Into the Light (30 page)

“If you really love her, you don’t care who’s here and who isn’t.”

Trey shrugged into his jacket and followed her out of the room. “You’re right, but I care about you, and I’m glad you’re here.”

D
EBORAH DROPPED HER
bouquet again.

Judith picked it up, frowning at the stiff, artificial flowers. “We should have settled for the sickly hothouse carnations. I thought I wrapped the wires well enough they wouldn’t bother your hands.”

“They’re fine. I can’t feel the wires.” Deborah’s icy hands couldn’t feel anything, which was why she kept dropping the bouquet.

“I think the matron of honor has to dance at least once with the best man,” Judith said. “I hope Mr. Lenahan knows that. I hope he’s a good dancer.”

“Judith.”

“What Judith? Don’t look at me like that. You listen to me. Keeping a husband on his toes should be part of every wife’s strategy. I have no intention of ever letting William become complacent. And life is much more fun this way.”

Would the piano never start? They stood on the steps of the church, waiting. Uncle Jason looked as calm as ever. Judith bounced on her toes.

Deborah examined the grass that ran around the side of the church to the alley behind.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Ouch!” Judith’s hat brim bumped hers so hard Deborah recoiled, feeling the pull on hat pins and hair pins alike.

“I’m sorry,” Judith said, right in Deborah’s face, “but you are not going to run off, not even if Uncle Jason and I have to sit on you and ruin that dress.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Deborah said, giving the beckoning escape route one last look.

The piano music started. Finally. Uncle Jason swung the door open.

“The Methodists have an organ,” Judith muttered as she disappeared inside.

“If you’re going to run, now is the time,” Uncle Jason said, smiling.

Deborah took his arm. “No more running.” Maybe she even meant it.

Although not tightly packed, guests filled every pew, and every one of them was turned, looking back at her. Her knees wobbled. Only the solid support of Uncle Jason’s arm made walking possible.

Aunt Em, Judith, and Norah had each assured Deborah that once she saw Trey waiting at the front of the church, once she met his eyes, she would see nothing else. How could she look past that sea of faces and find him?

Open windows on each side of the building let warm, sweet spring air circulate. Dragging in a breath of that air, Deborah stared at the windows. A shadow crossed one. Again. As if.... Distinct this time. Only a few inches, but long and narrow.

“The window,” Deborah gasped, jerking Uncle Jason to a halt and pointing. Too afraid to say more, she let go of his arm and ran. Outside, across the grass that had beckoned earlier, into the narrow space between buildings. The man who had not been quite careful enough about the shadow of his gun barrel ran too, away from her, with a stiff, awkward gait.

Deborah caught him easily, crashed into his back, and fell to the ground on top of him. He tried to push her away, hit at her with the rifle. The blow landed on her shoulder and only increased her fury. She smashed him in the face with the bouquet in her hand. Artificial flowers fell from their wires. She struck again and again in a frenzy. “You think — kill Trey — I’ll kill you!”

When hands tried to pull her away, she fought them just as hard, until Trey’s voice broke through her fury. Trey’s hands restored her reason. She wrapped herself around him, panting and shaking. “He was.... He was....”

“Sshh. I know. I know. It’s all right now. They’ve got him. They’ve got him.” He shook her gently. “Forget about him. What about you? Are you all right?”

She kept her face buried against his neck. “I’m fine. My dress is ruined, isn’t it?”

“Looks good to me.”

Which was a lie. He couldn’t possibly know what it looked like with her pressed tight against him. She raised her head long enough to take in the scene around them. Her uncles had Herman Gruner on his feet, hands tied behind his back. Bloody red stripes covered his face. Gruner’s rifle dangled from Caleb’s hand.

Wedding guests had spilled out of the church and crowded into the narrow alley. Trey’s mother pushed through them.

“Did you know she was here?” Deborah whispered to Trey.

“I did. She and Alice came to visit me earlier.”

Mrs. Van Cleve walked right up to Gruner. “Herman?” she said as if unable to believe her eyes.

He refused to look at her. “Killing him’s the only way,” he mumbled. “The only way to make it all like it used to be.”

Trey had said his mother never showed emotion, but she looked both astonished and angry now. “You told me someone tried to.... You? You tried to kill my son?”

Gruner’s head jerked back from Mrs. Van Cleve’s slap.

A short, dark-haired woman who must be Trey’s sister put an arm around her mother and pulled her away, after calling Gruner a name Deborah didn’t think ladies ever spoke out loud.

Everyone was looking at Trey — and her. Deborah had no urge to let go of him, but she finally did. For a second, the same sappy look she’d seen on his face in the alley next to the dead body flashed across his face.

He touched her cheek. “Next time you throw yourself in my arms, you have to be laughing.”

“I didn’t throw....” Maybe she had. Laughing?

“What do you want to do?” he said. “Tell all these people to come back in an hour? Tomorrow? Next week?”

“No! I don’t want to spend another sleepless night worrying about what I’m doing to you. Let’s get married. Right now.”

Trey looked at the Sutton men. “Dealing with the police will take hours. Can you stash him somewhere?”

“I believe the church has a basement,” Uncle Jason said. “Don’t start until we get back.”

He and Eli ignored Gruner’s struggles and dragged him away.

Aunt Em fussed, smoothing lace wherever she could reach. “Deborah, honey, if you would just stand straight, we need to see what we can do about your dress — and hat — and hair.”

Deborah stood still while every female in sight fussed over her grass stains and torn lace. None of it mattered to her any longer. Trey waited, and they walked to the altar arm in arm.

T
HE WEDDING FLEW
by in a blur. Deborah had vague impressions of Uncle Jason joining her at the front of the church, giving her away. Of saying the words the pastor led her to say, of a ring sliding on her finger. As predicted, the memory that stayed with her was of Trey’s eyes, his voice, his kiss.

The pleasant fog surrounding her disappeared in the squat old building the Hubbell town police used as their headquarters. Trey didn’t want her there. The police did.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the chief of police said, “but if Mrs. Van Cleve is the only one who saw Mr. Gruner point the rifle at you, she needs to tell us about it.”

“He confessed. There’s no reason she can’t join her family at the wedding reception.” Trey paused then added, “Our families.”

Deborah laid a hand on his arm. “I want to be here. I want to tell what happened, and then I want to hear what Mr. Gruner has to say for himself.”

“Now, that’s not possible,” the chief said. “We can’t have a woman — ordinary citizens — sitting in while we question a suspect.”

Trey switched sides like lightning. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why not? My wife is the one who captured Herman. If she wants to hear what he has to say, why shouldn’t she? And if you want to hear what she has to say....”

The chief’s eyes were small in his heavy face and grew smaller as he stared at them. “If that’s a threat, I could just release him.”

“Of course you could,” Trey agreed. “I’ll write up the whole incident in the paper exactly as it happened. We’ll only have to postpone our wedding trip a day or two. By the time the next edition comes out, I’ll be able to report that you released Herman and now he’s missing, presumed dead, and the Hubbell police have no idea which Sutton or Van Cleve to point a finger at.”

The two men eyed each other while Deborah looked around the dark, dirty room. She didn’t want to stay here one minute longer than necessary.

Judith would treat the police chief to a saucy smile, bat her eyelashes, and have him giving her anything she wanted in no time at all. Miriam would do delicate female distress to perfection and achieve the same result. Deborah knew if she tried either of those things every man in the room, including Trey, would roll on the filthy wood floor laughing.

“Please, I know it’s irregular, but could you just leave a door cracked so we could listen if we promise not to interfere? Someone has been trying to kill Mr. Van....”

Trey stopped glaring at the police chief and shot her a hard look. Reality set in. “My husband,” Deborah said, testing the words out and finding them to her liking. “Someone has been trying to kill my husband for months, and it would be reassuring to know that Mr. Gruner is responsible for it all.”

After all, Trey had reported the attacks with the pipe and knife to the police, even though he’d downplayed them and attributed them to a would be robber and belligerent drunk at the time.

“You think old Herman attacked you with a pipe — or a knife?” the chief asked now.

“No,” Trey said. “If he was involved, he paid someone else, probably that fellow who missed his jump and broke his neck falling off the bank building a while back.”

The chief made a sound of disbelief. “Where would Herman Gruner get money to pay anyone? He’s been doing odd jobs at the V Bar C for no more than found for years.”

“I’m embarrassed to admit he got at least part of it from me. I’ve been paying him to keep me informed about the comings and goings of everyone at the ranch. It serves me right to know what he did with that money, and he probably had savings. He earned a top hand’s wages for a lot of years before the fall that crippled him. He has no family, and he’s never been much of a spender.”

“Did you and the missus hear this confession of his?”

The missus.
Deborah smiled. It had a nice ring to it really.

“Yes. So did at least half a dozen others,” Trey said.

Deborah told what she had seen and done as succinctly as possible, ignoring the incredulous looks on the other men’s faces and the self-satisfied expression on Trey’s.

“You beat him with your wedding bouquet?”

“It was all I had, and they weren’t real flowers.”

“She used my cane to beat the man who stabbed me too,” Trey said, sounding so smug she wanted to pinch him. “She’s very protective.”

The chief closed his eyes for a moment, but couldn’t hide his amusement. “All right. Let’s see what he has to say.”

The chief offered no chairs but allowed Trey and Deborah to stand out of sight near the cell when he and one of his men questioned Herman Gruner. Deborah fished her handkerchief out from her sleeve and buried her nose in it. The cells smelled worse than an outhouse in mid-summer.

“Why don’t you wait for me outside?” Trey said in her ear. “The chief is right. This is no place for a lady. Your ears are going to be as offended as your nose.”

“I don’t care. I want to hear this. He can’t use any words you don’t use over the linotype.”

Sounds of chairs scraping and the chief’s voice telling Gruner how much trouble he was in and what he was accused of sounded clearly enough.

“Why did you tell the chief I beat the man with the knife? I only hit him once, and you know it,” Deborah whispered. “And now you were stabbed? You insisted it was nothing but a scratch even when you were dripping blood, but now you were stabbed?”

“Editorial license. It makes a better story. Let’s listen.”

Except there was nothing to listen to. Nothing except increasingly frustrated questions from the chief. Gruner didn’t say a word, grunt, or cough.

Finally the chief gave up the attempt and joined them in the hall. “I’ll talk to everyone who heard what he said, and after that it’s up to the prosecutor. I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“I can get him to talk,” Trey said, and walked around the chief into Gruner’s sight. Deborah hurried after him.

“My father and I may not like each other, but I guess you know he’ll never let you set foot back on the ranch,” Trey said to Gruner.

Gruner’s eyes went wide. He’d obviously not considered that. “You arrogant bastard, come crawling back after all them years, then strutting around giving orders. Your father’s the best man I ever knew. Kept me on all that time I was laid up and found me work after, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Trey agreed. “He’s a saint.”

Gruner spit at him. “Better than you’ll ever be. You drove him half mad and your mother and sister to tears. You think out in the bunkhouse we didn’t all know what you were doing to them good people, and what you’d do if you got your hands on the V Bar C? Driving some fancy little pony, afraid to throw a leg over a real horse, sniffing around the Suttons. You think any of us has any respect for the likes of you?”

“Being an arrogant bastard, I never thought about it. I suppose you’re the one who cut the reins and loosened the wheel on the buggy.”

“Damn right, and it almost worked.”

“It did, and you came close to crushing me like a bug with the wagon after that. How did you beat me to town?”

“I got on a horse and rode, like a man.”

“Either you’ve been lying about your condition for years, or that put you in bed for days.”

Hot fury chased away the cold anger, and Gruner’s face reddened to match the stripes of the wire marks. “I never lied. I had to stay in town for days all right. Mr. Van Cleve was decent too. Said I had the time coming. Not like you, firing Lenny Hart over dogs. Dogs.”

“So after that you had to pay someone else to do your killing for you. He wasn’t very good at it, you know. Cal Sutton figures you were too cheap to hire anybody worth his salt.”

“Sutton. That bastard!” Gruner launched himself off the cot he was sitting on at Trey, who just stepped back from the bars. The chief and his sergeant wrestled Gruner back to the bed, but Trey didn’t make it any easier. “Of course you aren’t very good at it either. After all, Deborah Sutton beat you to a fare thee well.”