Truth Be Told (28 page)

B
en eyed the platform, hoping for a glimpse of Amelia as the train pulled into the Granite Springs station. She often met the train to see if anyone newsworthy had arrived in town, but apparently not this day. He swallowed his disappointment and turned to Sheriff Lowry. “I appreciate you hearing me out and acting on the information I brought you. If you need me, I'll either be at my boardinghouse or the
Gazette
.”

The lawman nodded and led his deputies back toward the stock car to unload their horses. Ben headed down First Street toward the
Gazette
building. As he walked, he wondered what kind of reception he would receive. Would Amelia welcome him with a smile and a sparkle in her blue eyes? Or would she feel more inclined to throw a composing stick at him?

He rubbed the back of his neck. Surely two days would have given her time to calm down . . . he hoped. But even if she wasn't happy to see him, she would want to hear the news he brought. When he reached the newspaper office, he shifted his satchel to his left hand and pushed the door open.

Homer looked up when he stepped inside, and a wide grin split his face. “It's about time the two of you showed up. I was
beginning to wonder how long it was going to take for you to mend your differences.” He leaned to one side and peered past Ben.

Ben frowned. “I'm not sure what you mean. I just got back from Prescott. Do you know where Amelia is?”

The grin slid from Homer's face. “I thought she was with you. She went out to look for you quite a while ago.” He glanced at the clock, and his brow furrowed. “Going on three hours.”

He turned back to Ben. “She probably just got on the trail of some story, but it makes me uneasy, not hearing from her for that long.” Pulling off his printer's apron, he tossed it onto the counter. “Maybe we ought to go look for her. I'll feel better if I know where she is.”

Catching Homer's concern, Ben set his satchel down inside the door. “I'll check at the general store. Maybe you could try the livery.”

Homer shot a startled glance at him, then ducked his head in a grim nod. “I hope you're wrong, but it wouldn't be the first time she's taken a notion to go haring off after a story on her own . . . although I hope she'd have better sense than to do something like that right now, after all the peculiar doings we've had going on around here lately.”

They parted ways on the boardwalk. Ben set a rapid pace, finally breaking into a trot as he neared Emmett Kingston's store. Inside, a quick glance showed Emmett setting cans of fruit in a neat row on the shelves near the back of the store. Ben hurried over to him. “I'm looking for Amelia. Have you seen her?”

Emmett paused with a can of peaches in each hand. “Not today. You look worried. Is anything wrong?”

“I hope not. If you see her, let her know Homer and I are trying to find her, will you?”

“Sure thing.” Emmett gave a nod, then resumed stocking the shelves.

As Ben turned to leave, Clara Gilbreth stepped into the aisle ahead of him. “I couldn't help but overhear. Is there a problem?”

Ben hesitated. He didn't want to create needless panic, but he couldn't shake the worry that had taken root and refused to let go. Besides, Clara was Amelia's closest friend. “I'm not sure. Homer hasn't seen her for a while, and I want to be certain she's all right. I just got back from Prescott with a piece of news she'll be interested in hearing.”

Clara regarded him with a sharp-eyed gaze that seemed to pick up on his unstated concern. Thankfully, she didn't waste time asking questions. “I'll be glad to help. Where have you looked so far?”

“She wasn't at the station or the newspaper.” Ben ticked the locations off on his fingers as he spoke. “This is the first place I've checked besides those. Homer went to talk to Carl Olsen at the livery.”

Clara started for the door. “I'll head over to Second Street and ask if anyone's seen her at the hardware store or the bank.”

Ben nodded his thanks and set off down the boardwalk.
What next?
Amelia could be anywhere, doing any number of normal, everyday activities. But he couldn't push away the increasing feeling that something was wrong.

He decided to try the café next. She might have stopped in for a cup of tea or a bite to eat. As he neared the Bon-Ton, he spotted a familiar figure farther along the block. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, “Jimmy!”

The boy wheeled around. His face lit up when he recognized Ben, and he trotted over. “When did you get back?”

“I just came in on the train. Have you seen Miss Wagner?”

“Yep. I talked to her earlier. She was out looking for you. I told her you'd left town, though. She wanted to know where you'd gone, but I didn't know that . . . or when you'd be back, either.”

Ben stifled a groan, wondering how she would have taken that news. “Where is she now?”

The boy shrugged. “Last time I saw her, she was headed for your office.”

Ben stiffened. “You mean the Great Western building?”

“Sure. Your boss was standing in front of the building, and it looked like she was going to talk to him. But that was a long time ago. Right after I finished lunch.”

Questions whirled through Ben's mind. Focusing his gaze on Jimmy, he tried to keep his voice level. “Did you see her later?”

Jimmy shook his head. “I had to run some errands for my ma. I didn't see her after that.”

Ben turned and eyed the building where he had worked for the past few months. “Thanks, Jimmy. I think I'll go talk to Mr. Merrick and see what he can tell me.”

“You can't. Talk to Mr. Merrick, I mean. He went somewhere with that other man who works there—the really tall one. I saw them loading a sack of potatoes into the back of a buckboard, and then they headed out of town.”

Ben stared at the boy. The only man at Great Western who fit that description was Eddie Franklin. He tried to imagine any reason those two would be handling a sack of vegetables—or doing anything resembling manual labor. His sense of urgency
heightened, and he knelt down in front of Jimmy. “Potatoes? You're sure?”

“That's what it looked like. It was a big burlap bag, about this size.” Jimmy stretched his arms out to their full width, then indicated a point above his head. He looked back at Ben and wrinkled his nose. “What else could it have been?”

Ben struggled to force air into his lungs. He wasn't about to tell the boy the possibility that had entered his mind. “How long ago did you see them? Which way did they go?”

Jimmy screwed his face up, as if deep in thought. “Not more than a half hour, maybe not even that long. They took off that way.” He pointed toward Jefferson Road. “On the road that goes out toward the sawmill.”

Dread seized Ben by the throat. He twisted around to view the street behind him, but there was no sign of Sheriff Lowry. He turned back to Jimmy. “Listen carefully. I need you to go find Mr. Crenshaw and tell him I think Merrick may have taken Miss Wagner. The sheriff and some of his deputies came to town on the train with me. They might still be at the station, unloading their horses or maybe they're on their way to the livery. I want you and Mr. Crenshaw to find them and let them know what's going on. Tell them I've gone after Merrick, and they need to follow as quickly as they can.”

Jimmy's eyes rounded, and his eyes lit up. “Sure thing, Mr. Stone. You can count on me.”

Springing to his feet, Ben took a step in the direction of his boardinghouse, then jolted to a stop. He didn't have time to fetch and saddle his horse. Spying a strong, sorrel gelding tied to the hitching rail on the other side of the street, he raced over to it. Untying the reins, he leaped into the saddle and spun the
horse around. As he galloped past Jimmy, he called, “And if whoever owns this horse wants to know where it's gone, tell him I'll bring it back later.”

Digging his heels into the gelding's flanks, he turned onto Jefferson Road. When he bent low over the sorrel's neck, urging him to greater speed, he noticed the stock of a Winchester rifle sticking out of a scabbard.
Good.
He had a feeling a gun might come in handy.

For the second time, he found himself following wheel tracks out of town in search of Amelia. He stared along the length of road ahead of him, although he knew he couldn't expect to see any sign of Merrick and Franklin yet. They had too big a head start.

Galloping around a curve in the road, he recognized the spot where he'd come upon Amelia's wrecked buggy. His throat tightened at the memory. He had been concerned for her safety that evening, but that was nothing compared to the fear that gripped him now.

He slowed a bit when he reached the side road that branched off toward the sawmill. There was no fresh sign of any vehicle turning that way, but one clear set of wagon tracks marked the dust in the road ahead.

Ben kicked the sorrel back into a gallop and rode on.

Amelia winced when another blow landed on her head, and she tried to move away. Who was hitting her, and why wouldn't he stop?

She tried to raise her arm to protect herself, but her hands remained fixed behind her back. A flash of memory jolted her
back to awareness of her plight. Eddie Franklin had tied her hands and feet. He was the one who was striking her. Another blow smote her, and pain blazed through her head again.

A rocking motion threw her from side to side as she blinked against the pounding ache, and she realized she was lying on her back.
What's
going on? Where am I?
She heard the sound of horses' hooves and the grate of a wheel on rock. Feeling through the burlap with her hands, she touched a hard surface beneath her. She must be in the back of a wagon, which meant they were already on the move.

The knowledge chilled her. Merrick or Franklin—or both of them—were making good their threats. They were on their way to the reservoir . . . and the mineshaft nearby.

The wagon bounced again. Amelia cried out as her throbbing head took another blow. Gathering her wits, she rolled onto her side. Every muscle in her body protested, but the maneuver afforded the wound on her head some protection.

The jouncing slowed, then it stopped altogether. Up ahead, a horse nickered and stomped its foot. She heard a creak as the driver set the brake. Then the wagon rocked again, followed by what sounded like two sets of boots hitting the ground.

Everything inside her seemed to turn to ice. They must have reached their destination. Fear overwhelmed her as she pondered what would happen next.

Would they leave her bound and gagged inside this horrid sack while they tossed her down the shaft?
Please, God, no!
Bound or not, the end result would be the same, but she couldn't bear the thought of plunging to her death in this awful darkness.

Please, if I have to die, at
least let me have one last glimpse of the world
around me.

Chains rattled, and the tailgate dropped open. A hand closed around her ankle. Amelia let out a muffled shriek and jerked away.

She heard Eddie Franklin's grating laugh. “Looks like she's awake, boss.” The unseen hands grabbed the sides of the sack and dragged her over the edge of the tailgate. She landed on the ground in a heap.

“That's good,” Merrick replied. “That way we don't have to carry her up that hill. She can walk there on her own.”

The end of the sack above her head rustled against her hair, then Franklin stretched the opening wide and let it settle around her shoulders. He pulled her to her feet with a rough grip, and she felt the burlap slide to her ankles.

She blinked to let her eyes adjust to the afternoon sunlight. The three of them stood on a level area at the foot of a steep hill. Through the trees, she saw the sunlight glitter on the placid waters of what she assumed was Bart McCaffrey's reservoir. A light breeze soughed through the pines and stirred the curls at her temples.

Amelia shuddered. To have such a peaceful scene be the place where she would meet her death!

Owen Merrick steadied her while Franklin pulled out a pocketknife and slashed the twine that bound her ankles. “You might as well take that gag off, too,” Merrick said. When Franklin raised an eyebrow, he added, “There's nobody around for miles. She can scream all she likes, but no one will hear her.”

When Franklin pulled the sodden fabric away from her mouth, Amelia gasped in the first full breath she'd taken since the gag had been forced between her lips. She worked her jaws
to restore feeling to her cheeks, then turned on Merrick. “You can't possibly think you'll get away with this.”

Franklin lifted the gag. “Are you sure you want to take that out? I don't want to listen to her yapping all the way up the hill.”

Merrick waved the objection away. “It won't last long. You can leave her hands tied until we get up there, but be sure you bring the twine back with you. I don't want to risk leaving anything behind that could link us to Miss Wagner's unfortunate demise.”