No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(91)
Retaking his place at the podium, Mal faced the group. “Word has probably spread by now, but I think everyone needs to know the facts. Flora’s husband, Angus, is the outlaw who’s been harassing Harper’s Station. He’s been in prison the last five years for robbing an army payroll convoy. Apparently, he stashed the gold somewhere here in Harper’s Station before Emma purchased the property. Now that he’s been released, he’s set on retrieving the stolen gold. He’s forced his young son, Ned—a lad of only fifteen—to work alongside him. He is the second outlaw. Fearing for Ned’s safety, Flora has gone along with Angus’s plan, trying to convince all of us to leave, in order to prevent her boy from being caught in any crossfire that might occur. Unfortunately, Angus has run out of patience. Which leaves the boy vulnerable, and Emma directly in harm’s way.”
Mal’s fingers closed around the edge of the podium. The wooden corners dug painfully into his hands, and he struggled to tame the urge to run out of the church, jump on Ulysses, and race into the woods. To take down Angus and rescue the woman he loved. But this was no dime novel. He had no guarantee of a happy ending. Not in this world. He’d seen too many evil men in power and too many broken lives left in their wake to believe that good always won out over evil.
So he had to use every weapon at his disposal. And right now, the best weapons available were not the rifles and revolvers in this room but the knowledge and intelligence of the women who carried them.
Looking to the ladies seated in the front row, Mal started building his arsenal. “Flora, did Angus tell you where the gold was hidden?”
She shook her head.
Of course not. That would be too easy. But Mal was used to doing things the hard way. He’d been making do with scraps since the day he was born. A boy could make a right fine meal out of scraps with a little persistence and creativity. If the restaurant door was locked, he’d just have to go around back and start digging through the trash.
“He didn’t trust me,” Flora said. “Feared I’d steal it from him. The only clue I ever got from him was when I asked how he could be sure it was still there. ‘It’s secured in stone,’ he said.” Flora shrugged. “I searched for it myself, when no one was around. Dug under rocks in the fields, checked hearths in several of the town buildings for loose stones. I even climbed onto the roof of the café one night before we set up the watch and tried to look down the chimney by lantern light. I thought if I could just give him what he wanted, he’d give up this fool quest, and I could take my son home. But I never found even a hint of that money.”
Victoria Adams raised a hand. Mal nodded to her.
“Several of the buildings had to be repaired when we first arrived. Some were enlarged. I know Maybelle added a room onto the clinic, and I expanded the back storeroom of my shop. Emma made some modifications at the bank, too, so it could support the large steel safe she special-ordered from Chicago. If this man hid his ill-gotten gains here five years ago, we’ll only find them if we envision what the town looked like back then. I’m pretty sure Emma had to have the café’s chimney rebuilt before it was safe for occupancy. If the masons didn’t find anything suspicious, it makes sense that Flora wouldn’t be able to, either.”
“Good point, Miss Adams.” Mal lifted his gaze to the rest of the group. “How many of you were here when the colony first started?”
The aunts both raised their hands. As did Betty Cooper, Maybelle Curtis, Victoria Adams, and Stella Grimes from the boardinghouse.
Mal released his grip on the podium and leaned his forearms on it instead as his mind started processing the possibilities. “I doubt he would have hidden the money outside. If he had, he could have just slipped into town on a moonless night when everyone was asleep and retrieved it. So it has to be in one of the buildings. But which one?”
Betty thunked the stock of her shotgun against the floor. “It prob’ly ain’t the church, since he set the place on fire a while back. Wouldn’t be smart. Too much risk of the place burnin’ to the ground and leavin’ the payroll unprotected in the rubble.”
“Agreed.” Mal pressed his weight onto his elbows as he bent over the lectern. “Any other buildings we can eliminate?”
Grace Mallory slowly got to her feet at the back of the room. “There’s no stone in the telegraph office. There’s a single cast-iron stove used for heating. No hearth or chimney. The rest is made of wood.”
One of the seamstresses, Pauline, Mal thought, raised a timid hand. She glanced at the woman seated beside her then turned back toward the front. “Our house is the same. No chimney. Just a cookstove and a stovepipe. It was really more of a shanty when we first moved in.”
Her companion nodded emphatically. “All the smaller homes were. Only the larger, more established businesses have stonework.”
“All right,” Mal said, straightening. “Show of hands . . . Which buildings have some type of stone feature?”
Stella Grimes from the boardinghouse raised a hand. As did Betty Cooper, the aunts, and Tori Adams.
The aunts . . . the station house. The one building they knew for sure the outlaw had been inside. Mal’s heart thumped in a wild rhythm. Until he remembered that the muddy footprints they’d found had never approached the parlor hearth. Or any other stone feature in the house. Just the plaster wall in the basement where Angus had tacked his threatening note. Nothing but another scare tactic.