“Are you from around here, Mr. Madison?”
“I am. I wasn’t on the train, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It was, in a way. Maddie, you have to loosen your arms around my neck, dear. Mama can’t breathe. Yes, that’s better.” She smiled apologetically and raised the hand with the dangling reticule. “Could you take this, please, and give it to the sheriff?”
Ben removed the reticule, which was heavily decorated with seed pearls and jet beads, and clutched it in his hand. “This isn’t yours?”
“No. I saw it lying on top of the lobby desk when we were filing in from the train. My only excuse for not understanding the significance of it immediately is that I was still brain-addled from our experience.”
“Understandable. But what is the significance of it?”
“It belongs toher. Mrs. Apple. The woman they took.”
Ben’s eyebrows, a deeper shade of red than his hair, rose high enough to ladder his forehead. He looked at the reticule and then at Mrs. Bancroft. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I saw them take it from her after she shot the big man. I told Mrs. Tyler that I saw it, described it to her, and she agreed with me. I left Maddie with her while I went to get it. There was no one at the desk to ask if I could have it, so I took it upon myself to carry it off. I intended to give it to the sheriff straightaway, but then Mrs. Tyler found me and said Maddie had disappeared, and”—here she took a deep, steadying breath—“and here I am.”
“So you are,” said Ben. Madeleine had removed her face from her mother’s neck and was staring at him. He smiled at her. “Yes, I’ll give it to the sheriff. Of course I will.” He looked around. The bodies were pressing in again. “Should I help you find—” He stopped, regarded her questioningly because he could not remember the name.
“Mrs. Tyler. No. Unlike my daughter, she will be precisely where I left her. But thank you.”
Ben bounced the reticule in his palm. It had some weight to it. All those seed pearls and jet beads, he supposed. “I’ll take this to the sheriff right now. That’s my boss with him. He’ll be interested, too. He surely will.”
• • •
Thaddeus Frost made room for Ben when he saw him coming. “Thought I lost you there, son. I want you to hear what Jackson has to say.”
“Sheriff,” said Ben as he stepped in to make the third leg of a triangle. He raised the hand holding the reticule and unfolded his fingers, presenting the beaded bag on his open palm.
Jackson Brewer looked Ben over. The young man was as lean and ropy as a steer at the end of a cattle drive, and Jackson supposed that no amount of his ma’s cooking was going to put meat on the boy’s bones. The same could not be said for Thaddeus Frost. Ellie Madison had been setting a fine table for the owner and his hands at Twin Star since before Mary passed, and it was finally beginning to show on Thad just north of his belt. Of course, those extra pounds could have something to do with Thad’s relatively recent marriage. His old friend was probably spending more time in bed than he was on the range.
“What do you have there?” asked Jackson. “Someone lose that?”
“A woman gave it to me. She’s from the train and she says it belongs to Phoebe Apple. ’Course, she called her Mrs. Apple. I didn’t understand that.” He addressed Thaddeus. “She’s not married, right? You never mentioned it.”
“She’s not married. Apple’s her surname, same as it was my wife’s. The woman’s just mistaken. Where is she?” Impatient, not waiting for an answer, Thaddeus looked over the crowd. He was half a head taller than either Benjamin or the sheriff, and therefore in a better position to do so. “I want to talk to her.”
“She’s probably still holding her daughter. Madeleinewill be easier to spot. Yellow hair.” He made a curling gesture with his index finger. “Ringlets.”
“I see her.” He brushed past Ben without excusing himself.
Jackson looked after Thaddeus, shook his head, and then turned to Ben. “Man on a mission. Go on. You tell me what you learned. I’ve got my deputy getting volunteers for a search party.”
“I volunteer.”
“Actually, you’ve already been volunteered. Thad did that.”
“Good.” He nodded for emphasis and handed the reticule over. “Mrs. Bancroft said the reticule was taken from her. Mrs. Apple, that is. Or Miss Apple. Whatever.”
“Let’s agree to call her Phoebe.”
“All right. Phoebe. This was hers. She shot the big man. That’s what she called him.”
“Mrs. Bancroft.”
“Uh-huh. Phoebe shot the big man and the bag was taken from her.”
Jackson Brewer knuckled the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “That squares with what I heard from two fellas hereabouts. Similar story. They were in the car, saw what happened, or mostly saw. They were pretty shook.”
