Truth Be Told Page 16

  According to Thaddeus Grayson, he and Amelia’s mother had been childhood sweethearts. But that still didn’t explain their haste to marry so quickly after Amelia’s father died.

  A thought struck him, and his steps faltered. A comment Amelia made earlier implied that Grayson had been carrying on a dalliance with Amelia’s mother while her father was still alive. Had Andrew Wagner known about it? If that were the case . . .

  Ben stopped in his tracks, feeling like the pieces of the puzzle were finally beginning to fall into place. Could that knowledge—assuming Andrew Wagner also knew about Grayson’s ownership of Great Western—have been the catalyst that prompted the hostile articles he’d written about the company?

  He felt a sting of disloyalty to Amelia for entertaining such a thought, but it made sense. He knew how much she admired her father, but wasn’t she the one who insisted on finding the truth? The possibility, unsavory as it was, had to be taken into consideration.

  Ben picked up his pace and tipped his hat to the trio when they drew near. “Good afternoon.”

  The Gilbreths’ greetings faded in the light of Amelia’s smile. Her pleasure at seeing him warmed him even more than the summer sunshine.

  “I was hoping we could talk for a bit,” he told her. “But if you’re busy . . . ?”

  “Not at all.” She turned to Clara Gilbreth. “Thank you again for coming along when you did. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He saw the older woman dig her elbow into Amelia’s ribs and heard her mutter something under her breath. When he offered his arm, Amelia tucked her hand in his elbow, and they crossed back to the other side of the street.

  “Was there something particular you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked when he helped her step up onto the boardwalk.

  He grinned, appreciating the way she offered him an opening. “The concert at the Odd Fellows Hall is just a few days away. I was wondering if you’d be interested in attending with me.”

  Her face brightened even more. “I’d be happy to. I planned to go anyway, to cover the story for the paper, but I’d enjoy it much more in your company.”

  Ben wanted to let out a whoop, but he held himself in. He glanced down at her, feeling suddenly awkward. “That’s a relief. I thought I heard Miss Gilbreth say something about my making you uncomfortable.”

  Her cheeks turned the scarlet of an Arizona sunset. “Not at all. What she said was, it didn’t look like you made me feel uncomfortable.” When he looked at her quizzically, the crimson color deepened. “She was referring to my stepfather. He caught me when I was coming down the street, and they rescued me.”

  Ben stumbled to a halt. “Rescued you?”

  “Maybe not in a literal sense. I mean they helped extricate me from a disagreeable encounter.” Her blue eyes flashed when she looked up at him. “You said you met my stepfather a number of years ago. How much do you know about the kind of man he is?”

  “It was at a social function I attended with my parents. Our host introduced him to us, and we chatted for a time. Other than that brief meeting, I never saw him again until he arrived here yesterday. I never dreamed he was associated with Great Western, and I certainly didn’t know about his relationship to your family.”

  Amelia took a moment to digest the information, then she nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Sensing she was ready to move on again, Ben resumed their walk toward the newspaper office. “What is it I should know? You hinted at something last night, but—” He broke off when he felt a shiver ripple through her frame.

  She stared up at him, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want to go into detail, but please believe me when I say he’s a cad of the worst sort. Despite his polished appearance, he has no more scruples than a snake. He would be willing to do anything if he thought he could get away with it, in business or . . . or . . .” In a voice so low he almost missed hearing it, she added, “. . . anything else.” She lifted her shoulders. “Let’s just say he isn’t someone I would ever want to be alone with.”

  A fierce protectiveness surged up within him. “Has he done anything to hurt you?”

  “Not physically, no. But that’s why I had to get out of the restaurant last night. Seeing him caught me completely off guard. I’m sorry I cut our dinner short. I had been looking forward to our time together.”

  Ben covered her fingers with his free hand. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I never should have allowed him to spring such a surprise on you. I had no idea it would upset you so.”

  Amelia smiled her forgiveness. “How could you? You had no way of knowing.” Her smiled faded, and she glanced down. “I’m not sure how to say this, but his involvement with the company makes me even more concerned about Great Western’s integrity.”

  When they reached the Gazette building, she stopped at the door and faced him once more. “Can you come inside for a moment? I’d like to tell you what I learned this morning and see if you can make anything of it.”

  She unlocked the door, and he held it open for her. Once inside, she outlined her foray to the bank in a few brief sentences. “One of my father’s notes seemed to indicate a concern about the methods Great Western has used to acquire so many properties in such a short time. Do you think there is more to their methods than appears on the surface?”

  Ben sputtered. “Acquiring properties is part of my job. I can assure you I haven’t taken part in any underhanded activity.”

  Amelia tilted her head and stared up into his eyes. “I believe you.” The look she gave him warmed him to the core of his being. “But you don’t handle every transaction, do you?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t.”

  She nodded, as if she’d expected that answer. “Can you tell me why Great Western would be so interested in Bart McCaffrey’s reservoir? Providing water to the local farmers doesn’t seem in line with the rest of the company plans.”

  Ben scrambled for an answer, trying to remember any snippets of conversation he might have heard around the office. “We’ll need a substantial water supply for the hydraulic mining. Since a reservoir was already set up on the property, I would assume that’s the reason we acquired it, but I can’t tell you more than that.”

  When she drew her brows together, he added, “Why don’t I go back to the office and look up the paperwork on that transaction. I’m sure I can find the answer there.”

  “Would you? I’d appreciate that so much.” She stretched out her hand and grazed his arm with a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing.

  Ben swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He would do a lot more than dig through a few files to prove himself worthy of that trusting blue gaze.

  Ben had to wait until his fellow employees left for the day before he felt comfortable going through the files. He spent the intervening time finishing his report and poring over maps of Yavapai County, looking for properties that might be of interest to the company. He found a couple of likely prospects and made a note to check into the specifics of who owned them on his next trip to file papers with the county recorder’s office in Prescott.

  At last the office quieted down and he was able to begin the research he’d promised Amelia. He walked over to the bank of cabinets and searched through the drawer labeled M until he located the papers he sought. Carrying the folder to his desk, he spread its contents on his desk.

  It only took a moment to locate the information he was looking for. A quick survey showed him the story checked out with what Amelia told him. Bart McCaffrey, the former owner, had taken out a sizeable loan to construct a reservoir. Then he defaulted, leaving the property available for Great Western to purchase at a substantial discount.

  Just as I thought. Acquiring McCaffrey’s land had been a shrewd business move, nothing more.

  He put the papers back in order, scanning each one so he could assure Amelia he’d taken a thorough look at the documents. He had almost finished when a few scribbled words in th
e margin of one page stayed his hand.

  He held the memorandum closer and frowned. What’s this? As he read the document from start to finish, his frown deepened.

  According to the note in his hand, Great Western had made an earlier offer to purchase McCaffrey’s land at market value, but the offer had been refused.

  So the company had been interested in the land, even before the foreclosure lowered the price to a tempting range. Ben tapped his finger on his desk, deep in thought. If not for catching sight of those quickly scrawled words, he wouldn’t have looked closely enough to discover this information.

  What else have I missed? With his curiosity thoroughly piqued, he went back through every paper one by one, laying them out in chronological order as he read. The resulting sequence showed a trail of events much different from the story Amelia had been given.

  One memo, dated after McCaffrey turned down the offer from Great Western, read:

  This property is ideal for providing a water supply. See if McC will build reservoir with the understanding that we can purchase from him.

  So McCaffrey built the reservoir at the company’s request? Ben’s confusion grew when he located McCaffrey’s land on the county map. The majority of the land below it had been purchased by Great Western some time before. Evidently, the story about supplying farmers with much-needed water was a fabrication.

  Ben flipped the paper over and discovered more writing on the back:

  McC demanding advance payment. Informed him, per O. M.’s instructions, no longer interested in buying water from him.

  Ben stared openmouthed, letting the words sink in. Leaning back in his chair, he pondered the details he had uncovered. Pieced together, they explained McCaffrey’s reason for building the reservoir in the first place. He obviously expected water sales to repay the loan he’d taken from the bank, plus assure him of an ongoing income once the loan was paid off.

  But Great Western had broken off their end of the deal, and McCaffrey defaulted on the loan as a result.

  Bart McCaffrey obviously made a poor choice, borrowing money he couldn’t repay. That was a sad enough story in itself, but if he’d made that choice due to the urging of Great Western—who then reneged on their agreement—that threw a whole new light on the situation.

  And after McCaffrey lost his property, the company stepped in and bought the land—reservoir and all—directly from the bank. Great Western had the property it wanted in the first place, and at a greatly reduced price.

  Ben let out a low whistle. None of the company’s actions had been strictly illegal, but he wouldn’t characterize them as open and aboveboard. He gathered the papers slowly and stacked them back in the order he had found them.

  A multitude of thoughts chased through his mind while he replaced the file in the cabinet, but one question stood out from the rest. Who had been in charge of that sale? Before sliding the drawer closed, he glanced at the top right corner of the folder to find the initials penciled there, according to office policy: E F.

  So Eddie Franklin, one of Merrick’s closest associates, had been responsible for contacting McCaffrey and setting up plans for the reservoir, only to renege on the company’s offer once McCaffrey found himself head over heels in debt. And according to the note he’d found, O. M.—Owen Merrick—had given the order to call off the arrangement.

  Ben leaned against the closed drawer and tried to think. Was this an isolated incident? What other deals had Franklin worked on? Moving to the file cabinet farthest to his left, he pulled open the top drawer and began a systematic search, pulling out all the folders bearing Eddie Franklin’s initials.

  Two hours later, he finished going through the stack of files on his desk. Not all of Franklin’s deals followed a similar pattern, but he found several that raised questions in his mind. He looked at the list of names he’d written down:

  Ephraim Seaver

  Gabe Rogers

  Josiah Smith

  Each one had initially refused to sell, but later changed his mind. And neither of the files for Rogers and Smith contained a bank draft number showing payment had been made.

  Ben shook his head. That didn’t make sense at all, unless both men had demanded a cash payment. He glanced toward the front window, noting how far the sun had dropped in the evening sky. It was getting late enough that his presence in the office might be noticed—and questioned. He would have to wait for another opportunity to see what he could find out about those payments.

  Right now, he needed to put the files away before anyone discovered what he was doing. As he hurried to complete the task, a sick feeling grew in his stomach. Had Amelia’s father been right after all? Was Great Western involved in some questionable activity?

  He slid the last drawer closed with a thump. And if Wagner’s suspicions had been correct, what did that mean for the future of the company . . . as well as his own?

  Chapter 19

  The strains of a Sousa march rang through the streets of Granite Springs. All around the vacant lot next to the Odd Fellows Hall, groups of smiling people kept time to the music. Some sat on blankets spread upon the ground, while others relaxed on the benches brought over from their usual spots along the boardwalk on First Street. Still more listeners lined the pews borrowed for the evening from the Granite Springs Community Church next door.

  Amelia had taken up her post with those who didn’t care to sit, as they stood in clusters behind the pews. From her vantage point at the rear of the crowd, she had a clear view of everything going on. She held her pencil and notebook at the ready, wanting to capture all the color and life of the much-anticipated outdoor concert.

  Ben, standing on her left, leaned closer. His breath tickled her ear when he murmured, “A wonderful turnout, wouldn’t you say?”

  She nodded. From the looks of it, nearly the entire community had shown up for the event. An air of excitement crackled through the crowd. The sun glinted off the band’s brass instruments, its heat diminishing as it neared the horizon. Altogether, it added up to a perfect summer evening.

  Amelia looked up at Ben and smiled, thinking how much their relationship had changed in such a short time. Unlike the time he’d invited her to the poetry reading, she had been thrilled at the thought of him acting as her escort on this occasion.

  One of her escorts, she amended, remembering Homer, who stood on her right, his watchful eye keeping tabs on the two of them. Amelia smothered a chuckle at his vigilant attention. Homer was as protective as a mother hen with her only chick. In other circumstances, his hovering might have stirred her impatience, but knowing the love and concern behind it, she found it rather comforting.

  Without glancing directly at him, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his spindly profile. Such a dear man! For the thousandth time, she wondered whether Ben had been right about some wicked person dropping that brick on Homer deliberately. Could anyone really have wanted to hurt him? The longer the time stretched on without any sign of a further attack, the less likely it seemed. But Ben had made a convincing argument about the supposed accident being intentional.

  She scanned the crowd, glad for the opportunity to observe the faces there without calling attention to herself. Struck by a sudden thought, her throat went dry. With so many people there, if anyone had intended to hurt Homer, there was a very good possibility that person was in attendance tonight. The realization dampened some of the pleasure she had felt up until that moment.

  Bandmaster Achille LaGuardia raised his baton, and the musicians struck up the first lines of “Sweet Genevieve.” The crowd joined in, singing along in chorus. Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Amelia jotted notes, describing in a few words the uniforms worn by the members of the Eleventh Infantry band.

  When the number concluded, Pastor Edmonds stepped up to the front and beamed at the assembly. “I know we’re all having a lovely evening, and I’m sure we’d like to express our appreciation for this fine music.”

 
; An enthusiastic round of applause greeted his statement. The bandmaster smiled his thanks and swept his arm to one side to include the members of the band, who rose and bowed as one.

  “And now,” the pastor continued, “while our musicians take a brief intermission, Miss Thelma Vickers and her Sunday school class have a special treat for us.”

  The Sunday school teacher stood and beckoned with her hand. A group of children made their way forward under her no-nonsense gaze.

  Amelia’s lips twitched as she watched them jockey into position. Her smile deepened when she caught sight of Jimmy Brandt in the center of the back row. The newsboy’s usually grubby face fairly gleamed, showing signs of recent contact with soap and water. His hair was slicked back, and a starched collar encircled his neck.

  Jimmy cast a furtive glance around the audience. When his eyes stopped on Amelia, she waggled her fingers at him and gave an encouraging nod. The boy’s face turned beet red, and he quickly averted his gaze.

  When they had taken their places, Thelma Vickers gave a satisfied nod and favored the audience with a bright smile. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Our junior Sunday school class has been hard at work over the past few months, and we would like to share some of what we’ve learned with you.”

  Ben leaned over again. “I barely recognized Jimmy up there, all scrubbed and fresh.”

  “I know.” Amelia couldn’t hold back a gurgle of laughter. “He looks utterly miserable, doesn’t he.”

  Ben’s face split into a wide grin. “He does, at that. I know how much I would have hated standing up and performing in public like that when I was his age.”

  The children quoted John 3:16 in unison, then sang all four verses of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” When they finished, Miss Vickers turned to the audience again. “I am proud to tell you that our class has just finished memorizing the names of all sixty-six books of the Bible, in their proper order.”