twenty

Creed didn’t go back to the boardinghouse. Instead, he went to the courthouse. He wanted to hash out what he’d learned with Virgil. But the sheriff was in a deposition, and the petite woman with bobbed hair at the desk said he couldn’t be disturbed. But she said it with a warm smile and a look that made Creed feel warmer than even the August afternoon suggested. He settled himself on one of the ugly chairs and mulled over what Christine had told him.

“Say, maybe you could help me—” he glanced at the little nameplate on the woman’s desk—“Mrs. Wilkins.” She looked up from her typing and raised her eyebrows. “Do you happen to know what kind of pay somebody scouting for one of those homestead projects might expect to get?”

She looked at him through her eyelashes and smiled. Rolling her chair back, she stood and walked with small, precise steps to a filing cabinet in the corner. “It just so happens I have a federal pay scale in my files.” She ruffled through some folders and plucked one out. She flipped the folder open, licked a finger, and ran through pages until she came to the right one. Then she minced over to where he sat and perched on the chair beside him. She leaned forward farther than seemed necessary—especially considering the cut of her blouse—and held the folder open to a neatly printed page. Her arm brushed his as she ran a painted nail down the column of numbers. “There you go,” she said. “That would be in the vicinity of starting pay for a position like that.”

Creed read the figure. It was decent pay, but Eddie must have been making peanuts before to think this was a big increase. “Guess it pays better than a desk job,” he said.

She laid cool fingers across his wrist. “I suppose if you were entry level it would. Someone with tenure, though, could certainly make more.” She ran her nails along his arm like a splash of unexpectedly cold water. He forced himself not to recoil. “Are you looking for employment?” The way she said the word made him think she meant something other than government work.

A door opened and voices burst into the room. Creed stood like he’d been scalded and took a step away. Mrs. Wilkins snapped her folder shut, returned it to the file cabinet, and resumed her seat.

Then Virgil was standing in front of Creed with a look like he wanted to bust out laughing. “You done investigating?” he drawled.

“Sure enough,” Creed said with a croak. He cleared his throat. “Picked up some interesting tidbits.”

“So I see.” Virgil turned back to the other man and shook his hand, saying he’d see him soon.

Stepping out into the August sunlight made Creed feel as though he’d come up for air even with the heat and humidity.

Virgil chuckled. “She’s a doozy, ain’t she?”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Wilkins. ’Course nobody’s ever known of a Mr. Wilkins, but I guess it keeps her respectable.”

“I’m not talking about her,” snapped Creed.

“Sure enough. You two didn’t seem to hardly be talking at all.”

“Aw, cut it out, Virgil. I think I might’ve found out something important.”

Virgil sobered and appeared ready to listen. “You talk to Earl, then?”

“No, I ran into somebody way more interesting.” He looked around and drew Virgil into the shade of a nearby building. “Eddie was getting married. His girl’s in town and she’s . . . well, she’s going to have a tough time without a man to help take care of her and the little one on the way.” Virgil let out a low whistle. “She was hoping to get ahold of Eddie’s personal effects—she mentioned a watch and a notebook.”

Virgil nodded. “He had a watch on him. It’s back in my office. Can’t give it to her until after the trial, but if no one else claims it I don’t see why she couldn’t have it.” He swiped at the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “As for a notebook . . . I don’t know anything about that. We packed up the contents of his room—which wasn’t much—and I didn’t see any notebook. Why’d she want it?”

“She said he used it for work mostly but that he also drew pictures in it—drawings of flowers and such. I guess she’s sentimental about the pictures.” He shrugged. “Maybe Earl will have it.”

“Maybe.” Virgil stared at the ground like he was trying to puzzle something out. Then he looked up at Creed. “Anything else?”

“She said Eddie took the homestead job because he was supposed to be piling up money for them to get married on.” He made a face. “That’s what Mrs. Wilkins was showing me—a federal pay scale. Unless she’s way off, the amount Eddie was making wasn’t all that impressive.”

Virgil nodded, looking thoughtful. “Are you suggesting Eddie was piling up money some other way—under the table maybe?”

Creed tried not to get too excited. “If he was doing something shady, that might be a reason for him to get killed.”

Virgil pursed his lips. “Could be. Or he could’ve been stringing that poor woman along.”

Creed felt like Virgil was letting the air out of his tires. “Yeah. I guess so. But seems like it’s worth looking into.”

With a sigh, Virgil started walking back to the street and turned right. “You sure do have a knack for making more work for me.”

“Nobody can say we don’t need you around with all this work to do.” Creed grinned. “I’m just making sure you stay employed.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Wish I could say thanks, but until we round up Earl and nail some of this information down, I’m going to withhold my appreciation.”

“We going to talk to him now?”

“No time like the present.” Virgil shot him a dark look. “But let me do the talking.” Creed made a motion like turning a key at his lips and smiled.

Loyal and Rebecca persuaded Michael to wait until evening to turn himself in. He’d promised to show them how to use the compass he had in his pack. The plan was to use it to find Father’s cabin. And if Father was there, he could take Michael into custody. If he wasn’t, they’d just walk on into town and go directly to the sheriff. Michael wasn’t hard to convince—he seemed relieved by the idea of telling Creed what he’d done before he told the sheriff. Loyal could see how his father would be easier to talk to than someone wearing a uniform and a badge.

Michael explained how the compass worked, made what he figured was a good estimate of the direction they needed to go to find the cabin, and the trio set out. They took turns carrying the compass. Loyal liked the feel of the cool metal against his palm. It fit nicely and it was fun to try to keep the needle pointed in the right direction. He was so focused on the dial that he didn’t realize Michael and Rebecca had stopped. He turned when he realized they weren’t keeping up and froze.

Two men with untrimmed hair and stubbly chins stood on either side of his friends. They carried rifles and wore serious expressions. One pulled a twig from his shirt pocket and began to chew it. Rebecca’s eyes were wide and darted from one man to the other. Michael had his arms crossed over his chest, and while his expression was stern, Loyal could tell he was scared. Rebecca motioned for him to come back to them. He debated running away—he was pretty sure he could find his way back to the cabin and his father—but the thought of abandoning his friends felt wrong. He closed his hand around the compass and moved closer, keeping a wary eye out.

Neither man spoke, but one of them motioned toward a trail Loyal hadn’t noticed before. While the two men didn’t point their guns at them, Loyal felt like they might if the three of them didn’t go along. Loyal forced a smile for Rebecca, who managed one in return. He signed an o and a k. She nodded. Michael must have been watching, because he nodded too and made a come on gesture.

They started down the trail with the two men following behind as if this were all part of their plan for the day. Loyal pretended to stumble and dropped the compass on the ground. Maybe someone would come looking for them.

When they knocked, Earl flung the door open. “I thought I told you—” He stopped talking and narrowed his eyes. “What do you two want? And where’s that boy of yours? Tom can’t stick around forever waiting to do this interview.”

“I’ve got a couple of follow-up questions for you. Want to come down to the parlor and talk?” Virgil peeked into the untidy room. “Or we can step inside here.”

Earl looked like he was chewing the insides of his cheeks. “Give me a minute and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

The woman who kept the boardinghouse asked if they wanted some lemonade, but they declined. “Won’t be cluttering up your parlor but a few minutes, ma’am,” Virgil said as Earl slunk down the stairs and into the room. Virgil escorted the landlady out and eased the door shut on her disappointment.

They took seats as far from the door as they could get and motioned for Earl to join them. “What’s this about?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose you’d know what happened to your partner’s work notebook?” Virgil said. Eddie paled, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Could have been the closed-up room, but Creed doubted it.

“Wh-what notebook do you mean?”

Creed started to speak when Virgil shot him a look that he thought might have been fatal if he’d taken it full in the face. He clamped his lips.

“Eddie’s betrothed seemed to think he kept a notebook for work details. Didn’t find it on him or in his room. Thought you might know something about it.”

Earl went from pale to ruddy. “Oh. That. Yeah, he used to doodle in some little book of his. Haven’t seen it since he got killed. Guess he must’ve lost it.” He swallowed audibly and coughed. “Why?”

Virgil shrugged. “Oh, probably nothing. Just being sure to follow up on all the details. Say, I guess working for the government pays pretty good.”

Earl choked and thumped his chest. Once he regained his breath, he glared at Virgil. “I wouldn’t say that. Better than a lot of jobs these days, but it won’t make me rich anytime soon.”

Virgil nodded and pursed his lips. “Right you are. Guess if you wanted to get rich, you’d have to figure something else out.” He stood and smiled. “Me, I guess I’ll stick to sheriffing. Doesn’t pay good, but at least when somebody shoots at me, I know why.”

Earl laughed weakly, like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. Creed took a breath to speak but got cut off by another look from Virgil. He rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

“We’ll be seeing you around, Earl. Hoping to get that trial under way next week.”

Earl surged to his feet. “Not until we interview that boy of his,” he said, jerking a thumb at Creed. “When’s that gonna happen?”

“Oh, me and the judge are gonna do that interview on Monday,” Virgil answered. “Just had a nice visit with him and it’s all taken care of. We’ll have an interpreter and everything.” He grasped the doorknob. “I guess that means old Tom can go on home.” He grinned at Earl. “There’s some good news you can share.”

Creed trailed the sheriff out of the house, feeling like he was going to burst if he didn’t speak. “Why didn’t you ask him about Christine, and what do you mean ‘the judge is going to interview Loyal’?”

“Now, Creed, don’t give yourself apoplexy. You’re just gonna have to trust that I’ve questioned one or two folks over the years and know what I’m doing. As for talking to Loyal, that’s something we have to do, and I would’ve thought you’d rather Judge Kline asked the questions.”

“Well, I would. I just wish you’d talked to me first.”

Virgil gave him a withering look. “You haven’t exactly consulted with me on several decisions you made. How’s it feel?”

Creed grunted. “Fine. I guess I can see what you’re up to. You think that notebook is important? Maybe Earl’s lying about knowing where it is?”

“I do think it’s important, and I’m afraid our man in there is telling the truth when he says he hasn’t seen it. And I’m pretty sure he’s hoping we don’t see it, either.”

They walked in silence until they reached the sheriff’s car. “You need to go fetch those kids now, Creed. We can bring ’em into Elkins. The judge said they can stay with him, so they’ll be safe.” Virgil looked pleased with himself. “His wife is real partial to young’uns, and their own grandchildren live all the way in Tennessee. I reckon this might even be fun for ’em.”

Creed didn’t know about that, but he realized Virgil wasn’t going to let him call the shots this time.