Carol Cox Page 17

  If that was the case, Caleb must have done it. But the cup had been in the storeroom. How had it ended up out here? And why had the china been ground to a powder? If Caleb was responsible, the destruction of the cup had to be an accident. Crushing something in anger didn’t fit what she knew of his character.

  Besides—her mouth twisted in a wry grin—Caleb had been upset enough at the thought of spending money on the china with no guarantee it would sell. He would never squander such an investment by destroying it.

  Melanie brushed one hand across her eyes. A night of tossing and turning was hardly conducive to clear thinking. She would take up the matter of the broken china with Caleb when she returned from her walk. Dumping the remains of the smashed cup into the wastebin, she returned the broom and dustpan to their places and stepped outside to meet the dawn.

  The tangy, fresh-washed smell Mrs. Fetterman had identified as cedars, creosote bush, and cliff rose filled her senses and chased her weariness away. Drawing new energy from the invigorating air, Melanie stepped out briskly, heading toward the south end of town.

  Though her brief walk with Levi the day before hadn’t ended well, her foray outdoors had helped shake the cooped-up feeling that had beset her after spending the majority of her time inside the store. She felt ready to stretch her legs again and explore a bit. She strolled past the café and the bakery, past Doc Mills’s office and the bank. When she reached the assay office at the end of Lincoln Street, she decided to keep going.

  The sun crested the horizon, sending a shower of golden light across the landscape. Melanie shielded her eyes and pivoted in a slow circle. To the east, a faint trail led out of the valley where Cedar Ridge nestled and meandered upward toward the neighboring hills with their pink-streaked sides and chalky cliffs. Nearer at hand, crystalline drops of dew coated the grass and bushes like a silver mist, lending the scene an ethereal beauty that took her breath away.

  The rolling slopes held her attention. She had heard stories from several customers about the Indian ruins in those hills, dwellings of a people who had come and gone before.

  She set out along the trail in a pensive mood, thinking about those early inhabitants. Among them, there had been women . . . like herself. Had some of them walked the same path her feet trod now, wondering what life had in store for them? What hopes and dreams filled their thoughts?

  Melanie stopped and scanned the breadth of the valley. What did anyone now living know about the people who lived there centuries before? No one was left to recall their names or remember any of them as individuals. A sudden loneliness swept over her. Who would know anything about her a hundred years from now? Would anyone then remember her name?

  She shivered and drew her shawl closer around her, not sure whether to attribute her sudden chill to the cool morning air or the fresh awareness of the transitory nature of life. Her thoughts turned again to the stranger who lay buried in the cemetery. His life had ended only a short time ago, yet even the people he died amongst didn’t know his name.

  Sorrow smote her anew. For the thousandth time she wondered why she hadn’t heard anything when he’d been attacked. Could she have done anything to stop the murder? Not by brute force, perhaps, but a loud cry for help would have brought Caleb and the other townsmen on the run. If nothing else, she might have at least identified the killer and helped bring him to justice.

  Melanie glanced at the hills again. She had been walking for a good twenty minutes, yet she seemed no closer to the cliffs than when she’d set out. It was time to turn back and leave further explorations for another day. Responsibilities awaited her at the mercantile.

  She retraced her steps toward town, lost in somber reflection. The moment she arrived in Cedar Ridge, she’d felt a sense of coming home. Now it seemed that her newly discovered Eden harbored its own serpent. She lifted her gaze again, looking up to the hills. “Lord, why does there have to be such heartache in the midst of all this beauty you’ve created?”

  And the heartache wasn’t limited to the mystery of the murdered stranger. There was her relationship with Caleb, for instance. If only he would cooperate a bit, life in the store could be so much more pleasant. Granted, the two of them hadn’t butted heads in a major way since Cousin George’s will came to light. To all appearances, Caleb had reached a grudging acceptance of her presence at the mercantile, but she knew full well that he still didn’t appreciate her suggestions for change.

  She started when a roadrunner dashed across her path. A surprised laugh gurgled from her throat at the sight of his comical gait. His perky crest and oversized beak gave him a clownish appearance, and she could almost imagine him smiling at her. His whole demeanor seemed so simple, so carefree. What would it take for her to feel that happy?

  Her steps dragged, and a longing filled her heart. A home, she thought. That’s what it would take. A place to belong, to be loved.

  She had a home waiting for her in heaven. The Bible teachings learned at her grandmother’s knee assured her of that. Her grandparents were there, along with the mother who died while she was barely a toddler and the father she had never known. And, of course, Cousin George. They would all be waiting to greet her when she arrived at the pearly gates one day, and what a grand reunion they would have!

  Still, it would be so good to have someone to love her while she lived out her days on earth. Someone to talk to, to share times both happy and sad, to hold her in a gentle embrace.

  But it couldn’t be just anyone. If human company was all she sought, she could have taken her pick from any of the men who had proposed to her already. What she longed for was true companionship—a meeting of hearts and minds, a union of souls—and she didn’t intend to settle for anything less. In the meantime, she had the Lord. And that would be enough.

  She frowned when she passed Dan Crawford’s saddle shop, surprised to see the Open sign already hanging in the mercantile’s front window. Had she spent more time on her walk than she thought? Hastening across the street, she ran up the steps to the boardwalk and hurried into the store.

  The Professor was standing near the coffee grinder, chatting with Caleb, who was turning the crank with an easy rhythm.

  Melanie stumbled to a stop. “Am I late?”

  A puzzled scowl shadowed Caleb’s face. “Where have you been? I thought you were still upstairs. We were trying not to disturb you.”

  Melanie gestured toward the door. “It’s such a beautiful morning. I decided to go out for a walk and enjoy the sunrise.”

  Caleb’s frown deepened. “Please tell me you didn’t go outside alone while it was still dark.” When she didn’t answer, his voice sharpened. “While a killer may be on the loose? Are you out of your mind?”

  Melanie bristled at his incredulous tone. “I was perfectly safe. There was nobody else around.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “That is exactly my point.”

  The brusque reminder caught her up short, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Ignoring Caleb, she turned toward the Professor, who offered her an apologetic smile.

  “It’s my fault that the store is open earlier than usual. When I realized I was out of coffee, I decided to drive into town and have breakfast at the café. Caleb saw my buggy and waved me over. When I told him what I was doing, he took pity on me and offered to grind some Arbuckle’s for me.”

  Melanie smiled back at him. “I’m sure Caleb could commiserate with you. He’s like a grouchy bear if he doesn’t have his coffee.” She shot a look at Caleb, who continued turning the crank without comment.

  She decided to change the subject, wanting to throw off the sense of unease brought on by Caleb’s mention of murder. Trying to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice, she asked, “What happened to that cup last night?”

  Caleb looked up from the coffee grinder with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

  When he continued to stare at her as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue, Melanie planted her fists
on her hips and glared at him. “You know very well what I mean—the china teacup that broke when you came back last night.”

  Caleb shook his head slowly. “What are you talking about?”

  Melanie felt her irritation rise. “Don’t deny it. I heard you. I came downstairs and called your name. You must have been going out just then, because all I heard was the click of the door latch.”

  His face softened, and a slight smile curved his lips. “I was never here last night. You must have been dreaming.”

  Melanie let out a huff. “It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t my imagination.” She strode over to the wastebin. Picking it up, she carried it to where Caleb stood and held it up so he could see the broken shards inside. “I certainly didn’t imagine this.”

  Caleb’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at the remnants of the shattered cup a long moment before he lifted the wastebin from her hands and set it on the floor. When he straightened, deep lines creased his forehead. “How could that have happened?” he muttered.

  Melanie bristled. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  He leaned toward her and cupped her shoulders in a light grip. “I’m sorry the cup got broken, but I can assure you I had nothing to do with it.”

  Melanie stared into his eyes, mere inches from her own, and saw only truth reflected there. The warmth of his gaze and his touch on her shoulders nearly made her knees buckle. She glanced down to break the spell, and Caleb stepped away.

  When she looked up again, she saw the Professor step over to the shelf where the music box stood and run his finger across the top. Lifting the lid with tender care, he stared at the inner workings with a look of admiration. “An exquisite piece,” he said. “What wonderful craftsmanship.”

  Melanie shook herself and tried to pull her thoughts together. “Thank you. I thought it was wrong to keep it hidden away in the back. I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

  The Professor lowered the lid and turned to face her. “It’s obvious you have an eye for beauty. I have quite a collection of interesting items at my home. Would you be interested in dining with me one evening? I’m sure you would enjoy seeing them.”

  Melanie’s lips parted. She didn’t know the Professor well, but he hadn’t struck her as the type of man who would invite a woman to visit his home unchaperoned.

  As if reading her thoughts, the Professor smiled and inclined his head. “The invitation is meant for Caleb, as well. And Levi, too, of course.”

  Caleb looked up from sacking the ground coffee. He looked at Melanie with a question in his eyes, then he smiled and nodded. “If Miss Ross is agreeable, we’d all be happy to enjoy your hospitality.”

  Melanie felt her spirits lift, buoyed more by Caleb’s smile than the prospect of dinner at the Professor’s house. “Thank you. We’d love to.”

  The bell jingled, and Marshal Hooper strode through the door.

  The Professor reached for the sack of coffee. “I’d better be leaving now. Would you put this coffee on my tab, Caleb? I’ll plan on seeing you at my house the day after tomorrow, if that works for you.”

  Melanie watched him leave, then turned back to see the marshal saunter over to where Caleb was wiping down the coffee grinder with a clean rag.

  “Good day to you,” Caleb said. “You’re out and about early this morning.”

  Hooper nodded toward the Professor’s departing figure. “I’m not the only one.”

  Melanie drifted over to join them.

  The marshal tilted his hat back on his head and eyed Caleb. “Does the name Lucas Weber mean anything to you?”

  Caleb set his rag down and squinted at the abrupt question. “No, I can’t say it does.”

  “What about you, Miss Ross?” The marshal turned to Melanie. “Have you ever heard that name?”

  Melanie edged closer to Caleb. “No, I don’t believe so.” She exchanged a quick look with him. “Why?”

  The marshal studied them both as he spoke. “That’s the name of the man you found on your doorstep.”

  Melanie caught her breath. At last they knew his name. She felt the sting of tears and tried to swallow past the lump that swelled in her throat. She raised her hand to dash the moisture from her eyes but caught the marshal’s stony stare and linked her hands in front of her waist instead.

  The lawman cleared his throat. “You remember that letter I received yesterday?”

  Melanie nodded, recalling the envelope addressed to the marshal that had arrived in the previous day’s mail delivery.

  “It was from Lydia Weber, Lucas’s wife. She said he was missing. She hasn’t heard anything from him since he set off on a trip to Cedar Ridge, and she wanted to know if I’d seen him or knew anything about his whereabouts.” He pulled a small photograph from his vest pocket and held it out. “She sent this tintype along so I’d know for sure if I’d run across him.”

  Caleb took the tintype from him. After a long glance, he handed it to Melanie. She held the picture up, studying every detail. So that’s what he looked like in life. She remembered the slack features and the grayish skin and shuddered, wondering if she would ever be able to banish that image from her memory.

  The bell over the door jingled. Doc Mills entered, squinting as he peered around the store. When he spotted the three of them, he ambled over and took up a stance next to Melanie.

  She wrinkled her nose against the lingering odor of stale alcohol and cigar smoke that seemed to accompany the doctor wherever he went, and backed away a half step, hoping the move wouldn’t be too obvious. Turning her head slightly to one side, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. Looking at his shaking hands, she wondered that any patients at all sought his help and sent up a quick prayer of thanks for her own good health. What a sad thing, to see the toll drink could take on a man!

  Doc looked at Caleb, moving his head from side to side, as if trying to bring him into focus. “I’ve got a sizable order for you. The list is right here.” He held up a sheet of paper half covered with writing.

  “We’ll be with you in a minute,” Caleb said. “Just as soon as we’re finished here.”

  “Marshal Hooper has learned who the dead man was,” Melanie told him. “He was telling us about it just now.” She held up the tintype.

  Doc gave the photograph a cursory glance, then let out a puff of air that stirred his drooping mustache. He pocketed his list and turned away. “I can see you’re busy. Why don’t I come back when you have more time?” With a nod that included all of them, he shuffled toward the door and went out. Through the window, they could see him turning left on the boardwalk.

  “Probably on his way to the Silver Moon for a little hair of the dog that bit him last night,” the marshal muttered.

  Melanie followed the doctor’s unsteady progress along the walk, then turned back to the marshal with a sigh and handed him the photograph. “You’re going to return this to Mrs. Weber, aren’t you? It will be doubly precious to her now that her husband is gone.”

  Marshal Hooper shook his head. “She said she has another and told me to hang on to it. I’m hoping it will help me in my investigation.” He tucked the tintype away again, then hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “You’re sure you don’t recognize the name Weber?”

  “No,” Caleb repeated. “Why?”

  Melanie drew her brows together. They had already told him the name was unfamiliar. Why did he keep harping on the question? From Caleb’s expression, she suspected he wondered the same thing.

  The marshal raised one hand and stroked his chin. “According to Mrs. Weber’s letter, her husband came to Cedar Ridge to look into his brother’s death.”

  His brother? Melanie looked up at Caleb, who appeared to be every bit as confused as she felt. Then comprehension lit his face.

  “Weber? Wait a minute.” He bowed his head as if deep in thought, then he nodded. “I remember now. I think a letter came to my uncle from an L. Weber—in Colorado—shortly after his death. I returned it, marked Deceased.�
�� His brows knit together. “You mean to tell me the man who sent that letter was the same man who was murdered?”

  The marshal nodded without speaking.

  Melanie stared from Caleb to the marshal. “I don’t understand. Who was his brother?”

  The lawman turned his attention back to her. “Charley Weber was one of George and Alvin’s old prospecting buddies. He came into town last November, all fired up about a gold strike he’d heard about in South America, thinking he would talk them into pulling up stakes and joining him so the three of them could have one last adventure together.” He patted the pocket where he’d put the tintype.

  Caleb rubbed his forehead. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” He looked at Melanie. “Do you know anything about this Charley?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t ever remember Cousin George mentioning him, but he didn’t really mention anyone other than Alvin—in his letters or when he visited us.” She looked back at the marshal. “So what happened to Charley? Obviously they didn’t all go off together.”

  Marshal Hooper shook his head. “Nope. Both George and Alvin told him their roving days were over. They’d had their fill of panning for gold in icy streams and sleeping on the cold, hard ground. They said they’d found their last home right here, and they intended to stay in Cedar Ridge for the rest of their lives. Which they did.”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Of course, no one knew then how little time any of them had left. Charley got sick and died before he ever got a chance to head off to that new strike. And he was quickly followed by George and then Alvin. All three of them are buried out there in the cemetery. And now I’m wondering about the real reason Charley showed up in Cedar Ridge.”

  Caleb frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Marshal Hooper rested one hand on his holster. “Lucas Weber’s wife—his widow, I should say—said her husband got a letter from your uncle Alvin, saying he had some misgivings relating to Charley’s death. Lucas wrote back to Alvin for more information, but his letter was returned.” He eyed Caleb, who swallowed and nodded.