afternoon. But there was a doll missing from Booker & Son’s mercantile.
Deborah ventured farther into the yard, combing the ground for more clues. Were Seth Halloway’s boys telling the truth? Had there been stowaway children on the bride train?
Holding the doll to her chest, she debated what to do. Children roaming the town without supervision were susceptible to all sorts of threats. They’d need shelter, clothing, food and water. The bride train on which the Halloway boys had traveled had arrived two months ago. Only desperation or fear would keep anyone in hiding for that long.
Leaving the doll in its original spot in case the owner came searching for it, she made plans to return that night.
“What are you doing?”
Deborah whirled. “Adam, I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”
Her apron in his hands, he studied her with unsettling intensity. “I felt bad for abandoning you in the midst of cleanup. Sadie sent me in this direction.”
She considered sharing her suspicions, only to dismiss the notion. He’d probably think her naive. If no one else in town had been able to solve the ongoing mystery of the petty thefts, how was she going to accomplish it?
Perhaps if she knew him better, she could ask him to assist her. They could work on solving the puzzle together, like amateur detectives.
“There wasn’t much to do.” She accepted the apron and put it with the platters. “Your goal was to mingle with the locals and town leaders, anyway. Would you consider the night a success?”
Walking to the house side by side, he nodded. “I enjoyed myself, thanks to you.”
The words sounded forced, his customary charm worn thin.
“I’m happy to hear it.”
At the door, he turned to regard the area from which they’d come. His gaze became hooded, and there was a grim set to his mouth.
For a man in town with a straightforward purpose, he seemed awfully troubled.
* * *
An innocent woman didn’t hide fried chicken legs in her reticule and slink off into the night. Adam trailed her along the side street past the school and onto Lincoln Boulevard. For someone with a hidden agenda, she didn’t bother to check whether or not anyone was aware of her movements. The thought that she could be taking food to Zane Ogden made his stomach churn. Not Deborah, his mind protested. She’s too sweet, too earnest.
Hesitating on the corner across from the Gardners’, where lights blazed in the multitude of windows, she continued at a brisk pace and took a right on Fourth Street. This direction boasted deserted woods that emptied out at the stockyards.
Use your head, Halloway. Don’t be duped by her innocent act.
His training had prepared him to consider a problem’s every angle, from the obvious to the far-fetched. He’d learned not to rule out a suspect based on appearance or behavior. Not all villains wore black and twirled evil mustaches. Some were accommodating and downright likable.
He might not want Deborah to be guilty of aiding a criminal, but in this line of work, disappointments were inevitable.
She stopped short. Adam used overgrown bushes on the street’s edge as a barrier. Glancing around, she entered the copse abutting Daniel’s property. He unsheathed his weapon and entered at a substantial distance behind. His quarry could be closer than he realized.
Moonlight gilded the trees in silvery essence and afforded him a view of her silhouette. The occasional hoot owl shattered the stillness. He avoided the twigs her boots crushed.
“Hello?”
The sudden sound of Deborah’s voice jolted him. Slipping sideways to hunker behind a massive oak, he peered at her through a V in the branches. She removed the bundle of chicken and held it aloft.
“I’ve brought some tasty fried chicken,” she said, turning in a circle. “You can have it, free of charge. I’d hate to leave it for the scavengers to find. Won’t you come out and talk to me?”
Adam’s grip on his weapon went slack. He observed her in mounting confusion. Was this some sort of code? A way for Ogden to know it was safe to emerge from his hideout?
This wasn’t the best place to take refuge from authorities. The Gardners’ mansion was visible from this vantage point, and the nearby street saw a lot of traffic from cowboys traveling between the stockyards and the center of town. Deborah had been studying this area after the fund-raiser and had acted nervous when questioned.
But no one emerged from the shadows to greet her. Her sigh was punctuated by the slump of her shoulders.
“I’d really like to help you.” She left the bundle on a tree stump and retraced her steps.
Adam edged around the trunk, barely breathing, careful to remain out of sight. He expected her to go straight to Aunt Mae’s. Instead, she ventured into the Gardners’ yard, her head bent as she scraped her boot through the grass. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she hurried along her way.
He let her go, murmuring to himself, “What are you up to, Deborah Frazier?”
* * *
Deborah regarded the town gossips with mounting irritation. She’d approached the two old men the next day in hopes they’d shed light on the stowaway mystery, but their claims contradicted each other.
Gus stroked his full white beard with a gnarled hand. “You’re wrong. Flat out wrong, I tell ya. Those kids weren’t anywhere near the livery. They were sneakin’ around the telegraph office.”
Slouched beside him on the bench outside Booker & Son’s general store, Old Horace puffed on his cheroot and narrowed his rheumy eyes. “You’re losin’ your faculties, man. I remember as plain as day the boy hiding behind the water barrels.”
Deborah clutched her reticule to her chest and shifted to make room for a passing cowboy. “Can you tell me what they looked like? Are they boys? Girls? One of each?”
“Well, now, it was awful dark,” Gus mused. His gaze never ceased moving. The elderly pair made an occupation of surveying the comings and goings of Cowboy Creek’s residents. It was a wonder their names weren’t engraved on the bench where they sat seemingly all day and night.
“Hmm.” Old Horace nodded. “The shadows were long.”
She stifled a sigh. The sights and sounds of afternoon activity enveloped her. Wagons creaked along Eden Street. Horses whinnied. A dog’s bark was thrown into the mix, as were children’s laughter and mothers’ stern warnings to mind their steps. The bell above Booker & Son’s entrance chimed incessantly. Old Horace and Gus must be immune to it.
This had been a fool’s errand, as had last evening’s foray into the woods behind Daniel Gardner’s home. No doubt that chicken had made a tasty meal for the ants.
But the doll was gone, remember? Someone removed it in the hours between the fund-raiser and her late-night visit.
At
