Page 82 of Taming Lady Temperance

Her shoulders straightened, and for a heartbeat, James recognized the same fire in her that he so often saw in Noreen.

Mrs. Clevenger nodded toward the parson, standing quietly in the back of the room. “Brother Cowan assured me that obeying God takes precedence over obeying one’s husband in situations where the two authorities come into conflict. The Lord commands that we speak truth and act justly. I can’t do those things if I hide what I know.”

James hung his hat on the back of a nearby chair, then took the sack that likely held evidence of Clevenger’s guilt. He waited to open it, though. Better to keep the witness talking. Get as much of the story as possible now in case she lost her nerve later. He wouldn’t put it past her husband to try to intimidate her into recanting. “What do you know, Mrs. Clevenger?” He set the flour sack near his feet and retrieved the notepad from his pocket.

Her throat worked up and down as she swallowed. “Arthur never came to bed last night. That’s not like him. When the fire bell awakened me, the sheets were cold on his side of the bed. I searched the house for him, but he wasn’t there. I didn’t see him until after the fire.”

“How did he look when he came home?” James asked. “What was he wearing, and what was the condition of his clothes?”

Mrs. Clevenger paused, her expression growing thoughtful. “He looked tired. That’s what I remember most. And he was in a foul mood. Snapping at me whenever I asked a question.”

“Were his clothes wet? Dry? Clean or dirty? Did he smell of smoke?”

“Dry and clean. And different from the clothes he’d worn the day before. There might have been a faint smoke odor. I don’t recall.”

If the man had fought the fire, his clothes would have reeked of smoke. Heaven knew his own clothes had spread their stink through his entire bedroom. If Mrs. Clevenger didn’t recall a smoky smell, Arthur had kept his distance from the blaze.

“When I asked about the fire,” she continued, “he told me that the saloon had burned but that he’d guarded the emporium to ensure it remained unharmed.”

Yep. Tended his own needs instead of helping others. A true public servant.

“I assumed his clothes hadn’t been soiled because the fire hadn’t reached the emporium, but then I found other clothes in the laundry pile.” She nodded toward the flour sack. “The clothes he wore yesterday are in there. They smell of kerosene, and there’s some kind of brownish stain on the hem of his trouser leg and one of his socks.”

James’s gut tightened as he looked up from his notes.

Noreen’s mother wrung her hands in front of her. “When I took him his lunch today, I asked him about it because his clothes had looked and smelled normal when I’d bid him good-night. He said he’d returned to the emporium to work on a project in the storeroom and spilled paint thinner on his trousers. But when I asked what he’d been working on, he snapped at me to quit wasting his time. I had laundry to do, and he expected his clothes to be pristine when he returned. A future city councilman needed to look his best. That’s when I first became suspicious. He made the claim as if it had already happened.”

James crouched and opened the bag. The sharp smell of kerosene hit him in the face and wrinkled his nose. He pulled out the clothing items, one by one. Sure enough, a brown stain that could easily be paint lined the bottom edge of one pant leg, the color identical to what he’d found in the alley. A second smear of paint stained the ankle section of a gray ribbed sock. Certainty gripped James by the throat. Arthur Clevenger was the arsonist. Yet a few dirty clothes wouldn’t be enough for a conviction. He needed more. He needed to connect Clevenger to the handkerchief.

Ramona Clevenger twisted slightly and nodded toward Miss Evans. “When Martha and Miss Lockwood came to see me and asked about Noreen’s handkerchief, I knew what had happened. Arthur started the fire and arranged for my girl to take the blame.” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “His ambition has twisted his mind. He’s convinced himself that Noreen is his only impediment to achieving his goals. He must believe that with her gone, his success would be assured.”

Mrs. Clevenger bit her lip and moved hesitantly toward her daughter. “I should have stood up to him sooner, Reenie. I never challenged him, even when he expelled you from our home.” Her voice trembled as she tried to hold back her tears. “I didn’t see what he was becoming. I didn’t want to see. I’m sorry, Reenie. S-so sorry.”

Noreen rose from the sofa and pulled her mother into a hug. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. I love you, Mama. Always and forever.”

The ladies huddled around Noreen and her mother, murmuring comfort and encouragement. James hated to interrupt the tender moment, but he needed to ask a few more questions before he could seek out his suspect.

He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clevenger?”

The ladies parted in front of him. Noreen’s mother wiped her eyes and nose on a lacy white handkerchief, then turned to face him. “Yes, Deputy?”

“Did you ever see your husband with your daughter’s embroidered handkerchief?”

Her brows scrunched together. “I-I don’t think so, though I wouldn’t recognize it if I had. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been privy to the nature of Noreen’s personal items.”

Jane Cowan pulled a fabric square from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Mrs. Clevenger. “It would have looked like this.”

What was it with these hankies? First Luella, then Noreen, and now Miss Cowan. All with identical patterns on their handkerchiefs. Was this some kind of new fashion trend?

Mrs. Clevenger ran her finger over the blue embroidered flowers but shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen one like this at our home.”

James frowned. He’d hoped to connect Arthur to the handkerchief. It would have strengthened his case.

“Martha thinks he took it from the clothesline behind the boardinghouse.” Noreen met his gaze, and James’s heart pounded a little harder.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, yet the shock of her mother’s revelation had faded, allowing the feisty grit he loved to flare back to life.

The schoolmarm nodded. “We questioned Mrs. Barker, and she recalled washing the handkerchief when it got mixed in with the towels she’d collected from her boarders’ rooms, but when she took the linens off the line, there was no handkerchief. She’d forgotten about it since she doesn’t usually wash personal items, but our questions sparked her memory.”