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Lily sat on her porch before going inside her house. Her head felt light, and her stomach had gotten twisted up into knots again. One moment she felt ill; the next she felt fine. It was becoming quite a nuisance.
She'd gotten home later than usual from work and was certain Ray was in there waiting for her. He would demand to know where she'd been, who she'd been with, and what she'd been doing. It would be useless to try and convince him that she'd simply been late at the factory. He would never believe anything she said, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter. He would beat her anyway. She figured she might as well and take a few moments for herself right now before Ray started in on her.
It was Edward's fault she was late. When he left the factory so bizarrely this morning, he'd set in motion a chain of events that had lasted throughout the day. First, the women in the packing room were abuzz with questions and theories to explain his strange behavior. The questions and theories had then spread to the shipping room, which had then spread to the main factory floor.
Second, by the start of the lunch hour, everyone in the factory knew what had happened. More than that though, the rumors regarding her and Edward had grown. No longer were they just said to be having an affair, now people were speculating that her husband knew about it and some sort of fight had ensued between the two men. Some even theorized that Ray had robbed Edward for revenge, and that was the money Bridget had seen him with.
Third, the factory workers had been so unfocused the rest of the day as new rumors surfaced and dropped off and then surfaced again, that very little work had gotten done. Lily herself had barely succeeded in accomplishing even the smallest of tasks, and she'd had to stay late as a result.
She'd spent the rest of the day hiding at her desk, waiting for Edward to come back, but he never had. Luckily, Mr. Saunders had not asked her any questions. He might have asked Della, but if he had, Della had said nothing to her about it. Privately, however, Della had asked her own questions of Lily.
"What was that about?" Della had all but demanded when they were back at their desks and Mr. Saunders had gone into his office.
"I have no idea," Lily said in earnest.
Della eyed her skeptically.
"No, really," Lily returned. "I'm just as confused by Edward's behavior as you are."
Della's expression softened. "Maybe he thought Bridget was right. Maybe he thinks Ray stole that money."
Lily had never before considered that Ray might be a thief. A drunk, yes, but a thief? She shook her head.
"It doesn't sound like him."
Della rolled her eyes. "How can you say that with a straight face when you know what the man is capable of?"
Lily considered the question. She had seen Ray do many questionable things in the time she'd known him. He'd beaten her, he'd beaten other men who dared to quarrel with him, he'd spent every penny she earned when it suited him, even if it meant she had to go hungry. Somehow, he never went hungry.
"Perhaps it's possible," Lily admitted. "It was an awful lot of money he won."
"How much, exactly?"
Lily shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me precisely. But I saw him counting it, so I know it was over a hundred dollars."
Della's eyes widened. "A hundred dollars?" She shook her head. "He definitely stole it. You don't win that kind of money playing poker, not in the types of places Ray would be playing."
Lily hadn't considered that. Della had a point. Ray didn't go to respectable saloons where you might find gentlemen seated around a table eating and drinking and playing respectable games of cards. Ray went to the dirty places, to the places where men cheated at cards and women worked on their backs.
Now on her porch, Lily drew in a breath and made a decision. She would demand to know the truth from Ray. If what the others were saying was true and he'd stolen that money, Edward might have thought he could use the information to put him behind bars. That would explain why he'd run out of the factory like he had. He'd probably gone to speak with Sheriff Chambers. But why hadn't he come back?
She entered her home, her breath coming fast. She'd never dared to question Ray before, but she had to know the truth.
"Ray?" she called out, tentatively at first but stronger as her desire for the truth overtook her fear of her husband. "Ray?"
There was no answer. He was probably still out celebrating. Was it a bank he had robbed, or perhaps a stagecoach? Perhaps it was just some poor soul who'd had the misfortune of encountering Ray as he walked down the street. She doubted very much that it was Edward. Ray and Edward had never even met.
She walked into the sitting room and saw nothing of interest. Ray was not lying on the couch passed out, as she'd thought he might be, nor was he stumbling around drunk.
"Ray?" she tried again. He could be in the bedroom. It was only just now supper time, but that did not mean he wasn't already asleep, especially if he'd been drinking. But he wasn't there when she pushed the door open.
She scratched her head and gave up. He wasn't home. For all she knew, he'd decided to dine out this evening, celebrating without her. That suited her just fine. She would have a better time alone anyway.
She changed out of her work clothes and put on something lighter, then headed into the kitchen to prepare herself a meal. She'd peeked into the kitchen during her search for him but hadn't looked hard. There was no bed in the kitchen, after all, and it was unlikely that he'd be lying on the floor. Even drunk, Ray rarely passed out in odd places. He'd always preferred a comfortable bed to do his dreaming.
The moment she entered the kitchen, she knew something was wrong. "Ray?"
She couldn't immediately place her finger on it, but there was something in the air that made her shiver. Not a chill, but a feeling. Fear... malevolence... disaster?
Maybe it's only the darkness.
It was dim in the kitchen. The evening light was setting in, the afternoon coming to a close. She lit a candle and set it on the table. Their gas lamps had a tendency to go out, so she always had candles available to her.
"Ray?" she called again, softer now. She didn't know why she continued calling his name. He clearly was not at home.
She took a step closer to the small stove where she did most of her cooking and paused. There was dirt on the floor. She had just washed them this morning before going to work.
Not dirt, mud.
Yes, mud. It wasn't loose enough to be dirt. There was a long, dark smear that trailed across the floor from the stove to the table. She got a rag to wipe it up, thinking that Ray would be furious if he came home and saw it there, even though he was probably the one responsible for it. She certainly hadn't done it.
She kneeled on the floor and started to wipe at it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew back in sudden fear, dropping the rag.
"Oh, my word," she muttered.
She stood a full minute without moving, staring only at the dark streak she'd thought was mud. Then she quickly lifted the candle. She forced herself to kneel again, holding the light to the floor, and fear surged through her stronger than anything she'd ever felt.
"Ray!" she called again, screaming his name this time. "Ray! Ray!"
There was no answer.
She searched for the rag she'd dropped, trying not to look at the streak of blood that ran across her kitchen. The rag had fallen under the table. She must have flung it in that direction when she'd jumped up. She reached down to grab it, more out of instinct than any real thought—she was not supposed to leave things on the floor, Ray didn't like it—and let out a sharp cry when she picked it up.
Beneath the rag lay a knife. There was just enough light still coming in for her to see it clearly. It was sharp and silvery and stained with red.
Lily ran from her house, screaming all the way to the sheriff's station.
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