Truth Be Told (18 page)

And after McCaffrey lost his property, the company stepped in and bought the land—reservoir and all—directly from the bank. Great Western had the property it wanted in the first place, and at a greatly reduced price.

Ben let out a low whistle. None of the company's actions had been strictly illegal, but he wouldn't characterize them as open and aboveboard. He gathered the papers slowly and stacked them back in the order he had found them.

A multitude of thoughts chased through his mind while he replaced the file in the cabinet, but one question stood out from the rest. Who had been in charge of that sale? Before sliding the drawer closed, he glanced at the top right corner of the folder to find the initials penciled there, according to office policy:
E  F.

So Eddie Franklin, one of Merrick's closest associates, had been responsible for contacting McCaffrey and setting up plans for the reservoir, only to renege on the company's offer once McCaffrey found himself head over heels in debt. And according to the note he'd found,
O. M.
—Owen Merrick—had given the order to call off the arrangement.

Ben leaned against the closed drawer and tried to think. Was this an isolated incident? What other deals had Franklin worked on? Moving to the file cabinet farthest to his left, he pulled open the top drawer and began a systematic search, pulling out all the folders bearing Eddie Franklin's initials.

Two hours later, he finished going through the stack of files on his desk. Not all of Franklin's deals followed a similar pattern, but he found several that raised questions in his mind. He looked at the list of names he'd written down:

Ephraim Seaver

Gabe Rogers

Josiah Smith

Each one had initially refused to sell, but later changed his mind. And neither of the files for Rogers and Smith contained a bank draft number showing payment had been made.

Ben shook his head. That didn't make sense at all, unless both men had demanded a cash payment. He glanced toward the front window, noting how far the sun had dropped in the evening sky. It was getting late enough that his presence in the office might be noticed—and questioned. He would have to wait for another opportunity to see what he could find out about those payments.

Right now, he needed to put the files away before anyone discovered what he was doing. As he hurried to complete the task, a sick feeling grew in his stomach. Had Amelia's father been right after all? Was Great Western involved in some questionable activity?

He slid the last drawer closed with a thump. And if Wagner's suspicions had been correct, what did that mean for the future of the company . . . as well as his own?

T
he strains of a Sousa march rang through the streets of Granite Springs. All around the vacant lot next to the Odd Fellows Hall, groups of smiling people kept time to the music. Some sat on blankets spread upon the ground, while others relaxed on the benches brought over from their usual spots along the boardwalk on First Street. Still more listeners lined the pews borrowed for the evening from the Granite Springs Community Church next door.

Amelia had taken up her post with those who didn't care to sit, as they stood in clusters behind the pews. From her vantage point at the rear of the crowd, she had a clear view of everything going on. She held her pencil and notebook at the ready, wanting to capture all the color and life of the much-anticipated outdoor concert.

Ben, standing on her left, leaned closer. His breath tickled her ear when he murmured, “A wonderful turnout, wouldn't you say?”

She nodded. From the looks of it, nearly the entire community had shown up for the event. An air of excitement crackled through the crowd. The sun glinted off the band's brass
instruments, its heat diminishing as it neared the horizon. Altogether, it added up to a perfect summer evening.

Amelia looked up at Ben and smiled, thinking how much their relationship had changed in such a short time. Unlike the time he'd invited her to the poetry reading, she had been thrilled at the thought of him acting as her escort on this occasion.

One of her escorts, she amended, remembering Homer, who stood on her right, his watchful eye keeping tabs on the two of them. Amelia smothered a chuckle at his vigilant attention. Homer was as protective as a mother hen with her only chick. In other circumstances, his hovering might have stirred her impatience, but knowing the love and concern behind it, she found it rather comforting.

Without glancing directly at him, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his spindly profile.
Such a dear man!
For the thousandth time, she wondered whether Ben had been right about some wicked person dropping that brick on Homer deliberately. Could anyone really have wanted to hurt him? The longer the time stretched on without any sign of a further attack, the less likely it seemed. But Ben had made a convincing argument about the supposed accident being intentional.

She scanned the crowd, glad for the opportunity to observe the faces there without calling attention to herself. Struck by a sudden thought, her throat went dry. With so many people there, if anyone had intended to hurt Homer, there was a very good possibility that person was in attendance tonight. The realization dampened some of the pleasure she had felt up until that moment.

Bandmaster Achille LaGuardia raised his baton, and the musicians struck up the first lines of “Sweet Genevieve.” The
crowd joined in, singing along in chorus. Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Amelia jotted notes, describing in a few words the uniforms worn by the members of the Eleventh Infantry band.

When the number concluded, Pastor Edmonds stepped up to the front and beamed at the assembly. “I know we're all having a lovely evening, and I'm sure we'd like to express our appreciation for this fine music.”

An enthusiastic round of applause greeted his statement. The bandmaster smiled his thanks and swept his arm to one side to include the members of the band, who rose and bowed as one.

“And now,” the pastor continued, “while our musicians take a brief intermission, Miss Thelma Vickers and her Sunday school class have a special treat for us.”

The Sunday school teacher stood and beckoned with her hand. A group of children made their way forward under her no-nonsense gaze.

Amelia's lips twitched as she watched them jockey into position. Her smile deepened when she caught sight of Jimmy Brandt in the center of the back row. The newsboy's usually grubby face fairly gleamed, showing signs of recent contact with soap and water. His hair was slicked back, and a starched collar encircled his neck.

Jimmy cast a furtive glance around the audience. When his eyes stopped on Amelia, she waggled her fingers at him and gave an encouraging nod. The boy's face turned beet red, and he quickly averted his gaze.

When they had taken their places, Thelma Vickers gave a satisfied nod and favored the audience with a bright smile. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Our junior Sunday school class
has been hard at work over the past few months, and we would like to share some of what we've learned with you.”

Ben leaned over again. “I barely recognized Jimmy up there, all scrubbed and fresh.”

“I know.” Amelia couldn't hold back a gurgle of laughter. “He looks utterly miserable, doesn't he.”

Ben's face split into a wide grin. “He does, at that. I know how much I would have hated standing up and performing in public like that when I was his age.”

The children quoted John 3:16 in unison, then sang all four verses of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” When they finished, Miss Vickers turned to the audience again. “I am proud to tell you that our class has just finished memorizing the names of all sixty-six books of the Bible, in their proper order.”

“Ooooh.”
The sound rippled through the audience. Amelia easily identified the children's mothers, hitching themselves up straighter with identical looks of pride. The girls in the group fairly quivered with excitement, while Jimmy's comrades in the back row looked every bit as mortified as he did.

Thelma Vickers clapped her hands. “You may begin, children.”

Three little girls in the center of the front row stepped out and chanted, “Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers!” in high, clear voices.

When they stepped back smartly to their places, those on the ends of both rows moved out to the side. “Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth!”

The boys in the rear, including Jimmy, droned the next set of names: “First and Second Samuel, First and Second Kings, First and Second Chronicles.” Their volume was audible, but their delivery lacked the fervor of the first two groups.

The process repeated itself as the class progressed through the remaining books, with the boys becoming more animated with each turn, and finished off in grand style with a rousing shout of “Jude and Revelation!”

The crowd erupted in wild applause and a scattering of whistles. Beside her, Amelia could feel Ben shake with laughter. When he glanced her way, she had to press her hands to her lips to keep from bursting into gales of mirth. She dug her elbow into his ribs, knowing she needed to compose herself before Jimmy looked over and saw her.

Flushed with triumph, Miss Vickers waved the children back to their seats. The bandmaster picked up his baton, and the musicians struck up a lively number and moved on through a list of well-known melodies before wrapping up the program with John Philip Sousa's “Washington Post March.”

Before the final notes died away, the audience rose to their feet and cheered. Walt Ingram, representing the Odd Fellows, raised his hands to silence the crowd. “Thank you, folks, for coming out tonight. Didn't our Fort Whipple musicians do a fine job?” He paused while another round of applause rang out. “Don't forget, we want to invite you all to stop by the Hall for refreshments before you call it an evening.”

The audience starting milling about, some going up to talk with the band members while others filtered into the Odd Fellows Hall.

Homer nudged Amelia's right arm and spoke in an undertone. “I promised Pastor Edmonds I'd help carry these pews back inside. Will you be okay without me for a bit?”

“Of course. And take some time to enjoy yourself when you're finished with the pews. Ben will see me home.”

Homer aimed an appraising glance Ben's way, then he grunted and turned to pick up one end of the nearest pew.

Ben glanced at the men carrying the benches and pews back to their places. “I'd offer to help, but it looks like they have everything covered. Would you care for some refreshments?” He offered his arm and led her inside the hall, where a variety of baked goods had been laid out on plank tables.

The room was so tightly packed, they moved to a sheltered spot along one wall, waiting for the crowd to thin out a bit.

Amelia fanned herself and bobbed her head, still hearing the final march play over in her mind. “What a lovely way to spend an evening!”

“That band is one of the best I've heard,” Ben agreed. “The kids were great, too. Remind me to tell Jimmy what a dashing figure he cut in that starched collar.”

Amelia sputtered with laughter and gave his arm a playful swat. “Don't you dare! He's mortified enough already. He'd never forgive you.”

Ben clutched at his arm in mock agony, then laughed along with her. “Don't worry, I won't tease him. I wouldn't want to do anything to spoil such a lovely evening.” His eyes glowed as he looked down at her. “I enjoyed sharing it with you.”

“The music was wonderful, but I'm sure it wasn't on a par with what must have been available to you in Washington.”

Ben chuckled. “You may be right about that, but I'd still much rather be here.”

Amelia's breath quickened. “Don't you miss your family?”

Ben's face darkened, and the light in his eyes dimmed. “Of course I do. I never thought I'd live such a long way from them.
We've always been close, but sometimes things just don't work out the way we expect them to.”

He looked around the room. “Things seem to be opening up a bit over at the tables. Would you like me to bring you some punch?” At her nod, he smiled. “I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

Her eyes followed him as he walked over to take his place in line near the punch bowl. Ben didn't talk much about his background. She wondered what he had been like as a little boy. Had he been every bit as rambunctious as young Jimmy? The thought brought a smile to her lips.

“Did you enjoy the concert, Miss Wagner?”

Amelia turned to see the pastor's wife standing beside her. “Very much. What a wonderful idea to bring the band up here and draw the whole community together!”

“I couldn't agree more.” Mrs. Edmonds's face glowed. “I do hope we'll have more opportunities like this as the summer wears on.”

“I'm sure you will,” said a deep voice just behind Amelia. “Granite Springs is turning into quite the up-and-coming community.”

Amelia whipped her head around and caught her breath when she saw Thaddeus Grayson at her elbow, a shade too close for comfort. She edged a step to her right to put some distance between them.

Grayson said nothing, but she caught the trace of amusement in his eyes.

Mrs. Edmonds's gaze darted between the two of them and settled on Grayson. “Good evening. I am Isabel Edmonds. My husband is pastor of the community church. And I believe you are Amelia's stepfather, is that correct?”

Amelia felt the muscles tighten at the back of her neck.

“That's right.” Grayson squeezed the woman's outstretched hand. “Her mother and I only married recently, but I couldn't be fonder of Amelia if she were my own.”

Amelia folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together.

“I know it's going to be hard for her to say good-bye to the people she cares about here, but her mother and I look forward to her return to Denver so the three of us can be together.”

The pastor's wife's eyes widened, then she turned to Amelia with a gracious smile. “I didn't realize you were planning to leave us, dear. I'm sure your mother will be happy to have you at her side again, but we'll be sorry to see you go.”

Before Amelia could set the record straight, Mrs. Edmonds's attention was caught by a stir at one of the tables across the room. “We seem to be running short of refreshments over there. Please excuse me while I fetch another platter.”

As Mrs. Edmonds walked away, Amelia whirled on her unwelcome companion. “Whatever possessed you to say that? I thought I made it quite clear that I have no intention of leaving Granite Springs.”

Grayson closed the narrow gap between them in one easy stride. Amelia took a quick step back, which brought her up short against the wall.

The gleam in her stepfather's eyes made her stomach roil. He leaned close and spoke as if he hadn't heard. “I can't tell you how much I look forward to the times we'll have together . . . as a family.” He braced one arm on the wall, mere inches from her shoulder.

Amelia felt the familiar feeling of helplessness that encom
passed her whenever Thaddeus Grayson came around. Nothing would have given her more pleasure than to slap the insolent smirk off his face. But such action would only make a scene, and any explanation would be her word against his. She knew all too well how easy it would be for him to explain it all away.

Across the room, Ben stood with his back to her, patiently waiting to be served at the punch table. Throughout the hall, people milled about, talking and laughing. A few glanced her way and smiled, but no one seemed to realize her plight.

Just
the way it happened in Denver.
How many times had he done this over the past year, maneuvering her into an intimate conversation in a crowded room? So far, his intrusion had been nothing more than suggestive words, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before he pressed the issue further.

She took a step to the side, feeling the wall's rough plaster scrape her shoulder blades through the fabric of her dress. “You and I both know you are the reason I won't return to Denver. My father left the
Gazette
to me, and I intend to make a go of it. I won't be dependent on my mother's money . . . or yours.”

The amusement faded from Grayson's eyes, and his lips thinned. “You can't really be thinking of spending the rest of your life in this backwater town when Denver has so much more to offer you. You'd be throwing yourself away here. And that would be a terrible waste.” His eyes raked the front of her dress with a slow, lingering look.