Truth Be Told (7 page)

His father never did.

S
o you actually saw the mountain lion go after the Evanses' chickens?” Amelia held her pencil poised over her notebook and waited for Emmett Kingston's answer. When Jimmy had burst through the door of the
Gazette
with news of the lion sighting, she had found it difficult to muster up much excitement. On the other hand, it might be the most newsworthy story of the week.

The storekeeper strode out the front door of his mercantile with Amelia on his heels. Taking a stance in the middle of the boardwalk, he pointed south, toward the neat frame houses lining the near end of Sheridan Street. “I was sweeping the porch early yesterday morning, when I heard chickens squawking. Since the store is right on the corner, I have a clear view of the Evans property. I saw this big cat trotting away with one of their hens in its mouth. He headed that way, farther down the street, and then went right in front of . . . of . . .” He shot a nervous glance Amelia's way and trailed off.

Amelia followed his gaze and understood his discomfiture at once. The town's brothels lay at the far end of Sheridan. She
nodded, keeping her expression neutral. “Did you see where it went after that?”

Emmett gave her a grateful look and went on. “Nope. As far as I know, it headed on back to the woods.” He shook his head, as if reliving the memory. “I haven't seen a mountain lion in town for years, and never one that size. Who'd think I'd spot one right down the street, and in broad daylight?”

Amelia scribbled frantically in her notebook, then looked up at the store owner. “I think that's all I need. Thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure, Miss Amelia.” Emmett tugged at the waist of his apron. “By the way, I just wanted to tell you how glad everyone is that you decided to keep the paper going. You
are
staying on permanently, right?”

“Yes, that's my plan.”

“That's good to know.” He cleared his throat. “It's probably none of my business, but as a businessman, I know how tight money can get from time to time. Not saying that's the case with you, but if you ever do find yourself in a bind, I thought you should know Great Western just purchased a couple pieces of land near that property your father bought out near Sawmill Road. If you're in need of cash, you might want to talk to them.”

Amelia's jaw dropped. “What property are you talking about?”

Emmett's face reddened. “I'm sorry, I figured you knew. He bought it from Virgil Sparks when he was getting ready to head back to Arkansas. Great Western made an offer on the place, but Virgil didn't like those folks any better than your father did. I don't think your dad planned to do anything in particular with it. He just wanted to keep it out of Great
Western's hands. Like I said, it's none of my business, but I thought I'd mention it, just in case the information might come in handy someday.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said. “Things aren't that tight right now, but I'll be sure to keep it in mind.”
For more reasons than
one
. Maybe Emmett could help clarify her father's distrust. “Do you know why my father was so set against Great Western? I know he despised the practice of hydraulic mining, but was there more to it than that?”

Emmett shifted from one foot to another and appeared to turn the question over in his mind. “Can't say that I do. He was always talking about how they could destroy this whole area, like what happened over in California. But I really don't know anything beyond that.”

Amelia thanked him again and tucked the pencil and notebook back in her reticule, making a mental checklist of the things she still needed to accomplish that day. The afternoon train was due to arrive momentarily. She could stop by the station to take note of new arrivals before she went back to the newspaper to write up her story on the mountain lion and warn residents to be watchful.

And that would probably be the most exciting item on this week's front-page news. She grimaced, then realized Emmett Kingston was still speaking.

“ . . . thinkin' I ought to put another ad in the paper. I got a new shipment of ladies' hats and dresses day before yesterday, and I need to let folks know about it.”

Amelia brightened. “We'll be happy to accommodate you. Just stop by the paper. I'll be out and about for a while, but Homer is there now. He can work with you to set up the ad.”

“Maybe I'll wait 'til you get back.” Emmett shoved his hands in his apron pockets and rocked back on his heels. “No offense to Homer, but this one needs a woman's point of view.”

“Why don't we work on it tomorrow morning? That will give us time to have it ready for this week's issue.”

“Sounds good.” Emmett turned back toward the store. “I'll see you then.”

Bidding him good-bye, Amelia started toward the station, trying to keep her excitement from showing.

Why was Great Western interested in Virgil Sparks
's property and the land around it?
As far as she could remember, that area had been used for nothing but farmland. Had her father discovered some other plan that would be detrimental to the region and purchased the property to keep Great Western from moving ahead? Was that the truth he hoped his successor would uncover?

Amelia's pulse quickened. The Sparks place lay only a couple of miles beyond the sawmill—barely an hour's journey by buggy. She would have to make plans to go out there one day soon and see what she could discover. Perhaps it would be her chance to gain her first tangible piece of evidence of what had been preying on her father's mind.

Her steps slowed, and she halted to check the sun's position in the western sky.
Why
wait?
The train would arrive any minute, but Thomas Rafferty would be glad to fill her in about new arrivals later. She knew how much he enjoyed his role as a ready source of information.

She swung around and headed for the livery. A few steps later, she stopped to reconsider. While she felt perfectly safe
strolling the streets of Granite Springs on her own, the area beyond the sawmill was only sparsely settled. Would venturing out there alone be a wise thing to do?

But she was a journalist, and a journalist followed the story. How many times had she heard her father say that? The answer to her questions might lie within easy reach. She needed to go out and take a quick look around. She ignored her misgivings as she checked the sun's position again. A few minutes for Carl Olsen to get the buggy ready, then an hour out and another hour back—less, if she kept the horse to a brisk trot. That left enough time to do some investigating and still be back in town before sunset.

With her mind made up, she angled across First Street and headed toward the livery. A man stood leaning against the corner of the Great Western building. As she drew nearer, he stepped out, and she recognized Ben Stone.

Her steps faltered. She had no desire to converse with anyone from Great Western. Maybe later, when she had gathered more information and could formulate specific questions, but not now. Avoiding his eyes, she focused on a point farther along the street and picked up her pace.

To her chagrin, he stepped off the boardwalk and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Wagner.”

Amelia drew herself up and hitched her reticule higher on her arm. “Good day to you, Mr. Stone.” She sidestepped, intending to sweep past him. Instead, he turned and fell into step beside her.

She swallowed back an indignant
huff
. Why couldn't he have taken the hint? True, he wasn't doing anything wrong; he had as much right to walk down the street as she did. But
the man worked for Owen Merrick, and she didn't trust Great Western's vice president one bit.

On the other hand . . . She tried to tamp down her impatience and shot a quick glance to her side as they stepped up onto the boardwalk, remembering the look of compassion she had seen on his face at the cemetery. But a fleeting expression didn't necessarily reflect what lay within a man's heart.

He cleared his throat, and her shoulders tensed. The obtuse man obviously hadn't picked up on her lack of desire to speak with him. What was she supposed to do to make her feelings clear, swing her reticule at his head? Tempting as the idea seemed, she pushed it aside and walked faster.

“I hear the Ladies Auxiliary is holding a poetry reading at the church next Saturday.”

“Oh?” Amelia kept her tone cool.

“I was wondering if you might like to attend it with me.”

Amelia stopped dead and gaped up at him. “I . . . Thank you, but I believe I'll be attending with Mr. Crenshaw.”

“Oh.” Her unwelcome escort seemed at a loss for words. “Well, then . . . I hope you have a pleasant time. Perhaps I'll see you there.”

Amelia dipped her head in a curt nod. “Perhaps. Excuse me, but I must be going now. There are some matters I must attend to.” She moved on quickly, relieved when he didn't follow as she walked toward the livery at the corner of First and Railroad. She would have to remember to mention to Homer that he would be escorting her to the poetry reading . . . if he wasn't put off by the prospect that Hyacinth Parmenter would probably also be in attendance.

Her steps slowed when she came to the weathered, board-
and-batten building with
Olsen's Livery
lettered over the door. The rich scent of hay and horses filled her nostrils when she stepped inside. “Mr. Olsen?” she called.

The owner of the livery appeared from one of the farther stalls with a pitchfork in his hand. His face lit up when he saw Amelia. “Well, hello, Miss Wagner. What can I do for you?”

“I apologize for the short notice, but could you hitch up my father's horse and buggy for me?”

“Sure, I'll have it done in a jiffy.” Mr. Olsen glanced outside and looked back at her with a trace of a frown. “You aren't going to be gone long, are you? The days are growing longer, but it's a little late to start on a lengthy drive.”

Amelia smiled. “Don't worry. I'll only be gone a couple of hours.”

Looking relieved, he pulled a harness from its peg on the wall and headed to the stall that housed Smokey, the dapple-gray gelding her father had purchased three years before. He slipped the bridle over the horse's head and led him back to the center of the alleyway.

While he finished putting on the harness, Amelia walked over and ran her palm down the gray's sleek neck. Smokey whickered and nosed at her hand, looking for a treat.

Amelia laughed and stroked his velvety nose. “I'm sorry, boy. I didn't bring anything with me this time.”

Carl Olsen led Smokey outside, where he made short work of hooking him up to the shiny black buggy. Extending a work-worn hand, he helped Amelia up into the seat and handed her the reins.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

She clicked her tongue at the gelding and guided him along First Street before turning left onto Jefferson Road, leading out to the sawmill. Smokey covered the dusty ground at a smart clip. With every turn of the wheels, Amelia felt her spirits rise, and a sense of peace seeped into her mind. How wonderful to be free—if only for a brief time—of the responsibilities for keeping the paper afloat!

Fragrant, pine-covered slopes rose above the road on her right, while off to the south, the rolling Bradshaw Mountains loomed in the distance. The warm sunlight, the twittering birds, and the white puffy clouds scudding their way across the late afternoon sky combined to bring back memories of carefree childhood days, before her parents' marriage fragmented and her family was torn apart.

As if sensing her nostalgic mood, the gelding's pace slowed, and Amelia turned her attention back to the moment. She and Smokey were on a mission. This was no time for wool-gathering.

She slapped the reins against the gelding's hindquarters, moving him back into a brisk trot. Sitting erect with both hands on the reins, she tilted her head slightly, the better to enjoy the light breeze that fanned her face.

She and the horse noticed the snake at the same time—a long, mottled brown shape that slithered to the edge of the road and coiled itself into a threatening posture, head up and ready to strike. A sharp rattle buzzed through the air.

Smokey let out a sharp whinny and sprang to the left, jerking the buggy and throwing Amelia off balance. She recovered quickly, guiding him over to the far left side of the road and leaving the rattlesnake behind.

“Good boy. You didn't let him spook you.” She kept her tone low and soothing. After a fearful glance over his shoulder, the horse nickered and went on his way, though his high-stepping gait gave proof of his agitation.

The road curved, and a stretch of dense cedar growth came into view. Amelia's lips curved into a smile, remembering the happy hours she had spent exploring the heavily wooded grove with her best friend, Callie Jacobs, and her siblings. The dark tangle of trees formed a nearly impenetrable thicket, providing the perfect setting for countless games of hide-and-seek.

A wistful sigh escaped her lips. Those days were long gone. Like herself, her friends had grown up and moved on. Callie now lived in Phoenix, where her husband managed a hotel, and her sister had moved to Tucson. Their oldest brother headed to California, where he'd planted orange groves in the San Bernardino Valley. A few other schoolmates still lived near Granite Springs, but they were married now and busy with families of their own.

A sudden jarring brought her back to the present. The buggy jounced into the air and thudded back to earth, where it began swerving from side to side. Amelia let out a yelp and looked back over her shoulder, berating herself when she saw a large rock in the road. She should have been paying more attention.

Smokey, already jittery from the encounter with the snake, put on a burst of speed. Amelia tugged on the reins, fighting to keep the vehicle under control as the buggy careened from one side of the dusty road to the other.