Chapter 6 - The Missing Ledger
County Clerk Hollis refused to open the vault.
At first.
“No.”
He locked the courthouse door behind them.
“No, no, absolutely not.”
Cora placed Henry Lyle’s key on the counter.
“You just said it opens the vault.”
“I said Henry carried a key like it.”
“Then let us see if it fits.”
“Mrs. Mercer, you have been married barely two days. I would strongly prefer not to attend your funeral before I finish filing your certificate.”
Wyatt leaned against the counter.
“Who came asking about the deed?”
Hollis rubbed both hands across his face.
“I said I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Vale?”
Silence.
“Bell?”
Hollis looked miserable.
Cora said, “That is both of them, then.”
“You didn’t hear that from me.”
“What did they want?”
“The school deed.”
“Did you give it to them?”
“It’s public record.”
“Then where is it?”
Hollis closed his eyes.
“Missing.”
Cora stared.
“Since when?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Wyatt straightened.
“Before Vale came?”
“After.”
Silence.
Hollis immediately regretted saying it.
Cora moved closer.
“Mr. Hollis, if you give us ten minutes in that archive room, we may be able to prove somebody burned the school.”
His eyes widened.
“I don’t want to know that.”
“You already do.”
“No, I suspect. There is a difference. Suspicion lets a man sleep.”
“Does it?”
Hollis looked toward the dark windows.
“I have a wife.”
“So did Henry Lyle.”
That struck him.
Cora softened her voice.
“And forty-three children had a school.”
Hollis remained silent for nearly a minute.
Then he took a ring of keys from beneath his shirt.
“Ten minutes.”
The courthouse vault was not large.
Stone walls.
Iron door.
Shelves of ledgers.
Dust heavy enough to preserve fingerprints.
Hollis lit two lamps.
“Volume two is there.”
Cora found it.
Page fourteen had been cut out.
Not torn.
Cut.
Cleanly.
Wyatt stared.
“Someone removed it.”
“Recently,” Cora said.
“How do you know?”
“Look.”
Dust covered the closed book.
But the exposed inner margin beside the missing page was clean.
Hollis looked sick.
“I swear I didn’t—”
“We know,” Cora said.
She inspected surrounding entries.
Page thirteen described a land transfer to the church.
Page fifteen recorded a common pasture grant.
The missing school deed sat between them.
Cora scanned the index.
“Here.”
School parcel.
Donor: Elias Mercer.
Wyatt went still.
“My grandfather.”
“Your grandfather donated the land?”
“Apparently.”
Cora continued reading.
The index included an abbreviation.
R.V.
“What does that mean?”
Hollis leaned closer.
“Reversion.”
“Explain.”
“If donated land stops being used for its stated purpose, ownership may revert to the original family.”
Wyatt stared.
“So if the school closes—”
Hollis nodded slowly.
“The parcel may return to the Mercers.”
Cora understood.
Vale wanted the land for the railroad.
But if the school burned and the council declared the site abandoned, he still could not simply purchase it from the town.
Unless the original deed did not include a reversion clause.
Or unless he could replace it with a false copy.
“The first copy is false,” Cora whispered.
Wyatt looked at her.
Henry’s note.
Hollis asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
Cora examined the ledger again.
“Are duplicate deeds kept elsewhere?”
“County duplicates. Sometimes state archives. But Elk Crossing’s earliest records were irregular.”
“Could someone create a replacement?”
Hollis hesitated.
“With enough signatures.”
“Mayor Bell.”
“Yes.”
“Council.”
“Yes.”
“Clerk?”
Hollis paled.
“I wouldn’t.”
“But a clerk would be necessary.”
“For a clean replacement, yes.”
Cora looked directly at him.
“Then they need you.”
Hollis backed toward the door.
“I think your ten minutes are over.”
Wyatt blocked his path.
Not threateningly.
Just firmly.
“Hollis.”
“I have told you enough.”
“You have told us why they may come after you next.”
The man’s face changed.
He knew it.
Cora touched the key.
“What does Henry’s key open?”
Hollis looked at it again.
“The outer vault.”
“This key?”
“There were two.”
“Who has the other?”
“I do.”
“Then why did Henry carry one?”
“He was treasurer for thirty-one years. Never surrendered it after retirement. Nobody wanted to argue.”
Cora smiled faintly.
“That sounds like him.”
She inserted the key.
It fit.
But when she turned it, nothing happened.
Hollis blinked.
“Strange.”
“What?”
“Wrong key.”
“You just said—”
“It fits, but the teeth are different.”
Wyatt took it.
“Then what does this open?”
Hollis examined the metal tag.
“Two-one-four.”
Cora’s hope returned.
“You recognize the number?”
“No.”
Then he frowned.
“Wait.”
He moved toward a shelf.
Pulled out an inventory book.
Turned pages.
“Old deposit boxes.”
“Where?”
“Not courthouse.”
“Where?”
“First Territorial Bank.”
The bank had closed twelve years earlier.
Its stone building now served as the office of the Elk Crossing Lumber Company.
Silas Vale’s company.
Hollis pointed to the entry.
Box 214.
Registered owner:
Henry Lyle.
Cora’s blood went cold.
“The key opens a box inside Vale’s building.”
Wyatt stared toward the street.
“And Vale may not know Seth has it.”
“Or he does.”
Hollis whispered, “You should leave town.”
Cora looked at the missing page.
“No.”
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“No.”
She had spent three days believing she had lost everything because of an accident.
Then one night discovering children had risked their lives because men wanted a piece of land.
No.
She was done being moved around somebody else’s board.
“What is the legal effect of the reversion?”
Hollis seemed confused.
“If the deed says what the index suggests?”
“Yes.”
“The town cannot sell the land to Vale.”
“Who owns it?”
“Possibly your husband.”
Wyatt’s expression did not change.
Cora turned.
“Then Silas needs you to surrender it.”
“Or never learn.”
Hollis whispered, “If the original deed still exists.”
Cora looked at the key.
Box 214.
Inside Vale’s own building.
The most dangerous place imaginable.
Which was exactly why Henry Lyle might have left something there.
People searched faraway hiding places.
They rarely looked beneath their own feet.
They left by the courthouse rear entrance.
Night had fallen.
Wyatt insisted they return home immediately.
Cora did not argue.
That concerned him more than arguing would have.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
“You are terrible at lying.”
“I learned from Caleb.”
They rode.
Halfway up the mountain, Cora finally spoke.
“We cannot break into Vale’s office.”
“Good.”
“Hollis could request access.”
“No.”
“He has authority over old deposit property.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Lyle?”
“No.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Wyatt looked over.
“We wait.”
Cora laughed once.
“You hate that word more than I do.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But Vale’s men are looking for Seth. The boys are hidden. That gives us something Vale doesn’t know.”
“What?”
“Time.”
They arrived home near nine.
The cabin felt painfully empty without Caleb and Seth.
Cora prepared coffee.
Wyatt stood near the fire.
For the first time since their marriage, they were completely alone.
Not two adults surrounded by crisis.
Just husband and wife.
Strangers sharing a house.
Cora placed his cup down.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not going after the men at the church.”
Wyatt looked into the fire.
“I wanted to.”
“I noticed.”
“If they touch my boys—”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“But they have you.”
Wyatt looked at her.
Cora immediately wished she could retrieve the sentence.
“I mean—they have a father who would protect them.”
His gaze stayed on her.
“You protected Seth too.”
“I’m his teacher.”
“Former teacher.”
She glared.
“Again?”
“Sorry.”
But he was smiling.
Cora felt herself respond before she could stop it.
Then someone knocked.
Three times.
Both smiles vanished.
Wyatt opened the door.
Amos Pierce stood outside.
Snow covered his shoulders.
He looked terrified.
“Miss Whitmore.”
His eyes moved to Wyatt.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“What happened?”
Amos stepped inside.
“I came because somebody searched your old room.”
Cora’s stomach dropped.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Two men.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
Cora exhaled.
Then Amos added:
“Because I moved your trunk downstairs after you left.”
Cora frowned.
“My trunk is here.”
“No. The other one.”
She stared.
“What other one?”
“The school trunk.”
Cora stopped breathing.
Amos continued.
“The one you stored in my back room two months ago. Records and notebooks.”
Memory returned.
Before autumn term she had moved several boxes from the school while repairing shelves.
Attendance books.
Supply receipts.
Old council notices.
And her own notebooks.
One contained handwritten copies of every unusual property tax entry she had found while teaching older students bookkeeping.
Cora looked at Wyatt.
“That is what they were searching for.”
Amos nodded grimly.
“And there’s another problem.”
“What?”
“I opened it.”
Cora’s heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because whoever searched your room asked me something before leaving.”
“What?”
Amos swallowed.
“They wanted to know where you kept the blue ledger.”
Cora whispered, “I don’t own a blue ledger.”
Amos looked toward the snow outside.
“No.”
Then he reached into his coat.
“But Henry Lyle apparently put one inside your trunk.”
He handed Cora a small blue book.
And stamped across the cover were the words:
May you like
ELK CROSSING LAND ACCOUNTS — ORIGINAL COPY.
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