Truth Be Told (27 page)

“That's one loose end we won't have to worry about anymore.” Eddie Franklin beamed as they walked down the passageway. “Once she's taken care of, that means no more newspaper, no more stories.”

Merrick studied Franklin, taking in the glint of anticipation
in his eyes. The man didn't seem at all put off by what they had just done . . . or what they were now committed to doing. He wished he could feel as confident he had done the right thing. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the closed door to the storeroom. Right or wrong, the choice had been made. There was no turning back now.

Once in the office, Franklin loitered by the desk. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Merrick sank into his chair and shook his head. “You might as well go about your normal routine. I don't want to let on that anything unusual has happened. I won't need you until later, when . . .” He jerked his head in the direction of the door to the passageway.

Franklin nodded. “When do you want to take care of our little problem?”

“We'd better wait until after dark. I don't want any prying eyes to see us.”

Franklin frowned and shook his head. “The last stretch on that road to the reservoir is mighty rough. You don't want to try that in the dark.”

Merrick drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “All right. Bring the buckboard around later this afternoon . . . say about four o'clock. We'll just have to find a way to get her out of the building without anyone noticing.”

Franklin's mouth quirked up on one corner. “I'll figure something out, boss. You leave it to me. It'll all work out.” With a wink, he strolled into the outer office with a jaunty step.

“That's what you said about dropping that brick on Crenshaw,” Merrick muttered. He stared at the door long after Eddie Franklin closed it behind himself. No doubt about it,
the man enjoyed the violent part of his job. Perhaps too much. Merrick hadn't gotten where he was without knowing when to cut a liability. Once everything was in place and money started rolling in, he wouldn't need Eddie anymore.

He pulled his attention back to the moment. Right now, he had a more pressing matter on his mind. Leaning back against the rich leather upholstery, he closed his eyes, the better to consider his options.

His earlier conversation with Grayson played through his mind again. He had been the one to upbraid Thaddeus about the very notion of harming a woman, yet now
he
had crossed that line. What had he gotten himself into?

Rage boiled up inside him at the thought of how his well-laid plans had been altered in only a few moments.
Stupid, nosy woman!
If only she had minded her own business.

He had checked every issue of the
Gazette
that had come out since she took over. Every week, he'd been relieved to see no further mention of the company or accusations against it. He had allowed himself to believe that the diversion provided by Ben, coupled with his own subtle warnings, would keep her from probing further.

But young Ben turned out to be a Judas rather than a loyal follower. Merrick's teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached. Somehow, that confounded female had managed to sway Ben's thinking, instead of the other way around. Why else would he have been snooping through the company files and turning up those falsified sales documents? He had to be the source of the Wagner woman's information about the Smith and Rogers properties.

Merrick took a deep breath to calm himself. At least Ben
had only found those two documents. Apparently, the rest of Eddie's handiwork still lay undiscovered—but that was small consolation under the circumstances. What those two snoops already found was enough to bring his and Grayson's bright dreams for the future crashing down around their ears.

He pushed himself upright and listened for any sound from the storeroom. When he heard nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few more hours, that was all. Then Amelia Wagner would no longer be around to cause any further worry. With her out of the way, he could turn his attention to young Ben.

He chuckled at the memory of Thaddeus Grayson's disdain for his supposed lack of action. For all Grayson's blustering and his “grand idea” to call in those thugs from out of town, the man's puny efforts had done nothing.
So much for all your bragging, Thaddeus
. When it comes right down to it,
I'm
the
one who is getting things done.

He rolled his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his taut muscles. He found the idea of killing a woman distasteful in the extreme. But she had brought it on herself, threatening their success when the endgame was so close and the stakes were so high.

As he had told Grayson, harming a woman would be the equivalent of signing his own death warrant. But that would apply only if he were caught—and he would make sure that didn't happen. No one would ever stumble across Amelia Wagner's remains . . . or Ben Stone's, either.

B
en swallowed the last bite of a late lunch and pushed the plate away. Settling back in his chair in the Hotel Burke's dining room, he sipped at his coffee, trying to keep his impatience under control. He had hoped to have an answer from his father that morning, but nothing had arrived as yet. Now it was nearly the middle of the afternoon.

A young boy who looked to be a little older than Jimmy Brandt walked into the room and glanced around. When he saw Ben, his face lit up, and he walked over to him with an air of self-importance. “The desk clerk told me I'd find you here. I'm supposed to deliver this to you.” He held out a yellow envelope.

Ben sprang to his feet and took the envelope from the boy, handing him a coin as a tip. Breathing a quick prayer, he slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents. His eyes widened when he saw the brief message:

SOUTHWEST LAND DEVELOPMENT OWNERS OWEN MERRICK AND THADDEUS GRAYSON
STOP CURIOUS TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON STOP

So he'd been right. Ben lowered himself back into the chair and leaned back, pondering his next course of action. The sheriff's office was located in the basement of the courthouse in the center of the tree-lined plaza across the street. Tossing down his last swallow of coffee, he scooped up the telegram, picked up his satchel, and headed toward the town square.

It didn't take him long to trot down the stairs leading to the basement of the redbrick building and find the office he sought. The rugged man behind the battered desk looked up when Ben approached. “Something I can do for you?”

“I certainly hope so.” Ben introduced himself.

“I'm Sheriff James Lowry.” The other man stood and took Ben's hand in a firm grip, sizing him up with a brief, no-nonsense glance. “Sit down and tell me what's on your mind.”

Taking a seat on the wooden chair, Ben leaned forward. “I've come across some information that may be of interest to you.” In a few well-chosen words, he outlined his work at Great Western and his investigation on Amelia's behalf. Then he laid out the telegram he'd just received. “My father made some inquiries for me, and this is what he found. It's obvious Grayson and Merrick are planning something big.”

The sheriff glanced at the telegram, then settled back in his chair and eyed Ben. “I'd have to agree with you that they're big operators, but that doesn't make it anything I can—or would—act upon. Acquiring a lot of land isn't illegal.”

“But I believe some of their methods are.” Ben pulled out his notes about the spurious contracts. “I have a list of names
here, people who supposedly sold their land to Great Western recently. I have reason to believe the signatures on at least two of those contracts were forged.”

Lowry sat up, his interest sharpening. “You have some proof of that?”

“Not with me. Those documents are still in the files at the office.”

The lawman blew out a puff of air and settled back in his chair again. “Without any evidence, you're not giving me much to go on. What about those former owners? Why haven't they made any complaint?”

“After I confronted my boss about the contracts in question, I tried to locate the land owners. They seem to have disappeared.” Ben spread his hands wide. “I know that doesn't give you anything tangible to go on, but Owen Merrick is up to something, I'd stake everything I own on that.”

“Owen Merrick,” the sheriff said slowly. His eyes took on a far-away look.

Ben's interest quickened. “Does that name mean something to you?”

“It might.” Lowry fished through a disorderly stack of papers on his desk and pulled out a sheet of handwritten notes. He scanned them a moment, then looked back up at Ben. “I've been looking into the disappearance of Arthur Copeland, a board member of the Peavine Railroad. He vanished under rather peculiar circumstances, and we haven't been able to find a trace of him.”

When he saw Ben's confusion, he added, “Owen Merrick has been appointed to fill the opening on the board created by Copeland's absence.”

Ben's thoughts raced. “That would mean he could influence the route of the new line from Prescott to Phoenix.”

Lowry grunted. “Disappearing landowners, disappearing board member . . . I'd say this idea of yours is worth looking into.”

Ben stared at him. “Do you think Merrick had something to do with getting Arthur Copeland out of the way to create that opening on the board?”

“I plan to find out.” Lowry rose and reached for his Stetson. “I'm going to round up some of my deputies and head up to Granite Springs this afternoon.”

It took every ounce of self-control Ben possessed to hold back a shout of triumph. “I'm catching the train back. I'll see you when you arrive.”

Lowry checked his pocket watch and pursed his lips. “Seeing as how the train leaves in thirty minutes, I think we'll load our horses on one of the stock cars and ride up with you. We'll get there faster that way, and the horses will be fresh.”

Ben picked up his satchel and grinned. “In that case, I'll meet you at the station.”

The bristly hemp twine bit into Amelia's wrists as she stared into the darkness. How long had it been since the door had closed behind Owen Merrick, confining her to this dismal room? It seemed like an eternity, although reason told her it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours.

She scooted across the plank floor for what seemed like the thousandth time, in search of anything she could use to free herself from her bonds. She had explored the items on the
bottom shelf and along the floor as well as she could with her hands anchored behind her back, but her fingers encountered nothing sharp enough to cut or even wear through the cord Eddie Franklin had secured around her wrists and ankles.

Working her way to the wall, she managed to push herself into a sitting position, hoping the maneuver would help her breathe more easily. She leaned her head back against the rough wall, trying to ignore the sting of the raw skin on her wrists as she took stock of her situation.

Is this the end, Lord?
Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
I had such dreams, so many hopes and plans for
my life. Does this mean I'll never have a
family of my own?
The image of Ben's face swam into her mind. What would have happened between them if she had given in to her heart's yearning instead of letting her obsession with this story get in the way?

Would she never again walk into the newspaper office to see Homer's dear face light up with a smile or hear Jimmy's latest idea for an earth-shaking story?

Sobs racked her body. What a fool she'd been! Why had she ever let herself believe she could beard a lion in his den without being torn to pieces? Owen Merrick wasn't just a crooked businessman. He was a murderer, and he intended to add her to his list of victims—this very day, from the sound of the plans he was making with Eddie Franklin.

She had no time to waste. There
had
to be something in this tiny room that could help her get free. Maybe she could find something on one of the higher shelves, if she could only reach them. Digging her heels into the floorboards, she pressed against the wall and inched her way upward until she stood
upright. Taking a moment to steady her balance, she made one tentative hop, then another, into the blackness in the direction of the shelves. On the third hop, the hem of her skirt tangled in her feet. With a muffled cry, she toppled over onto her knees, then fell forward.

Lying with her face against the wooden floor, she felt despair well up within her. How much longer would it be until Merrick and his odious henchman returned to carry out their plan to throw her down a mineshaft near Bart McCaffrey's reservoir?

A sound from beyond the door jolted her fully alert. With her heart pounding in her chest, Amelia rolled across the plank floor and pressed her ear to the wall that adjoined the passageway. Voices. Footsteps.

They were coming.

A moment later, the door swung open, and Amelia blinked against the light.

“Kinda dusty, isn't she?” Eddie Franklin chuckled and prodded her shoulder with the toe of his boot. “What have you been doing—worming around and trying to get loose?”

“Enough of that.” Owen Merrick's voice sounded taut and strained. “We have a job to do. Let's get on with it.”

Amelia peered up at the men silhouetted in the doorway. Merrick stood just outside the door watching Franklin, who held an oversized burlap bag in his hands.

With a flip of his hand, Franklin tossed the bag to Merrick, then bent down over Amelia. She caught her breath as he seized her arms in a rough grip and hauled her to her feet. Pain shot through her strained muscles, and she uttered a low cry. Ignoring her misery, Franklin wrapped his arms around her from behind and lifted her off her feet.

Merrick frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Open the bag and slip it up over her feet,” Franklin grunted. He held her dangling in the air while Merrick worked the bag up over her body, then he dropped her back onto her feet.

Amelia tottered but tried to pull away from his grasp. Holding her steady with one hand, Franklin lifted his other arm. “Settle down. Remember what happened last time?”

She flinched away from his upraised hand.
How could this be
happening?
And yet it was. She felt as if she had stepped into a nightmare and couldn't wake up. Her vision dimmed, and her knees gave way.

Franklin released his grasp and let her sink to the floor. Pulling the open end of the bag up over her head, he made quick work of tying it shut.

Amelia tipped her head back and struggled to breathe. If the air in the storeroom had seemed stifling, this was far worse.

“There you go,” Franklin said. “Tied up as neat as a Christmas package. If you'll give me a hand, boss, we'll pick her up so we can carry her out.” Hands took hold of her through the rough burlap, raising her up and balancing her on her bound feet again.

“I don't know about this.” Merrick sounded skeptical. “She may be hidden by that bag, but if she wriggles around, it will still attract notice. That's why I wanted to wait until after dark.”

Inside her dark cocoon, Amelia felt a glimmer of renewed hope. She might not be able to see out of her burlap prison, but others could see the bag—and any movement from within it. If she could manage to create enough of a stir to alert passersby, there might still be a chance for rescue. She braced
herself to take advantage of what might be her last opportunity for escape.

Behind her, Eddie Franklin snickered. “That won't be a problem. I told you I'd figure something out.”

The next moment, something crashed against the back of Amelia's head, and the world went black.