Chapter 40 #2
“I’m just missing one thing.” Metal clanked as James set down the cans he carried. He turned to Noreen’s mother and held up the shoes he had tucked beneath his arm. “Are these the shoes your husband was wearing last night?”
Mama shook her head. “No, those are Arthur’s Sunday shoes. He was wearing his business shoes. The ones he had on at the shop today when I took him his lunch.”
“I figured as much.” James set the shoes on the desk, then turned to Adair. “Would you mind fetching Clevenger’s shoes from the cell upstairs?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his coat. “The warrant specifies the collection of Clevenger’s footwear.”
The sheriff scanned the page, then grunted. “This better be worth it, Paxton.”
“It will be.”
The moment the sheriff trudged over to the stairs, Martha released Noreen’s hand and joined James near the desk, whispering something that made James nod. Probably filling him in on what she’d learned during the investigation she and Miss Lockwood had conducted.
A new hand fit itself to Noreen’s vacant one, and she glanced up to find her mother at her side. “He’s a good man,” she murmured, nodding her head in James’s direction.
Warmth seeped through Noreen’s chest. “Yes, he is.”
“He cares about you.”
Noreen dipped her chin. “Heaven knows why. I’ve caused him no end of trouble.”
Mama squeezed her hand. “He’s wise enough to recognize your value. A pearl of great price is worth a little trouble.”
A pearl of great price? What a ridiculous notion. Yet the words bathed her soul in sunshine just the same.
Boots stomped against floorboards, and all talking ceased as Sheriff Adair returned to the crowded office. “Got the shoes.” He banged them onto the table. The frown he wore made it clear that Arthur had not been an overly cooperative participant. “Now make your case.”
James took a minute to organize his odd collection of items on the table next to the shoes, then asked for the handkerchief.
The sheriff handed it over, and James placed it on the desk away from the other items. Then he pulled out his notebook, flipped through a few pages, and moved to the center of the room.
“Taggert reported that the fire started between four and five o’clock this morning.
He smelled kerosene, and when he attempted to douse the fire with water, it spread, indicating the presence of an oil-based accelerant.
While the heat of the fire broke most of the windows outward, one window facing the alley broke inward, indicating the arsonist used it as an access point for pouring the kerosene into the saloon before igniting it.
After being awakened by a scratching at his window, Taggert ran downstairs to attempt to catch the fire starter, but the perpetrator escaped.
When Taggert returned to the saloon, he found the handkerchief nailed to his doorframe.
After that, the alarm sounded, and townsfolk came to help battle the blaze. ”
James moved toward the desk and pointed to the handkerchief.
“The evidence against Miss O’Sullivan includes this handkerchief, that she admits belongs to her, and her practice of promoting the cause of temperance.
No witness or evidence can place her at the scene of the crime until she arrived to help fight the fire.
Many witnesses, however, have testified to her courageous actions in organizing a water line of women to keep the fire from spreading.
In fact, her fast thinking extinguished a fire that had caught on Taggert’s clothing, likely saving the man’s life. ”
Sheriff Adair’s gaze shifted to Taggert, who simply scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t start it,” Taggert groused. “Probably only helped because she felt guilty.”
The sheriff didn’t bother with a response to that comment, just turned back to James. “Since Arthur Clevenger is the one behind bars and not Miss O’Sullivan, I’m guessing you found a few holes in that theory.”
Taggert scoffed. “I told you, Sheriff. Paxton’s sweet on her. He’ll bend the evidence however he pleases to make her look innocent.”
Sheriff Adair spun toward Taggert and planted himself nose to nose with the saloon owner.
“James Paxton is as honest as the day is long, and I don’t cotton to anyone castin’ aspersions on his character.
Now, I know you’ve had a hard day, Milt, but if you don’t shut your trap, I’m gonna toss you out on your ear. Got it?”
Taggert gave a sulky nod, and James stood a little taller. Noreen smiled. Sheriff Adair was starting to grow on her.
The sheriff backed away from Taggert and waved an arm at James. “Get on with it, Paxton. We ain’t got all night.”
James nodded. “I examined the alley where the arsonist started the fire. The saloon stands above street level, and whoever poured the kerosene through the broken window would have had to lift a forty-pound can to roughly the height of my shoulder. A difficult task for a woman. I also discovered a paint can that had likely been kicked over by the perpetrator in his haste to get away. An escape that was overheard by Mrs. Berry, who’d been up tending a fussy child.
Mrs. Berry lives on Jacob Street, indicating that the arsonist fled west, the opposite direction Miss O’Sullivan would have fled to return to her boardinghouse on the east side of town. ”
James stepped away from the desk, and the sheriff shuffled out of his way as he approached the table.
“Now the evidence against Arthur Clevenger.” He gestured to the table that overflowed with miscellaneous items. “He stocks kerosene in his emporium, and I found this empty five-gallon can in his storeroom.
Clevenger claimed he used it to fill individual orders from customers who brought in their own containers, but when I checked his inventory list and sales ledger, I uncovered only one such sale for the past week.
The lack of dust where the canister once sat in the store indicated that it was recently moved, which is why I focused my attention on recent sales.
“Mrs. Clevenger provided me with clothing belonging to her husband that smells strongly of kerosene. He was wearing these clothes when she had dinner with him last night, so the kerosene had to have spilled on them sometime between the time she went to bed last night and this morning when she found them in the laundry pile.”
James opened the flour sack and pulled out the clothing. The sheriff’s nose wrinkled as he gave them a good sniff.
“Not only do they smell of kerosene but there is dark brown paint staining the hem of the pants as well as the ankle area of one sock. A paint color that matches the paint I found in the alley.” James pointed to the old, dented can with dried paint smeared down its side.
“A darker shade than the paint Clevenger was using in his storeroom.” He indicated a newer can sporting a slightly lighter shade of brown around its rim.
The sheriff compared the pant leg to both paint cans. “Clevenger could have kicked over the alley paint while fighting the fire.”
James shook his head. “Not if he never showed up to fight the fire. By his own admission, he chose to guard his emporium instead of joining the water lines. Mrs. Clevenger has also stated that her husband never came to bed last night, leaving him with no alibi during the time the fire started.”
James picked up Arthur’s business shoes and began examining them.
The soles looked exceptionally clean, and the leather had been freshly polished.
Covering up evidence? Noreen frowned. But as James pulled apart the laces, a triumphant grin spread across his face.
He pulled the laces completely free of one shoe, stretched the string out upon the table, and pointed to a discolored place near the center.
“There. The same paint color. He tried to clean it away, but it’s hard to clean out every crevice.”
Sheriff Adair straightened from examining the shoelace and scratched at his beard. “You got a motive?”
James handed a letter to the sheriff, one Noreen hadn’t seen.
“He wants a council seat. According to his wife, he blames his stepdaughter’s temperance crusade for his lack of political success.
This letter promises aid if Clevenger puts a stop to the local temperance problem.
Having his stepdaughter arrested would certainly curb her activities.
” James turned and sought out Velma in the crowd.
“I’ve been informed that Miss Stafford can place Arthur Clevenger near the boardinghouse when the laundry was on the line, giving him access to Miss O’Sullivan’s handkerchief. ”
Velma’s eyes widened as attention shifted to her, but she nodded.
“That’s true. I was working in the herb garden when I heard the gate squeak.
I stepped around the side of the boardinghouse and saw Mr. Clevenger yank something off the clothesline.
I asked him what he was doing, and he claimed the wind had blown his handkerchief over the fence, and he was just retrieving it.
I found it rather peculiar but had no reason to doubt the veracity of his statement until Mrs. Barker questioned me about it this evening. ”
“Thank you, Miss Stafford.” James pivoted back to the desk, picked up the handkerchief, then laid it next to a hand-painted sign that looked like it came from the emporium.
He turned his attention back to the sheriff.
“Notice how the lettering on this sign is similar to the lettering painted on the handkerchief. Similar enough to suppose that the same hand fashioned both of them.”
James closed his notebook and placed it on the table. “Both cases are circumstantial, Sheriff, but when you weigh the evidence, the case against Clevenger is far stronger.”
Taggert’s arms dropped to his sides as his gaze scoured the collection of evidence.
“Clevenger did this? For a council seat?” His hands bunched into fists.
“Fool man could have burned down the entire town.” The saloon owner pushed out of the corner by the stove, where he’d been standing, and strode for the door.
Halfway there, he stopped and turned a haggard face toward Noreen.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Well, I owe you one hundred fifty-two dollars and seventy-five cents.” She smiled as she shrugged. “I’m not exactly blameless in this.”
He smirked. “Finally, something we can agree on.” He chuckled softly, then dipped his chin, “I’m sorry for jumpin’ to conclusions and blaming you for something you didn’t do.”
An unseen heaviness lifted from within Noreen’s breast. “Apology accepted.”
Taggert tipped his hat to her, then strode out into the night.
Sheriff Adair clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Well, Paxton, if you can convince Taggert, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with the judge. As for the rest of you . . .” Adair made dramatic shooing motions. “Get out of my jailhouse. My deputy and I got work to do.”
Noreen let herself be swept along with the others, accepting hugs and well wishes as everyone made their way outside. But when Mrs. Barker invited her to walk back to the boardinghouse with her and Velma, Noreen shook her head.
“I have something I need to do first.”
She turned back to the jailhouse, where James stood silhouetted in the doorway.
What did one give the man who saved her life? She hoped her heart would be enough.