CHAPTER 19

Ethan watched Libby’s face as she looked down at the counter and spotted the coin.

“I suppose I could have dropped it there when I was putting the cash box away last night. You don’t think the arsonist left it?” She reached for the penny.

Ethan touched her sleeve, and she stayed her hand.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take it,” he said. “I can give you another to replace it if your cash doesn’t come out right.”

Gert stood at Libby’s elbow, staring at the coin. Her wide, gray blue eyes met his gaze. “You found a penny under Bert Thalen’s body after he was killed.”

“Yes.” Ethan slid the coin off the countertop and tucked it into the watch pocket of his vest. He’d never owned a watch, but the penny would be safe there.

Hiram entered through the front door carrying a long board. Ethan looked it over. It was about the same width as the floorboards of the emporium. “You got more if this isn’t enough?”

Hiram shrugged. “Thought I’d cut three short lengths off this. It ought to do.”

“All right, I’ll be with you as soon as I poke through the trash pile out back.”

Gert stepped forward. “I’ll show you where it is, Ethan. I’m sure Libby wants to straighten up the merchandise and start that list you asked her for. And maybe change her outfit before she opens for business.”

Libby looked down at her rumpled and stained clothing. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do that next. Now that most of the filth is outside … although I suppose I’ll be weeks getting rid of all the ash and dust.” She looked around with a hopeless air.

“We’ll help you,” Hiram said softly.

“Thank you.” Tears glistened in Libby’s eyes. “I’d like to freshen up before Florence arrives.” She turned and glided toward the staircase, hidden behind a partition that held tinware and kitchen utensils.

Ethan looked to Gert, and she pulled in a breath. “Come on. I’ll show you the trash heap. You got gloves?”

He shook his head, and she picked up the pair Libby had discarded. “If these don’t fit you, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you took another pair from the store.”

Ethan pulled them on and flexed his hands. “They’re a little tight, but they’ll do.”

Gert stepped over the board. Hiram stood by the hardware table, sizing up Libby’s selection of crowbars. Ethan followed her into the back room and paused.

“This is where she does her paperwork?”

Gert turned toward him. “Yes. And stores all the merchandise she hasn’t put out yet.”

“She’s got a safe.” He looked around for it.

“I think it’s over there in the corner.” Gert pointed beyond the desk and chair at the end of the room.

Ethan walked over and looked past the desk. A pile of wooden crates hid the corner from view. In the shadows of the windowless room, he could barely see. On the desk he spotted a fancy oil lamp.

“Mind lighting that lamp for me?”

Gert stepped to the desk, and he sidled around the stack of crates and ran his hand over the wall. As the glow from the lamp flared up, his hand touched cool metal. Gert came around the crates and held up the lamp.

“The safe looks fine,” she said.

Ethan nodded. There was no evidence that anyone had tampered with it. So why had the arsonist broken into the store? Would they be able to tell if he’d stolen anything? Or had he just come to wreak havoc?

“Libby could have been killed this morning,” Gert said softly.

His stomach lurched. “I thought of that. You don’t think this lunatic’s intention was to burn her alive, do you?”

“I don’t know. He could have been more efficient, if that’s what he wanted.”

Ethan swung around to face her in the cramped space. “How?”

“He could have set the fire right at the bottom of the stairs so she couldn’t come down. But no, he put it out in the open space in front of the counter, away from the walls. And he could have thrown more lard on it or dumped a couple tins of lamp oil. Down at the far end of the store, she’s got at least a dozen cans of oil. He didn’t even touch ‘em. I only saw one lard pail in the pile that burned. It’s like he wanted to make a lot of smoke and bother, but he wasn’t intent on murder.”

Ethan thought about that for a few seconds. “I think you’re right. But that penny …”

“Yes. That’s important, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly. “It must be. It’s just like the other one.” Her eyes flared. “Exactly?”

“Yes. An 1866 Indian head cent. I saved the other one in a tin over at the jailhouse. I’ll compare them, but I’m sure they’re the same.”

“He left you a message.”

“Why do you say that? Whoever killed Bert couldn’t have known at the time that I’d be the next sheriff.”

Her brow furrowed as she puzzled over it. “Are we sure about that?”

Ethan caught his breath. “That’s … reaching a little.”

“I know, but—” She glanced over her shoulder. Ethan heard the sound of nails screeching as Hiram tore up the floorboards in the main room. “Just think for a minute. What if the mayor already had you in mind to replace Bert?”

“You’re saying the mayor killed Bert?”

“No, I’m not saying that. But what if Cyrus did?”

“Cy Fennel? Trudy, are you loco?”

Her lower jaw dropped, and she stared at him. “What did you call me?”

Ethan gulped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you’re loco.” Why was she looking at him like that? He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Well, just forget about that, all right? We’re talking about this criminal. There’s no way he could have known. Even if the murderer was Cy Fennel—and I’m not saying it was, ‘cause that’s crazy—but even if, I still say there’s no way he could know I’d take the job. Because I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you?”

He looked into her eyes and couldn’t speak for a moment. The lump in his throat nearly choked off his breathing. He couldn’t tell her he’d taken the badge because of her hopeful eyes. When had Gert-Trudy Dooley become the reason for the way he lived?

He broke the stare and let out a breath. “Look, right now we’re talking about this fire, all right?”

“I thought we were talking about Bert’s murder.”

“No, you were talking about Bert’s murder.”

“Because of the penny.”

Ethan shook his head. “Look, it’s close in here with the smoke and the lamp and all. Let’s go out back and look at that trash heap.”

She set the lamp on Libby’s desk and blew out the flame. “You know the same person did this as killed Bert.”

“We don’t have proof.”

“The pennies are proof.”

“No, they’re not.”

She stamped her foot and then scowled at him. “There’s a connection.”

“I’ll give you that.” He couldn’t recall seeing her so worked up about anything, ever. The color in her cheeks and the spark in her eyes made his stomach gyrate, which rattled him more than finding the penny. He took her elbow and steered her toward the open back door. “Let’s get outside where there’s some fresh air.”

The crisp morning breeze refreshed him better than a cool drink of water. Folks were stirring, and he could see Zach Harper, across three back lots and a field, walking toward his barn. Fergus was waking up to another day.

Ethan paused just outside the door and stooped to look at the latch and the jamb.

“Someone definitely tampered with this.” He stuck his head back inside and squinted at the woodwork. Apparently Libby didn’t use a bar on this door but trusted the brass lock. Her husband had probably installed it not too many years ago. “Let’s look at the burnt stuff.”

Gert walked ahead of him to a heap of smelly, charred refuse. She stooped and picked up a broom. The straws were coated in soot. “This is everything Libby and I hauled out. She didn’t want to leave it in there, and I can’t say as I blame her.”

“No, me either.” Ethan took the broom from her and used the handle to poke among the debris. He wished he could have seen it the way it was when Libby found it.

“They burned the new Bibles. That upset her.” Gert’s voice quavered, the first sign of vulnerability she’d shown. “We need to find out who did this, Ethan.”

She looked up at him, and a tear shivered from the corner of her eye and streaked down her dirty cheek. He wanted to comfort her. Wanted to pull her into his arms so bad he could almost feel her head on his shoulder.

“Aw, Trudy.”

She jerked her shoulders back. “Why did you call me that?” She stepped toward him with her hands clenched as though she would pummel him.

Ethan jumped back. “Hey, I’m sorry.” He held up both hands, dropping the broomstick. How on earth had he let that slip out? “Your brother told me that your pa used to call you that.” She stopped and considered his words, so he kept talking. “I guess I’ve been thinking on it some, about how it must have been when you were a girl. But I won’t say it again, I promise.”

Her lip twitched and she sniffed. “I don’t … mind it.”

“You don’t?”

She shrugged. “Not so’s you’d notice it.”

“Oh. Well …” He studied her cautiously. Was she mad at him or not? Just because a woman said she wasn’t upset didn’t always mean it was true. He cleared his throat. “I’ll do everything I can to find out who set the fire.”

She nodded, staring down at the pile of refuse. “You can’t deny that whoever did this was leaving a message. If not for you, then for someone.”

“I’m not saying you’re right, but who? What’s the message, and who is it for?”

She bit her lower lip and shrugged. “I don’t know what, but … for the town, maybe?”