CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Claire nearly laughed. Gunter, a murderer? She couldn’t believe he was capable of any crime, let alone such a heinous one. Stepping outside, she closed the door so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Sheriff, what on earth would make you think Mr. Jenssen killed Walter Greene?”

“I have witnesses,” Simons replied. “Several fellows down at the Dockside Tavern heard him talking about the killing the next day.”

His proof sounded like nothing more than rumor. “Talking about a killing is very different than confessing to it, Sheriff. I’m sure all the men at the tavern were talking about it.”

Flustered by her logic, Simons face grew red. “Cee Cee, I only told you as a favor. Now I’m going to have to ask you to get Jenssen for me.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him down to the jail.”

Claire stared at him in dismay. Poor Gunter, locked in a jail cell! “Can’t you just question him here? I’m sure once you talk to him, you’ll find out for yourself that he’s innocent.”

Simons took a step toward the door. “Cee Cee, if you won’t go get him for me, I’ll have to get him myself.”

Backing away, Claire stepped inside and closed the door. Her stomach knotted as she hurried to the parlor. “Gunter,” she said apologetically, “the sheriff wants to see you outside.”

“The sheriff?” Gunter looked bewildered as he stood. “He wants to see me?”

Emily popped up from behind the chair as Claire started out of the room after Gunter. “What happened, Cee Cee? Why does Simple Simon want to see Gunter?”

“This is Gunter’s business,” Claire replied, pausing at the door. “I want you to stay in the house, Emily.”

“No! I want to go with you.”

Claire’s nerves were ready to snap. ”Stay here, Em!” she ordered. She hurried to the door and stepped outside just as the sheriff clapped handcuffs on Gunter.

“But I did not do anything!” Gunter was protesting. He turned to Claire imploringly. “Miss Cavanaugh, they are arresting me for murder!”

“The sheriff just wants to ask you questions, Gunter,” Claire assured him, giving Simons a furious glance. “You’ll be fine. Just answer honestly.”

As the sheriff and his deputy escorted Gunter down the front porch steps, Lulu came rushing out the door, followed by Emily, who had obviously gone to get her. “What’s going on here?” the housekeeper demanded loudly, starting down the steps.

“They’re arresting Gunter for the murder of Mr. Greene,” Claire told her.

“Hogwash! You release that boy,” Lulu argued, following the sheriff and Gunter to the wagon parked in front of the house. When the sheriff ignored her, she stepped between him and the frightened Swede. “You listen to me, Mister Simons! This boy is no more capable of murder than I am! Release him now, or you’ll have me to deal with!”

The sheriff nodded to his deputy, who grabbed Lulu’s arms from behind. “Let go of me, you big lummox!” Lulu cried, trying to wrestle free.

Claire ran toward Lulu as the sheriff climbed into the wagon with Gunter. Holding on to the porch rail for guidance, Emily started after Claire, screaming, “Let them go! Let them go!”

Claire grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her back as the sheriff picked up his rifle and aimed it at Lulu. “Stand back or I’ll arrest you, too!” he barked.

Lulu froze. The deputy released his hold and climbed into the front of the wagon, taking up the reins. Lulu glared at them, but stood where she was as the wagon pulled away. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought, Wilbur Simons!” she yelled.

Claire watched mutely as the wagon drove down the road. Emily clung to her. “What’s going to happen to Gunter, Cee Cee? Will they hang him?”

“I don’t think so, Em.”

“Is he a killer?”

“No, angel.” Lulu came up the steps and ran her hand over Emily’s head. “Gunter is no killer. That sheriff is an idiot and always has been. Everyone in town knows it.” Shaking her head, she looked down the road where only a cloud of dust marked where the wagon had been. “Poor Gunter. Poor, scared boy.”

“Tyler will be here soon,” Claire said. “He’ll know what to do.”

 

Gunter sat mutely on one of the side benches in the back of the wagon as they made the trip back to town. Simons, sitting opposite him, could feel the Swede’s eyes boring into him, but he refused to look back. He stared out at the passing countryside, too ashamed of his role in this deception to meet Gunter’s perplexed gaze.

He took Gunter out of the wagon in the alley behind the jail and ushered him in the back door, placing him in one of the four small cells.

“Why are you doing this?” Gunter asked in a bewildered voice, as his handcuffs were removed. “What evidence do you have?”

“We have men at the Dockside Tavern who heard you talking about the killing.”

“They are lying!” Gunter cried desperately. “Take me to them. They will not be able to say such a thing to my face!”

“You were living above the pawnshop. You had the perfect opportunity to follow Greene that night and kill him.”

“It isn’t true!” Gunter protested. “I’m not the killer. I was Walter’s friend!”

Simons glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Can you prove you’re not the killer?”

Gunter started to speak, then pressed his lips together and looked down. After a moment, he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said desolately.

“Then be quiet.”

Morosely, Gunter sat on the wall-hung wooden bed and glanced uneasily around his confined quarters. “What will happen now?”

“You’ll have to appear before the judge.” Simons walked out of the cell and locked the door. “He’ll look at the evidence and then decide if there will be a trial.”

“A trial?”

At the sight of the young man’s frightened face, Simons gut twisted, imaging what was in store for the young man. He turned away with a frown. “I’ll see about getting you some chow.”

 

At six o’clock, Claire, Emily, Lulu and Mrs. Parks sat down in the dining room to the delicious meal Lulu had prepared, but no one seemed to have an appetite for it. Conversation was stilted and forced. Claire watched the clock, waiting for Tyler to come home. The mantel clock ticked along with her thoughts. Hur-ry. Hur-ry. She couldn’t get the image of Gunter’s frightened, bewildered face out of her mind. She was certain he was innocent.

At the sound of wheels on the gravel in front of the house, Claire jumped up in relief. “They’re home.” She ran to the front door and stepped out on the porch, twisting her fingers together as Tyler and Jonas climbed down from the buggy.

Tyler knew something was wrong immediately by the look on Claire’s face. He strode forward, mounting the steps two at a time. “What is it?”

“Gunter’s been arrested. The sheriff says he murdered Mr. Greene.”

“Faugh!” Jonas scoffed, as Lulu and Emily came out onto the porch.

“Did the sheriff say what proof he had?” Tyler asked her.

“Yes, but it’s just rumor. He has witnesses who say they heard Gunter talk about the killing the day after it happened.”

Tyler tried to remember if Gunter had ever said anything the least bit suspicious. He could read people pretty well, and there had been nothing in Gunter’s face or behavior that had alerted him to any danger. Basically, Gunter seemed to be a harmless young man whose major crime was that he liked to talk too much. He didn’t seem the type to murder anyone in cold blood. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have killed the pawnshop owner in a fit of rage.

“Will you help Gunter?” Emily asked, tugging on Tyler’s sleeve.

“I’m not sure what I can do for him, Emily.”

“You don’t think he did it, do you?” Emily asked.

Tyler looked at Claire as he answered. “I think I’d better talk to him.” He turned to Jonas. “Want to come along?”

The three women stood on the porch watching anxiously as he and Jonas pulled away.

“They’re certain Jenssen is innocent, aren’t they?” Tyler remarked to his assistant.

“Women seem to have an instinctive feel for these things,” Jonas replied. “What do you think?”

Tyler settled himself more comfortably on the seat. “If it’s possible to bore a person to death, then maybe the sheriff has a case against him. My gut feeling is that the sheriff needed to find a killer and Gunter, being a foreigner, was a convenient suspect.”

 

Daphne drew her buggy up to Reginald Boothe’s imposing home and stopped. Boothe put his hand on her knee. “Same time tomorrow?

“Whatever you say, darlin.’”

Boothe watched her pull away, then turned to find the sheriff sitting on the brick wall that edged his shrubbery. As Boothe walked up to the house, Simons stood and removed his hat.

“Evening, Mr. Boothe.”

“Sheriff, how did it go?”

“The Swede is down at the jail now.”

Boothe unlocked his door and stepped inside. “Did he put up much of a fight?”

“No, I think I took him by surprise. But the women sure did object.”

Boothe motioned for Simons to follow him. Closing the door, he walked into a sumptuous drawing room and opened a lead-glass fronted wine cabinet to remove a bottle of Cabernet. “Did you see McCane?”

“No, sir. He left on his riverboat early this morning. He wasn’t back yet when I went out to the house.”

“With all the questions he’s been asking, I expect he’ll be down to see you when he returns. I trust you have the story straight.”

With a frown, the sheriff lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t look so grim, Wilbur. You know this is necessary.” Boothe uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, and handed one to Simons. “Remember this, Sheriff: you’re lying to save your job and your neck -- because if I’m ever discovered, you’ll hang right alongside me.”

 

Tyler strode into the sheriff’s office with Jonas close behind. The young deputy seated at the roll top desk jumped to his feet, startled by their sudden entrance.

“Where’s Jenssen?” Tyler demanded.

The deputy motioned over his shoulder, edging closer to the gun cabinet. “In the back.”

Tyler went straight to the door that separated the jail from the front office. “Open it.”

“I can’t let you in there.”

“Why not?”

The deputy looked rattled. “Well, because the prisoner is in there.”

Tyler saw the man’s eyes shift nervously from him to Jonas. “Look, I’m not going to try to break him out of jail,” Tyler assured him. “I want to ask him some questions. My assistant can stay out here if you’d like.”

“How long you gonna be?”

“A quarter of an hour, no more.”

The deputy looked from one man to the other. “All right,” he said finally, taking out the ring of keys, “but I’ll be out here watching through the window.”

Tyler shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He walked through the door held open by the deputy and heard it shut firmly behind him. In the dim interior, he saw four jail cells, two on either side of the short hallway. A lone man in the first cell on the right rose from a wooden bed and came to the bars. “Mr. McCane!”

“Jenssen, what happened?”

Gunter’s grip tightened on the bars. “I am being blamed for Walter Greene’s death! You must believe me, Mr. McCane, Walter was my friend. I would not hurt him.”

“You knew Greene?”

“Yes. I was renting a room above his shop. His wife is half Swedish, you know. They were very good to me. Often they invited me to eat dinner with them.” Gunter held up his hands in a shrug. “Why would I want to hurt them?”

“Do you know where Mrs. Greene is?”

“No.” Gunter shook his head adamantly. “I do not know where she is.”

Pulling a stool up to the bars, Tyler took a seat. “What kind of proof does the sheriff have against you?”

“People who heard me talking about killing Walter. But that’s not true: I never go to taverns.”

“Never? Are you sure?”

Gunter started to reply, then paused. “Well, maybe once, when I first came to this town.”

That was bad. Tyler knew witnesses could be bribed to forget exactly when they saw him at the tavern. “Could anyone have seen you leave the pawnshop after Mr. Greene went out the evening he was killed?”

“No! I did not go out at all that evening.”

Gunter’s eyes clearly reflected his fright, but they also showed something more. “What did you do that evening?” Tyler asked.

Gunter began to rub his temples. “I think I read. Or maybe I wrote a letter to my family in Sweden. I can’t remember. My mind is twisting and turning so.” He looked up plaintively, reminding Tyler of a frightened little boy. “The sheriff told me I have to see a judge. Do you know if this judge is a fair man?”

“I don’t know him, Gunter. He’s a circuit judge and only comes to Fortune once a week. I imagine there will be a hearing for you the next time he comes through.” Tyler put the stool back. “I’m going to see about getting you a lawyer.”

Gunter stared forlornly at Tyler. “Thank you for your help, Mr. McCane.”

Tyler reached through the bars and patted his shoulder. “Rest easy, Jenssen. We’ll do our best to get you out of this.” He signaled to the deputy who was watching from the tiny square window in the door. “Where’s Sheriff Simons?” he asked as he exited the dark hallway.

“He’s not on duty tonight,” the deputy replied, “so he’s probably at home.”

“Where does he live?”

The deputy looked outraged. “You can’t just go knocking on his door this late at night!”

“I’m right here, Lyle.”

Tyler and Jonas turned as the sheriff came in the front door carrying a package wrapped in butcher paper. Lumbering across the wooden floor, he opened the swinging gate. “Take this grub to the prisoner,” he told the deputy. Then he said, “You need to see me, McCane?”

“You bet I do, Sheriff.”

“Pull up a chair.” The wooden swivel chair creaked as Simons sat down and turned it to face Tyler. The deputy returned and took up a station nearby, watching every movement the two visitors made as though he expected trouble at any moment.

Seated in a narrow, straight-backed chair next to Jonas, Tyler folded his arms across his chest and eyed the sheriff skeptically. “You honestly believe Gunter Jenssen killed Greene?”

“Would I have arrested him if I didn’t believe it?”

“You tell me, Sheriff. From what Jenssen says, you don’t have much evidence.”

Simons opened a drawer and took out several sheets of paper. “I have the testimony of two people who heard Jenssen talk about the murder and saw him carrying a wad of money.”

“May I?” Tyler asked skeptically, holding out a hand.

The sheriff handed him the papers. Tyler looked at one and gave the other to Jonas. The only thing written on the paper was a single line that read, “I swear I heard Gunter Jenssen talk about killing Walter Greene and saw the money he had stolen from him,” with a signature Tyler didn’t recognize. “Who are these witnesses? Where did they hear him say this?”

The sheriff filed the papers away. “At the Dockside Tavern. They’re dock workers.”

Conveniently for the sheriff, dock workers didn’t always live in town. The men would have to be found and questioned thoroughly. “What about this so-called wad of money?”

“Jenssen was carrying money on him when we arrested him. We think he stole it from Greene.”

“In other words,” Tyler said, “you believe Gunter’s motive for killing Greene was to steal his money. Then you know for sure that Greene was robbed?”

The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, not for sure.”

“Mr. Jenssen represents wealthy investors, Sheriff,” Jonas said with a haughty sniff. “He carries their money with him.”

“That’s what he says,” Simons countered.

They were getting nowhere. “When is the hearing?” Tyler asked, rising from his chair.

“Judge Crawford will be coming through on Tuesday.”

“We’ll see you then, Sheriff.”

Simons watched them go, then immediately pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. He’d had a bad feeling about this right from the start. He still didn’t understand why his boss had to murder Greene -- he was a harmless fellow. Simons also didn’t understand why Boothe was so determined to get the Cavanaugh land. But he knew better than to ask questions.

He hadn’t wanted to arrest Gunter, but Boothe had ordered it, and he dared not go against an order. Now the sheriff had to hope that the judge would release Gunter for lack of good evidence, and that the matter would be dropped. He knew one thing for sure -- he didn’t want to hang for Boothe’s crime.

 

Heading back to Bellefleur, Tyler shook his head in disgust. “This whole situation stinks.”

“You know why they’re blaming Gunter, don’t you?” Jonas snorted. “He’s a foreigner. I should be grateful that Gunter was here to take the blame. Otherwise, it could have been me.”

Tyler was silent. He hadn’t cared for Gunter from the beginning, but now he realized that it had nothing to do with the man himself. It was only because Claire had taken such interest in him. “You know, Jonas, before I spoke to Gunter, I was hoping he was guilty.”

Jonas stared at him in shock. “For God’s sake, Ty! Not out of jealousy, I hope.”

“Certainly not! But if Gunter didn’t kill Greene, that means we have a murderer on the loose and an innocent man in jail.”

“I see your point.”

“We’re going to have to get him a lawyer.”

“Of course. I’m certain the lad’s innocent.”

“He’s also our link to those wealthy investors,” Tyler reminded him.

“Ah, ever the pragmatist, aren’t you, Ty?”

“Always.”

 

As though they had not moved an inch from the time Tyler and Jonas had left, Claire, Lulu and Emily stood on the porch watching the buggy pull up to the house.

“Did you see Gunter?” Claire called.

Tyler hitched the horse while Jonas went up to talk to them. “Yes, we did. Or rather Ty did.”

“Is the boy all right?” Lulu asked.

“He’s a little nervous, but not harmed,” Tyler replied, walking up the steps. “He’s going to need a lawyer.”

“Is it that serious?” Claire asked him, searching his face.

“Serious enough that I don’t want to take any chances. Jonas will go into Mt. Vernon tomorrow. He’ll be able to find a good attorney there.”

“Oh, that poor boy,” Lulu moaned. “I’m going to bake him a pie. Angel, come help me.”

Claire paced to the end of the porch and gazed out at the field of tobacco in the distance. Jonas gave Tyler a pat on the back. “You go talk to her. I’ll leave you alone,” he whispered.

As Tyler approached, Claire turned. “You talked to Gunter. Do you think he did it?”

Tyler shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Then how can the sheriff think so?”

“He needs to catch a murderer. Otherwise, he’s not doing his job and folks will complain. So his solution is to find a likely candidate, and, unfortunately, Gunter fits the bill: he lived above the pawnshop; he had a large sum of money on him; he supposedly talked about the killing at the Dockside Tavern; and he’s a foreigner. People are usually suspicious of foreigners anyway, so the sheriff is using that to his advantage.”

“I didn’t know Gunter lived above the pawnshop.”

“He was renting a room there. Gunter says the Greenes befriended him. There’s enough circumstantial evidence to make it important that he gets a good lawyer.”

Claire twisted her fingers together anxiously. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

“Everything I touch goes bad.”

Tyler put his arms around her and drew her close. “You’re touching me. Nothing bad is happening.”

As Claire gazed up at his handsome face, a shiver of apprehension raced up her spine. It was only a matter of time until something did.