O n Friday, Artie made his way to the Hodges shack once more. The sight of the place had become a familiar one to him and, oddly, a welcome one.
As he neared the door, he found himself wishing that Dorothy had been outside, so he could have her to himself for a few minutes. He shook his head at the thought.
It’s a good thing Theo can’t see into my head. Or Kat. It’s really a good thing Kat can’t read my mind.
He couldn’t miss the way Dorothy lit up when she saw him. Nor could he miss the shadow of apprehension that quickly followed.
Joseph Hodges sat in his usual seat, carving as he usually did. Further, as he usually did, he neither acknowledged nor seemed to notice Artie at all. Much as Artie may have preferred to talk to Dorothy, he needed to talk to the father. The man didn’t look up at him though, when Artie said his name.
Artie bent over the table. “Mr. Hodges, I do need to speak with you.”
The man kept carving. “I reckon that my need to work is just as great.”
Artie hesitated. He set his hat on the table, pulling a chair up beside the older man. “Mr. Hodges, this…This is important.”
The man grunted. Artie decided to continue. “A man named Tom Overman told me my father had hired him to trail you in the mountains. Do you know anything regarding that matter?”
“Nope, I reckon that I don’t.”
“You had no idea that anyone had periodically been following you?”
“No.” The man chipped off a bit of his bobcat’s nose. “Not that I care. I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”
Artie glanced at Dorothy. She watched them both in silence, clearly confused.
“Did you meet a man in the mountains last month, Mr. Hodges? Name of Tom Overman?”
“I meet people in the mountains sometimes. I don’t remember their names.”
Artie sighed. He wanted confirmation of Tom’s story. I’m not going to get it.
“Sir, I know that you spend a lot of time in the mountains and that you were away from home on the day of my father’s death.”
Joseph Sinclair finally raised his head, his blue eyes sharp under his busy eyebrows. “Are you accusing me?”
“No, sir. I’m asking you if you know anything that could help me discover who killed my father.”
The man sat for a long moment, his eyes on Artie’s face, before he slowly turned back to his bobcat. “I don’t know anything. I neither heard nor saw a single thing.”
“Are you certain?”
He narrowed his eyes at the figurine. “I reckon that I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t certain.”
Artie picked up his hat and stood. Further conversation would be pointless. “Thank you. I won’t bother you any longer.”
He thought that Dorothy would follow him outside, so it didn’t surprise him when she did.
“You don’t think that my father killed Mr. Sinclair.”
He turned around to face her. “No, I don’t. I don’t think that man could care enough about anything to actually fuel the anger needed to commit a murder. Unless they took away his tools and wood!”
She winced and Artie sighed.
“I’m sorry, Dorothy. I’m really sorry.” He sighed again. “I shouldn’t have said all of that. I shouldn’t have implied that your father doesn’t care about you. He ought to.”
Dorothy made an attempt at a smile. “I reckon that he does. In his own way. I just…wish I knew what way that might be.”
He wanted to hug her, but he pushed the thought away, touching her shoulder lightly instead. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head and looked up at him. “It’s not your fault.” She sighed a bit. “How is your family coping?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “My stepmother seems like she’s in a daze—when she isn’t paranoid. My brother is two-thirds depressed and one-third determined not to succumb to it. My sister only understands part of what is going on but enough that she spends most of her time clinging to Theo and me like a constant shadow.”
Dorothy frowned. “A-and yourself?”
He looked down at her. I am beginning to think about her rather too much, I fancy, but I doubt she wants to know that.
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with the image of my father that I’m discovering. I didn’t know him at all, and I think it will take time to come to terms with that.”
Dorothy nodded. “I’m sorry. I am still praying for you.”
Artie managed a smile. “That’s a comfort.”
He wanted to tell her about Tom. That he knew his father had been the one following her. He wanted to tell her everything, but Sheriff Wright’s request that he not to share the information held him back.
“I haven’t been anywhere, but I haven’t heard anyone outside my window or anywhere near the house.” She looked more closely at his face. “What is it?”
“I don’t think that he’ll be bothering you anymore.” He wished that he could say more.
She frowned lightly. “Do you know who he is then?”
“I can’t tell you.” He switched his hat to the other hand. “I can only tell you that I believe you are safe now.”
He saw it. He saw her eyes widen and her face change when she figured out exactly who he meant. He saw confusion and questions. Then, she put them back with a shake of her head. “Thank you for telling me.”
She smiled a bit but grew serious swiftly. “I-I have a message for you.” Her tone changed, and he couldn’t help noticing the return of her stutter. Artie didn’t think he liked the sound of the message already.
“Who from?”
“I-I don’t know his name.” She put her hands together. “You saw him once at the Pavilion? You warned me about him.”
Artie raised his eyebrows. “Rumple?”
“I-I don’t know his name.”
“Neither do I.” Artie shrugged. “I’m not sure that anyone does, except maybe Kat and the Gilberts. They seem to know a lot about him. Everyone else always calls him Rumple.”
The shadow deepened on Dorothy’s face, and she dropped her eyes.
Artie’s concern grew. “What is the matter, Dorothy? What is the message?”
“He…” She paused a beat, then raised her head, taking a deep breath. “H-he wants a-a meeting with you.”
Artie raised an eyebrow. “With me? Why?”
“I-I don’t know.” Dorothy clasped her hands so tightly they changed color. “He says th-that he has information about your father.”
Artie frowned.
Dorothy took a deep breath. “I-it has to be a-a secret, though. You can’t tell anyone th-that you plan to meet him.”
“Why?”
“I…” Dorothy’s voice hovered just above a whisper. “I d-don’t know.”
Artie watched her for a long moment. She’s afraid of him. I’m just not sure she’s going to tell me why.
“Are you certain that you don’t know more about it than you’re telling me?”
The girl stared at him without speaking.
Artie sighed. “Dorothy…”
She shook her head. “I only know that I need you to go…but I don’t want you to go. I can’t suggest that you don’t go either.”
“That sounds ominous, to be sure.”
She didn’t say any more, and Artie finally nodded. “Where am I supposed to meet him and when? If you need me to go, I certainly will.”
Dorothy shut her eyes before putting her head down. “W-Weaver’s Needle.” He could barely hear her. “H-he wants you to meet him at Weaver’s Needle on Saturday. D-do you know it?”
“Yes.” He wished she would raise her head so he could try to read her face. “That is, after the last few weeks, I certainly know it.”
She nodded with her head still down. “T-tomorrow, as soon as you can get up there.”
“Very well.” He set his hat down on one of the large lava rocks, then gently took hold of her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. He bent slightly, hoping to make her look up at him. She did. “Dorothy, tell me what’s frightening you. What is the matter?”
He saw tears threaten, but she blinked them back. “I-I…” She swallowed with difficulty. “I can’t tell you part of it, and the rest, I don’t even know. I-I don’t…” Her voice dropped low again, shaking a bit. “I don’t trust him, but I-I can’t tell you why.” She looked at the ground again.
“Has he threatened you, Dorothy?”
He felt her shudder. “I-I don’t know if I could tell you if he had.”
“Dorothy…”
She looked up. “I couldn’t. Trust me, I could not tell you.”
Which is as good as telling me that he has. Artie decided not to say the words aloud.
“I…” The girl’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Yet, you need me to?”
She refused to look at him. “I…”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll go then.”
He felt her shudder again. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?” She raised her head, blinking rapidly once again, while she rushed on to the next sentence. “Though you already planned on that, I reckon.”
He smiled a bit. “I reckon.”
He questioned it later, but at the moment he simply couldn’t keep watching her fight back her tears without trying to comfort her. He pulled her close and held her tight, wishing he could do something to stop her trembling.
“I wish you would tell me what has you so frightened.”
Her voice shook even more against his shoulder. “I wish that I could.”
He held her tight for a moment longer, then released her. She reluctantly stepped back.
Artie tried to smile. “I’ll come tell you how it went and what he wanted afterward.”
She nodded, and he hated how close she seemed to tears again. He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew that he ought to. He had chores at home.
He touched her arm lightly. “It will turn out all right. God knows.”
As he turned, he caught her voice, very low and plaintive even. “Good-bye, Artie.”
He looked back with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorothy.”