Undercover Bride (26 page)

“The money you stole from the train… I found it.” She practically choked on the words. She wanted to say more, but the sheriff ordered Garrett to put his hands behind his back.

“What money? What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Summerhay snapped the manacles around Garrett’s wrists. “That’s for a judge and jury to decide. Right now, my job is to put you in jail.”

“You can’t think I had anything to do with that robbery. Maggie, you know me. How could you think—?”

“I found the money in the children’s playhouse.” The money was intact except for the few bills Toby and Elise had given out. “How do you explain that?” Something snapped inside, and anger flared. “What were you planning? To leave town? Is that why you sent away for a mail-order bride? So you could leave the children behind?”

“Leave the children?” He spoke like a man in a daze. “How could you think such a thing?”

She faltered. “What… what do you expect me to think? The money—”

“I know nothing about any money!” The shock and disbelief left his face, leaving behind a look of hurt and betrayal. “I let you into my home. I trusted you. I—”

He shook his head.
I held you and kissed you and loved you.
That’s not what he said, but it’s what she heard—what she saw in his eyes, read on his face, heard in her heart.

The sheriff grabbed him by the arm and shoved him toward the door. “That’s enough.”

Garrett pulled back. “What about my children?” he demanded. “What’s to become of them?”

“I’ll see that they’re cared for,” she said, ignoring Rikker’s disapproving look.

Garrett’s cold and unforgiving stare chilled her to the bones. “I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

He searched her face, for what she didn’t know. Seeming to have found his answer, he pulled his gaze away and walked out the door ahead of the sheriff.

Garrett paced the tiny cell like a caged animal and pounded his fist into his palm. He still couldn’t believe the turn of events. One moment he was on top of the world; the next—

It was a nightmare. Worse than even being locked up in Andersonville. At least then he had known who his enemies were. Knew why he’d been captured. Even during the senseless craziness of war, that much had been clear.

But this… this was beyond comprehension. And what in the name of Sam Hill was taking his lawyer so long to get here?

He battled for restraint. He needed to calm down. Crazy thinking wouldn’t have gotten him through the war and wasn’t about to get him through this. His children’s future depended on his keeping his wits about him. There had to be a logical explanation. He just needed time to think and figure out what it was.

He slumped on the cot, elbows on his lap, and covered his face with both hands. He’d gone over his arrest a dozen times, and none of it made sense.

Maggie a Pinkerton detective? How was that possible? How could he have been so blinded by her smile and those big blue eyes of hers? How could he have been so fooled by her sweet, loving nature?

He could still hear her voice in his head—cold, hard, uncompromising. “
The money you stole from the train… I found it.
”

A sharp pain started in his chest and radiated outward. What had he ever done to make her think him capable of such a heinous crime? He’d had his problems with the church, but never had he gone against God’s commandments. Not since returning from that dreadful war.

Heaving his shoulders, he stood and wrapped his hands around the rough steel bars.
Oh, Lord, what’s happening to me?

The bitter taste of gall filled his mouth as he thought of Maggie’s accusations. Robbery? Murder? How could she think such things of him? He’d danced with her, held her, kissed her. Would have done anything for her. Given her the moon if such a thing had been possible.

And all this time—God, all this time—she had been plotting against him.

O
n the morning the trial was scheduled to start, Maggie left her hotel room early to meet Rikker downstairs in the dining room. The sheriff asked them both to stay in town to testify. It wasn’t by any means an unusual request. She had testified at other trials but never with such dread.

Though evidence all pointed to Garrett’s guilt, many in town had expressed shock and disbelief. No one could believe that Hetty’s beloved nephew would do such a thing.

“It was that terrible war,” some said. Though the war had been over for a good number of years, many still blamed it for everything bad that had happened since.

Rikker waved his hand as she entered the dining room, and she quickly headed for his table. He was already halfway through his breakfast. She envied his ability to eat and sleep no matter what happened.

She ordered coffee and scrambled eggs with bacon, though she didn’t feel like eating.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. Too many unanswered questions remained for her peace of mind.

“Why do you suppose Garrett refuses to name his partner?” she asked. If Cotton was the second robber as they suspected, Garrett’s silence was even more puzzling. Why protect a man for whom he had so little regard?

“I gave up trying to understand the criminal mind a long time ago,” Rikker said between bites. He glanced across the table at her. “Oh no, the look.”

“What are you talking about? What look?”

“Every theory of yours, no matter how harebrained, is always preceded by a certain look.”

She rested her arms on the table and leaned forward. “If he’s found guilty of theft, he’ll go to Yuma.” At half capacity Yuma Territorial Prison was still new enough to have a fairly good reputation. “Murder… he hangs.”

“So what’s your point?”

“I don’t believe him capable of murder.” His sadness as he talked about the war had been too real. “So why is he shouldering the blame?”

“It wasn’t that long ago that you didn’t believe him guilty of theft,” Rikker said.

He had her over a barrel with that one. How could her instincts have been so wrong? “I just hate loose ends.” After a moment she added, “And I know Cotton’s involved.”

“Shh,” he said, slanting his head sideways.

She glanced over at a corner table where Cotton sat having breakfast alone. She leaned forward. “Oooooooh. I’m so tempted to go over there and—”

“Pray for strength, Duffy,” Rikker said, buttering his bread.

“I would, except I’m afraid what I would do to the man if I was any stronger.”

He sighed, and she could guess his thoughts. While waiting to testify, neither had stopped working. He shadowed Cotton while she tracked Dinwiddie’s every move. They both came up empty-handed.

“Without Thomas’s cooperation, we have nothing but speculation,” he said.

“Anything from headquarters?”

“Only that Dinwiddie has no criminal record, but they still haven’t been able to track Cotton’s movement for the last two years.”

The waiter came with her order, but she felt even less like eating than before.

Watching her push her food around her plate, Rikker shook his head. “It’ll soon be over, Duffy,” he said. “Then we can go home.”

Home wasn’t a place to Rikker; it was the next assignment. Once he got his man, he was ready to move on. Stuck in town for a week waiting to testify had been sheer torture for him.

Thankfully, he didn’t nag her to eat as he usually did, and he even paid the check without comment. He tucked the receipt into his pocket to be turned in to Pinkerton headquarters later, and reached for his hat.

“Ready?”

No, she wasn’t ready; she was shaking, and it felt like ice water flowed through her veins. Nevertheless she nodded, but it took every bit of energy she could muster just to rise to her feet.

As they walked out of the hotel, they were greeted by Linc’s voice. Maggie recognized the trousers and shirt at once as belonging to Toby. Already, the toes of his new shoes were scuffed and his hair slightly mussed, but he no longer looked like a waif.

“Readallaboutit,” he yelled. “It’s the trial of the century.”

Rikker stopped to purchase a paper, giving the boy a quarter. “Keep it,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Linc said, grinning. He dropped the coin into the canvas apron that he now carefully tied around his waist to prevent theft.

“How’s your grandmother?” Maggie asked. The boy was still not in school, and that worried her.

“She’s okay,” Linc said. “She even knows who I am most days.”

“That’s wonderful,” Maggie said.

Rikker tucked the newspaper beneath his arm, and they continued on their way. The trial was scheduled for nine o’clock.

Something made her glance back at Linc. She tugged on Rikker’s arm. “Why do you suppose Cotton is so interested in Linc?”

Rikker turned and squinted against the bright morning sun. “Maybe he’s just purchasing a paper like everyone else. Come on.” He took her by the arm. “Don’t want to be late.”

Furnace Creek’s first courthouse was still under construction, so Garrett’s trial was to be held on the first floor of a deserted two-story building painted a shocking pink.

The courtroom was already packed when they arrived. The flocked red wallpaper and scarlet draperies suggested the building had a less-than-virtuous past. Maggie could well imagine what image was hidden behind the carefully draped picture hanging over the mantel.

Judge Campbell sat up front behind a makeshift bench. He was a bald-headed man with muttonchop whiskers and what looked like a permanent scowl. Twelve jurors sat along one wall, while spectators vied for the few remaining seats.

As witnesses, Rikker and Maggie were directed to sit in the first row behind the prisoner.

Garrett turned to look at her as she took her seat, his eyes as remote as his expression. Hot blood rushed to her face. She didn’t want to believe him capable of the charges against him. No matter how many times she sifted through the facts, her heart refused to believe what her head told her was true.

Face grim with cold fury, he held her gaze for a moment before turning away. Her hand found its way to her naked finger, and the weight of a boulder settled in her chest.

The courtroom was stifling, and a blue haze of cigar smoke hung in the air. If only someone would open the windows. She fanned herself with her gloves, but that offered little relief.

Rikker gave her a fatherly pat on the arm. “Hang on, Duffy,” he whispered, as if guessing how very close she was to falling apart. “It’ll soon be over.”

The trial would end and the jury would make its decision, but she knew it would never be over. Not completely. Not for her. Not as long as the memories remained.

The last one to take his place in one of the witness seats was Linc. She nudged Rikker’s arm. “What’s he doing here?” she whispered.

“Probably here to testify about the hundred-dollar bill he found.”

The judge banged his gavel. “Order in the court.”

A hush fell over the courtroom.

The judge eyed the prosecutor. “You may call your first witness.”

The prosecutor’s name was Leonard Theodore Fassbender, an impressive name for a man who barely stood five feet tall in his stocking feet. But what he lacked in stature he made up for with a strong and vibrant voice.

“I call Miss Cartwright to the stand.”

Stomach clenched, Maggie rose, squeezed past Rikker, and walked to the front of the room on shaky legs. Placing her right hand on the Bible, she raised her left hand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She sat and held her hands together on her lap.

Fassbender measured her for a long moment before he began. “Would you please state your name and occupation for the court?”

“My name is Miss Maggie Cartwright.” She paused to clear her voice. “I work for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.”

“In what capacity do you work for the agency?”

“I’m an operative.”

“And could you please tell the court how you came to be acquainted with Mr. Thomas?”

Her hands tightened in her lap. “I answered his ad for a mail-order bride.”

“Could you please tell the court why you did that?”

Maggie explained that it was her boss’s idea.
God, please let this be over soon. I just want to die.