Betsy tilted her head. “Let me see. Maybe I’ll recognize a pattern from a shirt or dress.” But the material didn’t look like anything a woman would sew with. Burlap, canvas, and more feathers spilled out as the horn grew softer and emptier. “A bachelor,” she said. “Nothing feminine . . . except for this.” The worn red velvet was bunched into a tight ball. Betsy tried to straighten it, but it sprang back into its wrinkled form. She rubbed the material between her finger and thumb. “Who would have a dress made of this?”
“Mrs. Rinehart or Abigail Calhoun?” Joel suggested. “But you’d know better than I.”
“Not Abigail. I’ve snooped through her wardrobe and trunks since I was little. And if she got something new, I’d know it. Mrs. Rinehart orders everything from the catalog, so it is possible, but I don’t think she’d keep something this worn. She’d throw it out at the first sign of wear.”
“So not a dress. Do men wear velvet here?”
“Maybe it’s not clothing,” Betsy said. “A pillow, or a lining?” She continued to rub the material between her fingers.
Joel had seen it before. He tried placing it in different settings. Was it in Walters’s dry goods store? No. A cushion at Mrs. Sanders’s? No. Some kind of lining. It was in a box . . .
“A banjo case,” he blurted.
Betsy’s brow furrowed. “A banjo?”
Suddenly the outlaw that attacked Scott had a definite identity. The pieces of the stories began to fall in place.
“There’s only one person I know in town who has a banjo,” she said. “Are you sure that’s where it’s from?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” There wasn’t a third man, after all. Just a scared boy and a crooked sheriff.
“Why would he do this?” Betsy began pacing, and despite her question, she seemed intent to answer it herself. “I bet it was just killing Sheriff Taney that they replaced him. He couldn’t let you win. He needed outrage so people wouldn’t trust you. Everyone loves Doctor Hopkins, and burning his house was the worst thing he could do.”
“He blamed Fowler for causing him to lose his job, so he framed the Bald Knobbers wherever he could to prove that I wasn’t up to the task. Went around dressed like one of them, doing mischief.”
“But Scott caught him,” Betsy said. “Scott shot him, and Taney fell in the ravine.”
Joel nodded. “That’s why he looked so beat up, falling through the brush and rocks. But he managed to climb out before he got too weak. Which is why we found him up the trail.”
“You don’t think he would’ve really killed Scott, do you? I can’t imagine.”
“Desperate men know no bounds. No telling what could’ve happened. We have to find him. He has to know we’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“I don’t guess there’s any chance you’d let me go with you.” Betsy huddled inside her coat, maybe for the first time looking like she wanted him to say no.
“I’ll get Officer Harrison and Detective Cleveland from Mrs. Sanders’s before I head out. By the time we get to Taney’s, they’ll be caught up, but don’t say anything to your uncle. We have to make sure word doesn’t get around. We don’t know who might be helping him.”
Solving the case, finally knowing who the bad guy was—and most importantly, knowing that both Scott and Fowler weren’t to blame—made Joel want to sing. And dance. With Betsy. But he swallowed down that thought. He had a job to do first.
“I’ll be waiting for you to get back,” she said. “But for now I’m dying to get a pen and paper and write about what we found out.”
“Betsy . . .” he growled.
“I won’t write about the case,” she said. “Maybe I just need to fill a few pages with praise for my Dashing Deputy and how proud I am of him. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it?”
“As long as it’s for my eyes only. We’re allowed to keep some of our story private, you know.”
Was that a blush? It was hard to tell in the frosty air. But with a wink, she spun on her heel and started the climb out of the ravine.
Betsy paced the cabin, not sure what to do with herself. Uncle Fred and Sissy had gone to visit Scott at the jail again. The news that he’d soon be free nearly carved its way out of her throat and made its own announcement, but Betsy had persevered. And now there was nothing to do but keep Amelia and Eloise entertained until she heard from Joel.
Being a lawman’s wife must taste like this—the metallic worry always in the back of her throat. How many hours would she spend pacing in front of a window, watching children play while dreading news that could change their lives and throw their future into jeopardy?
Betsy pounded the windowsill with a clenched fist. She’d do it every day if need be. Was life measured by the trouble you avoided, or by the obstacles you overcame? God had made her for trouble, equipped her for hardship. She’d do her share and then some. Most of all, she’d buttress the man who faced the dangers for all of them. He wouldn’t do it alone. Not while she had blood pumping in her veins.
Uncle Fred and Sissy came up the hill, their breath turning white in the chilly evening air. Betsy gave the stew another stir, making sure nothing had stuck to the bottom of the kettle while she daydreamed. They were back earlier than she’d thought. She’d have to bite her tongue or she might let the news slip.