pinning up her hair and tugging her blouse closed, she hurried across the parlor and flung the door open.
Two men, both strangers, stood on the front porch.
The older, shorter of the pair was well into middle age, his heavy features punctuated by a Roman nose. The younger man, who looked to be in his late twenties, had mousy brown hair and a receding chin. Both of them were dressed in mail-order brown suits and matching fedoras. Despite the lack of resemblance, Ruby surmised they were father and son. Only the father was smiling.
“Thaddeus Wilton,” he said, extending his hand. “I just heard today that someone had bought this old house. As mayor of Dutchman’s Creek, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to our town.”
Ruby accepted the proffered handshake. The mayor’s palm was baby smooth, his prolonged clasp uncomfortably warm.
“Ruby Denby Rumford. I’m happy to meet you.” Ruby extricated her fingers and took a step backward. “Won’t you come in? Please excuse the condition of the place. I’ve barely had time to start on the cleaning.”
“Perfectly understandable, my dear.” The mayor stepped across the threshold, removing his hat to reveal a polished mat of ebony hair. “Allow me to present my son, Harper.”
“Ma’am.” Harper Wilton gave her the barest inclination of his head. His neutral expression appeared to have been chiseled on his face. Only his basalt-colored eyes moved, glinting like a reptile’s.
“Mind the broken glass. I had a slight mishap this morning.” Ruby scurried ahead of the pair to place two chairs near the window. “Please forgive me for not having refreshments to offer you. I’ll need to scrub the cupboards before I can unpack my kitchen things.”
The mayor lowered himself onto the nearest chair. A ray of sunlight revealed the edge of his slick black toupee. “Quite all right, my dear,” he said. “In fact, since you’re still getting settled here, we’d be honored if you’d join us for dinner at the hotel this evening. I own the place, so I can guarantee you a good meal.”
The offer caught Ruby off guard. “Oh, really, you needn’t go so far as—”
“Please say yes, my dear,” the mayor interrupted. “Since you’ll be part of our community, we’d like to get to know you better. And we can tell you a great deal about this house. It used to belong to my late wife’s aunt. In fact, Harper was born here, weren’t you, Harper?”
“Can’t say as I remember.” Harper hadn’t taken a seat. He stood just inside the door, leaning against the frame. His gaze flickered as if scanning every detail in the room. His behavior was beginning to make Ruby nervous.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Evidently, Ethan had decided not to show himself—strange behavior for a man who claimed to be writing a book about Colorado. One would think the mayor would be the first person he’d want to meet.
Maybe he was just being mindful of her reputation. But she wouldn’t bet money on it. Ethan Beaudry, she sensed, had his own secret agenda. And her only chance of dealing with him lay in discovering what it was.
Ethan pressed against the wall behind the kitchen door. The narrow space along the frame allowed him a limited view of the parlor. From what he could see, Ruby’s visitors looked harmless enough, but appearances could be deceiving. In any case, the mayor’s reason for stopping by with his hatchet-faced son clearly went beyond sociability. Every time the strutting peacock called Ruby my dear, Ethan felt his teeth clench. Was it a simple case of a man playing up to a beautiful woman? Or did Mayor Thaddeus Wilton have some darker purpose in mind?
He took a moment to weigh the possibilities. If the mayor and his son were involved in the moonshine trade, it made sense that they’d stop by to make contact with the house’s new owner. They’d spoken to Ruby as if meeting her for the first time. But that didn’t mean it was true. She could easily have given them a signal, warning them that someone might be listening.
Weighing the facts, Ethan speculated that all three of them could be up to their necks in illegal activity.
Or it could be that the scene in the parlor was as innocent as a damn Sunday-school picnic!
Easing along the wall toward the open back door, he returned to the yard and went back down the cellar stairs. It wouldn’t do for Ruby and her new friends to catch him eavesdropping. In any case, he should be able to hear what went on from under the floor. He’d spotted a battered study desk beneath a six-foot roll of moth-eaten carpet. Extricating it would give him reason enough to be down here. Meanwhile, he could keep his ears open.
“I insist that you be our guest, my dear!” The mayor’s booming voice filtered through the floorboards overhead. “Some of the town’s most important citizens dine at the hotel. We can introduce you to the right people, get you off to a good start.”
The silence that followed suggested hesitation. Dared he hope Ruby didn’t like the oily pair? But what difference did it make? She was only a woman, after all—prettier than most, but with no less than her share of faults. He could take what she had to offer and walk away tomorrow, Ethan told himself. And maybe he would.
He’d come close to kissing her—close enough to know that the attraction was there for both of them. Given what he knew about her past, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d backed away. But her retreat had left him with a powerful itch. He wanted her, pure and simple.
He had a job to do, Ethan reminded himself. But getting the beautiful widow in bed could be the most pleasant way to discover what she was up to. Call it workman’s compensation.
The mayor’s voice boomed into his thoughts. “No excuses, my dear. You’ll be needing a good meal, and the Dutchman’s Creek Hotel has the best food in the county. We won’t take no for an answer, will we, Harper?”
The mayor’s son muttered something Ethan couldn’t make out. Again, a beat of silence passed before Ruby answered. “You’re right, of course. And I do need to start meeting people. Very well, it would be a pleasure to accept your invitation. What time shall I meet you there?”
The reply was muffled. Evidently the mayor had risen and moved to a less audible part of the room. But Ethan had heard enough to conclude that further eavesdropping would be a waste of time. Whatever the mayor wanted, he would most likely save it for that evening.
With a vaguely muttered curse, Ethan turned back to the task at hand. The rolled carpet was thick and heavy, its woolen nap permeated with dust. He was dragging it out of the way when he happened to glance at the wall behind it. Where the furniture had blocked his view, a length of corrugated tin roofing stood against the rear wall. Behind it, a section of the wall was open.
Pulse galloping, Ethan held his breath to listen. From the direction of the parlor came the creak of a floorboard and the muted sound of voices. A quick look—that was all he dared risk. But it would likely be enough.
Lifting aside the tin, he peered into the opening. Musty odors of dampness and decay rushed into his nostrils. The place had likely been a root cellar for storing apples and winter vegetables. Maybe that was all it had ever been. But Ethan had his doubts. When he shifted to one side, allowing more light to shine in, he could see that the earth had been dug out farther under the house to make a chamber nearly a third the size of the original cellar. In its dark recesses, the dim light glinted on a motley assortment of glass jugs—scores of them, crowding the floor and stacked high on crude wooden shelves.
He
