Page 45 of In Honor’s Defense

Luke listened to Damaris recount the details of her investigation while sipping his after-dinner coffee, impressed by her instincts and intelligence. He’d known she was educated, but he’d thought her bookish and naïve. Not the sort to question an undertaker about injuries on a body or a sheriff about missing boats. But there was nothing naïve about her logic nor her ability to ferret out information from a variety of sources. She could work for the Pinkertons if she wasn’t so dedicated to raising her nephew.

“Just because my pa didn’t have any dents or cracks in his head don’t mean there weren’t someone else there,” Nate insisted after Damaris related the undertaker’s response to her fight theory. He banged the flat of his hand against the tabletop and raised a few inches off his seat. “Someone coulda pushed him out of the boat, then held his head underwater when he tried to get back in.”

Damaris fiddled with her teacup, twisting it back and forth within the divot of her saucer, her expression more thoughtful than provoked by her nephew’s outburst. “I hadn’t considered that scenario. That’s a solid possibility. It wouldn’t explain the straw, though.”

Luke sat forward. “Straw? What straw?”

She blinked twice, as if she’d forgotten he was in the room. Not terribly flattering to his ego, but she did tend to lose awareness of her surroundings when she was in the middle of a good ponder. It had happened earlier today too, by the wagon. He’d wanted to see if he could draw some of those ponderings out after Nate traipsed into the house, but she hadn’t given him the chance. She’d followed on Nate’s heels, pausing only long enough to thank him for seeing to the horses.

“The undertaker mentioned finding a piece of straw in Douglas’s mouth,” Damaris said, her eyes once again clear and bright. “It struck me as odd.” She turned back to Nate. “I don’t recall Douglas being one who liked to chew on straw. Was that a habit he picked up in Texas?”

Nate shook his head. “Nope. I never saw him chew on nothin’ besides food. What do ya think it means?”

Damaris sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I have no idea. I suppose it must mean there was straw around when he died. Maybe it was floating in the lake? Or lying in the bottom of his boat?”

Luke tapped the side of his thumb against the rim of his coffee mug. “Or on the killer.”

Damaris and Nate both turned to look at him.

“Things get messy in a struggle,” he said with a shrug. “Blood, dirt, sweat. After a fight, you got as much of the other fella’s mess on you as you do your own.”

“So you admit my pa was murdered?” Nate’s tone was weighed down with defensiveness, but his eyes pleaded for affirmation.

“I admit there’s a whole lot that don’t add up about the way your pa died. From what you and your aunt have told me, he doesn’t sound like the kind of man to shirk work for a fishin’ trip. Which means something else was afoot. Something that likely entailed foul play. Whether that interference was on purpose or accidental, we don’t yet know.”

“Actually,” Damaris said, her voice low and intent, “I think we do.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Luke’s gut tightened the way it did before a battle. Damaris had learned something. Something big. And when she met his gaze, he could sense the weight of it pulling on her soul.

“I spoke with one of Douglas’s coworkers at the grist mill. A Mr. Green.” Damaris turned her attention to Nate. “He remembers someone delivering a note to your father that day. The contents must have been urgent, for Douglas dropped everything and ran from the mill the minute he read it. He offered no explanation beyond saying he had to get home.”

Luke shoved his coffee cup aside. “Home? Not to the lake?”

She nodded, the look in her brown eyes making his chest ache. “Mr. Green assumed the note had something to do with Nathaniel. That maybe the teacher had sent word that he’d become ill or been injured somehow. He couldn’t imagine Douglas leaving so abruptly for any other reason.”

“But I was fine,” Nate interjected, his brows knitting together. “I was at school. All day.”

Damaris reached across the table and covered Nate’s hand with her own. “I know. Someone lied to get your father to leave the mill. Maybe they waylaid him on his way home.”

Nate jerked his hand away from hers. “It was Grimes. I know it!”

“Easy there, sport.” Luke held up a hand, hoping to calm the boy. “Gettin’ riled won’t help you think clearly.”

Nate shot to his feet and braced his palms on the tabletop. “What’s there to think clearly about? Grimes is the only one who had a reason for wanting my pa out of the way. It had to be him!”

Damaris flinched slightly at the kid’s angry tone, but the compassion never dimmed from her eyes. “That’s just the thing,” she said softly, her gaze darting over to Luke before refocusing on her nephew. “Oliver Grimes might not be the only one.”

Nate plopped back down into his seat, confusion visibly cracking through his wall of belligerence. “What?”

“Mr. Mullins chased me down in town today and insisted we talk.”

Luke frowned, not liking the idea of this Mullins fellow ambushing Damaris.

“The lawyer?” Nate asked.