Chapter 4 - The Copies Behind the Flour Barrel
The thief made one mistake.
He assumed Eleanor kept important papers in obvious places.
She did not.
Poverty taught unusual lessons.
Never keep all your money together.
Never assume a locked door means safety.
Never depend on one source of food.
And never keep the only copy of something important where someone expects to find it.
Silas stood in Eleanor’s destroyed bedroom.
“All of them?”
“The originals.”
His jaw tightened.
Eleanor turned.
“Come downstairs.”
He followed her into the pantry.
She moved a flour barrel.
Behind it sat a wrapped bundle.
Silas stared.
“Copies?”
“Every important page.”
He began laughing.
Eleanor frowned.
“Our barn burned.”
“I know.”
“Someone broke into my room.”
“I know.”
“Your cousin may be trying to destroy you.”
“I know.”
“And you’re laughing?”
Silas took the papers.
“I’m laughing because whoever did this has no idea who he’s dealing with.”
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
They took the documents to Sheriff Amos Reed.
Reed was nearly sixty, silver-haired, patient, and difficult to impress.
Eleanor impressed him.
She showed him three supplier companies.
Different names.
Same mailing address.
Overcharges from all three.
One belonged indirectly to a business partner of Everett.
Another connected to an investor at the bank.
The third belonged to Calvin Roark.
Silas recognized the name.
“He worked for my father.”
“When?” Reed asked.
“Fifteen years ago.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“My father fired him.”
“For?”
“Stealing.”
Reed leaned back.
“Where’s Roark now?”
Nobody knew.
They discovered the answer two days later.
Calvin Roark was assistant manager at Harland County Bank.
The scheme became clearer.
Overcharge Montgomery Ranch.
Reduce its available cash.
Call the note during a weak period.
Force Silas to surrender the northern acreage.
Eleanor stared at the documents.
“This began before I arrived.”
Silas nodded.
“So Everett wasn’t angry because you hired me.”
“No.”
“He was afraid because I noticed.”
Silas looked at her.
“Yes.”
That frightened Eleanor.
She had believed herself incidental.
She wasn’t.
That night, Silas moved her to the bedroom across from his.
“You cannot relocate me like furniture.”
“I own the house.”
“You used that argument against Everett.”
“It worked.”
“I have a contract.”
“Nothing in it says which bedroom.”
“You are impossible.”
“You’re sleeping across the hall.”
She did.
At two in the morning, Eleanor heard a horse.
She opened her door.
Silas was already there with a lantern.
They went downstairs.
Sheriff Reed waited outside.
“We found Roark.”
“Where?”
“Railroad station.”
“Running?”
“Trying.”
Reed handed Silas a letter.
Roark had been carrying six hundred dollars and a westbound ticket.
The letter contained instructions about the Montgomery note.
No signature.
Then Eleanor read one sentence.
Her blood went cold.
If Montgomery refuses the acreage offer, pressure the woman. She is the weakness now.
Silas read it.
His face changed.
“You’re leaving.”
“No.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
“This isn’t an argument.”
“Then stop pretending we’re having one.”
Silas stared.
“Someone threatened you.”
“Someone burned your barn.”
“That’s property.”
“And I’m what?”
Silas froze.
Eleanor regretted the question instantly.
“You’re not property.”
“I know.”
“You’re…”
He stopped.
Eleanor stepped closer.
“What?”
Silas looked at her.
“Someone I can’t afford to lose.”
The night became silent.
Sheriff Reed suddenly became fascinated by his horse.
Eleanor could barely breathe.
Silas seemed equally surprised by his confession.
“You should leave until this is over,” he said.
“And go where?”
“I’ll pay for a room.”
“So whoever wrote that letter knows exactly where to find me?”
Silas grimaced.
“Good point.”
“I have those.”
“Occasionally.”
She almost smiled.
Then her expression softened.
“I’m staying.”
“Eleanor.”
“I won’t let Everett chase me out of the first home I’ve had since my mother died.”
Home.
The word hung between them.
Silas heard it.
So did she.
“All right.”
“All right?”
“You stay.”
“I was staying anyway.”
“I know.”
Sheriff Reed returned the following afternoon.
Roark had finally talked.
“He admitted manipulating invoices,” Reed said.
“And the bank?” Eleanor asked.
“Admitted that too.”
“Everett?”
Reed hesitated.
“No.”
Silas frowned.
“What?”
“He named somebody else.”
“Who?”
Sheriff Reed looked toward the barn.
“Garrett Hale.”
Eleanor went still.
Their foreman.
Silas’s friend of nine years.
The man who had helped fight the fire.
The man who discovered the break-in.
Silas refused to believe it.
Then Garrett rode into the yard.
He saw Sheriff Reed.
His face changed.
He turned his horse.
And ran.
Silas stared after him.
The betrayal in his face hurt Eleanor almost as much as if it had happened to her.
But she had learned something from ledgers.
May you like
Numbers did not care what you wanted to believe.
And neither did the truth.
