Harvest Moon

  “That’s not…” David raked his fingers through his black hair, realizing suddenly that he’d left his hat at the office. “I won’t—”

  “If you go storming in to confront that Jeffers bitch you will,” Lee replied. “David, think. Use that keen lawyer brain of yours. Tessa Roarke is accused of murdering a man.”

  “She didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?” Lee asked.

  “She told me.”

  “And I suppose you take everything your clients tell you as the gospel truth?”

  “No. But I know Tessa isn’t lying. I feel it in my gut.”

  “In your gut?” Lee studied his friend. “Or in your groin?”

  David’s lips thinned to a tight line. His face hardened, the coppery skin stretched across his cheekbones. “If you weren’t my friend, you’d be picking yourself up off the ground.” David clenched and unclenched his fists in an effort to control his fury.

  “I know,” Lee said. “But if I weren’t your friend I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t give a damn if you made a fool of yourself in front of half the town. And you can’t go storming into Margaret Jeffers’s store demanding satisfaction without looking like a fool. You’re thinking like a man, not an attorney. This is Wyoming, David.” Lee’s voice hardened. “Women sit on juries here, or have you forgotten?”

  David slumped against the rough boards covering the outside of the funeral parlor. “Damn.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture, then raked his hand through his hair once again. “Damn.” He opened his eyes and met Lee’s penetrating gray-eyed gaze. “You’re right.”

  Lee chuckled, showing straight white teeth. “I know I’m right.”

  “I got so damn mad,” David confided. “Beneath all the bluster, Tessa was near tears. She didn’t even cry when she was jailed.”

  “You’ve always been a sucker for a woman’s tears,” Lee reminded him.

  “Yeah,” David admitted. “God help me, so I have.”

  “Are you certain she’s innocent?” Lee shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the question he’d had to ask. They both knew he wasn’t just asking if she was innocent of the crime of murder, but innocent in other ways as well.

  “She didn’t kill Arnie Mason.” David knew he was only answering part of Lee’s question, but it was the only answer he could give. He wasn’t certain about the rest. And he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it with Lee.

  “Can you prove it in court?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What’s she told you about that night?”

  “Very little, except that she didn’t kill him.”

  “Then how can you be so sure?” When he looked at David, his expression was skeptical.

  “Tessa Roarke is left-handed.” David moved away from the side of the funeral parlor and began to retrace his steps to the front of the building. “Have you seen the wound in Arnie Mason’s throat?” David asked his friend. “I mean, have you really looked at it? Studied it? Tested it?”

  “No.” Lee shook his head. “Not as carefully as you seem to have.”

  “Then let’s go take a look,” David suggested, clapping Lee on the shoulder with the palm of his hand. “I’d like your opinion.”

  “As long as you don’t make me look at him too long.” Lee smiled roguishly, his eyes twinkling. “I had to look at the son of a bitch nearly every night at the Satin Slipper. I don’t relish the thought of him ruining my sleep now that he’s dead.”

  “Neither do I.” David smiled. “But I’m afraid it’s too late for me. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since the bastard was murdered. And I don’t expect to have one until I prove Tessa is innocent.” He opened the front door of the funeral parlor and allowed Lee to precede him.

  “Speaking of Tessa…” Lee hesitated before stepping inside.

  “Yes?”

  “What do you intend to do now about the little incident at the mercantile?”

  “That’s a hell of a question to ask me now,” David said. “You’re the one who just talked me out of storming in there and demanding justice.”

  “I talked you out of storming in there and acting like a hot-tempered fool. I didn’t say I thought you ought to let it pass.”

  “What do you suggest?” David entered the funeral parlor on Lee’s heels.

  “I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer, but I feel sure you’ll think of some punishment suitable to the crime.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” David’s voice was full of sarcasm as he followed Lee into the room where Arnie Mason was stretched out in a yellow pine box.

  “Don’t mention it.” Lee studied the corpse, flinching a bit as he loosened the dead man’s starched white collar and pulled it aside. “Looks like Myra Brennan outdid herself when she decided to outfit Arnie for all eternity.”

  “What?” David was puzzled. “Myra Brennan paid for this?”

  “Sure,” Lee said. “And very well, I might add. See?” He fingered the fabric below the removable collar. “French handkerchief linen. Expensive. Like something you’d wear, not something Arnie would own.”

  “But why?”

  “They were lovers,” Lee replied matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you know that?”

  “I knew he worked for her, and that he was at the Satin Slipper almost every night. But that hulking brute of a man Myra’s lover?” David shuddered, staring at the scarred, battered face of the corpse. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah. It does seem incredible when she has such a tendresse for you.” Lee stopped his rambling and focused on the expression on David’s face. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” David grimaced. “I do know she has a certain fondness for me, despite my ‘unfortunate’ heritage.”

  “Or maybe because of it,” Lee suggested. “She does profess to hate all inferior beings—Indians, half-breeds, Irish “ He grinned at David. “But she sure has an interesting way of showing it—accosting you on the street in broad daylight, accosting me in the storeroom every chance she gets.”

  David looked surprised at that admission.

  Lee laughed out loud. The sound echoed through the funeral parlor, earning a sharp disapproving look from the proprietor, who had entered a moment earlier. Lee ignored the undertaker, focusing his attention on his friend instead. “You didn’t think you were the only one, did you? Because you aren’t. You’re her favorite—the best-looking and the richest—but you aren’t the only one.”

  “Interesting,” David said.

  “Yep,” Lee agreed. “I do believe the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Yep,” David echoed. “It makes me wonder why.”

  “I thought you’d see it my way,” Lee told him. “And, David, getting back to Tessa and the mercantile…” Lee examined the knife wound a few minutes longer, then closed the collar over the gaping hole.

  “I wondered when you’d remind me again.”

  “Have you decided what to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Lee looked up and met David’s eyes. “Because I think you’re absolutely right about the knife wound.” He glanced down at Arnie one last time, wincing. “Nasty business, throat-cutting. This is definitely a right-handed slash. I don’t think the Roarke girl killed him, either. Trouble is, I don’t know who did.”

  “Neither do I,” David answered. “But I intend to get some answers right after I pay a visit to the mercantile.”

  “I’m glad that’s settled.” Lee nodded in satisfaction. “Now we can get the hell out of here. This place and this dead son of a bitch give me the creeps.”

  * * *

  The citizens of Peaceable who had congregated in Jeffers’s Mercantile waited all morning and part of the afternoon before David Alexander made his appearance. The assortment of tea and cakes had been consumed long ago, yet the women continued to browse in the ladies’ corner, and the men took turns facing each other over the black an
d red squares of the checkerboard. People who hadn’t been present at the morning confrontation showed up with orders for coffee, sugar, ten-penny nails, and spools of thread. Jeffers’s Mercantile was the most popular spot in Peaceable on this particular Saturday.

  David was aware of the circus atmosphere the moment he opened the door and crossed the threshold. All movement stopped. Every head turned toward the door. The sound of the brass bell seemed abnormally loud.

  David acknowledged the gathering with a nod of his head as he walked across the room to the counter. He smiled a greeting at Lorna Taylor.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. Is Mrs. Jeffers in?”

  “David…” In her agitation Lorna addressed him by his first name.

  “It’s all right, Lorna.” David’s voice was a rough whisper, his assurance meant for Lorna alone. He raised his voice as he continued. “Will you get Mrs. Jeffers? We have some business to discuss.”

  Lorna stepped away from the counter and, turning her back on David, exited through the curtained doorway that led to Mrs. Jeffers’s office.

  Moments later Margaret Jeffers stepped through the curtains much like an actress making an entrance onto the stage. She had exchanged her dark blue wool dress trimmed in black velvet for an afternoon gown of crimson silk.

  David bit back a smile. He hadn’t seen Margaret earlier in the day, but he recognized full military battle dress when he saw it. He knew his opponent had dressed for the engagement.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Alexander.” Margaret was polite, courteous. “What might I do for you?”

  “I think it’s what I can do for you,” David announced. “I’ve come to settle my account.”

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Alexander, until the end of the month,” she answered sweetly. Too sweetly for David’s taste.

  “But I want to settle up now. I don’t like to leave things undone.” He was implacable. “I’ll be having my household orders shipped from Chicago from now on.”

  Some of the customers gasped at his statement. Jeffers’s Mercantile was the largest, finest store in all of Peaceable. Margaret Jeffers carried everything. It was unthinkable to pay the freight costs on orders from Chicago when you could buy what you needed in Peaceable.

  “Oh, now, Mr. Alexander, don’t be ridiculous,” Margaret began. Lorna, standing off to one side, winced at her employer’s choice of words. David Alexander wouldn’t appreciate being called ridiculous. “Why, the freight charges alone will be double what you pay right here.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Jeffers, but I assure you that I can afford to pay the cost of shipping. In fact, I prefer to pay it.”

  “What?” Margaret Jeffers responded, shocked at the idea.

  “I prefer to deal with merchants”—David paused for effect—“who appreciate my business.”

  Margaret smiled at him, gritting her teeth. He was a formidable adversary and, unfortunately, one of her most valuable customers. “I have always appreciated and welcomed your business.”

  “Until this morning.”

  “Oh, now, surely you aren’t going to all this trouble over what happened this morning. Surely you don’t intend to cancel your account here and pay enormous amounts of money to out-of-town merchants and to the UP railroad because of a little misunderstanding.”

  “That’s precisely what I intend to do.” David smiled a slight smile. “I was certain you’d understand.”

  “But, Mr. Alexander, it was all a misunderstanding,” she said again. “If I had known you wanted the supplies, I’d have put them on your account as always.” Margaret ignored Lorna’s gasp of outrage at the barefaced lie.

  David’s face hardened into lines closely resembling the look of fierce determination on the face of a mountain lion stalking its quarry. “I sent Miss Roarke and young Mr. Donegal here this morning to pick up supplies for me.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Did you or did you not refuse to add the cost of the supplies to my account?”

  “How was I supposed to know that was all right with you?” Margaret asked defensively. “Anyone could come in here and ask to have things charged to someone else’s account.” She looked around to the customers gathered in her store. “I didn’t know the young woman. I pride myself on my diligence in protecting my customers.”

  “From riffraff?” David asked silkily. “That is what you called Miss Roarke, isn’t it? Riffraff.”

  “Well…” Mrs. Jeffers hedged.

  “And when Miss Roarke offered to pay for the supplies in cash, didn’t you refuse to sell them to her?”

  “I can refuse service to anyone who enters my store if I choose to do so,” Margaret stated firmly. “It’s my right.”

  “Yes, it is,” David agreed easily. “You have every right to refuse to serve customers you deem unfit.”

  “See?” Margaret said to the crowd gathered close enough to hear. “I told you Mr. Alexander wouldn’t be offended if he knew I was standing up for my rights as a store owner.”

  “Oh, but I am offended, Mrs. Jeffers,” David corrected her. “In refusing to sell the supplies to Miss Roarke, you refused to sell to me. When you called her names, it was the same as calling me names. And when you refused to accept the ‘dirty money,’ it was my money you turned away. You have a right to do all those things,” David told her. “Just as I have a right to buy my supplies elsewhere, and I will gladly pay more to do so.”

  “But I have your order right here.” Margaret recognized the danger; if she lost David Alexander’s business, she would risk losing the Trail T ranch’s business as well. “The order is ready. It’s been sitting here all afternoon just waiting for you to pick it up.”

  “Then I’m afraid you went to a great deal of trouble for nothing, Mrs. Jeffers, because I’ve come to settle my account.” David extracted his wallet. “I trust you’ll accept gold today. I wouldn’t want to be accused of foisting dirty bills on you against your will.” He stopped long enough to read the expression on Margaret Jeffers’s face.

  She nodded in mute assent.

  “Good. Now, please be so kind as to tell me how much I owe—minus today’s order, of course,” David instructed her. “Oh, and strike my name from your account list.”

  Lorna stepped forward and politely told him how much he owed the store. “Your account totals seventy-three dollars, Mr. Alexander.”

  David placed that amount in gold on the counter.

  “You can’t do this.” Margaret Jeffers now fully comprehended the enormity of what she had done. “You can’t do all this just to stand up for that…that…saloon hussy.”

  “I have done it.”

  “She’s not worth it,” Margaret warned.

  “That’s not for you to decide,” David reminded her.

  “But you’re one of my most valuable customers,” Margaret protested.

  “I was,” David replied.

  “What about the ranch account?” She couldn’t restrain herself. She had to ask.

  “Oh, yes, the ranch account.” David paused as if he’d forgotten, then removed several more gold coins from his wallet. “If this doesn’t cover the outstanding amount on the Trail T’s ledger, send me a bill.” He returned his wallet to his inside coat pocket. “And don’t forget to strike the ranch from your ledger as well. Good day, Mrs. Jeffers, Miss Taylor.” David nodded. “You know, Miss Roarke was right about the Satin Slipper,” he said, standing at the door. “It does cater to a better class of customers.” Seeing the outraged look on Margaret Jeffers’s face, David left the store.

  The crowd began to disperse, disappointed that there hadn’t been screaming and name-calling, but aware that a major battle had taken place just the same. David Alexander was the undeclared winner.

  He’d won the skirmish, David thought, as he walked back to his North Street office, but he found little pleasure in the victory. It would cost him. Not just money, though it would cost him plenty of that. It would cost Tessa, too. It would make it that muc
h harder for her to be accepted into Peaceable’s small-town society once this was all over. People would remember the showdown at Jeffers’s Mercantile and that Tessa was the cause. He’d done the right thing, but now he had to worry about the damage to Tessa’s case and the repercussions once the murder of Arnie Mason was solved.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Arnie Mason. God, everything came back to Arnie Mason. David wasn’t looking forward to another showdown with Tessa, who seemed determined to keep every shred of evidence to herself. But he needed help. She had to help him. The only evidence he had to go on was her word, a length of gold chain, and the note found in Arnie Mason’s pocket inviting him to Tessa’s room. David’s quiet isolation in Peaceable had been shot to hell by Tessa’s arrival in his life. His whole life had been turned upside down, and it was time he did something about it.

  Chapter Nine

  When David reached his office he found the front door locked. The printed sign in the window proclaimed otherwise, as did the hours posted on a plaque that hung on the front door. The sign said Open, but the door refused to yield. Inhaling a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, David inserted his key into the lock.

  “Coalie?” Tessa’s voice came from somewhere inside the main room of the office.

  “No, it’s David.”

  “What happened?” Tessa asked as soon as she heard his footsteps cross the threshold. “What happened at the mercantile? You didn’t make a spectacle of yourself, did you?”

  “No.” David walked to his desk. “I did not.” He removed his heavy coat and hunted for a place to hang it. He decided he wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity easily this time.

  The main room of his office was a garden of white. It looked the way David imagined a cotton field down south might look, provided the cotton was processed into fabric and sewn into ladies’ undergarments. Stockings, petticoats, pantalets, chemise, corset cover, and corset decorated nearly every piece of furniture in the office, including his desk; a wet petticoat lay draped across its polished surface.

  He smiled ruefully. His office looked as exotic as the Satin Slipper.