PART 2 — THE LEDGER SOMEONE TRIED TO STEAL

At dawn, Clara found something that made her even more uneasy.

The ledger had not simply fallen from the bed.

Someone had opened it.

The pages were spread to the section recording railway deliveries, and a narrow strip of paper had been tucked between two entries. Clara carefully pulled it free.

Three figures had been circled in pencil.

Ten sacks of flour billed. Six delivered.

Twelve crates of chicken billed. Seven delivered.

Forty pounds of lard billed. Twenty-five received.

Beside the figures, someone had written four words:

ASK WHO OWNS THE DIFFERENCE.

Clara read the message twice.

It wasn’t her handwriting.

She sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the depot wake around her. A door slammed. Someone called for a baggage cart. Outside, the first locomotive whistle sounded across the prairie.

Someone had entered her room, opened her mother’s ledger, and left her a warning.

But who?

And why had they chosen the very book Loel had spent years dismissing as a woman’s kitchen diary?

Clara tucked the paper into her apron and carried the ledger to the kitchen.

Nell was already lighting the stove.

“Did you hear anything last night?” Clara asked.

Nell looked up. “Only the wind. Why?”

“Did anyone come through the kitchen after midnight?”

The young helper hesitated.

“I heard the back door.”

“Who was it?”

“I couldn’t see. I was asleep in the little room near the pantry. But I heard someone say, ‘Not that one. The other book.'”

Clara went still.

“The other book?”

Nell nodded.

“Then I heard footsteps going toward the office.”

Clara glanced toward the front of the depot.

Loel kept several account books in his office. One recorded the railway concession’s official expenses. Another contained the cash sales. A third, according to Mrs. Ames, the former station cook, had disappeared months ago.

Clara had never thought much about it.

Now she wondered whether the missing book contained the answers to everything.

She was examining the ledger when Ethan entered carrying a sack of potatoes.

“Morning.”

“You’re early.”

“Your wagon wheel survived yesterday. I thought I’d see whether your temper had done the same.”

Clara gave him a tired look.

He set down the potatoes.

“Something happened.”

She showed him the open ledger and the mysterious note.

Ethan read it without speaking.

“Someone entered your room?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see who?”

“No.”

He studied the door.

“Then we need to find out who had a reason to come looking.”

Clara lowered her voice.

“I think Loel has been stealing from the railway account.”

Ethan looked at the invoices.

“These numbers certainly don’t look right.”

“He charged for supplies that never arrived. I wrote down every delivery because I learned long ago that if I didn’t keep my own records, nobody would remember what actually happened.”

“Could Loel have been taking the money?”

“He’s the manager. He’s the only one who signs the invoices.”

Ethan picked up the mysterious note again.

“Then why would someone else be warning you?”

Clara had no answer.

Before she could respond, Loel entered the kitchen.

His eyes went immediately to the ledger.

“Still playing accountant?”

Clara closed it.

“Just checking yesterday’s supplies.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“It becomes my concern when the kitchen is blamed for food that never arrived.”

Loel smiled thinly.

“Your job is to cook. Mine is to manage.”

“Then you should be able to explain why we paid for four extra sacks of flour.”

The smile disappeared.

“Where did you get that number?”

“From the invoice.”

Loel stepped closer.

“Give me the book.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Clara, I am warning you.”

“So am I.”

For a moment, neither moved.

Then Ethan came around the counter.

“She said no.”

Loel turned toward him.

“This is a family matter.”

“Funny. I thought it was a railway matter.”

“You should stay out of it, Cade.”

Ethan leaned against the counter.

“I might. But I don’t much care for men who threaten women because they ask where the flour went.”

Loel looked between them.

Then he straightened his vest and walked out.

Clara waited until the office door closed.

“That was foolish.”

“Probably.”

“You could lose your cattle contract over this.”

Ethan shrugged.

“Then I suppose I’d better make sure I have enough chicken to eat while I’m unemployed.”

Despite everything, Clara laughed.

It was brief, but real.

And Ethan seemed pleased that he had earned it.

At ten o’clock, a woman arrived from the telegraph office.

She was small, gray-haired, and carried a leather document case.

“Miss Bellamy?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Margaret Ames. I used to work at this station.”

Clara recognized her immediately.

Mrs. Ames had left Red Willow the previous winter after a disagreement with Loel.

“What brings you back?”

Margaret looked toward the office.

“I heard Superintendent Sloan is coming Thursday.”

“He is.”

“Then I believe you need to know what happened to the old account book.”

Clara’s fingers тιԍнтened around the ledger.

“What old account book?”

Margaret lowered her voice.

“The one that recorded every railway delivery for the last two years. Loel told everyone it had been lost in a flood.”

“Was it?”

“No.”

Margaret opened her document case and removed a folded letter.

“I kept this because I didn’t trust the explanation I was given.”

The letter was addressed to the railway’s regional purchasing office. It contained a complaint about missing supplies and altered invoices.

At the bottom was Margaret’s signature.

Clara looked up.

“You reported him?”

“I tried. But the complaint never reached the superintendent.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I sent a second copy by registered post. Three days later, Loel told me he had received a letter from the railway warning him about my accusations.”

Margaret’s face hardened.

“Someone had opened my first letter, copied it, and sent it back to him.”

Clara felt cold.

“Who could have done that?”

“Someone with access to the station mail.”

They both looked toward the telegraph office.

Margaret continued.

“I left because I refused to sign a false statement saying the deliveries were complete. Loel said I was confused. He told people I had become unreliable.”

Clara looked down at the figures in her ledger.

“How much was missing?”

Margaret shook her head.

“I don’t know the full amount. But I know it was enough to cost the railway thousands of dollars.”

“And the missing book?”

Margaret looked toward the window.

“I saw it last week.”

Clara stood.

“Where?”

“In the freight office. Behind the broken weighing scale.”

Before Clara could ask another question, a bell rang at the front counter.

A pᴀssenger wanted coffee.

Margaret closed her case.

“Don’t confront Loel without proof. He has friends in the district office, and he knows how to make a truthful person sound dishonest.”

She handed Clara the letter.

“Keep this safe.”

Then she left.

Clara watched her disappear down the platform.

Ethan came out of the dining room.

“Who was that?”

“Someone who tried to expose Loel before I did.”

He glanced at the letter.

“Looks like we have more than bad arithmetic.”

Clara nodded.

“And someone is still trying to keep the truth hidden.”

That afternoon, Clara and Ethan went to the freight office.

The old weighing scale stood against the back wall, its metal platform covered with dust.

Ethan shifted it aside.

Behind it was a narrow wooden compartment.

Inside lay a black account book.

Clara pulled it out carefully.

The cover was stained, but the pages were intact.

She opened it.

There were columns of deliveries, payments, signatures, and dates.

And beside nearly every missing shipment was the same set of initials:

L.B.

But something else caught her attention.

Several entries were marked with a second set of initials.

E.C.

Clara stared at them.

“E.C.”

Ethan leaned closer.

“Those aren’t mine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive. I’ve never signed a railway invoice.”

She turned another page.

The initials appeared again, followed by a short note:

Approved for transfer to Western Supply Company.

Clara frowned.

“Do you know that company?”

Ethan’s expression changed.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Where?”

“Cheyenne. It’s a freight brokerage. They buy and resell railway supplies.”

“Who owns it?”

“I don’t know.”

Clara turned to the final page.

A name had been written in large letters across the bottom.

THOMAS BELLAMY.

Her father’s name.

For a moment, the room seemed to tilt.

Her father had been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for six years.

He had worked as a freight clerk before becoming ill, and Loel had always claimed that Thomas had left the family with unpaid debts.

Clara looked at Ethan.

“Why would my father’s name be here?”

Ethan didn’t answer.

He was staring at the signature beneath it.

It was almost identical to the one on the old letter in Clara’s room.

Almost.

But the final letter was wrong.

Clara knew her father’s handwriting. She had watched him write birthday notes, shopping lists, and the recipes he had copied for her mother.

This signature was a careful imitation.

“Someone forged his name,” she whispered.

Ethan closed the book.

“Then your father may have been blamed for something he never did.”

Clara felt her throat тιԍнтen.

For six years, she had believed her father’s business troubles had left the family with nothing.

Her mother had died believing the same thing.

Now she wondered whether Thomas Bellamy had been used as a convenient name to hide someone else’s theft.

And whether Loel had known all along.

A voice sounded behind them.

“Put that book down.”

They turned.

Loel stood in the doorway.

His face was pale, and his hands were clenched at his sides.

“That belongs to the railway.”

Clara held the book close.

“Then why was it hidden behind a broken scale?”

“Because it was old and useless.”

“Your initials are all over it.”

Loel stepped forward.

“Give it to me.”

Clara didn’t move.

“Who is Thomas Bellamy?”

Loel stopped.

For the first time since she had known him, he looked genuinely afraid.

Then he said something that made Clara’s blood run cold.

“Your father was supposed to take the blame and leave this town.”

Ethan stepped between them.

“What did you say?”

Loel swallowed.

“Nothing. You heard nothing.”

But Clara had heard enough.

Her father hadn’t simply lost his position.

Someone had arranged for him to be blamed.

And Loel knew exactly who.