Page 76 of Heart on the Line

Grace placed a hand on Amos’s shoulder, needing to touch him, to comfort, thank, and somehow convey how much he meant to her. His own hand came up to cover hers.

Amos craned his neck around and smiled at her. “See? I told you there was nothing to worry about.” The teasing left his eyes as his attention drifted to the edge of the table, where her father’s books lay. “At least regarding my health. Haversham, on the other hand, is a different matter.” He glanced at Grace, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand as he tilted his head toward the books. “May I?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He released her hand and pulled away from her hold on his shoulder in order to lean over the edge of the table where the books sat.

Malachi strode away from the window, his eyes locked on Amos. “Did you figure out where those papers are hiding?”

Amos met the marshal’s stare, then looked at each man in turn—Porter first, then Dunbar. However, when Amos gave his answer, his attention focused solely on Grace. “A suspicion has been gnawing at me since the day we last examined them. However, I wasn’t able to test my theory while Lockhart was snooping around.”

“We need those documents to build a case against Chaucer Haversham.” Dunbar’s jaw ticked as he sat forward and rubbed a spot on his leg. Helen placed a gentle hand on his arm, and the tightness in his neck seemed to ease.

The sight of Helen voluntarily touching a man, and in such an affectionate manner, distracted Grace from the seriousness of the discussion, but as the Pinkerton continued, her focus sharpened.

“Lockhart was smart,” Dunbar said. “He kept no evidence on his person linking him to Haversham. Shaw searched his body last night, and we both went through his saddlebags this morning. Nothing turned up to connect him to Haversham beyond a leather pouch filled with silver nuggets that, while circumstantial with Haversham owning a silver mine, offers no definitive connection of payment for services rendered.”

Dunbar sighed as he released his leg and leaned back against the cushioned chair. “I can testify that Lockhart worked for Haversham and that the two were often found in each other’s company, but I cannot swear under oath that the two were colluding. All Haversham has to say is that he was unaware of Lockhart’s activities, and he’d be exonerated.”

“I could testify against him,” Grace said, her voice trembling as much as her legs at the thought of facing down the man who’d ordered her father’s murder. But she’d do it if it meant bringing a killer to justice. “When Lockhart had me in that barn, he admitted to murdering my father and shooting Mr. Dunbar in order to steal his credentials.”

Dunbar shook his head. “Sorry. As awful as that is, it doesn’t tie Lockhart to Haversham.”

“But Haversham is the one who gained from my father’s death, not Lockhart.” The fire of injustice heated her belly. She paced toward the Pinkerton, spitting words at him like bullets. “Lockhart said that Chaucer knew about the books, told him which ones to look for, and how to find his father’s library stamp inside the front cover. That has to prove collusion.”

Malachi came alongside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not enough, Grace. Haversham’s lawyer would simply say the two had been talking about the library and a pair of missing books—which your father was technically guilty of stealing.”

Dunbar stroked his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, his eyes sympathetic. “Don’t go givin’ up just yet, though.” He tipped his head toward Amos. “If Bledsoe finds those papers, we can cripple Haversham. Take away his inheritance, and you steal his power, not to mention his reason to come after you. We might not be able to convict him of murder, but we can ruin him financially.”

“And who’s to say something won’t turn up later in the investigation?” Helen added, her chin jutting forward. “Lee said that the new will would establish motive, and if they can find a suspicious payment in one of Haversham’s account books, it could be enough for a conviction.”

Dunbar smiled at Helen, his mustache stretching as he beamed. “There ain’t no guarantees, but I’ll sure give it my best effort.”

“As will I.” Amos drew Grace’s attention as he opened the front cover of the top volume, Oliver Twist, then reached into his trouser pocket and extracted a small knife.

No one spoke as Amos slowly unfolded the blade. Grace held her breath, her heart pumping in a wild rhythm as Amos slid the tip of the knife along the inner edge of the cover. It seemed to take days for him to slit the cover from bottom to top. After he reached the top corner, he paused to push his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose then went back to work, his face a mask of concentration.

As he started along the top edge, the truth clicked into place in Grace’s mind. He wasn’t cutting away the cover. He was separating it from the endpaper—the glued-down sheet that gave the book its finished look. A sheet that could hide fraying cloth edges or uneven cover folds . . . or secret papers.

“Are they there?” she breathed, pressing close, her shadow blocking his light.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he set down the knife, despite the fact that he was only halfway across the top, and began tugging on the corner of the brown endpaper. The soft tearing sound made Grace cringe even as it sent her pulse into a gallop.

There, beneath the brown paper. Something else, ivory in color. Was it just the back of the cover, or . . . ?

Amos released the endpaper and grasped the ivory sheet secreted beneath. He tugged gently, then more firmly when it didn’t pull free. “It might have been glued in accidentally when your father hid it.”

“Just yank off the endpaper.” She couldn’t stand the slowness. She needed to know. Had they found the will?

Amos ignored her demand and took up his knife again, carefully separating the endpaper from its moorings. Finally, the brown paper was freed from the three outer edges. Amos peeled it back and plucked the folded ivory paper from its hiding place with a sharp tug. He didn’t open it, simply handed the sheet to her.

She looked at him then accepted the paper, her insides rioting with nerves. Her father had dealt with books all the time, appraising rare volumes for collectors, recommending acquisitions to buyers. It made sense that he would know how they were put together. How to repair or restore a damaged copy. How to secrete an important document in a place few would think to look.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded the paper then had to place one hand on the edge of the table to support her suddenly limp knees as she read Last Will and Testament inscribed in fancy script along the top of the page.

“You did it,” Grace whispered as she set the first page of the will onto the table top. Glancing down into the face of the man she loved, she beamed. “You did it!” With a happy squeal, she threw her arms around Amos’s neck and pressed her lips to his cheek, uncaring that she had an audience.

“How marvelous,” Emma enthused. “To think the documents were there all this time and we never realized. How did you ever puzzle it out?”