Page 15 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

J OSEPH ’ S PLAN TO DRIVE TO M ILES C ITY HAD BEEN DELAYED BY A broken circular saw blade at the mill.

The steel teeth had struck an old ax head in a log, buried in the tree as it grew.

The impact had twisted the big blade and stripped the gears, shooting shards of wood in all directions.

One of the mill’s best men had nearly lost an arm.

He would recover but would need weeks to rest and heal.

Joseph had ordered replacement parts from a company in Detroit.

Until the parts arrived, production would need to be shifted to a smaller saw, the delivery schedule changed, and impatient, sometimes angry customers notified.

Three stressful days had passed before Joseph could be spared to confront the thief who’d stolen his briefcase.

Raw from worries at the mill, he welcomed the distraction of a drive out of town.

The morning was clear, the sunlight a golden haze on the ripening wheat fields to the west of the road.

In the marshland, red-winged blackbirds called and flitted among the cattails.

The hour was early. In Blue Moon, the stores and businesses were just opening.

Shoppers were hurrying to get their errands done before the heat set in.

There was no activity in the small house that adjoined the school.

Joseph hadn’t seen Francine since the dance.

It wouldn’t hurt to stop by and make sure she was all right—if she was still speaking to him.

But there’d be time for that later, maybe on the way home.

Right now he had unfinished business in Miles City.

He was more concerned about Annabeth, especially after the way her husband had abused her at the dance. Did Silas hit Lucas and little Ellie, too? The thought sickened Joseph. But there was nothing he could do. Any attempt at interference would only make things worse for her and her little family.

The auto carried him out of town and into the open country.

When he saw the deep pothole ahead, he slowed down and gave it a wide berth.

How much nerve and stealth would it take for a thief to steal something out of a car with the owner a few feet away.

Joseph had little doubt that he was dealing with a master criminal who deserved a long sentence behind bars.

In Miles City, he drove to the sheriff’s office and parked out front. The sheriff was expecting him.

“We’ve got your briefcase with the checks inside, including the one that the thief tried to cash,” he told Joseph. “After you leave here, you’ll want to take them to the bank.”

“What about the prisoner?” Joseph asked. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“His trial’s set for next week. We’ll need you to testify, so plan to be here. Since he couldn’t make bail, he’s cooling his heels behind bars.”

“Does he have a record? Any other crimes he’s wanted for?”

“Not that we can find on short notice,” the sheriff said. “You can see him if you’d like.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“You can even talk with him if you want. Maybe you can get more out of him than I’ve been able to.”

Joseph followed the sheriff down a dim corridor to the jail at the rear of the building. There were four cells, three of them empty. As Joseph’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out a small figure in an oversized black-and-white jail uniform huddled on a bunk against the concrete wall.

The sheriff stepped close to the bars. “Hey, Forrest, wake up. You’ve got a visitor.”

Two skinny arms unfolded into sight, followed by a shaggy head of dirty blond hair above a sunburned face.

“Go to hell.” The voice was a boy’s, just beginning to change.

“Good lord, he’s just a kid,” Joseph muttered.

“He’s a thief,” the sheriff said. “He stole from you, and he needs to be taught a lesson. Stand up, boy, or I’ll come in there and make you wish you had.”

The black-and-white bundle rolled off the bunk and stood. The pant legs were so long that they covered his feet and pooled on the floor. The boy appeared to be about thirteen, or maybe older and small for his age. He stood a few feet back from the bars, a defiant scowl on his face.

“Mind your manners, boy,” the sheriff said. “This is Mr. Joseph Dollarhide. He’s the man you robbed.”

“I know. Not the name, just him.” He eyed Joseph, his chin thrust in a show of bravado.

Joseph turned to the sheriff. “Can you leave me with him? I’d like to take some time.”

“Take all the time you want. I’ll be out front. But watch him. He’s as sly as a little weasel.”

As the sheriff left, the boy stood in place, sizing Joseph up. It was plain to see that he’d come from a hard life—untrimmed, tangled hair, a bruise on his face. What Joseph could see of his body was mostly skin and bones.

“Are they treating you all right here?” Joseph asked.

“What do you think? At least I get fed.”

“Forrest. Is that your first name or your last name?”

“Forrest McCoy. Or McCoy Forrest. Take your pick. I don’t give a damn what you call me.”

“All right, Forrest. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.” The kid was clearly lying, but Joseph would let that go for now.

“I have some questions for you, Forrest. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me straight answers.”

Forrest shrugged.

“I’ll start with an easy question,” Joseph said. “I’d like to know how you managed to steal my briefcase out of my car while I was right there.”

The boy shrugged again. “I’ve always been good at sneaking. Back home, I could sneak up on a rabbit and twist its neck ’fore it even knew I was there. Folks called it my gift. Your car was easy. I grabbed the first thing I saw. Got lucky, I guess. Before I got stupid and tried to cash a check.”

“You mentioned back home. Where was that?”

“Kentucky.”

“And where are your parents?”

“Dead. Our granny took care of us—me and my big brother, Cam—for a while. When she died, we got sent to an orphanage.” He was opening up. Joseph let him talk.

“That orphanage—it was awful. Ain’t no words bad enough for what they did to us there.

First chance we got, we snuck out and hopped a train, hid in a freight car.

It took us to Chicago. Biggest place I ever saw.

We stole some food and caught another one.

We talked about maybe goin’ all the way to California.

” Forrest paused and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Say, I can talk better if you get me some soda pop.”

“I’ll see what I can do. We’re not finished.”

Joseph walked back down the hall. He found the sheriff at his desk going over some paperwork.

“So are you getting anything out of the kid?” the sheriff asked.

“Only that he’s had a rough life. Have you got any cold sodas? He’s talked himself dry.”

“Working his con on you already, I see,” he said. “Don’t let the little hooligan fool you. He’s bad to the bone.”

“Sodas?”

“Ice chest is in the corner. You’ll find some root beer in there. Opener’s hanging on a nail. You’ll see it. God, I hate prohibition. What I wouldn’t give for a cold beer. The real thing, not that homemade swill.”

Joseph found a bottle of root beer, pried off the cap, and took it back to Forrest. The boy was standing where Joseph had left him. He held out his hand.

“Only if you promise to tell me why you stole my briefcase.”

“I was getting there. Give me the soda. Please .” The last word was tinged with sarcasm.

Joseph passed the bottle through the bars.

It occurred to him that the kid could break the glass bottle and use it as a weapon later.

But that wouldn’t be very smart. And this boy, Joseph sensed, was at least clever.

Forrest tilted the bottle to his mouth, finished it in a few gulps, and passed it back to Joseph. “Thanks, I like it cold,” he said.

“So, what about the rest of your story?”

Forrest sank onto the edge of the bunk, which was nothing more than a frame strung with ropes for support.

There was no mattress or blanket. “Like I said, Cam and me, we were on the train. It was slowing down for Miles City when some men got into the car. Bad men, if you know what I mean. We had to jump. I was okay, but Cam twisted his knee. He could walk, but he couldn’t run.

“We needed food to keep going. There was a farm across a field. We made it there and asked at the house. The lady told us to go away or she’d sic the dog on us.

“We left, but we were starving. We waited till dark, and I snuck into the chicken coop and stole some eggs. We were so hungry, we sucked ’em out of the shells and ate ’em raw.

“Cam was too tired to walk anymore, so we bedded down in a windbreak at the edge of the field.

We slept till daylight, when we heard the dog barking and the farmer cussing.

We took off, figured he just wanted us to go.

But the man had a gun. I heard the shot from behind. Cam went down. He was hit bad.

“I couldn’t leave him. I put up my hands and begged the farmer to help my brother. The man just grinned and said, ‘Have you got any money? I can save him, but you’ll have to pay me first.’

“The road wasn’t far. I ran all the way. But when I tried to wave down a car and ask for help, nobody stopped for me.

“Then I saw you hit that big hole in the road. When you got out, I was going to ask you for money, but I could tell you were in a bad mood. I was afraid you’d say no. Then I looked in your car and saw what was there.”

“So you took it.”

“I ran back to the farmer with the cash. He met me partway. I couldn’t see Cam. But when I held out the money—I hadn’t even counted it—he took it all. Then he laughed. He told me that my brother was already dead, and if I didn’t get out of there, he’d shoot me, too.”

Joseph exhaled. “That’s quite a story. Is it true?”

“Every word, I swear to God.”

“Did you tell the sheriff?”