Truth Be Told Page 18

  “Not exactly the same, but there were similarities. All three refused an initial offer from the company, but each apparently changed his mind later on. None of them went through foreclosure, though.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m only imagining a connection.”

  “No, not when these names are the very ones that appeared in my father’s notes.” Amelia’s thoughts raced. “Maybe this is linked to whatever was troubling him so much at the end.”

  She leaned over the papers again, and Ben bent beside her. She felt the warmth of his arm through the sleeve of his broadcloth jacket, and her breath quickened.

  Pulling her attention back to the task at hand, she read through every word on the Seaver agreement, then went over the papers for the Rogers and Smith sales with equal care. Her brow puckered, and she picked up the Smith and Rogers contracts to study them more closely.

  “Ben?” Her voice came out on a thin note. “Look at this.”

  “Did you find something?”

  “I’m not sure. Take a look at the sellers’ signatures on these agreements.”

  He studied the scrawls at the bottom of both pages, then took them from her hands and peered at them closely.

  Amelia’s heart hammered. “Do you see the same thing I do?”

  His face hardened into a taut mask. “Both those signatures look like they’ve been written by the same hand.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She turned, closing the distance between them to mere inches as she looked up into his face. “But why would anyone need to forge these papers? What does it mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ben admitted. He looked down at those clear blue eyes staring so trustingly into his. The lips he had come so near to kissing the night before were only a few inches from his own. All he had to do was lean forward and . . .

  A scuffing sound from the printing office caught his attention, and he looked over the top of Amelia’s head to see Homer watching them through the open door. His watchful gaze cooled Ben’s ardor as effectively as if he’d been doused with a pail of cold water.

  He cleared this throat and turned his attention back to the paper in his hand. “It would have to mean there was something fraudulent about the way they acquired these properties, but why go to such lengths?”

  He took a step back, letting his thoughts run free. “It would make sense to snap up the McCaffrey property, since they wanted the reservoir. But I can’t make a connection with these others.

  “The Seaver place is near the reservoir, but Gabe Rogers owned a square mile of nothing but forest, and the property Josiah Smith owned is a ways southwest of here.” He shook his head. “They don’t have anything in common, as far as I can see.”

  “There has to be a reason for all this,” Amelia insisted. She planted her hands on her hips, and her eyes flashed. “Those forged names didn’t get there on their own, and you know I don’t trust Owen Merrick or Thaddeus Grayson one bit.”

  “I know, but let’s not be hasty. I don’t want to leap to unfounded conclusions. Your father’s commitment to printing nothing but the truth is one worth honoring. Merrick has been in and out of my family’s home all my life, and I know how highly my father thinks of him. Besides, Eddie Franklin is the one who did the paperwork on all of these transactions. Let me find out more before we make accusations based on nothing more than dislike.”

  He could see the struggle of emotions that played across her face before she finally drew a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. This paper is about the truth. I don’t want to settle for anything less. Go ahead and see what you can find out, but rest assured, I’ll be looking, too.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “I have no doubt about that.” Mindful of Homer’s watchful eye, he shifted to block the older man’s view from the doorway and lifted his hand to graze her cheek with his fingers. “I’d better get going. I’ll need to find a way to slip these papers back into their files before anyone notices they’re gone.”

  With a quick good-bye to Homer, he strode out the door and started back toward the Great Western building. With any luck, he could find some excuse to stay late again that evening to replace the documents and look through the financial records on the Rogers and Smith sales, as well.

  The discovery that both those agreements had probably been forged had shaken him more than he wanted to let on to Amelia. Something was definitely amiss at Great Western. His mood darkened. He had never liked Eddie Franklin, and he wouldn’t put it past the man to be part of any sort of chicanery. If he could prove the man’s guilt and take that proof to Merrick, it would only remain for Merrick to deal with Franklin and put the whole ugly episode behind them.

  When all was said and done, his boss might even thank Amelia for persisting in her quest for the truth. The thought brought a smile to his lips at the reminder of her fiery gaze and determination to move forward, whatever the cost.

  So much tenacity in such a small package! He laughed aloud, drawing a curious glance from a passerby. He could still feel the warm pressure of her hand on his arm and picture her lips so close to his. How he longed to gather her into his arms and hold her close!

  That day would come, he promised himself. And it couldn’t come quickly enough to suit him.

  Chapter 21

  The rhythmic clank of the Washington press measured out a steady beat in the background as Amelia hunched over her desk, her head resting on the heels of her hands. Looking down at the mound of papers that littered the desk, she let out a low moan. She had spent every waking moment since Ben’s visit the afternoon before going through every scrap of information she could pull from the files that had anything to do with Great Western.

  The discovery of the forged documents had galvanized her into action, hoping that revelation would prove to be the catalyst they needed to make the last pieces of the puzzle fall into place. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

  There had to be some connecting thread tying the forgeries to her father’s concerns, but it remained just beyond her reach. As obvious as it appeared that Great Western had acquired those properties by fraudulent means, she had no way of proving that without the documents Ben had returned to the company’s files. Anything she might report about their underhanded activity would be a baseless accusation. The headache she’d been fighting since midmorning assaulted her temples with renewed strength, and she kneaded the sides of her head with her fingertips.

  She had asked Homer to finish setting her story on the concert and told him to leave some space on the front page in case the big story she hoped for materialized in time to go to print. Instead, here she was again, pushing right up to the deadline with no solid information.

  The printing press clanked on, adding to her guilt. Seeing how intent she was upon her quest, Homer had taken all her chores upon himself in addition to his own . . . again.

  The rhythmic sound of the press ceased, and she heard Homer cross the floor to the office door. Looking up, she saw him knock on the doorframe with a somewhat gun-shy expression on his face. She couldn’t blame him, after the way she’d snapped at him earlier that morning when all he wanted was to know where she wanted to place Walt Ingram’s new ad for the hardware store.

  She made a conscious effort to keep the impatience from her voice when she spoke. “What is it, Homer?”

  Instead of entering the office as he usually did, he remained in the doorway. “I just finished the inside pages. I’ll need to get the front page locked up soon if we plan to get the paper out on time. I’ve saved some space, the way you asked me to. Is the story ready yet?”

  “No.” Hearing the disgust in her tone, Amelia forced herself to speak calmly. “I don’t have a story. I thought I was close, but I just haven’t pulled it all together yet. And I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did before. My head has been throbbing most of the day, but that’s no excuse, and I apologize.”

  Worry twisted Homer’s face as he stepped to her desk. “What are we going to put in its place? We need
something to fill that hole.”

  Seeing his distress only increased her self-reproach. They might not meet their deadline. And if the Gazette was late for the first time in its history, it would be all her fault. “I don’t suppose we have anything on reserve that we could use instead? Have you heard anything more about that missing railroad man?”

  “Not a thing. As far as I know, they’re still looking, but they haven’t turned anything up yet.”

  “What about that story on the sawmill? I’ve already made some notes.” Hope flickered, then died away. “But there isn’t enough copy to fill the space.”

  Homer shook his head. “Not unless . . .” His voice trailed off, and he clamped his lips shut.

  “Unless what?” Her irritation resurfaced.

  He drew his brows together. “I got a tip this morning, but I wasn’t going to mention it.”

  Her interest quickened. “A tip? When? I didn’t hear anyone come in.” She’d been so engrossed in her research, she must have missed hearing the bell.

  “Not here. And not in person, it was just a note. Someone must have slipped it under my door during the night. I found it when I was getting ready for work.”

  Amelia’s nose crinkled. Had she detected the faint tinge of alcohol when Homer spoke? She opened her mouth to question him, but snapped her lips shut when a flash of pain streaked across her head. She closed her eyes and clamped her hand against the ache, as if she could hold the stabbing torment at bay.

  A moment later, she opened her eyes and blinked slowly, relieved when the pain ebbed somewhat. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the issue at hand. Now was not the time to speak to Homer about his tippling. She would wait until she was in a better frame of mind and they weren’t under deadline.

  She forced herself to sit up straight. “Something about Great Western? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shook his head. “It was about the sawmill, but there was no name on it. We can’t take an anonymous note as fact, so I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  “Something to do with the sawmill?” Amelia’s thoughts whirled. “Then go see if you can find some verification. If you hurry, it might be enough to flesh out that story and make it work after all.”

  Homer glanced at the clock. Amelia felt as though she could read his thoughts. Going out in pursuit of news would eat up precious time he needed to prepare and print the first page if he hoped to get the paper out on schedule. By all rights, she should be the one out chasing down that story.

  But she couldn’t. Not when she had to learn the truth about Great Western before Merrick decided to divulge what he knew about her father.

  “I guess I’d best get going.” Homer’s lips tightened in a parody of a smile. “Tempus fugit.”

  She nodded and forced a tiny smile of her own. “Thank you for being such a wonderful help. I’ll make it up to you.”

  And she would, she vowed to herself as she heard the door close behind him. Once she’d cleared up this mystery, she would be able to turn her full attention on her duties at the Gazette again.

  Ben had been puzzled by the locations of the various parcels they’d discussed the day before. Maybe it would help if she could see where they were in relation to one another. Pulling a sheet of paper and a pencil from the desk drawer, she drew a rough sketch showing the locations of the properties. As an afterthought, she added the parcel her father bought from Virgil Sparks.

  Now what? She stared at the paper, trying to ignore the pain behind her eyes, willing herself to see some pattern that would bring everything into focus. The Seaver property was adjacent to her father’s, not far from the reservoir Bart McCaffrey built. Or the land Martin Gilbreth recently sold.

  She remembered her father taking her on picnics in that area when she was younger. He had pointed out a number of mining claims on the hillsides nearby. Her interest quickened. Minerals were abundant in that area. The need for a reservoir would make sense, with Great Western’s plans to start a hydraulic mining operation.

  But what about the other purchases they had made? She tapped her pencil against the paper. Ben was right—the Rogers property lay some distance away and consisted of nothing but acres of trees. As far as she could remember, no one had staked a mining claim anywhere nearby.

  And then there was Josiah Smith’s property, even farther away, out in an open stretch of country to the southwest.

  She set the pencil aside and bent over the crude map. Every instinct told her she was on the right track. The answers lay in front of her, almost close enough to touch, if only she could think clearly enough to see it.

  Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she massaged her forehead lightly, wishing she could rub away the weight of responsibility that crushed her, along with the pain.

  Maybe she wasn’t cut out for running a newspaper, after all. There were simply too many things to try to balance all at once, and she seemed to be doing a dismal job of it. She’d saddled Homer with her responsibilities on top of his own while she sat glued to the desk, obsessed by a desire to ferret out the secrets of the Great Western Investment Company. But in the grand scheme of things, that was the more important issue. Wasn’t it?

  Her father wouldn’t have entrusted the Gazette to her if he hadn’t thought her capable. Then again, he only saw her during the summer months. And a brief spell as his assistant was far different from trying to run the paper on her own. Considering the amount of time they had been separated over the years, maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

  The memory of Millie Brown’s visit sprang to her mind, unbidden. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought, either.

  What would she do if word of that woman’s business partnership with her father got out? That possibility had disturbed much of her sleep over the past three nights. Many who knew Andrew Wagner would be aghast at the news, while others would leap on it gleefully.

  And Owen Merrick would be one of them. His not-so-subtle reference to a dark secret convinced her he had somehow learned about Millie Brown and intended to hold that knowledge over her head like the sword of Damocles, ready to spread the news about her father far and wide if she dared interfere with his business.

  But if his business threatened the happiness and well-being of the people of Granite Springs, didn’t the readers of the Gazette deserve to know the truth about what his company intended?

  What about the truth as far as her father was concerned? The thought tugged at her and wouldn’t leave her alone. Shouldn’t she be just as willing to dig into the particulars of his association with Millie Brown? And if their relationship turned out to be just as Millie claimed, didn’t she have a responsibility to print that truth?

  The ache in her head increased, and she let out a low moan. Amelia sniffed and brushed a tear away. More than anything, she wanted to preserve the reputation her father had so carefully built up over the years. But if she was willing to compromise the truth in order to protect a loved one, that was further proof of her unsuitability as a newswoman.

  Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, she drew in a shuddering breath, then forced herself to sit erect. Suitable or not, she was the editor of the Gazette—for now, at least. It was time to get back to the business at hand.

  She pulled the drawing closer and studied it again. Maybe she’d been too focused on these few properties, in effect, keeping her from seeing the forest for the trees. Walking to the storeroom, she grabbed a blank sheet of newsprint and carried it back to the office.

  Working from the original drawing, she quickly copied the sites she had already noted. Then she proceeded to expand the sketch, penciling in a rough layout of Granite Springs and Martin Gilbreth’s sawmill, then the locations of as many mining claims as she could remember.

  She tapped the end of the pencil against her teeth, pondering what to add next. She made note of several ranches in the outlying area, then sketched in the hills to the west of the town and sha
ded in large areas to represent the vast stands of Ponderosa pine trees.

  Cutting along the eastern edge of her map, she drew a meandering line denoting the Peavine, the railroad running from Ash Fork to Prescott. Construction for a new line from Prescott to Phoenix would be underway soon, but she didn’t know its exact location in reference to her drawing. After a moment’s hesitation, she made a series of dashes near the bottom-left corner. That might not show the correct path, but it would serve as a reminder.

  How she wished Ben could be there to help her. He spent his days going over maps of the county and would know even more than she did about what lay out there that Great Western might be interested in.

  Her eyes blurred as a jab of pain shot through her head again. Amelia choked back a sob. If only she could lie down for a few moments, maybe the blinding headache would subside. But her responsibility was here, with the paper. She didn’t have time to coddle herself.

  Another onslaught of pain made the decision for her. She couldn’t find the truth when she was hurting like this. Surrendering, she made her way upstairs and curled up on her bed, with her head resting against the soft pillow.

  The sound of voices from below roused her, and she opened her eyes. She blinked slowly, realizing that the vise squeezing her head had released its grip. She pushed herself upright on the side of the bed.

  A young boy’s laugh floated upstairs. Jimmy? But if he was there, ready to help deliver the paper, how long had she been asleep? Had Homer managed to finish printing the paper on his own?

  Amelia got to her feet, flinching at the reminder of how much her preoccupation with Great Western had cost her dear friend. Poor Homer had gone far more than the extra mile today.

  Descending the stairs, she walked into the printing office and smiled at Homer and Jimmy. Spying a stack of unfolded papers, she headed toward it. “Let me take care of these. It’s the least I can do.”