A Good Man for Katie (21 page)

She didn’t want to blurt out the news in front of Oren Junior. The boy didn’t need to know, but she feared
everyone
would know in a short time, thanks to Conn Riley. As it was, a crowd had formed. The townspeople walked up the hill toward the schoolhouse. The ringing of the bell and curiosity forced them from the warmth of their homes and businesses to brave the cold. Francine Maitland strode front and center, a satisfied, smug smile on her face. No doubt, Conn’s second stop had been to her, after, of course, he’d notified his father at the saloon.

She motioned for Oren to follow as she moved toward the front of the school. The big man lumbered out of the sleigh, huffing and puffing with effort, and joined her beneath the overhang. Kathryne lowered her voice, knowing how sound could carry in the silence around them. “Shep Turner is dead.”

“Huh?”

“Looks like someone beat him to death and left him in the schoolhouse.” She couldn’t stop the shiver that raced up her spine. “I made sure the children didn’t see him.”

His eyes widened then narrowed with suspicion. His gaze went from the top of her head to her feet then back again, as if judging her and finding her guilty without a shred of proof.

Terrence chose that moment to open the door and step out of the schoolhouse. “Jessup,” he said and nodded to the man who tried to peek into the building through the open door before the portal closed. “You were right, Kate. Someone definitely beat him, but that isn’t what killed him. His skull has been crushed.” He shrugged his shoulders. “With what, I don’t know.”

Tears smarted Kathryne’s eyes. No one should have to die that way, not even Shep Turner and yet, not all her sympathy and tears extended toward him. Some of it she saved for herself as she scanned the faces of the townspeople as they gathered around.

It was the opera house in Washington all over again, the scandal ready to explode as she heard the ugly speculations, the barely concealed whispers, saw the expressions of horror, disbelief and distrust on the faces of her neighbors.

Declarations of innocence had garnered her nothing before. She doubted they would again. Most assuredly, she would lose her position over this, and be forced from town under a cloud of suspicion, though she had done nothing wrong.

“Not this time,” Kathryne murmured and stood up straight. She’d found a home here. She adored the children and loved teaching. She liked living on her own and being responsible for herself. She wasn’t about to leave it all without a fight.

She raised her chin a notch and gathered the shreds of her dignity around herself like a mantle. “Please take the Cabot children home now, Oren,” she managed to say then walked away beneath the glaring stares of the townspeople with as much self-respect and poise as she could.

“Kate!”

She stopped and turned as Emeline, Laurel and Edna cut through the crowd and made their way toward her. None of them wore a look of censure, only concern and worry. Kathryne breathed a sigh of relief as they flanked her, offering the gift of friendship and faith without saying a word, and escorted her to the cottage while Terrence remained in front of the door to the schoolhouse.

The Cabot boys pounced on her with questions, which Kathryne did her best to ignore. The fear on their faces, though, shot to her heart. “Everything is fine. Mr. Jessup will take you home now,” she said as she exchanged glances with Emeline.

The two women helped the children with coats, scarves and hats before releasing them to the frosty coldness and the sleigh waiting outside as Laurel and Edna made quick work of removing their warm winter clothing and tossing them on the settee before making their way to the kitchen.

Kathryne stood at the window and watched the people still milling about outside. She shivered though the embers of the fire she’d built earlier exuded warmth. Despite the cold, the townsfolk showed no signs of leaving, though several of them stomped their feet to keep warm while others huddled together.

She couldn’t hear a word of what they said, but the expressions on their faces were clear enough. Though most of them were afraid of the Willow Creek boys, they still blamed her for Shep’s death, even accused her of performing the deed herself, as ridiculous as that might be. Conn Riley had done an excellent job of spilling his gossip and she couldn’t help wondering what other juicy rumors he spread around like so much manure.

Let them look. Let them talk. I’ve done nothing wrong.

“Come away from the window, Kate.” Edna casually draped an arm around her shoulder. “It’ll do ye no good ta be standin’ there, lettin’ all them people gawk at ye.”

She shook her head and continued to watch the crowd, her mouth dry with fear, her fingernails digging into her palms and leaving ridges in her skin. Edna patted her shoulder then left her to join Emeline and Laurel in the kitchen.

“Here.” Emeline handed her a glass of brandy a few moments later. “Tell us what happened. Laurel and I were with Edna at the Wagon Wheel when we heard the bell. We ran into Walter as we were leaving. Walter said Sarge wouldn’t let anyone, but you into the schoolhouse.” She laid a reassuring hand on her arm, the warmth of her fingers finally breaking through to Kathryne’s self-imposed silence. “What did you find inside, Kate?”

Obviously, Emeline was one of the few Conn hadn’t told.

“Shep Turner.” She turned from the window and saw Laurel making herself comfortable in one of the wing-backed chairs where she could watch Walter outside with the dog. Edna laid more logs on the embers in the fireplace—they’d come into the parlor without her even noticing. “He’s dead.”

Emeline gasped and blurted, “But how?”

“He’d been beaten, but Terrence said his skull had been crushed. I-I can’t help feeling this is my fault.”

“Your fault?” Laurel asked as she rose to her feet and joined them at the window. “Why?”

Kathryne never had a chance to answer the question as Terrence opened the front door and poked his head into the parlor. “Townsend has finally decided to make an appearance.”

Kathryne grabbed her shawl from the chair where she’d tossed it earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders as she stepped outside to meet him. The other women followed, shrugging into their coats, wrapping scarves around their necks against the frigid air.

“What the hell was so all-fired important you dragged me away from my breakfast?” Sheriff Townsend demanded as he climbed out of the buckboard, displeasure evident on his face, in the stiffness of his back, in the hands that fisted at his sides.

After seeing Shep as she had, after enduring the suspicious looks of her neighbors and hearing their speculation, his greeting was not the friendliest, nor the least bit reassuring. Definitely not what she wanted or needed to hear. Sarge sidled up beside her, his stance rigid, his teeth showing as Townsend took a step closer to her.

Kathryne dug her fingers into the thick fur around the dog’s neck as she stiffened, every muscle in her body taut as she bit back the scathing retort on the tip of her tongue. It wouldn’t do to make Townsend angrier than he already appeared to be, but the urge to slap his face overwhelmed her. She fought to remain in control and pleasant. “I apologize for interrupting your meal, Sheriff. However, I found Shep Turner in my schoolhouse this morning. He’s dead.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her announcement. Indeed, he didn’t even seem interested—his face remained a perfect mask of indifference. He said nothing as he walked away from her toward the schoolhouse. “You can all go home,” he said to the crowd moving closer to the building, the tone of his voice brooking no argument. “Ain’t nothing to see here.” He stood at the door, hands on his hips until the townspeople slowly dispersed, then went inside the schoolhouse, his movements stiff.

Francine and her husband, George, were the last people left standing in the schoolyard. Neither of them budged. Kathryne watched them, her stomach twisting, nausea rising, her hands trembling so badly she clasped them together to keep them still.

They were arguing, Francine’s normally porcelain skin red and blotchy, and not from the cold. Her voice rose in anger and Kathryne caught a bit of what she said. She winced and studied the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.

“Don’t listen to her,” Emeline whispered in her ear. “She doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know you’d never hurt anyone.”

After a moment, George left his wife standing alone and approached Kathryne, a timid but reassuring smile on his lips. He extended his business card. “In case you need counsel.”

“Thank you, but I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said and lifted her gaze to his. The sympathy she saw flashing in his eyes nearly became her undoing and she sucked in her breath to keep her fear, as well as her tears, at bay. “I didn’t kill Mr. Turner.”

“Be that as if may,” he said, but didn’t finish his sentence as he tipped his hat then rejoined his wife. Francine, her mouth twisted as if she tasted something sour, didn’t speak to him. Instead, she glared at Kathryne for a long time, censure burning in her eyes. She’d never forgotten how her vote to hire Kathryne had been over-ruled. After a moment, Francine spun on her heel and stomped down the hill. George followed, a merry whistle on his lips, apparently unconcerned by his wife’s more than icy attitude.

So drawn was she to Francine’s obvious disapproval, that she didn’t hear Townsend until he stood right beside her. “You kill him?”

“What?” Kathryne jumped, startled by the question.

“Did you kill Turner?” Townsend repeated as he shoved his gloved hands into his coat pockets. His weight shifted from one leg to the other as his stare bore into her.

Taken aback, frightened by his expression and the knowledge he thought she might have been involved, Kathryne declared, “No! I didn’t kill him. Why would I?”

Townsend shrugged his slim shoulders. “He’d been bothering you. Tried to push you into an alley. You told me so yourself.”

“She couldn’t have done this, Townsend,” Terrence interjected. “A great deal of force was necessary to do that kind of damage to Shep’s skull. Kate just doesn’t have the strength.”

Townsend quirked an eyebrow and Kathryne knew he didn’t believe Terrence’s explanation for a second. In his eyes, doubt and suspicion lingered but instead of asking her again if she’d killed Turner, he asked, “Where’s Hunter?”

Kathryne shook her head and a blush heated her face. “How would I know? He doesn’t report his comings and goings to me.”

His eyes glittered and the cold expression on his face made her shiver more than the freezing temperature and the snow beginning to fall. “Ain’t what I heard,” he said as his eyes skimmed her body, his gaze lewd and appalling. Kathryne had an insane desire to cover herself, protect herself from the inappropriate study. “Heard he spends a lotta time ‘round here.”

Fear left a metallic taste in her mouth as the implication of his words hit her and yet, she didn’t want him to see how afraid she’d become.

“I’m taking you in. Let’s go.”

Her heart thundered against her ribcage as she drew in her breath. Whatever composure she managed to retain slipped and she couldn’t stop her voice from cracking. “Am I under arrest?”

He didn’t answer as he snatched her arm. Sarge let out a harsh growl and stepped between them, the hair on his back standing straight up, teeth showing. Sheriff Townsend glanced at the dog then removed his hand from her arm. “Get in the wagon and leave that damned dog here. I ain’t gettin’ bit.”

“Sarge, you stay,” she ordered as she walked toward the buckboard, and climbed into the seat. It could have been worse. He could have slapped handcuffs around her wrists. If she thought she’d had trouble before, the townspeople seeing her escorted to the sheriff’s office in handcuffs would have more than settled her fate. He left her in the buckboard and went back to the schoolhouse, white plumes of steam escaping his mouth resembling the smoke from a train as he stomped over the snow covered ground.

Tears smarted Kathryne’s eyes as Townsend and Terrence carried Shep’s body toward the buckboard. With a thump, they laid him in the back and covered him with a piece of canvas tarp.

“Do you want us to come with you?”

Kathryne couldn’t speak over the constriction in her throat or the fear knotting her stomach. She grabbed Emeline’s hand and squeezed as she swallowed hard and finally found her voice. “Yes, please,” she whispered. “Terry, too, and perhaps, Mr. Maitland.” She sucked in her breath and tried to still the thundering of her heart. “I’ve done nothing wrong, Emy. I have nothing to hide.” But even as she said the words, she knew she had plenty to keep secret.

Chapter Fourteen

Sarge scrambled from his place in front of the fireplace, tail wagging, ears perked, and ran for the kitchen door, his nails clicking on the floor, the growl-groan coming from his throat growing in intensity. The dog only acted that way with one person.

Chase.

His name flittered through her head and her heartbeat picked up speed.

Kathryne laid her book on the table and followed. She didn’t even pull aside the curtain covering the small window before she flung open the kitchen door and fell into his arms. It felt like the most natural thing in the world and she let herself be comforted and consoled within his embrace. After spending more than three hours earlier today being questioned—indeed, being accused—by Townsend, she needed consolation. She hadn’t been arrested, but she certainly felt as if she’d been on trial with Townsend acting as judge and jury, finding both her and Chase guilty. In his eyes, they’d murdered Shep, she by association with Chase alone.

She realized two things while Townsend questioned her. The sheriff hated Chase with a passion that startled her…and she loved the same man, with equal passion.

“Edna told me what happened as soon as I walked into the Wagon Wheel,” he whispered into her hair. The reverberations of his deep, rich voice rippled through her. “Are you all right?”

“I am now.” She nodded against the hard planes of his chest while Sarge circled around them, his wagging tail hitting the table leg in his excitement.