“Then isn’t it possible that one or two or more of them have gone through Mrs. Booker’s hands at the mercantile or Sweeny’s hands at the saloon or Mr. Higgenbotham’s hands at the bank?”
Call sat up and stared at her. “Also possible,” he said, nodding slowly as he thought it over. “Likely, in fact. Youknow, Laurel, if I wasn’t still so peeved at you, I’d undoubtedly want to kiss you senseless right about now.”
“Oh. Then it’s probably just as well that you don’t, you being peevish and all.”
He didn’t want to smile, but something about the way she spoke so matter-of-factly proved he was capable of it. “Dammit,” he said under his breath.
Laurel heard him swear but was fairly confident it wasn’t directed at her. She didn’t think long on why that made her feel better. It simply did. She finished the cherry pie, neatly folded the gingham napkin, and returned it to the sack. She did the same with Call’s.
“What about you?” asked Laurel when Call showed no indication that he was prepared to leave. “Did you find anything besides Penelope?”
“I found what I think was the sniper’s nest. The distance and elevation are about right. There’s room to lie down in relative comfort. It’s a location where a man could rest himself and his rifle. I was searching for a spent cartridge when I heard Penelope.”
“You need to go back, then.”
He nodded. “But you can return to the station with Penelope. You’ve done plenty already to advance the investigation.”
Laurel looked at Penelope. The mare certainly needed tending but she was reluctant to leave Call to finish exploring on his own. “I’d like to stay,” she said. “Penelope is reacquainting herself with Abby. She won’t fare any worse for a few hours’ delay, and I want to know that you return safely after climbing all over that rise.”
“Nothing’s going to come of arguing with you, is it?”
“Probably not, no.”
Call released a heavy sigh. “All right. But you stay here. If you want to continue to look around, fine, but don’t follow me.”
That Call didn’t want her coming after him was a good indication that the climb was more dangerous than itappeared at first glance. “I’ve never been up there,” she told him. “There was never any reason to stray that far.”
“There still isn’t,” he said. “Not for you.”
She held up both hands in a declaration of surrender. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Call got up, brushed his hands on his trousers, and adjusted the tilt of his hat. “I won’t be long. It’s probably better if you don’t watch.”
But of course, she did.
29
It was dusk by the time Laurel and Call returned to the station. Laurel was amazed when Call showed her the paper cartridge he’d found wedged between the rocks. It was burnt at the edges but mostly intact. By all rights it should have ignited after firing. She was tempted to call his discovery a miracle except she knew it was sheer doggedness that had produced the find. When she mentioned his tenacity, he shrugged it off, but she could tell that he was secretly pleased with himself and not unhappy that she’d noticed.
Laurel insisted on caring for Penelope herself. The mare’s arrival caused a stir and everyone came out to see her. Mrs. Lancaster declared herself so excited that she left a pot of chicken stock simmering on the stove to visit the barn.
Call stayed behind when the others went back to their respective duties. His offer to help had been rebuffed earlier and he didn’t bring it up again. Looking around, he chose a bench a few feet from where Laurel was washing Penelope and sat. As was his custom, he removed his hat and leaned back against the wall. He stretched his legs and crossed his ankles.
“Comfortable?” asked Laurel.
“Hmm.” He set his hat beside him on the bench and folded his arms across his chest. “Hey!” he said when droplets of sudsy water splashed his beard and the front of his shirt. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did I? I think you’re mistaken.” She ducked her head to hide her smile and continued scrubbing. “You haven’t said anything about the sniper’s identity. I don’t suppose that finding the cartridge can help with that.”
“No. No, it can’t. But the cartridge and the minié point to a Springfield rifle, probably a war issue, and maybe there’s a possibility of finding that.”
“There are two in my gun cabinet,” she said. “You don’t have to look all that far.”
“Your brothers’ guns?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s in your favor that you’re not a suspect. Who else in Falls Hollow served in the war? Either side.”
