PART 2 — THE SECRET HIDDEN IN CLEMENTINE’S SKILLET

For several long seconds, nobody moved.

The mountain wind swept across Gideon Hayes’s porch, carrying the smell of melting snow and pine needles.

Deputy Marshal Josiah Reed stared at the Winchester in Gideon’s hands.

The two Pinkerton detectives had already loosened their revolvers.

And Clementine Higgins stood in the doorway, refusing to lower her eyes.

“Put the rifle down, Hayes,” Reed ordered. “Nobody needs to get hurt.”

“Then tell your men to keep their hands where I can see them.”

Reed hesitated before raising one hand toward the detectives.

“Easy, gentlemen.”

Clementine stepped forward.

“You say my husband accused me of stealing eight thousand dollars?”

“That’s what the sworn statement says.”

“Then your sworn statement is missing something.”

The marshal narrowed his eyes.

“And what would that be?”

Clementine looked toward the old cast-iron skillet resting beside the kitchen stove.

“The truth about why Amos left me in that snow.”

Gideon glanced at her.

He had heard Clementine describe her husband’s cruelty, but something in her voice told him there was more.

Much more.

“Amos was carrying the mining company’s payroll,” Clementine continued. “He told everyone the money belonged to his employer. But three nights before he abandoned me, I heard him arguing with another man.”

“What man?” Reed demanded.

“A fellow named Victor Shaw. Tall, narrow-faced, with a silver tooth.”

One of the Pinkertons suddenly shifted in his saddle.

It was a small movement.

But Gideon noticed.

Clementine noticed too.

“They were discussing a second shipment,” she said. “And Amos told Shaw that the company would never discover what happened if the records disappeared.”

Reed slowly turned toward his companions.

“Either of you know a Victor Shaw?”

The taller detective answered immediately.

“Common name.”

But the wiry man remained silent.

Clementine continued.

“That night, Amos came back to our wagon carrying a leather satchel. He thought I was asleep. I watched him remove several papers and burn them.”

“Did you see what was written?”

“Only a few words. Meyer Brothers. Payroll transfer. And a date.”

Reed folded his arms.

“That doesn’t prove your husband stole anything.”

“No,” Clementine replied. “But this might.”

She disappeared into the cabin.

Gideon kept his rifle steady.

When Clementine returned, she carried the battered skillet she had clutched while freezing in the mountains.

She turned it upside down.

A small section of the wooden handle had been hollowed out and sealed with dark wax.

Gideon stared.

He had eaten hundreds of meals from that skillet without knowing it concealed anything.

Clementine took a thin kitchen knife and carefully loosened the wax.

A тιԍнтly rolled piece of paper slipped into her palm.

“Amos thought I was too foolish to understand his business,” she whispered. “But I learned to read account books in New Orleans.”

She handed the paper to Reed.

The marshal unfolded it.

His expression changed.

It was a handwritten receipt acknowledging the transfer of eight thousand dollars to Victor Shaw.

At the bottom were two signatures.

One belonged to Amos Higgins.

The other belonged to a man named Nathaniel Price.

Reed looked up sharply.

Nathaniel Price was the name of the wiry Pinkerton standing beside him.

For a moment, the clearing fell completely silent.

Then Price reached for his revolver.

Gideon’s Winchester cracked through the morning air.

The bullet struck the wooden saddle horn inches from Price’s hand, sending splinters flying.

“Don’t,” Gideon warned.

Price froze.

Reed drew his own revolver and pointed it directly at the detective.

“Hands up, Price.”

The other Pinkerton backed away, stunned.

Price slowly raised both hands.

But his face held something more dangerous than fear.

It held certainty.

“You have no idea what you’ve stepped into,” he told Reed.

The marshal dismounted and took Price’s weapon.

“Then perhaps you’d better explain.”

Price smiled bitterly.

“You think Amos Higgins invented this scheme?”

He looked directly at Clementine.

“That woman was supposed to disappear before winter ended.”

Gideon felt the blood drain from his face.

Clementine gripped the porch railing.

Price leaned forward.

“And when the men paying us discover she’s still alive, they won’t send three riders next time.”

To be continued in Part 3.