Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(24)

“The other cowhands would notice,” Hobart said, “but they don’t talk to Hawkins. If you told them you were hired, whether they believed it or not, they probably wouldn’t go to Hawkins. Ralston gave the orders, and Hawkins mostly spent his days in the study with his feet up. I had to dust around the lazy half-wit.”

“I could say I’m not living here anymore,” Wyatt said. “I could claim to be upset about the new brothers, now married to Win and Cheyenne. That I felt forced out of my own home. Just as Molly does. We could say we got tired of living here and came up with the idea of working for him.”

“He made me clean the whole stupid house, except for the third floor, which is kept locked. I felt lucky he didn’t insist I go up there and dust, but I wanted to search it if I could figure out how to get in there without flat-out knocking down the door. I couldn’t pick the lock and never found a key, but near as I could tell, it was pure empty.” Pulling her cup of coffee close, Hobart said, “And he has a safe hidden behind a picture on the wall of his study, but I never got into it. I did sneak down there in the night many times and finally found a combination to the safe. But that was the day you came riding in to accuse Ralston of cattle rustling. I knew when you came that he’d taken off and was probably making a run for it, so I went after him. And that very night, when I should have been opening the safe, I came here to the RHR to question you about what you’d found out about Ralston.”

“You were sneaking in,” Wyatt said. “Admit it. You were going to search our house and sneak right back out.”

Rachel smiled. “Whatever my plans, they were foiled by your sharp-eared brother Falcon.”

Falcon had heard her slipping around in the night, or rather, heard someone. He caught her and dragged her inside because they suspected her of shooting Wyatt.

“Then you found Amelia Bishop for me, and I left Hawkins’s house for good. I ran out of time to search the combination safe.”

“Combination safe?” Molly rested one hand on her chest and looked for all the world like a woman who’d never heard the term. “What is that?”

“Some detective,” Wyatt muttered darkly.

He squared his shoulders. He knew he wasn’t going to stop her. So he’d try his best to make it safe for her. “We have a combination safe here. You can practice opening it, and we can talk about how the numbers Rachel has will work on a different safe.”

“And, Molly,” Hobart said, “I told you I also believe he has a second safe. I did some research on the floor plans of his house. A company in Omaha did the construction.”

“You can find things like floor plans and look them over?” Molly sounded awestruck. Wyatt sure hoped she didn’t abandon teaching and housekeeping for detective work.

“Yes, those things are available if you know where to look. I couldn’t find where the safe was installed, but I found that a second one was purchased. It’s not uncommon in a grand house, and that monstrosity Hawkins owns qualifies. I suspect it’s in his bedroom because I searched the rest of the house from top to bottom many times. Well, not the third floor. You’ll have to find a time to search his bedroom for the safe. It’s probably behind a clothes chest or behind another picture on the wall or under the floorboards. And there will be a secret switch or lever or something that will have to be used to lift up a section of the floor or move a panel on the wall. You’ll have to find it and—”

“This is ridiculous!” Wyatt flung his arms wide. “Now she’s got to find a hidden safe with a secret switch? And do you have the combination for that, too?”

Giving him a narrow-eyed look, Rachel smiled faintly. It could almost be called a smirk. “Actually, I do. There was a second number on the piece of paper I found. I copied both, not sure which one would work on the safe in his study. I’m still not sure, so if one doesn’t work, you’ll have to try the second. At first, I thought maybe he’d changed it and hadn’t scratched out the old number. Now I’m sure it’s for that second safe.”

“And what am I looking for in these safes?” Molly’s jaw was firm. “What can he possibly have hidden in there that would tie him to crimes he committed years ago?”

Hobart got very quiet. Her eyes appeared to burn as she studied Molly. It was a long stretch of seconds before she answered with grim regret. “A man who kills a woman because he abuses her is one kind of criminal. He may have a history of battering other women, but often he’ll marry, and the wife has no way out of the abuse. Or sometimes a woman can be so worn down by the abuse she thinks she deserves it.”

Molly watched Hobart as if she were absorbing every word.

“If Hawkins is that kind of man, we may never prove he killed anyone. But—” Hobart swallowed hard, glanced at Wyatt, then spoke more gently, as if she hated putting this knowledge in Molly’s head but felt she had to. “There is another kind of killer. A man who, rather than abusing his wife, is . . . is . . . well, he—” She swallowed again. “He enjoys killing and makes a habit of it. There’s a form of madness that makes a man kill people for no reason except that’s his madness.”

“But I’ve met Hawkins.” Molly rubbed her hands up and down, from elbow to shoulder, back and forth as if she were cold. “There is nothing that suggests he’s furiously mad.”