Chapter 4 - The Loose Floorboard
Alandre told herself she was cleaning.
That lie lasted approximately three minutes.
She swept beneath the table.
Around the stove.
Beside the walls.
Then toward Jedodiah’s bed.
Her pulse grew louder with every step.
She hated herself for snooping.
Jedodiah had saved her life.
He had given her food, shelter, safety.
He had asked for nothing except laughter.
But Thomas had once told her something she had dismissed as one of his unnecessary pieces of wisdom.
Trust isn't blindness, Ally. If somebody gives you a reason to look closer, look.
So she looked.
The broom slid beneath the bed.
Its bristles caught.
Alandre pulled.
The floorboard shifted.
She stopped breathing.
For several seconds, she stood absolutely still.
Then she lowered herself to her knees.
The wood was loose.
Her fingertips slipped beneath the edge.
She lifted.
Beneath it was a shallow cavity.
Inside sat a tin box.
And beside it, wrapped in oilcloth, were several small canvas sacks.
Alandre reached for the box.
It was heavier than expected.
The latch opened with a soft click.
Her world changed.
A silver-plated revolver lay inside.
Pearl grip.
Polished frame.
Along the barrel, a rattlesnake curled through engraved grass.
Alandre could not hear the fire anymore.
Could not hear the wind.
She was back beside the wagon.
Thomas shouting.
A man smiling.
The cold barrel near her cheek.
“Where’s the box, Collins?”
Thomas refusing.
The sound of a rifle.
Thomas falling.
Alandre’s hand began shaking.
“No.”
She backed away.
Her shoulder hit the bed.
“There has to be another explanation.”
The words sounded childish inside the empty cabin.
She forced herself forward.
Beneath the revolver lay folded papers.
The first was a wanted poster.
The paper had yellowed.
The drawing was rough, but the name was unmistakable.
JEDODIAH BOONE
Wanted for questioning in connection with stage robbery, claim jumping, armed theft and the deaths of two men in Silver County.
Reward: $1,000.
Alandre read it twice.
Then a third time.
Her stomach turned.
The second paper contained several names.
One jumped from the page.
Clayton Reynolds.
She recognized the surname although nobody had spoken it since Thomas’s death.
A witness at the nearest settlement had heard one attacker call the other Clayton.
Alandre looked back at the gun.
Jedodiah and Clayton.
The wanted poster.
The stage token.
Thomas’s lockbox.
Jedodiah’s reaction.
What color?
Suddenly every moment rearranged itself.
Jedodiah had known.
The question was how much.
She reached for one of the canvas sacks beside the box.
The drawstring loosened.
Gold coins spilled into her palm.
Alandre stared.
Enough money to buy land.
Enough to disappear.
Enough to kill for.
She rose too quickly and nearly fell.
“Think.”
She needed to leave.
Not confront him.
Not wait.
Leave.
If Jedodiah returned and realized she had discovered the hiding place—
Alandre stopped.
That thought hurt.
She wanted to believe he would never harm her.
But she had also wanted to believe Thomas would grow old beside her.
Wanting had never made anything true.
She grabbed her coat.
Dried meat.
Matches.
A canteen.
She shoved them into a sack.
Her hands moved faster as panic built.
Outside, clouds gathered over the ridge.
Another storm.
She did not care.
She crossed toward the door.
Her fingers nearly touched the handle.
It turned.
Alandre froze.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Not Jedodiah.
Tall.
Lean.
Gray wool coat dusted with snow.
Dark gloves.
Black necktie.
And a smile.
Alandre forgot how to breathe.
Three months disappeared.
She was beside the wagon again.
That same calm expression.
That same smile moments before darkness.
The man closed the door gently.
“Well now.”
His voice was exactly as she remembered.
“This is a peculiar sight.”
Alandre backed toward the stove.
Her hand moved behind her.
Searching.
Metal.
The cast-iron skillet.
Her fingers closed around the handle.
The stranger looked past her.
His gaze found the open floorboard.
The tin box.
Gold.
Silver gun.
His smile widened.
Then he looked directly at her.
“Mrs. Collins.”
Her stomach dropped.
“You.”
“Me.”
“You killed Thomas.”
Clayton Reynolds removed one glove.
He did not deny it.
That was somehow worse.
Alandre tightened her grip on the skillet.
“What do you want?”
“The same thing I wanted the first time.”
“The lockbox?”
“Partly.”
“I don’t have it.”
“I know.”
Clayton stepped farther into the cabin.
Alandre raised the skillet.
“Stay there.”
He glanced at it.
“You planning to cook me?”
“Come closer and find out.”
For the first time, his smile faltered.
“Jed’s been rubbing off on you.”
Hearing the nickname made her skin crawl.
“You know him.”
Clayton looked almost amused.
“Oh, Alandre.”
She hated the familiarity.
“Did Jed ever tell you he and I used to ride together?”
Her grip weakened.
Clayton walked toward the table but did not approach her directly.
“He didn’t, did he?”
“What do you mean, ride together?”
“Stage coaches. Mining payrolls. Claim offices.” Clayton gestured toward the wanted poster. “All sorts of enterprises.”
“That poster could be false.”
“It isn’t.”
Alandre’s chest tightened.
Clayton looked down at the silver revolver.
“Beautiful piece, isn’t it?”
“I saw you with it.”
“Yes.”
“After you murdered Thomas.”
Clayton’s expression remained calm.
“It belonged to Jed first.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“Oh yes.”
Alandre shook her head.
Clayton continued.
“The famous silver rattler. Jedodiah Boone carried it for years.”
She wanted him to stop.
“Why did you have it?”
Clayton looked toward the door.
“Now there’s the interesting question.”
“Answer me.”
“Because Jed gave it to me.”
Alandre stared.
Clayton moved closer to the hidden gold.
“You should also know something else.”
She could barely speak.
“What?”
“He knew exactly who you were when you appeared at his door.”
Alandre’s eyes burned.
“No.”
“He knew your husband.”
“He told me he didn’t.”
Clayton smiled again.
“And you believed him.”
The skillet felt impossibly heavy.
Every warm meal returned.
Every quiet conversation.
Every time Jed had looked away at Thomas’s name.
The laughter.
The kindness.
Had all of it been guilt?
Or manipulation?
Clayton crouched beside the loose floorboard.
“The silver gun didn’t reach Thomas’s wagon by accident.”
Alandre’s heart hammered.
“What are you saying?”
Clayton picked up the revolver.
He turned it slowly beneath the lamplight.
Then looked at her.
“I’m saying Jedodiah Boone has been lying to you since the moment he carried you through that door.”
Outside, a horse whinnied.
Clayton’s eyes moved toward the window.
Alandre knew that horse.
Jed was home.
Clayton quietly cocked the revolver.
And for the first time since Thomas’s death, Alandre realized she might finally hear the truth.
May you like
If she survived long enough to listen.
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