Truth Be Told (17 page)

P
ausing only long enough to wash the traces of tears from her face, she scribbled a note to Homer and hurried to the station. When she spotted Thomas Rafferty stacking crates at the edge of the platform, she quickened her pace and called out to him.

“Good morning! Could I interrupt your work for a moment?”

The station agent straightened slowly and pressed his hands against his lower back. “I can always make time for you. It's a welcome respite after pushing these heavy crates around. What can I do for you?”

Amelia glanced around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “I'm interested in learning about any large shipments that may have arrived for Owen Merrick—or Great Western.”

Rafferty rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and frowned. “They've had quite a bit come in over the past few weeks. A car full of pipe and hoses and nozzles showed up about ten days ago. I'm not quite sure what that's all about.”

Amelia nodded. “That would be some of the equipment
they need for hydraulic mining,” she told him, drawing on the information she had gleaned from her father's notes.

Thomas Rafferty squinted. “But I thought that was outlawed some ten years back, after they saw all the damage it did over in California.”

“It was, until the Caminetti Mining Bill passed. It's a viable option once again for mine owners operating on a big scale.”

Rafferty drew his head back. “I'm sorry to hear that.” He looked up at the hills around them and shook his head slowly. “I can't even picture what it would be like if the mountainside was scarred up, with nothing but bare rock where all those big trees are.”

Amelia took a breath and chose her words carefully. “They've bought up a lot of local land, and they can do whatever they want with it. As much as I hate thinking about that, my father seemed to feel they might be planning something even worse. Have you seen anything that might help give us a clue as to what it is?”

The station agent pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “I can't say that I have.” Replacing the cap on his head, he added with a determined look, “But you can bet I'll be keeping my eyes open.”

He grinned at her. “I suppose you'd like me to let you know if I spot something that might fit the bill?”

“I'd appreciate that very much.” Amelia laid her hand on his arm and leaned closer to him. “And if you don't mind, let's keep this just between us.”

Rafferty's grin broadened, and he lowered one eyelid in a conspiratorial wink. “You sounded just like your dad right then. And the answer is yes—I kept a confidence for him more than once, and I'll be glad to do the same for you.”

Amelia squeezed his arm in thanks and let him get back to his work. Walking along the edge of the platform, she eyed the bustling activity in town. The scene reminded her of the day she arrived. She had been standing in almost that same spot, waiting for her father to come meet her.

A pang of grief smote her when she recalled her bright anticipation for this visit and how differently things had turned out from what she'd expected.

She looked around, remembering the day she arrived in Granite Springs and the last moments of carefree normalcy before her world fell apart. She smiled when she recalled the cowboy who mistook her for an eastern tenderfoot, the gossiping matrons who moved away when they thought she'd overheard them, and that mischievous little boy careening along the street with his hoop.

Something about the women jarred her memory, and she frowned. She
had
overheard part of their conversation, even made a note of it as a possible story lead. Her frown deepened. What had they been saying?

Something about a foreclosure, she recalled. She intended to look into it further at the time, but her interest in the potential story had been pushed aside by the discovery of her father's illness.

Now the revived memory picked at her thoughts, refusing to leave her alone. What exactly had they talked about? She dug in her reticule and pulled out her notebook. Thumbing through the pages, she let out a small cry of triumph when she came across the entry she sought.

It wasn't much to go on, though. Merely a quick note about a foreclosure on Bart McCaffrey's property.

She tapped her finger against the penciled words. If memory served, one of the women chalked the foreclosure up to poor business sense. But could there be more to it than that?

Tucking her notebook away, she tightened the drawstring of her reticule and set off toward the bank. It might or might not lead to a newsworthy story, but it was worth checking out.

She walked along Railroad Street, then turned up Second. As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with a man striding along quickly in the opposite direction.

“Oh!” Amelia stumbled to a stop. She drew herself up when she recognized Owen Merrick. “Pardon me,” she said coolly, intending to sweep past him without further comment.

To her surprise, Merrick tipped his hat and smiled. “Good morning to you, Miss Wagner. Out looking for more rumors to spread so early in the day?”

She lifted her chin and glared at him. “If you're asking whether I'm going about my duties as a journalist, the answer is yes.”

“More of that digging we talked about earlier?” One corner of his mouth tilted in a sardonic smile. “Just remember what I said: You may not like what you turn up. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, you know.” With another tip of his hat, he turned on his heel and went on his way.

His words took her breath away as effectively as a blow to the stomach. Amelia's mouth fell open, and she struggled for air as she stared after his departing figure.

She had sensed a veiled threat in his previous warning to stop asking questions about Great Western, although she'd had no idea what he'd meant by it. This time his words filled her with dread.
He knows!

Her certainty grew as she recalled his mocking smile and the smug look in his eyes. Somehow Owen Merrick had learned about her father's dealings with Millie Brown. And he meant to use that against her if she continued to investigate Great Western.

Which meant there must be something he didn't want her to uncover.

She stood frozen like a statue for a few moments, as fear of exposure warred with her sense of duty. The revelation of her father's involvement with a local brothel would do irreparable damage to the reputation he had built. But allowing herself to be blackmailed would mean withholding truth that might be vital to the well-being of Granite Springs and its citizens.

That realization snapped her out of her stupor. A block later, she reached the bank at the corner of Sherman Street. Stepping through the door, she hovered inside the entrance long enough to catch her breath and let her eyes adjust to the relative dimness in contrast to the bright summer sunlight outdoors.

Through his open office door, she saw Hubert Murphy, the bank manager, working at his desk. Amelia shifted from one foot to the other and finally caught his eye.

He raised his hand in greeting. “Good morning, Miss Wagner.”

Amelia nodded to the teller as she walked past him to Murphy's office and stepped through the doorway. “I wonder if I could have a minute of your time.”

The bank manager spread his hands in welcome. “Of course. Come in and have a seat. Have you come to see me for a loan? Interested in purchasing some new equipment for the paper, perhaps?”

She smiled as she settled herself in the wooden visitor's chair. “No, Homer keeps that press of ours running along well enough to suit. I was just curious about something and hoped you could help me. What can you tell me about the McCaffrey foreclosure?”

Murphy raised his eyebrows and studied her closely. Looking down, he toyed with the inkwell on his desk for a moment, then appeared to make up his mind. “I hope you know I wouldn't discuss a foreclosure while it's in process, but since it's now public record, I suppose there's no harm in talking about it.

“That property had been in Bart McCaffrey's family for twenty years, but he hadn't done a thing to improve it. He received an offer on the place, which he turned down. Shortly after that, he took a notion to dam up part of the property and build a reservoir.”

Amelia sat forward on her chair. “A reservoir? What on earth gave him the idea to do that?”

Murphy lifted both shoulders. “He said he wanted to be able to supply the farmers downstream with water during a dry spell. Figured he could make a tidy sum that way. He came in and borrowed money for the labor and equipment he needed to get things moving, with the land as collateral. But once the project was completed, he found himself unable to pay off the loan.” His face took on a look of genuine sorrow. “We gave him as much time as we could, but he wound up defaulting, and the bank had to take it over.”

“So he was doing this to help the local farmers and make a profit for himself.” Amelia shook her head. Her story lead had apparently been nothing more than a wild-goose chase. “In that case, the bank owns the property now?”

“Not any longer.” Murphy moved the inkwell to the corner of his desk. “Great Western made an offer on it shortly after the foreclosure was final.” He looked at Amelia and spread his hands again. “That's really all I can tell you.”

She nodded and rose. “Thank you very much. I appreciate your time.” Exiting the bank, she turned down Sherman Street, lost in thought. Why would Bart McCaffrey decide to build a reservoir? Did he have some arrangement with the farmers he hoped to supply, or had it been—as one of the matrons had said—merely a bad business move?

Great Western certainly hadn't wasted any time in snapping up the property. What could that mean? She made a mental note to ask Ben about it.

Reaching First Street, she turned the corner in front of the Granite Springs Hotel. As she walked on, a man stepped away from the building and took up a stance in the middle of the boardwalk.

Amelia stopped short and looked up into Thaddeus Grayson's smiling face. Her hand flew to her throat. She moved to sidestep him, but he shifted slightly, blocking her way.

“Good day, daughter. I hope you're feeling better.”

The endearment made her skin crawl, but she wasn't about to let him think he intimidated her. Resisting the urge to flee, she stood her ground and hiked up her chin. “Don't call me that.”

“Why not? You
are
my daughter—by marriage, at least.” His eyes traveled down the front of her bodice. “I'll be wrapping up my business here soon. Dare I hope you've started making arrangements to free yourself from the newspaper so you can accompany me back to Denver?”

Amelia swallowed back the words she longed to say. “Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. I will not be accompanying you to Denver . . . or anywhere else. I have no intention of leaving Granite Springs. This is my home now, and I'm staying here.”

“But what about your mother?” Grayson stroked his salt-and-pepper mustache with his index finger. “She misses you terribly. She wants you to come make your home with us. We both do.”

Bile scorched Amelia's throat. “Don't delude yourself. Even if I did move back to Denver—which is not going to happen—I wouldn't dream of spending one night under the same roof with you.”

A glint of anger flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by an amused glimmer. “You seem very sure of yourself, my dear. But—”

“I didn't expect to see you out and about at this time of day.”

Amelia spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. Relief flooded her when she saw Clara and Martin Gilbreth approaching.

“Clara! What a pleasant surprise!” The rawboned woman and her square-faced brother had never looked more wonderful. “I was hoping we'd have a chance to visit before long. It's been a while since you stopped by the newspaper office.”

“We've both been busy. Martin hired on a new crew, and I've had my hands full taking care of things up there.” Clara's gaze shifted away from Amelia to a point over her shoulder.

Behind herself, Amelia heard Grayson clear his throat. “Good day. I don't believe we've met before. I'm Thaddeus Grayson, Amelia's stepfather.”

Martin stepped forward and enveloped Grayson's fingers in
a work-hardened hand. “Martin Gilbreth. I own the sawmill here. And this is my sister, Clara.”

After acknowledging the introduction, Clara turned back to Amelia. “I didn't realize you had family visiting. We were just on our way to the café for a bit of lunch, so we'll be heading along now. Didn't mean to interrupt.”

“We had just finished talking.” Amelia glared at Grayson, daring him to contradict her. “I was on my way back to the paper. Since you're heading that direction, I'll walk with the two of you.” She linked her arm in Clara's and tugged the older woman along before she could say anything else.

Clara shot her an odd look. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “That fellow may be kin, but I get the feeling there's no love lost between the two of you. You couldn't get away from him fast enough. Are you all right?”

Amelia cast a quick glance over her shoulder. To her relief, Grayson stood where they had left him, with his hands in his pockets and a thoughtful expression on his face. “Let's just say he isn't my favorite person and leave it at that.”

She squeezed Clara's arm. “Thank you for rescuing me. You came along just in time. You're a good friend.” She smiled, looking up to include Martin in her thanks. “You both are.”

H
ow was your dinner last night with Miss Wagner and her stepfather?”

Ben looked up to see Owen Merrick standing beside his desk. He pushed aside the report he'd been writing on a parcel of land north of town and looked up at his boss. “I'm afraid it didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Miss Wagner became indisposed partway through the meal, and the evening ended early.”

Merrick nodded slowly. Looking around at the other desks, he leaned nearer and lowered his voice. “How is our little project coming along?”

Ben bristled at the condescending tone. “I don't think of Miss Wagner as a project. She's a person I'm beginning to admire and look upon as a friend.”

“And she's feeling the same way about you?” Merrick's eyes gleamed. “That's fine work, my boy. Has she said anything more about her opinion of Great Western?”

Besides asking me
to find out what the company is up to?
Ben shook his head. “Not in so many words, but I believe she still has some reservations.” When he saw the other man tense, he added, “But as you know, the
Gazette
hasn't printed any more
negative stories about the company. In fact, the other day she implied she might be open to the possibility of a retraction.”

“Really?” Merrick's face lit up, and he clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Well done, my boy. There's a lesson to be learned from the fable of the tortoise and the hare. People need to realize that much can be lost by trying to storm the gates and speed ahead. I believe this is a situation where slow and steady will win the race.

“In fact . . .” He looked out the window. “There's the fair Miss Wagner now. Why don't you go out and strike up a conversation while the opportunity presents itself?”

Ben glanced down at his report. “I'll need a little more time to finish this up.”

“No, that can wait.” Merrick swept his arm out in an expansive gesture. “Strike while the iron is hot, my boy. This is far more important.”

Ben didn't need any more coaxing. Pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, he slipped it on and adjusted his tie before strolling out into the sunlit street. He spotted Amelia walking with Martin Gilbreth and his sister and angled across the street to intercept them.

Amelia looked like she was feeling better, he noted with relief. He was glad she seemed to have recovered from her unexpected meeting with her stepfather the night before. Not for the first time, he mused about the strange coincidence of Grayson's connection to both Amelia and Great Western.

According to Thaddeus Grayson, he and Amelia's mother had been childhood sweethearts. But that still didn't explain their haste to marry so quickly after Amelia's father died.

A thought struck him, and his steps faltered. A comment
Amelia made earlier implied that Grayson had been carrying on a dalliance with Amelia's mother while her father was still alive. Had Andrew Wagner known about it? If that were the case . . .

Ben stopped in his tracks, feeling like the pieces of the puzzle were finally beginning to fall into place. Could that knowledge—assuming Andrew Wagner also knew about Grayson's ownership of Great Western—have been the catalyst that prompted the hostile articles he'd written about the company?

He felt a sting of disloyalty to Amelia for entertaining such a thought, but it made sense. He knew how much she admired her father, but wasn't she the one who insisted on finding the truth? The possibility, unsavory as it was, had to be taken into consideration.

Ben picked up his pace and tipped his hat to the trio when they drew near. “Good afternoon.”

The Gilbreths' greetings faded in the light of Amelia's smile. Her pleasure at seeing him warmed him even more than the summer sunshine.

“I was hoping we could talk for a bit,” he told her. “But if you're busy . . . ?”

“Not at all.” She turned to Clara Gilbreth. “Thank you again for coming along when you did. If you'll excuse me . . .”

He saw the older woman dig her elbow into Amelia's ribs and heard her mutter something under her breath. When he offered his arm, Amelia tucked her hand in his elbow, and they crossed back to the other side of the street.

“Was there something particular you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked when he helped her step up onto the boardwalk.

He grinned, appreciating the way she offered him an opening. “The concert at the Odd Fellows Hall is just a few days away. I was wondering if you'd be interested in attending with me.”

Her face brightened even more. “I'd be happy to. I planned to go anyway, to cover the story for the paper, but I'd enjoy it much more in your company.”

Ben wanted to let out a whoop, but he held himself in. He glanced down at her, feeling suddenly awkward. “That's a relief. I thought I heard Miss Gilbreth say something about my making you uncomfortable.”

Her cheeks turned the scarlet of an Arizona sunset. “Not at all. What she said was, it didn't look like
you
made me feel uncomfortable.” When he looked at her quizzically, the crimson color deepened. “She was referring to my stepfather. He caught me when I was coming down the street, and they rescued me.”

Ben stumbled to a halt. “Rescued you?”

“Maybe not in a literal sense. I mean they helped extricate me from a disagreeable encounter.” Her blue eyes flashed when she looked up at him. “You said you met my stepfather a number of years ago. How much do you know about the kind of man he is?”

“It was at a social function I attended with my parents. Our host introduced him to us, and we chatted for a time. Other than that brief meeting, I never saw him again until he arrived here yesterday. I never dreamed he was associated with Great Western, and I certainly didn't know about his relationship to your family.”

Amelia took a moment to digest the information, then she nodded. “I'm glad to hear that.”

Sensing she was ready to move on again, Ben resumed their walk toward the newspaper office. “What is it I should know? You hinted at something last night, but—” He broke off when he felt a shiver ripple through her frame.

She stared up at him, her eyes pleading. “I don't want to go into detail, but please believe me when I say he's a cad of the worst sort. Despite his polished appearance, he has no more scruples than a snake. He would be willing to do anything if he thought he could get away with it, in business or . . . or . . .” In a voice so low he almost missed hearing it, she added, “. . . anything else.” She lifted her shoulders. “Let's just say he isn't someone I would ever want to be alone with.”

A fierce protectiveness surged up within him. “Has he done anything to hurt you?”

“Not physically, no. But that's why I had to get out of the restaurant last night. Seeing him caught me completely off guard. I'm sorry I cut our dinner short. I had been looking forward to our time together.”

Ben covered her fingers with his free hand. “I'm the one who owes you an apology. I never should have allowed him to spring such a surprise on you. I had no idea it would upset you so.”

Amelia smiled her forgiveness. “How could you? You had no way of knowing.” Her smiled faded, and she glanced down. “I'm not sure how to say this, but his involvement with the company makes me even more concerned about Great Western's integrity.”

When they reached the
Gazette
building, she stopped at the door and faced him once more. “Can you come inside for a moment? I'd like to tell you what I learned this morning and see if you can make anything of it.”

She unlocked the door, and he held it open for her. Once inside, she outlined her foray to the bank in a few brief sentences. “One of my father's notes seemed to indicate a concern about the methods Great Western has used to acquire so many properties in such a short time. Do you think there is more to their methods than appears on the surface?”

Ben sputtered. “Acquiring properties is part of my job. I can assure you I haven't taken part in any underhanded activity.”

Amelia tilted her head and stared up into his eyes. “I believe you.” The look she gave him warmed him to the core of his being. “But you don't handle every transaction, do you?”

“No,” he said slowly. “I don't.”

She nodded, as if she'd expected that answer. “Can you tell me why Great Western would be so interested in Bart McCaffrey's reservoir? Providing water to the local farmers doesn't seem in line with the rest of the company plans.”

Ben scrambled for an answer, trying to remember any snippets of conversation he might have heard around the office. “We'll need a substantial water supply for the hydraulic mining. Since a reservoir was already set up on the property, I would assume that's the reason we acquired it, but I can't tell you more than that.”

When she drew her brows together, he added, “Why don't I go back to the office and look up the paperwork on that transaction. I'm sure I can find the answer there.”

“Would you? I'd appreciate that so much.” She stretched out her hand and grazed his arm with a touch as light as a butterfly's wing.

Ben swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly
formed in his throat. He would do a lot more than dig through a few files to prove himself worthy of that trusting blue gaze.

Ben had to wait until his fellow employees left for the day before he felt comfortable going through the files. He spent the intervening time finishing his report and poring over maps of Yavapai County, looking for properties that might be of interest to the company. He found a couple of likely prospects and made a note to check into the specifics of who owned them on his next trip to file papers with the county recorder's office in Prescott.

At last the office quieted down and he was able to begin the research he'd promised Amelia. He walked over to the bank of cabinets and searched through the drawer labeled
M
until he located the papers he sought. Carrying the folder to his desk, he spread its contents on his desk.

It only took a moment to locate the information he was looking for. A quick survey showed him the story checked out with what Amelia told him. Bart McCaffrey, the former owner, had taken out a sizeable loan to construct a reservoir. Then he defaulted, leaving the property available for Great Western to purchase at a substantial discount.

Just as I thought.
Acquiring McCaffrey's land had been a shrewd business move, nothing more.

He put the papers back in order, scanning each one so he could assure Amelia he'd taken a thorough look at the documents. He had almost finished when a few scribbled words in the margin of one page stayed his hand.

He held the memorandum closer and frowned.
What's this?
As he read the document from start to finish, his frown deepened.

According to the note in his hand, Great Western had made an earlier offer to purchase McCaffrey's land at market value, but the offer had been refused.

So the company had been interested in the land, even before the foreclosure lowered the price to a tempting range. Ben tapped his finger on his desk, deep in thought. If not for catching sight of those quickly scrawled words, he wouldn't have looked closely enough to discover this information.

What else have I missed?
With his curiosity thoroughly piqued, he went back through every paper one by one, laying them out in chronological order as he read. The resulting sequence showed a trail of events much different from the story Amelia had been given.

One memo, dated after McCaffrey turned down the offer from Great Western, read:

This property is ideal for providing a water supply. See if McC will build reservoir with the understanding that we can purchase from him.

So McCaffrey built the reservoir at the company's request? Ben's confusion grew when he located McCaffrey's land on the county map. The majority of the land below it had been purchased by Great Western some time before. Evidently, the story about supplying farmers with much-needed water was a fabrication.

Ben flipped the paper over and discovered more writing on the back:

McC demanding advance payment. Informed him, per O. M.'s instructions, no longer interested in buying water from him.

Ben stared openmouthed, letting the words sink in. Leaning back in his chair, he pondered the details he had uncovered. Pieced together, they explained McCaffrey's reason for building the reservoir in the first place. He obviously expected water sales to repay the loan he'd taken from the bank, plus assure him of an ongoing income once the loan was paid off.

But Great Western had broken off their end of the deal, and McCaffrey defaulted on the loan as a result.

Bart McCaffrey obviously made a poor choice, borrowing money he couldn't repay. That was a sad enough story in itself, but if he'd made that choice due to the urging of Great Western—who then reneged on their agreement—that threw a whole new light on the situation.