Page 39 of In Honor’s Defense

“I-I don’t know. . . .” Damaris stammered, but the undertaker didn’t seem to notice. His gaze turned introspective, as if he were too taken with the puzzle to worry about his company.

“It’d explain the missin’ boat,” he mumbled as he rubbed his chin. After a moment, however, his expression soured back into a frown. “But there weren’t no lumps on his skull. No dents, neither.” He slapped his palms against his knees and looked her in the eye. “I can’t tell ya how yer brother ended up in the lake, miss, but I can tell ya what didn’t happen. No one bashed his head in. His noggin was fully intact when we dragged him out.”

“Well, I suppose that’s some small comfort.”

So why didn’t she feel comforted in the slightest? She should be glad her brother hadn’t suffered the pain of a horrible injury prior to his death. Yet he was still gone. And she had no explanation as to why. If he hadn’t fought with someone, how had he ended up in the lake? And where was the boat? And why did he leave work early? She might not have known her brother well, but she knew he believed in hard work and providing for his family. The only reason he might have left early to fish would be if he had planned a special afternoon for Nathaniel. Yet Nathaniel knew nothing about a fishing trip. It just didn’t make any sense.

Damaris rose to her feet and offered the undertaker a small smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Weathers. And thank you, again, for tending to my brother.”

He nodded as he pushed to his feet, but his face already exhibited distraction. A common reaction to her departure, as people turned their thoughts to more interesting pursuits. Like sawdust.

As Damaris reached the door, however, Mr. Weathers surprised her by calling after her.

“Miss Baxter?”

She turned her head. “Yes?”

“There was one more thing I noticed that seemed a bit odd about your brother.”

She dropped her hand from the door handle and pivoted more fully. “Oh? What was that?”

“I found a piece of straw in his mouth.” He shrugged as he said it. “Prob’ly don’t mean nothin’, but I remember thinkin’ it strange.”

“That is strange.” A man might chew on a piece of straw if it were at hand while he worked in a barn or a haymow. But in the middle of a lake? “Thank you for telling me.”

The undertaker nodded, and Damaris turned to go.

“Miss Baxter?”

She glanced back, surprised to see a touch of softness in the gruff man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry fer yer loss.”

She’d heard that sentiment dozens of times since coming to Madisonville from churchgoers, merchants, and anyone else she had reason to introduce herself to. All well-meaning and kind, but none of those polite sympathies rang as true as the one coming from this man in this moment.

Clyde Weathers dealt with death all the time. She’d thought it had hardened him, but looking at him now, she wondered if perhaps that crusty shell was just an armor he wore to protect himself.

Her eyes growing damp, Damaris blinked quickly to dry them. “Thank you,” she murmured softly as she ducked her head and reached again for the door.

He made no effort to halt her this time, and she soon found herself outside, breathing fresh air and staring at a world awash in sunshine. A group of boys ran across the street. A small dog gave chase. A pair of ladies stood outside the milliner’s window two doors down, exclaiming over a new design. A farmer’s wagon rolled past, supplies piled up in the bed behind the driver.

Everything was blessedly normal. And somehow, the ordinariness of it all gave her the stability she needed to square her shoulders and continue her mission.

Until she pivoted to her right and came face-to-face with the man she least wanted to see—Oliver Grimes.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Mr. Grimes’s eyebrows shot up to hide behind his hat brim when he spotted Damaris. His gaze darted from her to the door she’d just exited.

“Miss Baxter. You’re not here on . . . official business, are you? Surely Davenport hasn’t passed. Hanger led me to believe he was expected to recover.”

“Oh. No. Mr. Davenport is still with us,” she assured him, relief spearing through her belly at the realization that he hadn’t divined her true purpose in visiting the undertaker. “He’s actually out of bed and hobbling around. Gaining strength every day.”

She might be painting Luke’s health in slightly overgenerous terms, but it seemed unwise for Grimes to believe she and Nathaniel were unprotected. Just in case her neighbor had any nefarious schemes in mind. Besides, she had a feeling that if Luke could stand, he would fight, and fight hard.

Grimes let out a breath. “I’m glad to hear it. My brother would never forgive me if my troubles caused the death of one of his beloved Horsemen.”