Mrs. Lancaster beamed at him. “True words.”
Call patted his stomach and shook his head when she offered him a second piece of cobbler. “Mr. Pye is long gone. Stonechurch knows that. I’m not going to find him following a cold trail already trampled by a succession of stagecoaches. I thought I’d learn more about the man starting tomorrow. Further, I want to speak to each of you alone. If you haven’t already been comparing stories, don’t start now. It will just muddy the waters.”
Hank said, “Dillon and me ain’t talked about much else since it happened so those waters are already stirred some.”
It was what Call had expected. “Who else have you spoken to about what happened?”
Hank held up a hand and began ticking off a list on his fingers. “Ma. My other brother. My sisters. Pa, of course.” He closed his fist and opened it again, one finger at a time. “The sheriff and Bobber Jordan. Bobber got sworn in as a deputy on account of him running up a bill at Sweeny’s and facing jail or working it off. I guess that’s it.” He looked at the two fingers he was holding up and remembered the five that had come before. “Seven. That’s all.”
Call looked at Dillon. “Anyone you want to add?”
“I’m thinkin’ our sisters probably told their husbandsand I guess Mr. Abernathy knows. He’s the druggist. He was jawin’ with Pa outside the mercantile when we told Pa all about it.”
“Oh, and Mrs. Scott,” said Hank, unfolding another finger. “I plum forgot that she came by.”
Sighing, Call’s gaze wandered around the table. “Perhaps a better question would be is there anyone in town whohasn’theard what happened here?” He was met with silence. “I see.”
“It’s a small town,” said Rooster. “Can’t be more than a couple hundred or so people hereabouts. Word was bound to get around.”
“Why is it important?” asked Laurel.
“Because Josiah Pye had help. It’d be a good thing to know if that person is one of your own or someone down the line. Just makes my job harder if there’s more than one version of the story making the rounds.”
Mrs. Lancaster chuckled. “By my count, the boys told at least eleven people. I can promise there are now eleven slightly different versions of the story, maybe more since they probably never told it the same way twice.”
Call nodded. “That is an excellent point.”
Laurel said, “No one from town was here the day the strongbox disappeared. I don’t see how Mr. Pye’s help could have come from anyone there.”
“And maybe it didn’t. I’m trying to keep my mind open to all possibilities.” He raised his eyebrows a fraction as he regarded the cook. “You don’t live here, do you, Mrs. Lancaster?”
“Oh, no. Seems as if I do sometimes, but no, I have a house in town and a grown daughter and son-in-law who live with me. Three grandchildren. Two girls and a boy, all of them little devils.” She said this last with an affectionate smile. The little devils were her pride and joy.
“Your husband is...?”
“Dead. I’ve been a widow these six years past.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. He survived the fighting and died two years later in his sleep. No rhyme or reason for it.”
Laurel said gently, “Mrs. Lancaster’s husband was a doctor. Since he died, the town’s had to go without. There are plenty of folks who still miss him.”
Mrs. Lancaster pressed her lips together, nodded at Laurel in appreciation of the sentiment. Aware that the turn in conversation had cast a pall over the table, she took a breath and released it with purpose. “Hank, I’m recollecting it’s your turn to help clear and wash.” She stood, gathered a few plates, and thrust them at Hank. “Let’s go and get this done.”
“I’ll help,” said Call, getting to his feet.
The cook shook her head. “Sit back down. It’ll be your turn soon enough. We do a rotation here. Everybody lends a hand.”
Call sat. His coffee was lukewarm now but he took a swallow anyway. “I stepped into that, didn’t I?”
Rooster said, “It would have come up sooner or later. Sometimes sooner is best.”
Dillon rested an elbow on the table and propped his head against his palm. “Just so you know, Hank and me sometimes stay here, sometimes we stay with our parents. Not always at the same time. Depends on what’s going on here. Ma likes to know we’re close by but not so close that she’s tripping over us. And you might as well know this, too. We ain’t had nothing to do with the robbery. Until we learned different, we thought Josey was a horse thief, and that made him no-account in our eyes. Sure, it bothers us that he robbed the stage, but it bothers us worse that he took Penelope. She was our responsibility so we take that personal.”
“Penelope?”
“The mare,” said Laurel.
