Her jaw flexed. “I told you it was the Fairfields who killed my family, and now Isabelle’s dead too.”
It wasn’t the time to be laying blame, she knew. If she had a better way to stop the pain and guilt she felt, she would’ve chosen it.
Nigel hung his head. “I believe you now, Westie, and I’m sorry for ever doubting you. But we don’t have proof that it was the Fairfields themselves who killed Isabelle. You said there were cannibals on your travels in the valley. It’s possible they made their way to Rogue City and found easy prey with Isabelle,” Nigel said.
Oh, now he believes me about the cannibals in the valley, she thought.
“Again with the damn proof,” she mumbled just out of his hearing. “Who else knows about the human teeth marks on the body?”
“Only Alistair and I. I ordered Isabelle’s body sent to my surgical rooms for examination. The sheriff was with us, but I didn’t tell him my findings so he wouldn’t immediately suspect the Wintu.”
The Wintu were always blamed for everything. While she knew there were native tribes that consumed the flesh of their enemies in war rituals, it wasn’t the case with the Wintu. They were a peaceful tribe living on the river. As long as foreigners kept to themselves, they had no quarrels.
“What happens to the Wintu?” she asked.
“I told the sheriff the attack was most likely a bear,” Nigel said. “That takes the suspicion off the Wintu.”
“That’s good.” She pretended to scratch her face while she wiped away a tear. “That also leaves the townspeople vulnerable to another attack by the Fairfields.”
“There is a mandatory curfew in place until the bear is caught. Women and children are to be escorted at all times.”
Westie threw the bits of shattered hilt across the room so hard, the splinters pierced the wooden dummy carcass as though they were arrows shot from a bow.
“Everyone in Rogue City is a hostage now, and the no-good zealous hicks of this town will be crawling all over the woods killing innocent bears because the Fairfields are a bunch of flesh-hungry gluttons.” She wanted to scream but knew if she tried she might melt into tears instead. “We should just out them and be done with it. Let the town and Isabelle’s folks do what they will with them.”
Alistair picked up a sword, inspecting the damage. He said, “There’s no evidence to prove the Fairfields killed Isabelle, and even if there was, no one would believe it. They are the wealthy kin of the Lovetts, not savages.”
No one mentioned Emma or the need for the Fairfields’ money. It would’ve been in bad taste. But the worry of losing investors was not far from Nigel’s and Alistair’s minds; she could tell by the guilty way they lowered their gazes.
“Nigel, you better get that money soon. I plan to take the Fairfields down before they get the chance to kill another one of my friends.”
“It’s not that easy,” Nigel said. “Investors don’t toss their money around willy-nilly. It’s a process.”
Westie’s lips tightened against her teeth. There was no time to sit around and wait for money. She needed to expedite the process.
Twenty-Seven
The next day Westie sat on her bed and filed the sharp metal edges of the key they had made. She tried to think about anything but Isabelle. It was impossible.
Isabelle.
It was hard for Westie to wrap her head around the fact that she was gone. Westie had already lost so many people she loved that somehow she thought she’d be used to the pain, but it hurt no less than before.
Alistair knocked once and walked in. He sat beside her on the bed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Westie finished rounding the last edge and inspected her work. “Yes.”
It was a lie. She wasn’t sure. There were so many things that could go wrong. But if she didn’t at least try, more lives would be lost at the hands of the Fairfields. She’d weighed the consequences, and decided it was worth the risk. If all went according to plan, the Fairfields would lose everything, and Nigel would get the money for his machine.
The men’s riding trousers she wore gathered in places meant to accommodate parts she didn’t possess. She picked and pulled at them.
“Leave them alone,” Alistair said, his eyes smiling. “No one will believe you’re a man if you’re always pulling at yourself.”
She slid him an easy grin. “That’s exactly why they’ll believe I’m a man.”
His laughter wrinkled the skin around his eyes, making the eyes themselves more beautiful. It was the only thing that brought her any comfort.