Page 6 of Mail-Order Tess (A Mail-Order Mystery #2)

Six

W ade stood inside the ticket office with Mr. George, Sheriff Walker, and—much to his dismay—Fletcher Vander. “See, Mr. George? I told you someone was in here snooping around!”

Wade tried not to roll his eyes at Fletcher’s exuberance. “Sheriff Walker has it all in hand,” he told him.

“That’s great!” Fletcher spun to the sheriff. “Did you catch him?”

“No. Mr. Atwood did,” Sheriff Walker said, arching an eyebrow at Wade. The look told Wade that the sheriff was no more thrilled by Fletcher’s presence than he was.

Fletcher’s eyes went huge. “You got him, Wade? Land sakes, why didn’t you tell me?”

Wade shrugged. “Because we all just got here, Fletcher. I haven’t had time.”

Fletcher blushed. “Oh. Yeah.”

Wade did his best to hide a smile so as not to embarrass the lad. “Mr. George, is there anything missing?”

Mr. George shuffled through several messy stacks of paper. “Far as I can tell, just a few manifests. But I don’t know why anyone would want those, they ain’t worth anything.”

Wade looked around. After leaving Pastor Adams’ house and ensuring the man would walk Tess back to the mercantile for her afternoon shift, he’d combed through Henry Bonner’s diary.

There were tiny symbols next to delivery dates, train numbers, even a few notes on shipping manifests.

At first glance, it looked like gibberish, but Wade had worked out enough to recognize a coded system when he saw one.

He’d deciphered a few rail switch numbers and depot initials so far.

Mr. George kept digging through various piles of paper, trying to organize them as he went. “Do you want any help, Mr. George?” Fletcher offered eagerly.

Sheriff Walker blanched. “Er, that won’t be necessary, Fletcher. Why don’t you go on home?”

“But I want to help.” Fletcher’s eyes went big, reminding Wade of a puppy begging for scraps.

“Fletcher,” Wade said gently, “there’s nothing more you can do here. We’re just going to be cleaning things up. Right, Mr. George?”

The ticket master looked at the men’s expectant faces, cleared his throat, and turned to Fletcher. “He’s right, lad. You might as well go on home. Thank you for all you’ve done. You were a big help.”

Fletcher beamed. “Thanks, Mr. George!” He mashed his hat down on his head and bounded out of the ticket office.

As soon as he was gone, Sheriff Walker let out a sigh of relief. “That boy’s going to be the death of me.”

Mr. George laughed. “Ah, don’t be too hard on him, Sheriff. He’s just curious, that’s all. And I must admit, he’s solved quite a few little mysteries for me and others in town. Wouldn’t surprise me if he grew up to be either a Pinkerton or a lawyer like his pa.”

Wade had to smile at that. “I agree. Now, are you sure there isn’t anything else missing?”

Sheriff Walker eyed him. “You seem to be playing detective yourself, Wade. Why the interest?”

Wade adopted a casual air. “No reason. Just trying to help. I guess I’ve got a bit of Fletcher’s curiosity in me.”

The sheriff clapped him on the back. “Well, son, there’s nothing wrong with that.

I could use all the help I can get. Gotta admit, my prisoner isn’t talking.

But it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s wanted somewhere.

I just need to do some digging. Otherwise, all I can do is slap him with a breaking and entering charge. ”

“You can’t hold him?” Mr. George asked.

“Not unless he’s wanted,” Wade said. “Otherwise, Sheriff Walker can only hold him a day or two.”

“Ah, shucks,” Mr. George muttered. “Where’s the justice?”

Sheriff Walker put an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He turned to Wade. “Thanks for all your help, but I’ll take it from here. I’m sure you’ve got work to do.”

He had no idea. Wade was going to have to study Henry’s diary in more detail—and maybe sneak back here tonight and do some digging of his own.

Mercy, Mahulda, and Maude stood in one corner of the mercantile, whispering among themselves while Martha helped a customer. Tess was busy doing inventory.

“I saw Wade go into Pastor Adams’ house at lunchtime,” Mercy said. “Isn’t it wonderful? They’re getting along splendidly!”

“Oh, how lovely,” Maude chimed in. “They’ll be married before we know it.”

“Don’t be in too much of a rush, ladies,” Mahulda warned. She was always the voice of reason. “Where is Wade now? He’s not exactly falling over her and trying to spend every spare minute in her company.”

“Oh, Mahulda,” Maude said with a sigh. “Don’t go putting a damper on things. The man works, for crying out loud. How else is he going to provide for her?”

Mahulda eyed Tess as the young woman marked something down on a clipboard. “She seems shaken up, nervous, even. She could hardly say hello when we walked in. I wonder what has her flustered.”

“Maybe she’s falling in love already,” Mercy tittered.

“It’s too soon for that,” Mahulda said. “But perhaps her heart has had a flutter or two by now.”

“Wade’s too,” Mercy added. The three remained huddled in their corner, brainstorming different ways to bring Wade and Tess together.

“You know, we should ask Betsy,” Mercy said. “She comes up with the best ideas. Remember the private dinner idea she had for…”

Mahulda rolled her eyes and cut in before she could finish. “Yes, a private dinner surrounded by cadavers in Maude’s funeral parlor.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Mercy said. “They fell in love and got married.”

Maude, the tallest of the three, craned her neck to see past the crowd at the counter.

Tess had set her clipboard aside and was now helping Martha fill orders.

“Well, we’d better come up with something fast,” she said.

“I’d really like to see them married within the week, if possible.

We’ve got other men to find brides for, you know. ”

“She’s right,” Mercy agreed. “But I still think we should talk to Betsy.”

“Very well,” Mahulda sighed. “We’ll go to your house and speak with your maid.” She started for the door, the other two following close behind.

When they reached the Vander home, they let themselves in and Mercy rang for Betsy. “Tea for all of us, including you,” she said when Betsy appeared.

Betsy narrowed her eyes. “Mm-hm. And why am I having tea with you this time? What is it you need help with?”

“Getting Mr. Atwood to make a move, of course,” Mercy said. “I swear, the man’s slower than a turtle.”

Betsy crossed her arms. “Mrs. Vander, are you talking about that poor mail-order bride?”

“Who else?”

Betsy rubbed her temple. “I’ll get your tea, and I’ll sit with you ladies and talk, but you might want to consider the fact that the woman’s only been here a few days. Give her a chance to breathe.”

“Maybe she’s right,” Mahulda murmured. “Poor Tess might still be shaken up from losing Henry.”

“She never knew him,” Maude pointed out.

“Be that as it may,” Mahulda said, “I can see where it would upset a young mail-order bride.”

“While you’re figuring that out,” Betsy said, “I’ll go fetch your tea.”

“Please do,” Mercy waved her off. “And don’t forget the lemon cookies.”

By the time Betsy returned with a tea tray, the trio had come up with a plan. “Pies?” Betsy asked after they told her. “You want me to teach that young woman how to make pies and use Wade as the guinea pig?”

“Of course,” Maude said. “What man can resist a pie? Once he sees how well she can bake, he’ll be bound to marry her.”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “And if she can’t bake?”

The three matrons looked at one another, aghast. “But Betsy,” Mercy said, “you’re not only the best cook in town, you’re the best baker. You can teach anyone. How can we say no to that?”

Betsy raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, even though you have a point, not everyone’s a good student.”

“At least no one will be dining with cadavers this time,” Mahulda said. She eyed the other two over the rim of her teacup.

“Hey,” Betsy replied. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Mahulda shot back. “But for this, we’re sure pies will do the trick.”

Betsy shook her head. “Mm-hm. Well then, don’t come crying to me if Wade ends up with a pie in the face for his trouble. You can’t force love between two people.”

Mercy and Maude shared the same guilty look. “We were rather hoping Wade’s stomach would prompt a proposal,” Mercy admitted. “If love doesn’t bloom, that is.”

Betsy shuddered, made a face, and took another sip of tea. A clear sign she was dreading this.

“There, I think that’s the last of it,” Mr. Tindle said as Tess handed him another ten-pound sack of coffee. He hadn’t yet unloaded the rest of the wagon inventory from that morning.

She stood in the wagon bed and pointed to the crates still stacked behind her. “What about these?”

“Let me take this coffee inside,” he said, adjusting the heavy sack in his arms. “Once they’re unloaded, I’ll take the horse and wagon back to the delivery barn and then come help with the rest of the inventory.

” He turned and headed for the back door of the mercantile, when suddenly the horse let out a panicked neigh and bolted.

The wagon jerked forward, and Tess toppled, hitting her head on one of the crates. Her vision blurred. Black spots danced before her eyes. Good grief… am I going to pass out?

She thought she heard shouting behind her—Mr. Tindle, no doubt—but the older man wasn’t going to catch a runaway wagon. If she didn’t act fast, no one would. That is, if she could get her wits about her.

Tess struggled to her knees, only to topple over again as the wagon raced past the backs of buildings on Main Street. “Help!” she managed to scream before slumping to the side.

A gunshot rang out. A small barrel of kerosene splintered, leaking fluid. She was lucky the whole thing didn’t blow sky-high. One more shot might do it. “Help!” she screamed again, panic rising.

The buildings were gone now, the wagon had cleared the edge of town. The horse galloped onto the open road, heading out into the countryside. Had anyone besides Mr. Tindle seen it take off? If they had, could they reach her in time?

Tess took a deep breath and pushed herself upright again, her fingers clawing toward the wagon seat. Mr. Tindle didn’t set the brake! But at least he’d wrapped the lines around it, and they were starting to slip! She had to hurry.

Tess lunged toward the wagon seat and tried to climb over it. The wheels hit a rut. The jolt nearly threw her off, but she clung on. “Whoa!” she called to the horse, but it kept galloping.

Another gunshot cracked through the air. She didn’t know where it came from. All she knew was that someone was shooting at her!

Tess finally made it onto the wagon seat. The lines nearly out of reach now, but she snatched them up just in time. She’d never driven a wagon before, but she’d seen her father’s carriage driver do it plenty of times.

“Whoa!” she cried, pumping the lines the way she remembered. “Whoa!” The horse slowed, first to a canter, then to a trot. She gasped in relief.

The sound of pounding hooves caught her attention, and her heart jumped. Was it the man who’d been shooting at her?

She turned on the wagon seat, bracing herself for whom might be pursuing her, and saw Sheriff Walker and Wade Atwood galloping up behind her.

A hand flew to her chest. She exhaled a long, shaky breath then promptly fainted.