Page 79 of More than Words Can Say

Maybe she was naïve to believe that truth would win over power, but she was willing to make the stand, so he’d stand beside her. Fight for her. For the kids. The odds might be stacked against them, but Abby had beaten the odds before. Sophia Longfellow might have wealth and prestige on her side, but Abby had the intangibles—passion, creativity, and a will of steel. His money was on Abby.

An agitated Chester Longfellow strode into the parlor, his attention locked on the marshal as the lawman rose from his chair. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed at dinnertime, Virgil. And tonight of all nights. I have a fireworks display to oversee. Whatever criminal matter has come up, just toss the accused in jail, and we’ll deal with it on Monday at a civilized hour.”

The lawman didn’t seem a bit ruffled by the edict. He just stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger and gave the mayor a nod. “All right. Will your missus want to pack a bag first, or should I toss her in the calaboose as is?”

“Toss her in the—what are you—?” Chester sputtered, his gaze taking in the rest of the room’s occupants for the first time.

Zach moved to Abigail’s side and offered his hand to help her up from the sofa. Ida Mae and Nate scrambled to their feet as well. Ida Mae looked a mite shaky, but with Abby and Nate anchoring her on either side, she held her own.

“Yer wife’s the one bein’ accused,” Burton explained. “Malicious destruction of property and coercion.”

“Nonsense!” Chester’s words echoed with adamancy, but his eyes exuded a touch of anxiety. Of doubt. “How dare you accuse my wife of such crimes? She’s a pillar of this community and above reproach.”

The marshal just nodded. “That’s why we’re here, Chester. To give her a chance to answer the charges in private.”

The mayor’s face reddened. “To entertain such an outrageous notion . . . You’re not fit to wear that badge, Virgil.”

Unheedful of the fine carpet at his feet, the marshal took one step toward the mayor, then upturned the sack in his hands and let the chain of spent firecrackers thud to the floor. “These match the ones you purchased for the celebration?”

Chester leapt backward to protect his shoes, his nose scrunching in disgust at the mess. “I suppose. What does that have to do with anything? Vendors were selling these crackers all over town today.”

“Your wife have access to your inventory?” The marshal calmly pressed for details instead of accepting the mayor’s dismissal of the matter. Zach’s opinion of the lawman rose another notch. Virgil Burton wasn’t the mayor’s lackey. He was digging for truth, regardless of the identity of the players.

“Of course she has access,” Chester blustered. “She’s the one who organized the vendors. She arranged for half the proceeds to be given to the church mission fund too. Now, would you kindly get that filthy thing off my rug?”

The lawman bent to do just that but stopped when tapping footsteps sounded in the hall.

“Chester, darling? What is taking so long?” Sophia Longfellow swept into the room, her hostess smile firmly in place even though her tone carried a disgruntled edge. “We’re expected on the square in less than . . .” Her gaze swept past the marshal, stumbled over Abigail, and crashed into Ida Mae. “. . . an hour.”

The slip in composure was brief but undeniable. At least to Zach. Had she been his opponent at the poker table, he would have pushed all his chips into the pot after that tell. But had Marshal Burton or the mayor caught it?

“Mrs. Longfellow.” The marshal dipped his chin politely. “I have a witness who has testified that you coerced her into vandalizing Mrs. Hamilton’s industrial oven.”

“Witness? What witness?” She motioned to Ida Mae, then made a scoffing sound. “You can’t mean this child?”

“A witness is a witness, ma’am, regardless of age.”

Sophia ignored the marshal’s statement and went on the attack. “This is your doing!” She pointed a finger at Abigail’s face. “What did you do? Bribe this child to malign me? It’s despicable.” She glanced back at her husband, her eyes demanding his corroboration. “You know how she is, Chester. She’s borne a grudge against me for years. But this . . . this is slander.” She cast an imperious glare at Burton. “I demand you arrest her, Marshal.”

Zach’s blood roiled, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Barely. He’d agreed to let Burton handle things, but if that shrew kept attacking his wife, he might have to renegotiate that stance.

The lawman didn’t seem too impressed by Sophia’s outburst, however. He let her steam blow right by. “I seen the oven, ma’am. It’s damaged beyond repair.”

Was that a flash of triumph in Sophia’s eyes? Hard to tell with the quick lowering of her lashes.

“The girl admitted her part in the vandalism and named you as the instigator.”

“Well, the girl’s lying.” Sophia turned her back on the group and flounced over to her husband’s side. “The very idea that I would actually engage in criminal behavior is ludicrous.” She slid her hand around her husband’s arm as if solidifying herself as local royalty and looked down her nose at the marshal. “I’d ask if you have any proof, but how could you? I didn’t do anything.”

“Got these firecrackers.” The marshal retrieved the soggy string from the floor. “Girl couldn’t afford to buy them. Says you gave them to her.”

“She’s mistaken. Someone else must have given them to her. Or maybe she stole them. You said she admitted to the vandalism, so you already have proof of her propensity toward criminal behavior.”

Nate lurched forward. “My sister’s no thief! And the only reason she set off those firecrackers was because you threatened to send her away to an orphanage.”

“I did no such thing. Why, that’s . . . barbarous.” Sophia shot a look at her husband. “Chester, tell them.”

The mayor shook himself slightly, then firmed his chin. “My wife is an upstanding citizen with years of dedicated service to this community. If the only evidence you have is this child’s word and some expended firecrackers, your proof is sorely lacking. Now, if you don’t mind, I have responsibilities to this town and must ask you to leave so that I may see to them. Good day, Virgil.”