Two weeks ago, she’d made the connection between a visit from him and the subsequent fading of her father’s health. Her uncle had wanted something from his brother who’d refused to give it to him. The conclusion had been simple for her: Uncle William had gotten someone to poison Father.
When she’d told Nick, he’d agreed with her but said there was no way to prove it. Well, Frances meant to do just that. Now, while she drifted to sleep each night, she went over her memories of the weeks prior to her father’s collapse. She knew, eventually, she’d remember something important or make a connection that she’d missed.
Last night she’d dreamed again of her father handing her a letter of acceptance to a new music school in New York. The image of the letter kept flashing through her mind; she’d read it so many times it was imprinted on her memory. What was she supposed to remember?
Frances closed her eyes, forcing her taut muscles to relax. She held the image in her mind and allowed her mind’s eye to flow where it wanted. It drifted to the bottom of the second page. The letter he’d submitted with her application. Her mind went to her father’s signature. Why—
Another memory hit her, this one from the train ride to Wyoming when she and her two sisters had fled Indianapolis and the marriages their uncle had meant to force them into. For probably the hundredth time, the three of them had been commiserating how their father had left them in the care of his heartless brother. Their Aunt Hortense, though estranged from her brothers because of her marriage, would have been a better choice.
Frances popped open her eyes and blurted, “The will!”
The two men stopped whatever they’d been talking about and stared at her.
“What?” Nick asked.
“The will,” Frances repeated. She looked at Charles. “Is there any chance the people at the court would let your father take a photograph of my father’s will?”
He considered for a second before asking, “I imagine there are many pages in the document. What are you thinking?”
“It’s never made sense to any of us why Father would put anything in his will about Uncle William, much less make him the executor and give him custody of us.” Frances couldn’t keep her feet still, waiting for them to understand. “What if Father didn’t?”
“But I thought wills had to be probated in a court,” Nick said.
“Exactly. What if Uncle William bribed Father’s attorney to make changes to the will?” Her words now came out in a rush. “What if the signature is a forgery?”
Charles shook his head.
“How would we go about proving it?” Nick’s confidence in her conclusion let Frances unclench her hands, even as he said, “Your uncle’s had access to your father’s papers for nine months. Lancaster would be a fool not to have destroyed anything that didn’t support his claims.”
“What are you talking about? Tell me,” Charles demanded, all lawman now.
Frances glanced around them. She didn’t want to tell the world about her dream. Besides making her sound crazy, they’d all discovered the hard way how long Uncle William’s reach could be, even though he still lived in Indianapolis.
“How about we go to the sheriff’s office?” Nick suggested. “It’d mean crossing that dang muddy pit of a road though.”
“The hotel would be better.” Charles took each of them by the elbow. “Luke mentioned the two of you made some pretty good deductions about those animal attacks last month but kept them to yourselves. That needs to stop.”
“Don’t even try to tow me down the street like I’m a criminal,” Frances said, pulling loose from her brother-in-law’s grasp and turning to glare at him.
“Ain’t no one in Lilac City going to think you’re a criminal, Frances.” Nick grinned. “A wild woman, yes, but don’t you be worrying about that. Folks in Wyoming tend to take well to ladies with spunk.”
“I’m sorry.” Charles had dropped his hands. “We still need to talk. I just wish your brother were here. I wonder if I should bring in the sheriff.”
Frances exchanged glances with Nick who gave her an encouraging nod at the hotel. She headed down the boardwalk toward it. He was usually the only one she’d share her deductions with. He didn’t act like he thought she was crazy. At least if he did, he kept it to himself. It’d actually been him and his love of the Sherlock Holmes stories which had helped Frances to fine tune her deductions. She thought she’d gotten good at it.
Fortunately, the lunch crowd was done, so Charles was able to find them a table off to the side.
“You had lunch yet?” he asked, holding out a chair for Frances.
“Yes.” She purposefully chose a seat for herself and sat in it. She ignored the glance he exchanged with Nick.
“Just coffee for us,” Charles told the waitress.
“I’ll have hot chocolate.” Frances had learned to like the sweeter drink after her future sister-in-law, Judith, had first suggested it be served at the Lucky L Ranch.
“Do you have to be contrary about everything, Frances?” Charles asked when the waitress had gone.
* * *
