, she felt suddenly energized. Tossing her handkerchief beside the reticule, she strode to the opposite end of the printing office, then pivoted and retraced her steps.

Homer watched her, tilting his head to one side. “I know you're unhappy that he married your mother, but is there something else? Did he say something that upset you?”

His question jolted her to a halt. She had known Homer nearly all her life and trusted him more than anyone but her father. The words she couldn't bring herself to say to Ben came spilling out. “It isn't so much what he says as the way he says it. And the way he looks at me.”

She stopped short. Not even to Homer could she explain how she felt when Thaddeus Grayson's gaze raked across her. Like this evening, when he made a show of complimenting her appearance, eyeing her as though looking through her dress, not at it.

Homer scratched his head. “I thought it was your mother he was focused on.”

“Oh, he's interested in her, all right—her money and status, anyway.”

When she trailed off, Homer set his lips in a thin line. “I'm guessing there's more to this than you're telling me.”

“Let's just say he isn't an honorable man and leave it at that. He certainly knows how to squire my mother around and make her feel special, but I can't believe their marriage vows will mean anything to him. He had no qualms about pursuing my mother while she was married to my father. Now that she's married to him, I have no illusions it will keep him from dallying with other women.”

Or away from me.
Nothing, not even his supposedly single-minded pursuit of her mother, had stopped his unwelcome advances before. And just like tonight, they had often been made in full view of other people, without anyone but her aware of what was happening.

“Where did you see him? Did you run across him while you were on your way to the restaurant?”

“No.” She uttered a shaky laugh. “He'd already spoken to Ben. He was waiting for us there.”

“What!” Homer's voice cracked. “What was that young pup thinking, to set that up without telling you?”

“He had no way of knowing.” Speaking the words aloud made her more convinced than ever that it was true. She knew her stepfather's duplicity all too well, but everything she had seen of Ben spoke of him being the man of honor she believed him to be.

Homer shook his head. “I hope you're right. But as for this Grayson fellow . . .” He marched over to snap the lock in place on the front door. “I want you to keep this place locked
up tight as a drum when I'm not around. Do you hear? And that won't be very often. I plan to stick around here like a burr. That stepfather of yours isn't going to bother you, as long as I'm here.”

Amelia gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek, then made her way up the stairs to her room. Unbuttoning the light-blue bodice and skirt she'd donned with such anticipation, she hung them in her wardrobe. Then she pulled her nightgown from its hook and held it to her chest.

Homer had meant every word of that promise. And she felt sure Ben would never allow anyone to take advantage of her.

But neither of them would be able to stay at her side every moment. And from the look in Thaddeus Grayson's eyes tonight, she knew he would somehow find a way to get her alone.

A
melia woke up the next morning with a renewed sense of purpose. The shock of seeing her stepfather, coupled with fear and disgust stirred up by memories of their earlier encounters, had so paralyzed her thinking, she hadn't been able to look beyond her immediate reaction and consider the bigger picture.

While she dressed, she reviewed the ideas that teased at her mind throughout the night. Her stepfather implied a long-standing relationship with Owen Merrick. He obviously trusted the man, to put him in charge of his operations in Granite Springs. Knowing of Thaddeus Grayson's connection to Great Western, she felt more convinced than ever that her father had been on to something.

Picking up her hairbrush, she spent the next few minutes trying to smooth her stubborn dark curls into some semblance of order.
How could I have
doubted Papa?
Sick or not, he had an unerring instinct for a newsworthy story.

She trotted down the stairs to the small kitchen and set a kettle of water on the stove to heat water for a cup of tea. A note propped near the stove caught her eye:

Heading out to see what news I can turn up. Keep the doors locked until I get back.

A twinge of impatience shot through her.
I'm not a little child
.
The spark of irritation faded almost as quickly as it arose, however, and a smile curved her lips at the reminder that Homer was only looking out for her safety. Hearing the teakettle whistle, she poured boiling water over the tea leaves and started back to the office with her cup and saucer in her hand. A knock at the alley door interrupted her.

Amelia frowned and set the cup and saucer down on the sideboard next to the stove.
Who could that be?
Homer had his own key, so he wouldn't bother to knock. They weren't expecting any deliveries. There was no reason anyone should be coming to the rear of the newspaper office.

Treading softly, she crept to the door and pressed her ear against the planks. Had her stepfather seen Homer leave and decided to pay her a visit?

Another knock, a louder one this time, rattled the door. Amelia squeaked and jumped back as though she'd been stung by a bee.

“Hello! Is anybody there?”

Her knees sagged in relief at the sound of a woman's voice. Hastening to the door, she turned the lock and swung it open. Her eyes widened when she recognized Millie Brown, proprietress of Granite Springs's most notorious brothel.

“I need to come in.” When Amelia didn't respond immediately, the other woman narrowed her eyes. “We need to talk, and I don't think you want folks to see me standing outside your door.”

Amelia stepped aside to let the brassy blond woman sashay
past her. She studied her unexpected visitor while she busied herself with the lock. What on earth was Millie Brown doing at the
Gazette
? She couldn't think of a single reason the woman would want to speak with her. Unless . . .

Her father had written a number of editorials about the plight of fallen women who found themselves reduced to a life of sin. Perhaps his words had touched Millie's heart, and she'd come seeking help.

Amelia stretched out her hand. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm here to talk business.”

Amelia gaped at the brusque words. “Excuse me?”

Millie planted one hand on her ample hip and regarded Amelia with a look of impatience. “Business.” She enunciated the word with care. “Your father is dead, and since you're his heir, that means I need to speak to you.”

“My father? But what—”

“Your father, my partner. He owned half my business.” Millie's painted lips curled into a scornful smile. “I take it he didn't tell you?”

Amelia tried to make sense of the other woman's statement while the room seemed to spin around her. “You're saying . . . No, that isn't possible!”

Without bothering to respond to her outburst, Millie continued. “I'm not surprised. Most men don't want their womenfolk to know everything they've been up to. Your father fronted the money when I started the business. It's worked out well for both of us, but now that he's gone, I'd like to own it outright. I figure his share is worth two thousand dollars.”

Opening her black satin reticule, she drew out a wad of bills and thrust it toward Amelia. “Here, it's yours.”

Amelia stared at the tainted money in the woman's hand. “Stop! I don't believe you. My father wouldn't have been involved in anything like that.”

Millie shrugged. “I thought you might not take my word for it, so I brought proof.” Tucking the cash back into her reticule, she pulled forth a folded sheet of paper and held it out. “Read this.”

Feeling as though she had just walked into a nightmare, Amelia took the paper and spread it open. She scanned the page quickly, then went back over it again, more carefully this time. The document appeared to be a deed to the building that housed Millie Brown's establishment, with Millie and Andrew Wagner listed as co-owners of the business. Tears stung her eyes when she saw the familiar signature at the bottom of the page:
A. J. Wagner.

No, it can'
t be true.
In a daze, she folded the paper again and pressed it between her hands. Millie reached over and snatched it from her fingers.

“I'll have that back, if you please. You don't need both copies.”

“Both?”

“Your father had his own. There's no reason for you to have mine, as well.”

Amelia ran her fingers through her curls, trying to sweep the web of confusion from her mind. “There has to be some mistake.”

Millie Brown lifted one shoulder. “Don't take my word for it, go look for yourself. He kept it in the bottom drawer of one of those file cabinets of his. I saw him put it there with my own eyes.”

Amelia stared at her for a long moment, and then she pushed her way past the other woman and hurried to her office. Millie sauntered along in her wake.

“Which cabinet?” Amelia demanded. “Show me.”

“That one.” Millie pointed to the cabinet on the far right. “Bottom drawer.”

Dropping to her knees, Amelia yanked the drawer open. She had looked through every cabinet when she started her research on Great Western, but this drawer contained only three files, none of them pertaining to the company. She'd seen no reason to explore them in detail.

Reaching into the drawer, she pulled the files into her lap. The first one contained a handful of receipts, nothing more. The second held a number of proofs from old print jobs. The third . . . Amelia flipped open the cover and froze when she saw only one paper inside—a document identical to the one Millie had shown her.

She picked it up and stood, spilling the contents of the other folders onto the floor. Her lips quivered as she stared at the incriminating words above her father's signature, and then she let the page slip from her fingers and flutter to the floor. “This can't be right,” she whispered. “I simply can't believe it.”

Millie's smile reminded her of a purring cat. “I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but your daddy was a man like all the rest. Believe it or not, it's true.” Looping the reticule higher on her arm, she turned toward the door. “Take a little time to let it sink in, and send me word when you're ready to make a deal. Don't worry, it'll stay our little secret.”

Her footsteps thudded across the wooden floor, and Amelia
heard the alley door open and close. She managed to get to the door and turn the lock, then she slumped back against the wall.

Her father, a silent partner in that abominable trade? Ridiculous! Yet she had seen the document Millie Brown produced and found a matching one tucked away in her father's files, both bearing his signature.

Pushing herself upright, she staggered back to the kitchen and poured out her cup of tea, now stone-cold. There was no point in warming it up again. She wouldn't be able to keep it down even if she did manage to swallow it.

She made her way to her office in a haze and sank into the chair behind the desk. Her father's chair.

A low moan escaped her lips as she trailed her fingers along the armrests, following the grooves his own hands had imprinted there over the years. How well did she know her father after all? She would have staked all she held dear on his unwavering integrity, but Millie Brown's revelation shattered everything she thought she knew about him into a million pieces. Cradling her head in her hands, she let the tears flow.

“The truth shall make you free.”
The familiar words echoed in her mind.

Sobs shook her shoulders. Free? How was that possible? If what that odious woman said was true, then everything she'd believed about her father was based on lies. How could she call it freedom when she felt like she'd been weighed down by chains of shame and doubt?

“Seek the truth
.
”
The thought filtered into her mind.

Amelia lifted her head at the reminder of her father's familiar maxim. She had lived by that creed all her life, but today's truth wasn't one she wanted to pursue. She had seen
the evidence of Millie Brown's claim, held the incriminating paper in her own hands.

What truth
did
she want to follow? If her father wasn't the man she'd always thought him to be, at least she could cling to the knowledge that she was a child of God, whose sins had been washed away. All her sins, big and little. And what a relief that was!

“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive
our debtors.”

The words from the Lord's Prayer struck her like a blow. Could she forgive her father for not being the person she believed him to be? More than once, she'd heard Pastor Edmonds say forgiveness didn't imply approval for what a person had done. It was more like the cancellation of a debt, making the choice not to harbor ill feelings for being wronged.

She might never know all the facts about her father's involvement in this matter. But she knew beyond a doubt that he had loved her. And she knew he had unerring instincts for discovering a news story worth pursuing. That much, she could believe without question.

And the pursuit of truth still mattered now, just as much as it ever had. She swept her fingers across her cheeks to wipe away the tears. She wouldn't let Millie Brown's stunning announcement distract her from her mission: to learn the truth about Great Western.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened in her chair and tried to concentrate. Her father had voiced concern over the company's plans to use hydraulic mining, thereby defacing the area around Granite Springs. But he'd also implied something else was going on, something he hadn't been able to uncover before his death.

She drummed an impatient tattoo on the desktop with her fingertips, forcing her thoughts in order. Hydraulic mining required quantities of heavy equipment, shipped in by train. What if other shipments had arrived, as well, something that might give her a clue as to some other direction the company might take?

Her lips curved. If that were the case, there was one person who would be sure to know all about it.

Reaching for her notebook, she rose from the desk. Her eyes lit on the deed, lying atop the other papers she had scattered on the floor earlier. With a sigh, she knelt to scoop up the papers and return them to their respective folders.

Picking up the deed with her father's signature, she wavered for a moment, then slipped it back into its hiding place. At some point, she would have to decide what to do with the bombshell of information Millie Brown had dropped into her lap. But she could only deal with one crisis at a time.