Chapter 36
Chapter
James didn’t go back to bed that morning.
He heated enough water for a bath and a shave and soaked in the tub longer than usual, trying to get his thoughts in order.
He needed a plan of action. One free from partiality—which would be tricky since he was anything but impartial in this case.
He believed Noreen innocent, and he intended to prove that fact to Taggert and the rest of the community.
Yet Taggert already assumed he’d favor the evidence that supported Noreen and ignore the rest. He couldn’t do that.
All facts must be examined. All testimony documented.
He must seek the truth, not simply what he wanted to find.
The truth would exonerate Noreen. Of that he had no doubt. Yet the fact that someone had laid a trail of deceit to obscure the truth made him nervous. The easy evidence pointed to Noreen, and if he didn’t uncover the true culprit in a timely fashion, Taggert and others would demand her arrest.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, James settled at the table and pulled out his Bible.
If ever a day needed to be started with a dose of wisdom and encouragement, it was today.
Craving the words of Jesus himself, James turned to the book of John, his eyes scanning for underlined passages.
A pair of verses on opposite sides of his current opening jumped off the page and into his heart.
One from chapter fourteen. The other from chapter sixteen.
And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come.
He meditated on the words. Closed his eyes so they could soak into his soul. The Spirit of truth. Sent from the Father at the request of Jesus. To his disciples. Those who know the Lord.
James bowed his head over his Bible, his fingers tightening on the handle of his cup, though he made no move to lift the coffee to his mouth.
The Spirit of truth dwelled in him. Lived in him. Right now. Today. Ready to help him see what the world could not see. A discerning Spirit. One sent to guide him into all truth.
All truth. Not just spiritual truth but physical truth as well. At least he hoped that’s what all meant, for he could really use a guide as he sifted through fact and fiction.
Lord, I need your help. You know who set the fire, for you see everything.
Guide me with your Spirit of truth today.
Stir my mind to ask the right questions, and help me make sense of the answers.
Foil the deceiver’s plot, and bring justice to our community.
To Noreen. Guard her heart as speculation spreads about her involvement and .
. . encourage Taggert as he faces this staggering loss.
He sat in silence, sipping his coffee, and preparing his mind while he waited for the sun to rise above the horizon.
Once the sky was fully light, he rose from the table, retrieved his hat, and set out for the saloon.
Or what was left of it. He wanted to take a closer look at that burn pattern he’d noticed on the floor before neighbors and friends started traipsing through the place.
An oppressive mood settled over James the moment he stepped inside the Salt Fork. Memories of boisterous crowds, rowdy laughter, and friendly card games tried to surface, but they seemed trapped within the blackened walls, overshadowed by smells of smoke and wet ash.
“You’re gettin’ an early start.”
James turned at the sound of Taggert’s voice and found him behind the charred bar, separating broken glasses from unbroken ones.
The clothes he wore were clean, but they hung on his frame as if they belonged to a larger man.
Probably Marcus Freeman. The soot had been washed from his face and hair, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the gloom from his bearing.
“I could say the same for you.” James crossed to the bar and braced his boot on the brass rail that had lost its shine and some of its shape.
A soot-darkened glass clinked softly as the barkeeper placed it in a crate. “Can’t get an early start if you never actually stopped.”
“I’m sorry this happened, Milt.” The words felt inadequate, yet James said them anyway.
They were true, after all. The man’s livelihood had been wrongly stolen from him.
James might not approve of all the goings on that had taken place within these walls, but Taggert was a victim of a crime, and he deserved compassion and patience.
Taggert heaved a weary sigh. “Me too.” He set aside the crate of glassware and met James’s gaze. “I appreciate all you did to try to save it. Not many men would enter a burning building that didn’t belong to them. You, Connor, and Old Coop did that, and I owe you my thanks.”
“And I owe you justice for what happened here.”
Taggert rolled his eyes but didn’t lash out with disparaging comments about Noreen. Probably too worn out for fit-throwin’, yet James hoped it might be a sign of an improved mindset.
James retrieved a notepad and pencil from his coat pocket. “When did you first realize something was wrong?”
Taggert blew out a heavy breath and pushed the crate aside.
“I closed down around two in the morning. Was in bed by three. I hadn’t been asleep long, maybe an hour, when I heard a noise in the alley.
Some kind of crash. Thought it was just a coon or cat or somethin’, so I didn’t investigate.
Just rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.
” His mouth flattened in a tight line. “If I had just gotten out of bed . . . maybe I could’ve . . .”
The road of could haves was a painful path that circled in on itself and led a man nowhere. Best to reroute Taggert before he got mired in that unproductive mud.
“When did you notice the fire?”
Taggert gave his head a shake, then cleared his throat. “Not sure how long I slept. Long enough that my room filled with smoke.”
James jotted a note. “Is that what woke you? The smoke?”
“Don’t think so.” Taggert’s brow furrowed. “There was a noise, I think. Something banging against my window.”
“Which side of the building is that window on?”
“The side facing the alley.”
Same as the window above that burn pattern he’d noticed. Interesting.
“It took me a minute to wake up,” Taggert said, his face thoughtful. “I’m a sound sleeper, but I felt groggier than usual.”
“Probably from the smoke you’d been breathing.”
“Maybe.” Taggert shrugged and ran a hand down the front of his face.
“All I know is when I finally dragged myself out of bed, I started coughing. I noticed the smoke and hurried to open the windows. When I got to the one facing the alley, a stick of some kind knocked against the glass. I threw open the sash and yelled out the window. The stick clattered to the ground, and someone ran off. I heard the footsteps, but it was too dark to see anything. I threw my boots on and ran down the back staircase to the storeroom and tried to give chase, but by the time I made it to the street, it was empty. That’s when I turned back to the Salt Fork and realized it was on fire.
I ran up the boardwalk and found your girlfriend’s hankie flappin’ in the breeze. ”
James frowned but made no comment about the handkerchief. “It sounds like whoever started the fire wanted to make sure you didn’t die in the blaze. They made a point to wake you.”
Taggert raised a brow. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“Just trying to get an accurate picture of who might have done this.”
“We already know who might have done this, and she looks a lot like Noreen O’Sullivan.
” Taggert bent down, grabbed another crate filled with glassware, and slammed it onto the counter.
“You aren’t going to convince me she’s a saint just because she couldn’t stomach barbecuing a man in his bed.
She destroyed my saloon. Could’ve burned down the entire town. She needs to be locked up.”
James had expected the accusations and chose to ignore them instead of arguing. Taggert wouldn’t be convinced until they had another suspect in custody. Defending Noreen wouldn’t help him accomplish that goal. Gathering evidence would.
“Could you tell where the fire started?”
Taggert pulled a glass from the crate, frowned at its chipped rim, then used it to point across the room to the far side of the saloon. Directly at the area with the lighter colored floorboards.
“Over there. When I ran back inside, half the floor was on fire. I grabbed my mop bucket and started tossing water on it, but it made it worse. It spread even faster. I didn’t know what else to do, so I abandoned the bucket and started carrying anything of value outside.
That’s when the church bell rang and the alarm sounded. ”
The fire spread when he tried to douse it?
But later when they’d worked the bucket lines, the water had extinguished the flames.
A memory flashed in James’s mind from when he’d been a kid and knocked over a lantern in the yard.
He’d gone to fetch water to put out the spreading fire, but his father had stopped him.
He’d kicked dirt onto the flames instead.
Said oil fires needed to be smothered, not doused.
“Did you notice any odors?”
Taggert raised his head, his brows scrunching together. “Now that you mention it . . . I did smell something. Kerosene, maybe?” His expression cleared. “That’s why I couldn’t put it out. That she-devil poured kerosene all over my floor!”
“Somebody did. I’m going to hold off on naming anyone until I have more details.
” James made another note, then moved over to the section of floor where he’d noticed the markings.
“See how the floor is burned less over here?” He pointed with his pencil to the wavy outline that matched the pattern of a spilled liquid. A lot of spilled liquid.
Taggert followed and peered over James’s shoulder. “Yeah.”
“I think that’s where the kerosene was. It protected the floorboards underneath while the flames combusted on top. After it evaporated, the wood was no longer protected, but by then it had spread to other areas, and we were able to extinguish it with our water line.”
James stepped to the window at the center of the spill area.
The glass had broken out from the heat, just like the rest of the windows.
Unless it hadn’t. He hunkered down. Shards of glass lay on the floor along the wall.
James moved to the next window. No broken glass.
The heat had broken the panes outward. He found the same pattern at the next window.
“What’re you lookin’ at?”
James moved back to the first window and kicked the glass shards with his boot. “This is the only window that broke inward. The rest broke outward. Do you remember if this window was broken when you first found the fire?”
Taggert wagged his head. “I just remember the fire, not the window. Why does it matter?”
“Because I believe our arsonist broke the window from the outside and poured the kerosene through the opening.”
Excitement spurred his pulse and his feet. James hurried out of the saloon, hopped down from the elevated boardwalk, and jogged down the alley until he stood in front of the window. A window that stood even with his shoulders.
“You there, Taggert?”
The bartender stepped up to the window, the bottom of the frame sitting at about his waist. The floor of the saloon stood higher than the alley. He peered down at James through the broken panes. “What are ya thinkin’, Paxton?”
“I’m thinking that whoever lit the fire probably emptied a five-gallon can through this window. That would explain the large spill area.”
“And?”
“And five-gallon cans are pretty heavy. Thirty to forty pounds, wouldn’t you say?”
Taggert scowled. “So?”
“Pretty heavy for a woman.”
Taggert crossed his arms over his chest. “She lugged those buckets around easy enough.”
“But she didn’t pull those up to her shoulder.
Look.” James moved close to the wall. “To pour that kerosene through this window, someone would have to prop it on their shoulder, and they’d need to be fairly tall.
” James mimicked hefting a large can up to his shoulder.
“Seems to me a woman several inches shorter than I am wouldn’t have the right angle.
Even if she did manage to get it to her shoulder. ”
“She could have stood on something. Used smaller cans.”
James raised his eyebrows. “You think carrying a stool and a bunch of clanging cans around in the dead of night makes sense? Much easier to believe a man did this. In and out in one trip. Quiet. Unnoticed.”
“I did hear a crash. Remember?”
That’s right. What had he heard? James looked around the narrow alley.
A long thin tree branch had been snapped in half and kicked aside.
Probably the stick Taggert remembered banging on his window.
But what had made the crash before that?
He glanced the opposite direction, then turned slowly to peer behind him.
A stack of paint cans. A couple fallen on their sides.
Had the arsonist backed into the stack during his retreat?
There were too many footprints in the mud from all the traffic through here while people had been working to put out the fire to distinguish anything helpful.
Still, James bent to examine the can closest to the window.
Brown paint ran down the side of the metal cylinder, as if it had poured out when it had been kicked over.
Between the water diluting everything and the brown paint blending with the mud, there was no trail to follow.
But maybe he didn’t need a trail. The water and mud wouldn’t have been there when the arsonist set the fire. The ground would have been dry. The paint wet. If the criminal had stepped in the paint, there might be incriminating evidence to be found on the guilty party’s shoes.
It could be a way to clear Noreen’s name! He just had to find a brown needle in a giant shoe stack.