Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (20 page)

Elizabeth didn’t say anything for a minute, aware of Josiah’s reticence. “We have to find out if it’s the same man.”

“Yes, ma’am, we do.”

“But we might as well wait here for a minute, until the sheriff is free.”

Josiah nodded.

Her attention drifted, then eventually made its way back to McPherson. Just above him on the boardwalk, Mr. Carnes stood scanning the street as though searching for someone. The coroner stopped and scrunched his face, looking in the vicinity of where she and Josiah stood. Purpose flooded his expression.

Elizabeth glanced behind her to see what had drawn his attention, but no one was there. When she turned back, the man was on a path straight for her and Josiah, shuffling at a surprising speed.

She discreetly touched Josiah’s arm, and it didn’t take him long to follow her meaning.

“Oh . . . this ain’t good, Miz Westbrook. This ain’t good at all.”

“Neither of us has done anything wrong, Josiah,” she whispered, still watching Mr. Carnes. “Remember that.”

“Miss Westbrook?” The coroner’s voice sounded exactly as she would have expected—rusted, like an old hinge that needed a good oiling. Out of breath, he removed his hat and quickly glanced behind him in McPherson’s direction. “You’re the . . . woman photographer from . . . back east. Is that right?”

“Yes, Mr. Carnes, I am. How do you do?” She debated on whether or not to extend her hand in greeting, but then remembered McPherson’s reference to the man examining the body and refrained. He had a peculiar smell about him. At first she thought it was a poor choice of cologne; on second whiff she cringed. It was formaldehyde.

Carnes smiled, and though it was a friendly gesture, it wasn’t an altogether pleasant addition to his face. “I’m doing a whole lot better than the man back in my office—that’s for sure. Listen, ma’am, I’m wondering if you could do the town of Timber Ridge a great service.” His eyes were large and wide set, and one of them had a tendency to wander as he spoke. “Due to the circumstances of this case, I think it’s imperative that a photograph be—”

“Carnes!” McPherson stared from across the street. He spoke briefly to the men encircling him, then started toward them.

“As I was saying, ma’am”—Mr. Carnes spoke in haste—“I think it’s imperative that we have a photograph of the deceased for our case files. I wouldn’t ordinarily ask this of you, dear lady, but the circumstances merit the request, and I—”

“Miss Westbrook, Mr. Birch, how are you this morning?”

Seeing McPherson’s scowl, Elizabeth felt renewed respect for the authority he commanded both personally and as sheriff of this town. She also experienced a touch of apprehension for Mr. Carnes, and was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of the dark look.

Sensing the sheriff ’s greeting was more of a formality, she answered with a nod, and Josiah did likewise.

“Carnes, I advised you against doing this.”

“But you did not forbid it, Sheriff. And I still hold that having a photograph of the deceased will prove beneficial in this case.” He worried the frayed rim of his hat. “We’ve never had a photographer in Timber Ridge, and coroners back east routinely have their corpses—”

“This is not up for debate.” McPherson turned to her. “My sincere apologies, Miss Westbrook. This isn’t an appropriate conversation to be having in your presence, ma’am. And even less appropriate is what’s being requested of you.” His look silenced a fidgeting Mr. Carnes.

The coroner’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

Josiah shifted his weight, and maybe it was her imagination, but Elizabeth felt his silent censure regarding the photograph she’d taken yesterday—as though she didn’t already feel judged enough by McPherson’s strong opinion on the subject. Thoughts ricocheted off one another. She needed to tell the sheriff about yesterday’s discovery, but she wasn’t about to have that conversation in front of Mr. Carnes.

She chose her words carefully. “I appreciate your concern, Sheriff. However, though capturing such photographs, as Mr. Carnes has suggested, doesn’t fall within my usual practice”—from the corner of her eye she saw Josiah look at her, and her face heated—“I believe I could . . . tolerate doing this for you. For the overall good of the investigation.” She purposefully did not look at Josiah. “But only with your permission, of course.”

McPherson seemed to weigh her offer. He looked at Carnes, then at her. “May I speak with you privately, Miss Westbrook?”

She attempted to trace his footsteps in the snow but had to throw in an extra one every few steps. Grateful for the opportunity to finally speak with him in private, she hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds in making the offer.

He led her to the end of the boardwalk and assisted her up the stairs. “I’m sorry you’ve been put in this situation, ma’am, and I appreciate what you’re offering to do. But I fear that seeing this body will be upsetting to you. And I don’t want to—”

“Sheriff, excuse me for interrupting, but . . . there’s something you need to know. It may help in some regard.”

He studied her for a moment, and she was struck by how gentle a man he seemed, and how handsome. Now, how to say what she needed to say to him with him staring at her in such a way. “Yesterday morning, we were near the Maroon Bells when—”

“We?”

“Yes, Josiah Birch was with me.”

He briefly looked beyond her, then nodded.

“We were near the Maroon Bells when we found a man’s body, on the trail.”

McPherson showed no reaction whatsoever, which threw her, but only for a second. “Neither Josiah nor I knew his name or who he was. Josiah was going to carry him back to town, but when we came back a while later, the body was gone.” Part of her last sentence replayed in her mind—
when we came back a while later.
That they’d left the body there sounded cold and without feeling, and she rushed to cover the awkwardness of it. “When we got back into town, we went straight to your office to notify you. But it was closed and no one was there. Since it was late and it was snowing . . . and quite honestly since the man
was
already dead, we decided to seek you out first thing this morning to tell you.”

She could see him assimilating the information, piecing it together with whatever he’d learned that morning.

“So let me get this straight, Miss Westbrook. You found a dead man, and then you just left him there.”

It wasn’t an accusation
per se,
yet disbelief clipped his tone. “But we weren’t gone for long. No more than an hour . . . or two, at the most.”

“And where did you go?”

“On up the mountain.”

His smile held understanding. “I’m trying to establish why you went on up the mountain.”

Elizabeth sped her thoughts forward, feeling the sudden need to critique them as she went. “As it turns out, there’s an odd coincidence linking our experience to what you found this morning. . . . I was on my way to see Travis Coulter in order to gain his permission to take photographs of his land.” The statement was met with silence and the silence begged to be filled, despite something telling her not to. “If I know that a piece of land is privately owned, I always try and seek out the owner’s approval before taking photographs.” She offered a smile. “Consider it courtesy of the trade.”

“That’s very kind of you. And just how did you know that that land belonged to Coulter?”

She blinked. “I gained that information from a visit to the land and title office.” She could just see Wendell Goldberg sitting back in his chair, shaking his head over how much she was divulging. “One of my first stops when I visit a town like Timber Ridge is to familiarize myself with the surroundings. And in your town’s case, I wanted to see where the hot springs and the waterfalls were located. Those make gorgeous landscapes, as I’m sure you can imagine.” In her mind, Goldberg’s eyes lit with pride.

“I’m sure they do. I’d like to see some of your photographs sometime, Miss Westbrook, as would my sister. Remember, she’s still planning on Saturday’s visit.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I’m looking forward to it too.”

“You seem to enjoy what you do, Miss Westbrook. I can see the excitement in your eyes when you talk about it.” He briefly glanced past her. “Do you think you’d recognize the body you saw yesterday, if you were to see it again?”

“I’m certain I would.”

He paused. “And do you think you could show me the exact location where you and Josiah found it?”

“Absolutely. We’d be happy to.”

“Did anyone see you or Josiah, Miss Westbrook? Did you pass anyone on the way?”

“No, there was no one.”

“You’re certain?”

She nodded, then thought of something. “I did see someone from my window last night. He was standing in the alleyway below, opposite the boardinghouse.”

His brow furrowed. “Did you recognize him?”

She shook her head, then described the sequence of events.

“And how do you think this relates to what we found this morning?”

“It probably doesn’t. I just thought I should tell you in case it did.”

Again that smile. Then he glanced in the direction of the coroner’s office. “For now, the only thing that remains is for you and Josiah to view the body. I don’t like putting you in this situation, but with what you’ve shared, I don’t see any way around it. Then if you’d be so kind as to retrieve your equipment, we’ll ask you to take a photograph for Mr. Carnes’s files.”

He gestured for her to precede him and they walked toward the coroner’s office. Josiah and Mr. Carnes joined them on the way.

When they got to the door, Mr. Carnes went on inside but McPherson turned back. “Mr. Birch, would you wait out here for us? I’d like to speak to Miss Westbrook first. I’ll return in a minute.”

“I wait right here for you, Sheriff, sir.”

Not wanting to, Elizabeth followed McPherson inside.

19

T
he past twenty-four hours had not been kind to Mr. Travis Coulter. But at least now Elizabeth knew why no one had been at home in the cabin. If she’d had a handkerchief with her, she would have covered her mouth and nose. The odors in the room could probably be attributed more to the routine duties performed in this office than the body, but she couldn’t be sure.

An eerie sense of déjà vu crept into the room. She swallowed. “It’s the same man.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

She didn’t know why, but she was more skittish viewing the body today than she had been yesterday. And it took her a moment to realize why. Yesterday the man had simply been dead. But today, he’d been murdered. Didn’t the body being moved indicate that?

“Is there anything about him that looks different to you, Miss Westbrook? Any new marks on his body? On the clothing?”

The complexion was grayer than she remembered, which served as ample motivation for her to focus on other distinguishing factors. His boots looked the same, his pants, his shirt. The same girth around his middle . . . “I don’t see any difference at all. I’m sorry.”

McPherson gestured. “Did you happen to notice if Coulter was wearing a gun yesterday?” He slipped his own pistol from the holster on his hip. “Coulter carried a Remington single action revolver with a walnut grip. His had some fancy engraving along here”—he ran a finger along the barrel—“and on the chamber. It had pearl inlays on the sides of the grip too. He was real proud of it.”

Carnes snorted. “He was a fool about that thing, is what he was. Showed it off every chance he got.”

Elizabeth looked back at the empty holster on Coulter’s body and tried to recall the picture she’d seen through the lens. Slowly, she nodded. “I do remember seeing a gun, though I couldn’t tell you if it was as you described. Perhaps Josiah will remember more.”

McPherson nodded. “That’s real good, ma’am. It helps, thank you.” He motioned to Carnes, who first draped a sheet over the body and then busied himself with mixing something in a bowl on a table in the corner.

McPherson gently took hold of her arm, much as he’d done with his sister in the store that day when she’d first seen them, and led her toward the door. Looking out the window, he exhaled—part sigh, part groan. Elizabeth followed his gaze and realized what—or rather, who—had inspired the reaction.

Coming up the street, like a man on a mission, was Drayton Turner. She hadn’t thought about it before now, but she was surprised the editor of Timber Ridge’s illustrious newspaper wasn’t already on the scene, snooping for a story. Though she hardly knew him, she knew his type from years of experience, and could well guess what was in store for McPherson.

“He seems eager to speak with you, Sheriff.”

McPherson gave a shake of his head. “You mean eager to speak with me
again.
He was already here first thing. Drayton Turner’s an eager sort of fella. Typical newspaper man—always after a story. Whether one’s there or not.”

He wasn’t looking at her, so Elizabeth didn’t feel a need to guard her reaction. “That’s a good thing, I’d think. For him to be ambitious in that way, since he’s running a newspaper.”

“Oh, I’m not faulting him for his ambition, ma’am. There’s nothing wrong with that. Except when he goes for the trigger too soon and prints something that’s not accurate. Which has been my unfortunate experience with those kinds of folk in the past.”

“Those kinds of folk.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. “I would imagine it’s hard to get all the facts straight all of the time. Surely Mr. Turner offers to retract any inaccuracies.”

“He does. On the back page. A day later.” He turned to her. “But the harm’s already been done by then, now, hasn’t it?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m of the opinion, Miss Westbrook, that it’s best not to speculate when it comes to the truth. Best to wait until you’ve weighed all the facts; otherwise you can kick up a lot of dust for no reason.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t serve a newspaper’s deadlines. Or Turner’s desire to sell more copies.”

“But wouldn’t you agree that sometimes it’s difficult to know what the truth is? It may not always be what’s staring you right in the face. Especially when there may be more than one version of it.”