Mark

Early on Friday morning, Mark rode his horse into town, turning south onto Main Street. He wanted to get a jump on the day’s work and started out at sunrise. It wasn’t really the work that motivated him, but he found it was more pleasant since Rhona had begun working at the Candle. He’d had an idea late last night. If the paper was nearly finished, might he be able to have lunch with Rhona? He’d take her to Graham’s Grub, so she wouldn’t be distracted by her large family or be put to work.

Mama M hovered in the air in front of him, bringing his attention back to the moment. Her feet were several inches above the ground, and her head was bowed. It was her hands folded across her chest that caught his attention. It looked so much like grief.

That’s when Mark noticed where she was looking and pulled up hard on his reins. A man lay in the road. He didn’t notice any movement. In anticipation and dread, he jumped from the saddle and ran to the man. The man was either drunk or dead. Mark kneeled beside him and rolled him over as Mama M floated to his side.

Another angel, who seemed to radiate light as black as the inky night sky, joined Mama M, standing in the air beside her. “Death has come for him,” she said solemnly.

Death knelt on the other side of the man and looked into his face. “Hey, Pete. Time you come along with me.” There was veneration in the angel’s voice. His silver hair hung behind his neck, tied back with a strap of gold. He wore overalls and thick boots like a miner would. He pushed a tear from his eye. Then he slipped his hands beneath the man, lifting his soul as he stood and cradling it in his arms. “I think you could use a little rest about now, my friend.”

Black wings unfurled from behind Death. The tips were far above his head, and the tail of them hung on the ground several feet after him. From bended knees, he stamped one foot and blasted into the sky.

“Who’s that there, Mark?”

The voice shattered the moment of peace. Mark jolted and spun around. Could KC see the angels too? But Mama M was also gone. Marshal KC’s horse walked slowly up next to him, and Mark could tell KC was asking about the body.

“Never seen the man before, but he’s dead.” Mark had always thought death was a fearful thing. Seeing the angel’s tenderness and hearing him call Pete by name gave Mark a profound reverence about the event.

“Just like the others.” KC dismounted and knelt on the other side, where Death had been. “I wonder who he is.”

Mark had reported about the other three dead bodies in town. Standing beside this man made the events more than just a story—he felt a loss for the man he hadn’t known in life. Although Mark new Pete’s name, this wasn’t the time to offer that information or to come up with an explanation about how he came to that knowledge. “I guess I’ll be reporting about another mysterious death.”

“There’s not much to tell. We don’t know who they are or what happened.” KC pinned Mark with a stern look. “We don’t need folks getting stirred up when we don’t have any answers about what’s happening.

Mark considered the changes he’d have to make. “This is going in tomorrow’s paper. Probably front page.” KC began to open his mouth, and Mark added, “Freedom of the press. The community has a right to know that they should watch out for themselves.”

“You can’t tell me anyone living here thinks Creede’s a safe place,” KC said dryly.

“No, I can’t say that.” Although he didn’t cinch on a gun belt over his trousers like many in town, he had a pistol in his pocket. He knew exactly the kind of place where he lived. “But I’m printing it just the same.” He’d always looked at the crime in the city with one eye toward the news. This time, his heart was engulfed with worry for Rhona. He had hoped it was over, but it wasn’t.

KC interrupted his thoughts. “I thought you might say that. Right now, you’re the only suspect.”

“How do you figure?”

“Here you are. He’s dead. No one else around.” KC pointed at him. “Suspect.”

Mark stood, and KC followed. “No, you don’t,” Mark said. “You’ve had other dead bodies. I was heading to work and stopped to help someone I thought was a drunk.”

“Well, you’re not an official suspect—yet.” KC pushed out a deep breath. “I came here because the road boss reported the corpse a while ago. He went on to get the undertaker. I’m glad you’re the one who came upon him next.”

“Do you have any clues about what’s going on?”

KC shook his head, a tight expression on his face. The undertaker pulled up next to them and retrieved the body with KC’s and Mark’s help. After he drove off, KC said, “Doc JT is trying to figure out what killed them. Might be best if you don’t get mixed up in this.”

Mark smiled. “Might be.”

The men eyed each other, then swung into their saddles and left.

Mark entered the print shop and roused the fire. He pulled some lettering and began re-setting a new front page for Saturday’s edition. He didn’t know a lot of facts, but he’d give the ones he had, which included his eye-witness account.

Then he went to the Hearth and Home and ordered up some breakfast. A little family came downstairs to eat just as Rhona brought Mark’s meal in. As the father chased the twin boys, the mother approached an empty table. Mark pulled out her chair for her and tipped his hat to her approaching husband, a squirming boy being carried under each arm.

Rhona was standing at his seat when he returned. “Enjoy your breakfast,” she said with a wink.

Mark finished eating, and Isla came to take his plate away. A penny sat underneath it. “Is that yours?” he asked.

“Under your plate? I think not.”

Rhona was ready to walk to work. He’d taken his time, so he’d be there when she left. “May I escort you?” he asked her.

“That’s possibly very nice of you.” She had a suspicious look to the set of her beautiful eyes. “How convenient that you came for breakfast again. That’s two days in a row?”

He extended his arm, and they walked together to the printing shop. He liked the feeling of her hand on his arm and the brush of her skirt against his pant leg.

They both got right to work. Although Rhona had set the type for the front page the day before, it needed to be reworked for the new story. He pulled more letters that he needed and placed them in a composing stick for the headline, “Four Dead Bodies.”

Rhona worked on an article about the dresses Vivian Morgan made. After she blocked it, she set in on the counter beside Mark and saw the changes he was making. “There was another one?” she said over Mark’s shoulder. That means another person died today. How did you find out about the new one?”

“I came to work early this morning and came across him even before KC got there.”

“I’m sorry.” She patted his shoulder.

He knew he only imagined the warmth of it, but it seemed to travel right to his chest, and his heart grew.

“Thanks. We still don’t know much—just that it’s the same as the others. Doctor JT is trying to figure it out but hasn’t said.”

They worked on different projects. He was surprised how quickly the work got done with competent help. A quarter till noon, Mark turned to Rhona. “If you don’t mind putting lunch off awhile, I think we could get the paper nearly done before we eat. I’ll make you a deal. You stay and help a little longer, and I’ll buy you lunch. It would sure be worth it to me.”

“It’s a deal.” Her smile and eyes brightened. “I wondered if I could go to Hearth and Home for an hour or so on Wednesday to see the interviews for the arranged marriages Mrs. D’Arcy is putting together.”

“Sounds like a great article for next week.”

It took another hour to finish up. The last article he typeset was about more counterfeit money being found in town. Creede certainly had its mysteries. Mark had anxiously watched each minute tick by. “I’m ready when you are.”

She got her coat from the peg and pulled it on. “You didn’t have to offer me lunch to stay and work. You’re the boss. You give me an assignment, and I do it. Perhaps you had other motives.” She smiled and batted her eyes with exaggeration.

Mark’s chest tightened. Had she figured out what he was up to?

“Did you really want to finish the paper?” She paused, and Mark’s guilty heart raced. “Or did you just want to take me to lunch?” She rested her hand on his offered arm.

She knew. He’d confess and see where the chips would fall. He regretted nothing. “You caught me,” he said.

She winked and laughed. “Not yet.” Then she hugged his arm. “Let’s eat.”

As they walked down the street, Mark felt six inches taller. He wanted everyone in Creede to see Rhona at his side. So, that’s what it would be like to marry a smart woman. She was always a step or two ahead of you. Marry? Why was he thinking about that? He had to admit the idea was a surprise but a pleasant one. Had she ever thought of him and marriage at the same time? He hoped so.

They were seated by a window. Mark knew they’d be able to look up East Willow Creek Canyon from there, but he liked the view across the table much better. “Tell me about your home in Scotland.”

Mark noticed a shadow overtake her expression, but then, as if she pushed it away, she smiled and said, “I grew up in the most beautiful town imaginable—Crawton. It’s small and right on the coast, so many of the men are fishermen. If they don’t do that, they farm.” Her accent grew richer as she continued to speak.

He liked the way her eyes helped tell the story. Her eyebrows lifted when she said, “Crawton,” and she leaned across the table toward him.

“There’s a lot of coastline around Scotland. Which part is yours?” He wanted to hear her voice more.

“A little south of Aberdeen. That’s the thing. It’s truly unremarkable compared to the rest of Scotland. The coast is not so different from the rest of the country with tall, craggy cliffs. We had a little harbor, though, and could launch small boats. We had a castle of sorts—Dunnottar Castle. It’s a lonesome place perched right on the top of the cliffs with only a narrow neck of land that connects its rocky headland to the country.”

He loved the sound of her Rs rolling and the quick pace at which her words spilled out. “That’s very interesting.” Their meals were set before them in the lull of the conversation.

“That’s not the half of it. Everyone round about is proud of its checkered past. Two hundred years ago, the earl lost his wealth because he supported the Jacobite uprising, and the castle fell into disrepair. A hundred years before that, the Scottish Crown Jewels were hidden there to keep them out of Cromwell’s greedy hands. It’s full of grandeur and history, rebellion and defeat—very Scottish. We’re rightfully proud of the old ruins.” She laughed.

“Why would you leave?”

Her smile left her face, and she folded her arms around her middle. Mark regretted asking the question.

“The fishing stopped. The farms went broke, and so did the rest of the town. For a place with a history of eight hundred years, it was spent and dying.”

There was silence for a long moment. Mark was glad they’d come late to the midday meal because there were few other customers in the room. “Rhona?” Her eyes locked with his. “I’m glad you left.” The honesty he felt at that emotion stunned him. Could she feel it too? He looked for evidence and thought he saw tears pooling in her eyes.

“Thank you, Mark. I am too.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her finger. “Shall we head back now? That will give me an excuse to hold your arm.”

“By all means.” He jumped up and pulled her chair back, then strolled with her to the shop.

It felt right to be with her. There was an ease when they were together—something that surprised him. He hadn’t thought that possible before he hired her. He wanted to learn more about her. Hearing a bit had given him pieces, and he wanted to put them all together.

The newspaper went out early the next morning. The article about the deaths was short, and Mark left off the locations where the bodies were found in case that was a part of the investigation KC would rather not have told.

On Sunday, Mark decided to attend Reverend Bing’s services since that’s where Paul would be. During the lunch that followed the Sunday service and the men whittling as the women quilted, Mark sat next to Paul von Hemberg. Paul often advertised in the Candle. He had the biggest freight business, serving Creede and Lake City. If anyone knew the competition, he would. “I saw a delivery the other day, and I couldn’t figure out who owned the company. Maybe you have an idea.”

“Maybe.” Paul tore open a roll and buttered both sides. “What’d you see?”

“It was nighttime, so I didn’t see much. But it looked like the freight wagon was painted a dark color. There wasn’t any writing on the sides or the tailgate.”

Paul had stopped chewing, and he put his roll on his plate. “Was it a Studebaker wagon with thick wheels?” His voice was low enough that no one else would be able to hear their conversation.

Mark caught the tension in his voice and looked around. “Yeah, it looked pretty sturdy.”

“They’re likely bootleggers. They make and sell rotgut alcohol. They’re not reputable, but it’s cheap. They say it’s made of dynamite, old miners’ boots, and black coffee for color. No one knows what’s really in it.”

“Guess that makes sense why they don’t advertise.” Mark stabbed a boiled potato, breaking it in half.

“Don’t expect business from that lot.” Paul shook his head.

The men returned to eating, but Mark’s mind whirled with the possibility. The wagon delivered an order to the Frog Knees Saloon. Ab Helm sent some intimidation Mark’s way for noticing. He probably didn’t want his saloon’s reputation tarnished.

On Monday morning, Mark rode to his shop with his full attention on the roads and the sides. It wasn’t that he wanted to find another dead body but just the opposite. He wouldn’t want to pass up a person who needed help. He was relieved when he entered his shop and started preparing for the day. As he stepped out later to go to Hearth and Home for breakfast, he noticed Rio Lopez’s crew doing some maintenance on Main Street and walked over to him.

“We’ve had a few crazy days on the roads. Everything all right now?” Mark asked.

“There weren’t any new bodies yesterday or today.” Rio pushed his dark hair away from his face and put his cowboy hat back on. “I hope we’ve seen the last of it.”

“Where were they?” Mark asked. “I know the one I saw was over there, but where were the others?”

“The first one we found was headed north toward Bachelor. The second one was near the train depot. And the third one was at the other end of Main in front of the theater.”

But none in the wee hours of Sunday or Monday. Why? What was different about those times? “I hope that’s over,” Mark said.

“You and me both.”