Truth Be Told Read online

When Homer turned to her, the look in his eyes held none of its usual warmth. “You needn’t bother. Jimmy came in early and helped me finish the printing. The two of us have it covered.” Before she could protest, he turned away and went back to work without another word.

  Amelia stared, openmouthed. In all the years she had known him, Homer had never spoken to her in that tone of voice. But—her conscience smote her—in all that time, she had never treated him in the abrupt sort of manner she’d used today. No wonder he wanted nothing to do with her at the moment.

  Berating herself for her self-focused actions, she pivoted on her heel and walked toward the front door. She needed to talk to Ben. Now seemed like a good time to look for him.

  Chapter 22

  An hour later, Amelia walked back into the Gazette building, less frustrated than when she hurried out, and thankfully pain free now. She had covered the length of First Street from one end to the other but hadn’t seen any sign of Ben. Letting a breath of air out in an exasperated huff, she slumped against the counter.

  Where could he be? She’d scanned every face along the boardwalk and looked inside the window of every business on the town’s main street—including the Great Western office—but to no avail. Perhaps he was out looking at a piece of property outside the town limits.

  A glance at the clock told her it was nearly time for most of the local businesses to close for the day. The knowledge cheered her a little. Wherever Ben had gone, he might be coming back soon to wind up his business for the afternoon. Maybe she could still find him so they could discuss the day’s progress . . . or lack of it.

  At least she had managed to accomplish one thing that afternoon. When her search for Ben proved fruitless, she had walked out past the north end of town to the grove of trees near the spring. The quiet spot had long been a favorite of those seeking a bit of solitude, and the secluded stand of trees provided the privacy she needed to pour out her confusion and frustration to the Lord.

  There had been no audible voice, no miraculous vision in response to her fervent prayer, only a prompting to trust her heavenly Father.

  I do trust you, Lord. It’s just that it’s hard sometimes to know the right direction to go.

  Looking around at the chaos left behind in the wake of producing a new issue, she felt a glimmer of satisfaction. At least the paper had gone out on time, thanks to Homer.

  Her satisfaction slipped away in a wave of self-reproach. She had let him carry the full burden of putting the paper together while she spent the day on a wild-goose chase . . . and snapped at him, to boot. None of the pressure weighing her down—or the pain of that blinding headache—was his fault. Far from it! While others would have walked out and left her stranded in similar circumstances, Homer played the role of hero, holding everything together in spite of her short temper. She owed him her deepest thanks—and an apology.

  It usually took him and Jimmy a little over an hour to make their delivery rounds. That meant he ought to be making his way back to the Gazette at any moment.

  But as offended as he seemed the last time she’d seen him, he might not come back to the newspaper at all. She couldn’t blame him if he decided to take time for dinner at the Bon-Ton—or even go straight home for a quiet meal in order to avoid any more of her sharp-tongued comments.

  In that case, she ought to go out and look for him. She couldn’t let her apology go unspoken one minute longer than necessary. With that thought in mind, she returned to First Street. She would find Homer and ask his forgiveness. And maybe, just maybe, she might spot Ben, as well. Perhaps they could have dinner together and find a quiet spot to talk over her questions.

  She ambled along at a leisurely pace, giving herself time to look down every street and alleyway in the hope of spotting Homer. All down the length of the boardwalk, she saw people poring over copies of the latest issue of the Gazette.

  Amelia couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sight. One of the favorite moments of her week was when she walked down the street on publication day, catching the smiles and approving nods from her readers.

  But something seemed different today. True to form, people glanced up when she walked by, but instead of responding to her friendly greeting, every one of them let their gazes slide away without speaking.

  Her steps slowed even more, and she came to a stop. What was wrong with everyone?

  “Amelia!”

  She whirled around when she heard a familiar voice call her name and spotted Clara on the opposite side of the street. A smile sprang to her lips. The sight of a friendly face was welcome right now.

  Or maybe not so friendly. Instead of responding with a smile of her own, the other woman stepped down off the boardwalk and angled across the street, bearing down on her like a locomotive . . . and an angry locomotive, at that.

  Amelia stared, openmouthed. What could have put that grim look on her friend’s face?

  Puffing like a steam engine, Clara stepped up onto the boardwalk and planted herself squarely in front of Amelia. “I can’t believe this. You could have knocked me over with a feather!”

  A chill of concern added itself to Amelia’s confusion. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Martin?”

  “Has something happened?” Clara’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. When she raised her arm, Amelia saw a fresh copy of the Gazette crumpled in her fist.

  “How can you stand there with that wide-eyed, innocent look and ask me such a thing?” Clara’s voice rose louder with every syllable. “You happened!”

  Amelia saw curious glances turned in their direction and felt a wave of heat engulf her neck. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “You put this out for everyone to see, and you’re telling me you don’t understand?”

  “Clara, you’re shouting.” Amelia raised her hands and patted the air in front of her, as if she could blot the angry woman’s words away.

  “You better believe I’m shouting!” She waved the wadded paper in front of Amelia’s nose. “If you have the gall to put this garbage out in public, you have no right to cringe because I raise my voice a little.”

  By this time, the people along the street had ceased pretending not to listen. A few stepped out from doorways farther down the block, the better to observe the show. Amelia felt her cheeks blaze. Her discomfort heightened when she saw Thaddeus Grayson lounging against the front of the general store, watching the goings-on with a look of keen enjoyment.

  Trying to ignore their eager audience, she turned back to Clara. “Are you talking about the article on Martin expanding the sawmill? Why should that upset you? Publicity like that is good for his business, and for the community, too. Everyone is so proud of what he’s doing, and it seemed like a wonderful idea for a story. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “Pleased!” A deep red flush suffused Clara’s face. “The only one pleased about this is you. But if this is the kind of thing you’ll stoop to printing in order to boost your sales, then you’re no friend of Martin’s. Or mine, either.” She flung the paper down on the boardwalk, ground it under her heel, and stalked off without another word.

  Feeling as if she’d just been run over by a locomotive, Amelia stared around at the people gathered nearby, hoping one of the onlookers might step forward and make sense of what just happened. Instead, they all turned away and went about their business.

  In a daze, she bent over to pick up the paper Clara had thrown down and smoothed the crumpled folds open. Homer had placed a piece on Martin’s sawmill in the center of the front page. Her forehead puckered. The notes she’d made for the article talked about his expansion of the sawmill, the addition of new employees, and the way this move would bring new business to Granite Springs.

  Amelia shook her head. That was the kind of forward-thinking progress every town needed in order to grow, the sort of thing that would help the community and portray Martin as someone to admire. What could Clara possibly have found to cause such offense?
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  Mystified, she began to read through the article. The first paragraphs were just as she had written them. She shook her head as her puzzlement grew. There was nothing there that could have elicited such a strong response from Clara.

  The story continued as she had outlined it, describing the expansion, and singing Martin’s praises for his contribution to Granite Springs. Near the end were several paragraphs she didn’t recognize, obviously something Homer had added based on the tip he had received.

  The newly expanded sawmill has been awarded a contract to provide ties and trestle materials for the extension of the Peavine, which will allow that line to run all the way from Prescott to Phoenix. The Gazette spoke to Albert Campbell and Wes Harvey, owners of sawmills in the Prescott area, about their reactions to this new development.

  Amelia nodded. If the tip Homer had been given named those men as sources of information, it would make sense for him to follow up on that and contact them. He must have sent telegrams to Prescott while he was out that afternoon. She spotted some quotations a few lines down and read on.

  Harvey insists Mr. Gilbreth had an unfair advantage in acquiring the contract, and Campbell agreed.

  “Why would the railroad award that contract without getting bids from other sawmills?” Wes Harvey wanted to know. “Sounds like shady doings to me.”

  Campbell said much the same thing and added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Gilbreth greased a few palms in the process.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. Her horror grew as she read through the hateful accusations again, going clear to the end of the article this time.

  Each man was obviously disgruntled at not receiving the contract himself, and both were outspoken in their opinions that Martin must have gotten the contract through some form of collusion with the railroad.

  The breath whooshed out of Amelia’s lungs. Greased palms. Shady doings. No wonder Clara had been so upset. And it explained the odd reactions she’d gotten from people on the street, as well.

  Martin Gilbreth was a good man—a decent man. Everyone in Granite Springs admired his hard work and his reputation for honesty. But people had a way of accepting anything they saw in print as fact. Would seeing something like this in the newspaper—her newspaper—plant a seed of doubt about his character?

  “‘The dignity of life is not impaired . . .’”

  Hearing Homer’s voice behind her, Amelia turned. Her earlier intention to throw herself on his mercy and ask forgiveness faded in the shock of what she had just read.

  “‘ . . . by aught that innocently satisfies.’”

  Her anxiety deepened when she noticed the glassy sheen in his eyes and detected a bit of a slur in his speech as he quoted the lines from Wordsworth. Stepping closer, she sniffed surreptitiously. Her nose crinkled at the telltale odor of alcohol on his breath.

  “Homer!” She let every bit of the disappointment she felt show in her voice. “What were you thinking, putting those awful things about Martin in that article?”

  Homer drew himself up, rocking slightly from side to side. “What was I thinking? You’re the one who told me to follow up on that tip.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she shook her head vehemently. “I told you to check it out and see what could be verified, not to print unfounded allegations.”

  Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Homer drew forth some crumpled, yellow papers. “I did just what you said. The quotes from Campbell and Harvey are right here, exactly as I printed them. You wanted the space filled, so I filled it. You weren’t around to ask, so I made the decision to run it—just like I had to do when your daddy was ailing.”

  “But I—”

  Homer didn’t wait to hear more. With as much dignity as he could muster, he turned and walked away.

  Amelia started to rush after him, then stopped. What more could she say? Homer was right—he’d followed up on the anonymous tip and gotten quotes from the sources mentioned. And now . . .

  Her throat tightened, and she choked back a sob. A quick glance around showed her the street had cleared. That was one consolation, at least. She had no audience to witness her second confrontation of the afternoon.

  Except for the lone figure outside the general store.

  Rage filled her at the sight of Thaddeus Grayson, still leaning against the front of the building with a broad smile on his face, as if enjoying the afternoon’s entertainment. Catching her gaze, he pushed away from the wall and sauntered in her direction, showing no more haste than if he’d been out on a leisurely Sunday stroll.

  Her first impulse was to spin on her heel and walk away, but she couldn’t let him think he was intimidating her. Drawing strength from her mounting anger and frustration, she strode forth to meet him.

  Grayson favored her with an easy smile. “You seem to be having a difficult time of it this afternoon, daughter.”

  Amelia jerked back as if he had slapped her. “Don’t call me that.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Are you having trouble running that little newspaper of yours? It isn’t as easy being in charge as you thought, is it?”

  He clicked his tongue in a show of sympathy. “I couldn’t help but notice your friend seemed a bit upset. I would imagine a story like the one you printed today about an admired local figure might make you very unpopular.”

  He shook his head sorrowfully. “Amelia, dear, when are you going to see reason and decide to come home?” He stretched out his hand as if to caress her cheek.

  Amelia stepped back and swatted his hand away. “I told you before, I am not going back to Denver. Granite Springs is my home, and the Gazette is my newspaper. I never expected it to be all smooth sailing. My father weathered his share of storms, and so will I.”

  “It’s going to be rather difficult trying to do it all on your own.” Grayson gestured in the direction Homer had taken. “Not only have you lost a friend, but you seem to have alienated your only employee, as well.”

  A thought flashed into Amelia’s mind, and she narrowed her eyes. “Did you have something to do with that note Homer found?”

  “Note? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The words were innocent enough, but his knowing smirk confirmed her suspicions.

  “Oh, I think you do. Leaving a note that sent Homer haring off in search of a story without having the decency to sign it—it’s just the kind of thing I would expect from you.”

  Her stepfather raised his eyebrows. “It sounds to me as if someone intended to do a public service by pointing out another side to the story. And isn’t that what a good journalist wants? Instead of being angry at whoever left that note, you really ought to thank him.”

  Amelia clenched her hands so tightly, her fingernails dug into her palms. “Deny it all you want to—it won’t do you any good. I know you had a part in this. What a foul thing to do!”

  “Foul? How can you call it that when it only helped to present all the facts? Aren’t you the one who is so persistent on bringing the truth to light?”

  “Those may have been their honest opinions, but that doesn’t mean every bit of dirt has to be slung around in public. Now that those opinions are in print, people will start to wonder if what they said is true. Not everyone, maybe, but enough that it can harm Martin’s reputation.” Her voice cracked. “They’ll trust that it’s true because it was in the Gazette.”

  Grayson gave her a measuring look. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that’s why Owen Merrick is so upset about the stories your father ran about Great Western? Once he got hold of an idea, he refused to let it go, no matter what it did to the public’s perception of the company. Maybe this will help you see things from a new perspective.”

  With a wink and a tip of his hat, he strolled off, leaving Amelia speechless in the middle of the dusty boardwalk. Anger rose until she felt it would choke her. If she’d had a heavy object in her hand, she would have been sorely tempted to fling it straight at him.

  And woul
dn’t it start tongues wagging if she did?

  Drawing herself upright, she forced her hands to unclench. No point in giving the citizens of Granite Springs more to talk about. The best thing she could do was to get out of the public eye. Lifting her chin, she turned and stalked back toward the Gazette building.

  Chapter 23

  Ben stared at the papers laid neatly across his desk and rubbed his temples. Something was wrong. He had come to the office ahead of schedule that morning, early enough that he’d had a chance to access the company’s financial records before anyone else arrived.

  What he found created more questions than answers in his mind. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation, but without that, those ledger entries were enough to raise suspicion about Great Western’s business practices.

  He glanced at the clock and swept the papers back into their folders. He needed to replace them before anyone else arrived. It wouldn’t do for anybody to discover he’d been rifling the files. Scooping up the folders, he carried them back to the file cabinet and knelt to return them to one of the lower drawers. He froze when he heard the click of the outer door behind him.

  Owen Merrick strode across the floor toward his private office. He stopped short when he spotted Ben crouching in front of the file cabinet. His glance flitted from Ben to the folders in his hand to the open file drawer, and back to Ben again. One eyebrow arched upward. “Good morning. What brings you in so early?”

  Ben’s stomach knotted. As much as he wanted to appear at ease, it was hard to look nonchalant when kneeling on the floor before his boss. Trying to control his racing heart, he pushed himself to his feet, hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. He searched for words that would offer an innocent explanation for him going through the financial records. Then he shook himself. Why should he try to cover anything up? He needed answers, and this was a perfect opportunity to get the information he sought. He drew a deep breath and prepared to take the bull by the horns.

  “I’m a little confused, and I wonder if you could explain some things to me.” Without waiting for a response, he crossed to his desk with the folders still in his hand. Opening the top folder, he laid four sheets of paper on his desk.