never heard about the money, then.
“What money?” Emily asked.
Thomas watched her expression closely. “A stagecoach from Wells Fargo was transporting a two-million-dollar gold payroll out West when the money disappeared. Two men were in charge of the shipment, and everyone thought they were responsible. One of them was John Potter.”
The spoon fell from Emily’s hand and she stared at Thomas in shock. “What? Two million dollars in gold? And you think—”
“Your father vanished, only to turn up months later running a bordello in Denver. The other man was also accused and was fired by Wells Fargo, but no one could prove anything. The money, you see, has never turned up.”
“My God,” Emily whispered. “So that’s why Shangri-La was vandalized!”
“Someone was looking for the gold,” Thomas agreed. “No bank has registered a deposit of that amount, no individual has confessed, and your father was certainly not living the life of a millionaire. Yet all the facts point to him.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Emily, recovered from the surprise, picked up her pencil and began to scribble furiously. “I can’t believe he did such a thing! I mean, I didn’t know him well, I admit that, but to steal two million dollars … Even if he used some of it to build the house, where is the rest? Why didn’t he use it? And how does that tie into the killings?”
Thomas sighed. Emily’s surprised reaction was totally believable. Was she simply a good liar? “The sheriff thinks someone else was involved in the robbery. If your father reneged on his agreement with his accomplice and absconded with all of the money, that person would certainly have had a motive to kill.”
Emily tapped her cheek thoughtfully with her pencil. “That theory certainly fits the facts, if one believes the initial supposition is correct. However, I find it difficult to accept that as truth. Therefore, the conclusion is faulty, and leading us in entirely the wrong direction.”
“Miss Potter,” Thomas said, trying to keep a tight rein on his emotions, “I only agreed to give you this information in the hope that you would see how dangerous this situation is for you. Whoever killed your father most likely did it for the money, and they aren’t going to stop until they get it. Don’t you understand? Every moment you are living in that house you are in jeopardy!”
The waitress brought their bill, which Thomas insisted on paying. As soon as the woman left, Emily rose, picked up her bag, and gave him a rare smile. It was a beautiful smile, Thomas noticed, even as her words caused his blood to boil.
“Thank you for the meal, Reverend, and the insight. I think I can manage from here. As Holmes would say,
‘Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute.’
It is only the first step that costs.”
“Miss Potter,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, “does nothing I’ve said make any difference to you?”
In response, Emily laid her hand on his arm, as if patting a lapdog. “Please don’t concern yourself, Reverend. I must follow my path, and do what I was created to do, just as you must.” Her eyes fell meaningfully on his collar.
The simple contact of her hand made him want to pull her into his arms and teach her what he was created to do. Yet as she strode briskly away, her carpetbag in one hand, her notebook under her arm, he fought the impulse with everything he had. And he realized something else about himself, something not very flattering: For all he had intended to find out about Emily Potter, she’d obviously learned a thing or two about him.
Upon returning from the grocery store, Emily fed Watson, then finished her examination of the house. But the erotic feelings she’d experienced with Thomas just wouldn’t leave her. Even when he’d grasped her hand to haul her to her feet in the sheriff’s office, she had felt all tingly. She’d discovered that she liked the rough feeling of his skin against hers, which
“What money?” Emily asked.
Thomas watched her expression closely. “A stagecoach from Wells Fargo was transporting a two-million-dollar gold payroll out West when the money disappeared. Two men were in charge of the shipment, and everyone thought they were responsible. One of them was John Potter.”
The spoon fell from Emily’s hand and she stared at Thomas in shock. “What? Two million dollars in gold? And you think—”
“Your father vanished, only to turn up months later running a bordello in Denver. The other man was also accused and was fired by Wells Fargo, but no one could prove anything. The money, you see, has never turned up.”
“My God,” Emily whispered. “So that’s why Shangri-La was vandalized!”
“Someone was looking for the gold,” Thomas agreed. “No bank has registered a deposit of that amount, no individual has confessed, and your father was certainly not living the life of a millionaire. Yet all the facts point to him.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Emily, recovered from the surprise, picked up her pencil and began to scribble furiously. “I can’t believe he did such a thing! I mean, I didn’t know him well, I admit that, but to steal two million dollars … Even if he used some of it to build the house, where is the rest? Why didn’t he use it? And how does that tie into the killings?”
Thomas sighed. Emily’s surprised reaction was totally believable. Was she simply a good liar? “The sheriff thinks someone else was involved in the robbery. If your father reneged on his agreement with his accomplice and absconded with all of the money, that person would certainly have had a motive to kill.”
Emily tapped her cheek thoughtfully with her pencil. “That theory certainly fits the facts, if one believes the initial supposition is correct. However, I find it difficult to accept that as truth. Therefore, the conclusion is faulty, and leading us in entirely the wrong direction.”
“Miss Potter,” Thomas said, trying to keep a tight rein on his emotions, “I only agreed to give you this information in the hope that you would see how dangerous this situation is for you. Whoever killed your father most likely did it for the money, and they aren’t going to stop until they get it. Don’t you understand? Every moment you are living in that house you are in jeopardy!”
The waitress brought their bill, which Thomas insisted on paying. As soon as the woman left, Emily rose, picked up her bag, and gave him a rare smile. It was a beautiful smile, Thomas noticed, even as her words caused his blood to boil.
“Thank you for the meal, Reverend, and the insight. I think I can manage from here. As Holmes would say,
‘Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute.’
It is only the first step that costs.”
“Miss Potter,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, “does nothing I’ve said make any difference to you?”
In response, Emily laid her hand on his arm, as if patting a lapdog. “Please don’t concern yourself, Reverend. I must follow my path, and do what I was created to do, just as you must.” Her eyes fell meaningfully on his collar.
The simple contact of her hand made him want to pull her into his arms and teach her what he was created to do. Yet as she strode briskly away, her carpetbag in one hand, her notebook under her arm, he fought the impulse with everything he had. And he realized something else about himself, something not very flattering: For all he had intended to find out about Emily Potter, she’d obviously learned a thing or two about him.
Upon returning from the grocery store, Emily fed Watson, then finished her examination of the house. But the erotic feelings she’d experienced with Thomas just wouldn’t leave her. Even when he’d grasped her hand to haul her to her feet in the sheriff’s office, she had felt all tingly. She’d discovered that she liked the rough feeling of his skin against hers, which
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