To Dream Anew (21 page)

Once she was gone, Trenton put down the pen, realizing that his hand was trembling. He rubbed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Blowing it out in the silence of the room, he forced himself not to go after her. This was the better way.

A knock on the door, however, made him certain she’d returned. Getting up, he fought his feelings. How could he let her into his life with Portia knowing the details of his past? The woman would stop at nothing to hurt him—and in turn, Angelina—for whatever wrongs she perceived him to have done her.

Trenton opened the door, hoping to have the strength to send Angelina on her way once and for all. Instead, he found Sam Brady standing on the other side.

“Your sister told me I’d find you here,” the older man said, smiling.

Trenton tried to hide his surprise. “Come in,” Trenton said, pushing back the door. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Portia insisted we come for a visit. She also declared an interest in buying a new horse. I figured we’d take care of business and pleasure in one trip.”

Trenton went back to the desk. “I was taking care of some entries for Cole, but I can certainly be interrupted from that. Would you like me to get us some coffee?”

“No,” Sam said, glancing over his back. He turned and closed the door. “I thought we might discuss your progress in gathering information.”

Trenton shook his head. “I haven’t found anything worthwhile. However, the last letter I had from Mr. Langford gave me numerous details regarding Ned’s death. Apparently the man shot himself while lying in bed. Mr. Langford believes Portia killed Ned while he slept. After all, what man dresses for bed, gets in and pulls up the covers, and then puts a gun to his head while his wife is sleeping soundly beside him?”

Sam rubbed his chin. “Sounds suspect, all right.”

Trenton pulled the latest letter from a side drawer where he kept it with the others. He opened it and read, “‘Portia was the only one in the room at the time, and she claims to have been sleeping. The gunshot awoke the household, and Portia began to scream down the house. We ran to their room and found Ned had expired. Blood was pooling in the bed around Ned, yet Portia was surprisingly untouched. There wasn’t so much as a droplet of blood on her white robe and gown.”’

Trenton stopped and looked up. “How could she have been in bed beside him when he shot himself and not have at least some small amount of blood on her person?”

Sam sat down in the chair opposite Trenton. “I’ve no doubt she shot him. The question is, how do we prove it?”

“Langford says if you can just get her back to Baltimore, he has convinced the police to arrest her. He even hired a specialist in this kind of thing. The man has studied the entire matter—even the body, as I understand it.”

“After all these years?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“Apparently. Here, let me read what he says.” Trenton shuffled the pages and scanned for the part he wanted to share. “‘We believe the information put together by Mr. Grissom is sub … substantial,”’ Trenton stammered over the word. His reading still wasn’t all that great. “‘Evidence shows that from the angle of the bullet and the wound at the point of entry, Ned could not have been the one to fire the gun.”’

Trenton put the letter down. “He feels certain they can see Portia pay for what she’s done.”

“If that’s the case, then I’ll have to see to it that she returns to Baltimore.”

“Langford suggests that he can have his lawyer send a letter to her. The details would intimate that Mr. Langford has agreed to allow her a sizeable portion of money from Ned’s estate. Apparently he’s been able to put some kind of a lien on it all these years. He said he would have the letter drawn up if we would do what we could to get her there.”

“I think if Portia believes a small fortune awaits her, she’ll have no trouble agreeing to return to Baltimore,” Sam said, his shoulders suddenly slumping. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. My daughter is a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. How can this be?”

Trenton shook his head. “I don’t know. I know desperation led me to do things I didn’t want to do. Bad things. But for someone to have a life of ease, with good things and people who truly care about them, and then to turn around and murder them … well, it doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“Send him the letter,” Sam said sadly. “Tell him that I’ll see she gets there by the quickest means.”

Trenton folded the letter and met Sam’s sorrowful gaze. “At least it will stop her from killing again.”

“Let’s pray that’s true.”

Outside the office, Portia burned in rage. She’d heard most every word uttered by the two men inside. She’d feigned a headache, and Dianne had graciously shown her to one of the guest bedrooms. Then as soon as she could, Portia made her way down the back stairs and to the room she’d seen her father enter.

Sneaking back to the sanctuary of the guest room, Portia clenched her teeth so hard her jaw burned. She closed the door and leaned against it, her fists balled, her body rigid.

“How dare they plot against me? I’ve been more than merciful in keeping Mr. Chadwick’s past a secret, but no more. Tomorrow I go to the sheriff and tell them everything. Then I’ll deal with my father.”

Portia remained restless throughout the day, and by the time her father was prepared to return to Madison, she forced herself to pretend nothing was amiss. Focused on making plans, Portia said very little on the ride home.

She had to admit there were many reasons for hiding out in Montana. Langford’s threat of proving that she murdered his son was right at the top of her list.
I should never have shot him,
she told herself.
I should have poisoned him like the others, then worked out the details of his situation afterward
.

Portia knew from experience that poisoning was very difficult to prove. Especially when using some of the poisons she had tried. William had been such a simpleton with his dedication to temperance and other foolish notions. Worst of all, he was a boorish man. His manners were abhorrent and he often embarrassed her. Poisoning him, then dousing him with whiskey, had been easy enough. The trouble came in finding a man desperate enough to take her money, ask no questions, and run a freight wagon over the dead body of her husband.

Angus had been an even bigger challenge. The man had a keen intellect and was very intuitive, making Portia believe him capable of reading her mind. Angus had decided it was time for Portia to give him a family. The man had been positively inhuman in his desires. She shuddered now even thinking about it. The poison she’d given him caused respiratory distress. The lungs filled with fluid and were unable to process the matter. The doctor, as hoped, was positive it was pneumonia; the Scottish ninny had no idea there would be any other cause.

Now, however, Ned Langford rose from the grave like a specter to haunt her.
Well, I won’t let him destroy me
.

Seeing that the turnoff to the Lawrence ranch was approaching, Portia made a decision. “Father, I’d like to visit with Cynthia Lawrence. I promised her I’d come by as soon as time permitted. Why don’t you head on home, and I’ll join you a little later.”

Sam eyed her suspiciously. She hated him for that. He had always looked at her as if trying to size up what mischief she was up to. Other fathers doted on their little girls, but not Sam Brady. No, Sergeant Brady thought the worst of his child and now intended to see it proven.

“I don’t like your riding out unescorted,” her father finally said. “It hardly seems appropriate.”

“There are a great many things in this life that seem inappropriate,” Portia said, trying hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’ll see you at supper.”

She reined the horse hard to the left and kicked her heels into the gelding’s side. With any luck at all, she thought as the horse sped down the road to the Walking Horseshoe Ranch, she and Chester would figure out a way to put an end to Trenton and her father before another day could pass.

“Stop worrying,” Lawrence told Portia as she paced. “I can have the deed done by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send them each a message from the other one. What kind of thing would bring them together without questioning whether the note was authentic?”

Portia smiled. “I have the perfect message.”

“Sam Brady wants me to meet him near the old buffalo jump,” Trenton said, looking over the slip of paper. The boy who’d brought it had already headed back to town, otherwise Trenton might have asked for more information. It seemed strange that Sam would already want to discuss this matter, when he knew full well Trenton needed to get a letter to Langford first. “I can’t imagine why he wants to venture out all that way.”

Dianne shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Maybe he’s looking into land up that way and wants your opinion.”

Trenton knew better.

The ride was uneventful, but Trenton tired of waiting for Sam to appear. He had almost given up when the older man finally appeared, coming up the old Indian path Trenton had ridden an hour earlier. Riding down to meet him, Trenton felt an uneasy sensation wash over him. Something about this just wasn’t right.

“You sent for me?” Trenton asked as their horses came together.

“No. You sent for me. I got your note about two hours ago.”

Trenton shook his head. “I didn’t send for you, Sam. I think we’ve been had.”

Just then a rifle shot rang out. The sound cracked loud in the silence of the open range, then seemed to ricochet off the rocky hillside. Sam clutched his neck and stared with wide empty eyes before falling from his horse.

As Trenton threw himself from his mount’s back, a bullet cut into his arm and then another into his chest. The wind went out of him and he hit the ground hard. His last thoughts were that Portia had somehow managed to rid herself of both her father and himself, all with one clever little trick.

Portia burst into tears when the sheriff came, accompanied by Chester Lawrence, to their house to tell her that her father had been found dead with a bullet through his neck. He asked her if she knew of any enemies that her father might have made and immediately she answered.

“Trenton Chadwick. He held my father a grudge. He even threatened him the last time we were at the ranch.”