Never Love a Lawman Read online

  “These are letters from the Reid Bank of Boston. All of them were written between February 1861 and September 1862. They are demand notes. The bank owners were requesting immediate repayment of all debt.”

  Foster frowned deeply. “Why would they do that?”

  “The first note would have been in anticipation of war. Recall that succession had already taken place, and Mr. Lincoln was prepared to make his inaugural address in March. I can only surmise that the Reids were attempting to collect on as many loans as they could in order to have sufficient capital to invest in more solvent enterprises. The Colt factory, for instance. Cotton mills. The foundries. Certainly, the railroads, but it seems not the Maddox line. One can suppose they had information that made them question Mr. Maddox’s financial situation. Perhaps they suspected he had unreasonably extended himself.”

  “He had millions.”

  “Millions in credit, it would seem.” Dover handed the notes to Mr. Maxwell when the attorney thrust his arm forward. “I would have to examine the financial records for those years, of course.”

  George Maxwell quickly examined the notes and passed them one at a time for Stuart’s review. He asked Wyatt, “Where did you get these?”

  “From Mr. Jake Reston. He’s the bank manager.”

  “It’s a Reid bank?” he asked, incredulous.

  “You’re in Reidsville, Mr. Stuart. Or did that escape your notice?”

  Rachel quickly put her hand to her mouth and turned her strangled, nervous laughter into a credible cough.

  “I only present them,” Wyatt went on, “to support Mr. Clinton Maddox’s decision to give the spur to William Bailey’s daughter.” He turned to Ted Easter, nodded once, and the mayor began to look through his sheaf of papers.

  “This the one?” Ted held it out to Wyatt.

  “That’s it.” Wyatt took the document and slid it across the table. “The proof of repayment,” he said. “October 1862. That would be five short months after William Bailey secured a contract with the Union to put down fifteen hundred miles of track from Chicago to points west and south. Clinton Maddox’s fortune turned on that contract and land grant. William Bailey managed supply lines for the Union generals, and they advocated for the plan he put before them. You can verify all this in the archives in Washington.”

  Wyatt waited until they reviewed the last item before he continued. “There is one other matter I wish to address, and that goes to the soundness of Mr. Maddox’s judgment.”

  “How could you possibly speak to his judgment?” asked Foster. “He was under the care of several physicians, and all of them are prepared to give testimony to the fact that his faculties were impaired.”

  Wyatt made a steeple of his fingertips and tapped them lightly together, his demeanor in every way that of a cautious man on uncertain ground. “During what period?”

  “If I may answer that,” Davis Stuart said. He made a note that he showed to his partner, and when Maxwell nodded, he went on. “For three months prior to Mr. Maddox’s first stroke, there were signs that he was suffering memory loss and given to making nonsensical statements.”

  Rachel sat up even straighter. “That’s a lie,” she snapped. “He never showed the slightest inclination toward—” She reined herself in sharply when she saw one corner of Foster’s mouth lift the smallest of fractions. Her passionate defense only amused him, and she did not dare look to Wyatt to rescue her. “I spent a great deal of time with Mr. Maddox,” she said quietly, “and never witnessed what you are describing.”

  Wyatt didn’t wait for anyone to respond to Rachel’s outburst. “Let us suppose that it is fact,” he said. “And further, allow me to make the time period more generous. Say, two years. Can we agree that Clinton Maddox’s reasoning was intact two years in the past?”

  The attorneys hesitated, exchanging glances. It was Foster that breached the silence. “Yes,” he said impatiently. “I can agree to that.”

  “And three years?” asked Wyatt.

  “Of course.”

  “Four?”

  “Just say the number you have in mind and be done with it.”

  “The number is six and one-half, and the year is 1876. That is the year Rachel Bailey celebrated her eighteenth birthday and the year Clinton Maddox decided she should inherit a portion of the Maddox holdings. It is immaterial how often Mr. Maddox revised his will subsequent to that date. He made provision for this years before his passing.”

  George Maxwell quickly opened his portfolio and began leafing through the papers contained in it. A moment later, Davis Stuart did the same. With their heads bent, they were able to avoid Foster’s sharp glance.

  “You have proof, I suppose,” Foster said.

  “I do.” He turned to Ted Easter and nodded.

  Ted produced the papers and put them on the table. “Have a care with these, gentlemen. No one wants to see anything happen to them.”

  Wyatt watched the attorneys pick them up. Foster expressed no immediate interest. “I remain curious about your need to see these,” Wyatt said. “Mr. Maddox assured me that he was specific in his will. I find it odd that you’re not familiar with it.”

  “I am very familiar with his will,” said Foster. “And it’s a thorny document where the succession of property is concerned. At issue is the breadth of the estate and what constitutes its real property.”

  Wyatt heard what Foster didn’t say: namely, that he was preparing to challenge the provisions of his grandfather’s will. Foster’s charges against Rachel were precisely what he had supposed: They were meant to provide leverage to encourage her testimony.

  Foster went on. “I am also familiar with the Maddox holdings, or at least I believed I was until this matter of the spur was revealed. I had to ask myself, of all the assets that my grandfather could have bestowed on Rachel, why the spur to Reidsville? That’s when I requested Mr. Dover to make a thorough examination of the financial ledgers. Not, I must add, only of the Maddox public holdings, but of my grandfather’s private assets and records. Would you like to know what Mr. Dover discovered?”

  “I would.” Wyatt waited for the accountant to speak, but the man had swept his ledgers toward him again and merely fidgeted with the stack. It was Foster who responded.

  “After unraveling what seemed to be a Gordian knot of bookkeeping entries, Dover was able to show that the spur is profitable beyond what can be reasonably predicted.”

  “Is that right?” asked Wyatt. “This bit of track?”

  “Hmm. I was surprised also. Beyond the financial sleight of hand, there was an organized conspiracy to keep it from me. This was managed by a small circle of men that I also inherited from my grandfather, but who are quite sensibly no longer in my employ.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes, it is.” Foster laid his hand on top of the ledgers at his right, effectively stilling Randolph Dover’s twitching fingers. “There remains the question of what makes the spur so profitable.”

  “Aside from efficient management,” Wyatt said dryly. “And the labors of men and women who depend upon the work for their livelihood.”

  Foster’s smile did not touch his eyes. “Aside from that,” he said without inflection.

  “You have a theory?”

  Foster nodded. “I do.”

  Wyatt waited, but Foster Maddox was not inclined to share it. Wyatt didn’t press and hoped Rachel would remain silent as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the attorneys were finished shuffling the papers he’d given them.

  George Maxwell adjusted his spectacles and peered at Wyatt over the rim. “Is this everything?”

  “It is.”

  “It sets some rather unusual terms.” He looked past Wyatt to Rachel. “You agreed to these terms?”

  “I did.”

  Foster leaned forward. “What terms? What did you read?”

  Davis Stuart stroked his wiry beard with his knuckles. “You were correct, Mr. Maddox. The real property that your grandfa
ther meant to conceal from you is a mining operation.” He quickly went on to explain the details of the corporation and the distribution of shares among the holders. “While she was made a shareholder of the mine outright, the spur is Miss Bai—pardon me, Mrs. Cooper’s—because she met Mr. Maddox’s terms by marrying Mr. Cooper.”

  Foster’s deep-set eyes darted between Rachel and Wyatt but gave no hint as to his own thoughts. “Marriage? That certainly is unusual, even for Grandfather. It explains a great deal, though, doesn’t it?” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, at last demonstrating a trace of wry humor. “I did not foresee that. But, really, what person could?”

  Stuart went on. “Your grandfather does not explain his reasoning here, nor I suspect, anywhere else.”

  “He did it to make certain she stayed right here,” Foster said. “That is easy enough to comprehend.” His attention swung back to Rachel. “Did you hesitate? Or did you think that your many calculating kindnesses to my grandfather were about to pay you handsomely?”

  Rachel returned his regard but didn’t respond.

  “Are you truly married?”

  Ted Easter did not wait for Wyatt to hold out his hand. He had the marriage license ready. “Who would like it?” he asked. When no one answered, he stood and leaned across the table to set it in front of Foster.

  Foster glanced at it and pushed it aside. “Tell me about the mine. What is your share worth, Rachel?”

  “I couldn’t say precisely. Ten to twelve, I think.”

  “Ten to twelve million?”

  Laughter parted Rachel’s lips. “Ten to twelve thousand. Millions? I can’t imagine it. The property is virtually played out, Foster.” Her regard shifted to the accountant. “I certainly mean no offense, Mr. Dover, but I do wonder if there is any possibility you could be mistaken in your conclusions? Reidsville depends on the spur, but it is not mining that sustains the town. Your acquaintance with its attractions has been severely limited, but I can assure you that the Commodore rarely has a vacancy. Citizens from Denver make the journey regularly. There is gaming, of course, and if I may speak with unbecoming frankness, there are certain other entertainments that are known to be finer than what is available in the tenderloin district. There are also the mountain springs, which are said to have restorative powers. Naturally, at this time of year they are unavailable, but our druggist uses the water in his liniments and elixirs and cannot keep up with the demand from the city. I could go on, but I invite you to look around and see the true source of the town’s success.”

  Wyatt’s hand slid under the table and came to rest just above Rachel’s knee. His gentle squeeze was a caution.

  Rachel continued quietly. “I know little enough about the figures you work with, but as a seamstress I’ve had to follow more threads than I care to think about. It’s possible to tug on the wrong one. I think, Mr. Dover, that you may have done just such a thing.”

  Everyone’s eyes went to Randolph Dover. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his upper lip, and he swallowed uncomfortably. Before he spoke, he looked to his employer. Foster Maddox merely stared back.

  “Well,” Dover said, clearing his throat. “As I explained to Mr. Maddox, the accounts suggest that the spur is profitable, though I never put that figure in the millions.” He smiled uneasily. “Profits of that magnitude simply could not be concealed. I agree that the figures you mention, Mrs. Cooper, are more congruent with my findings. Regardless, Mr. Clinton Maddox went to some trouble to obscure these profits and that made them interesting enough in their own right.”

  Foster’s eyes slid in Rachel’s direction. “You can appreciate the irony, I hope.”

  Rachel ignored Foster and addressed Mr. Dover. “How many years did you include in your review?”

  “Five.”

  Wyatt asked, “And what did you observe over time?”

  “Small fluctuations from year to year but steady income.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Mining is boom to bust. Ask the men who were here when placer gold and silver were discovered. They’ll tell you what it’s like. People have had to find other ways to make a living.”

  The accountant nodded faintly while Foster Maddox’s expression remained implacable.

  Holding out his hand, Wyatt asked for the documents he’d passed around to be returned. He collected them and gave them over to Ted Easter.

  “I’d like to transcribe the originals,” Davis Stuart said.

  “Of course,” said Wyatt. “I’ll want to review the copy. Mr. Easter is able to witness and certify the document.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Stuart.

  “Sunday? No.” He glanced at Ted. “It should be at your convenience.”

  Ted Easter shrugged. “Monday’s fine. Bank opens at nine. Jake will let us use the back room.”

  “Does that suit?” Wyatt asked. At Stuart’s nod, Wyatt looked back at Foster, his eyebrows raised. “Is there anything else?”

  Foster didn’t answer immediately, resting his chin on his knuckles in a deeply thoughtful pose while he fixed his remote stare on Rachel. “No,” he said at last. “It seems you have an answer for everything.”

  Rachel accompanied Wyatt and Ted to the bank, where Jake Reston was waiting for them. The corporation papers and Clinton Maddox’s directions regarding the spur were returned to the safe. Ted took his notes, and Rachel kept her marriage license.

  “Foster never mentioned my ring,” she said after parting ways with the others.

  Wyatt plucked the license from her, folded it carefully in thirds, and placed it inside his coat. “That can’t be because he didn’t notice it. You flashed it often enough.”

  “Not intentionally. I hardly knew what to do with my hands. I was nervous.”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  Rachel didn’t miss his dry tone. “Liar.” She slipped her arm in his. “Why do you think he let it go unremarked?”

  “I suspect it was on the advice of his counsel. He was careful in his language where you were concerned.”

  “Do you think so? He characterized my kindnesses toward his grandfather as calculating.”

  “That’s my point. In other circumstances he certainly would have called you a whore.” He gave her arm a small squeeze, softening the sting. “I have to know,” he said. “Where did you come by this notion of a spring with restorative waters?”

  She glanced at him, her smile both guilty and apologetic. “Was it too much, do you suppose? It just seemed that the town should have more to recommend it than gambling and brides of the multitude.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows lifted. “Brides of the multitude? Where did you hear that expression?” Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. “Never mind. I suppose as long as you’re going to make gowns for Rose and her girls, you’re going to hear things.”

  “I certainly am.” Her smile turned sly. “And I certainly am.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Did it sound convincing?” she asked. “About the springs, I mean.”

  “I was convinced. In fact, I thought I would stop by Chet’s and ask for a bottle of his liniment.”

  She sighed, slowing her steps as they approached the drugstore. “Perhaps we should go in and mention my deception to Mr. Caldwell.”

  “The least we can do,” he said mildly. “In the event that Foster and his men show more interest in Chet’s foul concoctions than either cards or the brides.”

  Joe Redmond was waiting for Wyatt in the churchyard before services began. He tipped his hat to Rachel and asked for a moment of Wyatt’s time.

  “Go on,” Wyatt told Rachel. “I’ll be in shortly.”

  She looked at the grim set of Joe’s mouth, the concern that he couldn’t conceal, and told Wyatt, “I believe I’ll just wait by the steps.”

  Wyatt not only waited until Rachel was out of earshot but also turned so that his back would be to her. “What is it?” he asked Joe.

  “Seven of them came by the livery this morn
ing.” Joe thrust his hands deep in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. “A man named Seward took that many of my horses. Paid what I asked for them, and I charged them plenty just to see how serious they was to have the mounts. He didn’t blink.”

  “Seward’s the surveyor and engineer. The demolition man, too.”

  “Ah. That explains the equipment.”

  “Explosives?”

  “I didn’t see anything like that. There were a couple of tripods. I thought they were for cameras. You know, like you used to do.”

  Wyatt nodded. Seward might be planning to take photographs and make a survey. He described Foster Maddox to Joe and asked if he was among the riders.

  “Sorry. Don’t recollect seeing anyone like that.”

  “It’s probably better that you didn’t. Did they say where they were going?”

  “I tried to ask real delicate-like, on account they weren’t exactly inviting questions. Not one of them acted like he heard, so I let it pass.”

  “Good idea. Do you have a guess?”

  Joe’s mouth twisted to one side as he thought. “They went toward the depot. I figure they want it to look like they’re following the tracks out of town, but it’s likely they’ll double back. Can’t imagine they’re riding out today for any reason ’cept to try to find the active mine.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Forty minutes give or take. I have a mare getting ready to foal. Had to tend to her first before I could get away to find you.”

  “Did you see Will?”

  “Pounded on his door, but if he’s there, I couldn’t rouse him.”

  “That’s all right. I think I know where he is.” He clapped Joe on the shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate the information. Take care of that mare.”

  Rachel was talking to Molly Showalter and Johnny Winslow when Wyatt stepped to her side. Molly and Johnny excused themselves and hurried into the church just as the bell called the congregation to worship. Rachel turned to Wyatt and knew immediately that he wouldn’t be joining her.

  “Where do you have to go?” she asked, steeling herself for the answer.