His gray eyes shone in the lamplight beautifully, but reflecting bleakness. His face was drawn, his expression taut, emphasizing the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. He looked as though he were about to undertake a dreaded task, like someone designated to deliver tragic news. She felt twinges of alarm. Why was he here?
It was then she noticed that his boots had been ghosted over with a fine, chalky dust, and she realized where he had been tonight before coming to her. Though her breathing turned quick and uneven, she struggled to keep her features schooled. She even managed to ask aloud the troubling question in her mind. “Why are you here?”
He reached down to his coat and took something from the breast pocket, then walked over and set it on the dresser. Instantly recognizing a silver barrette, her heart seized up. She swallowed. “I must’ve lost it in the yard.”
Speaking quietly, he said, “I didn’t find it in your yard, Laurel.”
She didn’t need to ask where he had found it. She knew. But she brazened it out and made an offhanded gesture. “Then it probably isn’t mine.”
“I’ve seen you wear it in your hair.”
“Lots of women have that same clip. Hancock’s sells them. Six to a card. You didn’t need to bother to return it.”
“Actually, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got something to tell you.”
“About a hair barrette?”
“Have you seen Chester Landry around?”
The question was out of context. She replied with exasperation. “No. I told you it was doubtful I would.” Thatcher didn’t look convinced. She added, “I don’t know the man. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Was the O’Connors’ trip up to Ranger successful?”
He was intentionally trying to rattle her. She couldn’t allow being caught off guard. “Very.”
“They didn’t encounter any problems?”
“In fact they did. They sold out of pies in a matter of minutes and left some of the roughnecks disgruntled. I need to bump up production.” If her flippant answer annoyed him, he didn’t show it.
“How’s Corrine working out?”
Involuntarily, she glanced at the barrette and could have kicked herself for doing so. “She’ll be able to do more when her arm gets stronger.”
She could tell by the way Thatcher was looking at her that he knew she was hedging every answer to these questions. On the surface they might seem casual and random, but she knew they weren’t.
“Do you know Elray Johnson?”
That query genuinely threw her. “His name is vaguely familiar. Is he one of the—”
“Notorious clan, yeah. His cousin Wally was murdered recently. Elray discovered his body.”
“That’s it. I remember reading his name in the newspaper. What about him?”
He told her about the teen’s aborted attempt to steal a horse from Barker’s stable. “I took him to the jail and summoned the sheriff.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. You caught him before he stole anything.”
“But I sensed that he had something else on his conscience. Turned out, I was right. He confessed to stealing crates of corn liquor from a competing moonshiner.”
Those twinges of alarm became outright pangs. She was trembling on the inside, but managed to keep her voice steady. “From what I understand, that happens routinely.”
“This theft might’ve been routine if it had stopped at that. But it didn’t.”
“What happened?”