Page 33 of In These Hills

Nearly to the main road, a building set back from the boardwalk caught her eye, as did the man sitting out front whittling, watching her. Too far away to require conversation, thankfully, she offered a nod and kept moving past the jail, forcing herself to breathe evenly. The deputy—or sheriff—returned the gesture and continued to follow her progress.

The presence of law enforcement in this small town didn’t surprise her, but neither did it lend a sense of safety as it once would have. After turning the corner and finding no one behind her, she breathed easier. Lynchburg had no telegraph, which she would have considered antiquated before. Now it felt like a saving grace. Still, from now on she would keep to the far side of the square.

The main road followed a meandering creek, and as she walked east, private residences gradually gave way to rural businesses. She passed a tannery, the sharp stink reaching her before she spotted two men bent over a stretched hide. Then a cotton mill and gristmill, and finally a cotton gin. For all its size, Lynchburg lacked no industry.

After fifteen minutes, she spotted a small, wood-framed saltbox cottage with a front porch up ahead on the right. Massive oaks arched above it, lending the place a sheltered, homey feel.

A shingle hung from the porch ceiling—

JACK DANIEL DIST.

LYNCHBURG, TENN.

Jack Daniel Distributors. Not Jasper, as he’d introduced himself last evening. A nickname, perhaps. Or maybe the owner was a relative and he ran the business.

Wondering what kind of business it was, she guessed a successful one, judging by the numerous larger outbuildings dotting the acreage. What Miss Mary hadn’t told her was that the house was situated by a cave. Hearing the faint melody of water and feeling her throat go dry, Josephine couldn’t resist.

As she neared the mouth of the cave, cool air greeted her. Lush ferns and shade-loving moss clung to stacks of damp, layered rock supporting the bluff, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted toward her. Spring water spilled from the cave into a small pool before continuing in a streambed to outbuildings beyond.

Josephine leaned over the rocky ledge, cupped her hands, and drank. The water, cold and clear, revived her. She peered into the cave, but darkness swallowed the view, as though guarding secrets. If she and Todd had ventured upon such a place in their younger years, they would have explored without hesitation. So much of her life had died with him.

Unbidden, the memory rose of standing beside him in church—Todd’s rich baritone lifting his favorite hymn: Nearer, my God, to thee . . . But she pushed it away. Both the memory, and the hymn. Yearning to be nearer to God was not foremost in her thoughts right now. But it had been in Todd’s, especially near the end. He’d often spoken of feeling God’s direct nudges, moments of unmistakable guidance. She’d never fully understood it, nor experienced anything so certain.

Now she wished she’d asked him more, and wondered if she’d missed something that might have shed light on his death. His murder.

She regretted not hugging him goodbye that last night as he’d rushed out to a meeting, troubled by something that had happened. How many times had she urged him to meet at the house, where she could at least know the men he worked with—his partners in crime, as she’d teasingly called them. But he had always insisted on meeting elsewhere.

In moments like this, she still felt like half of herself was missing, reaching for someone who wasn’t there anymore. And never would be again. Would it always be this way?

The sharp clang of iron on iron carried toward her from an outbuilding and reverberated in the cave. Sensing the clock ticking . . .

She hurried back to the little white house and stepped up to the porch. Hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Miss Mary had said knocking wasn’t necessary, but propriety—and the need to make a good first impression—argued otherwise.

After checking her hair in the front window, she squared her shoulders, summoned the confidence she’d once worn with ease, and knocked.

14

HEARING A MUFFLED RESPONSE FROM INSIDE, Josephine entered, unsurprised to find the man behind the desk was, indeed, the same gentleman she’d met in the library the night before.

“Good day, Mr. Daniel . . .” She closed the door behind her, her attention drawn to the utter derangement of ledgers and paperwork stacked precariously on his desk and a nearby farm table. She quickly returned her gaze to his, careful to mask any hint of disapproval. Miss Mary had been right—his office was a mess. And yet the man himself was, once again, immaculately dressed.

“I wager you did not expect to see me again so soon, sir.”

Already on his feet, he rounded the desk and offered a brief bow. “The pleasure only dared linger at the edge of my sincerest wishes, Mrs. Dunham.”

He remembered my name. Whether that would work in her favor remained to be seen.

“Please, have a seat.” He indicated one of the straight-backed chairs facing his desk, and she gratefully accepted, still sore from yesterday. “Pray tell, madam, do reveal what brings you to my office on this fine Thursday morning.”

She fingered the envelope in her lap, aware of his gaze flitting to it as he reclaimed his seat. Yet she felt the need to speak first before giving Miss Mary the floor. Especially not knowing what the note held. “As you’ve likely assumed, Mr. Daniel, given the state in which I arrived at the inn last evening—” She briefly touched the side of her face. “My current situation is . . . precarious at best and—”

“Let’s tug on those reins for just a minute, Mrs. Dunham, if you would.”

Her stomach sank.

“While some folks race like the dickens to form first impressions,” he continued, “I am not one of them.” A slow smile curved his mouth, one that seemed very much at home on his face. “It will come as a great surprise to you, I’m sure, that throughout my life, certain people, upon first meeting me, have formed swift and—may I daresay—faulty opinions based on what they see.” His eyes narrowed with a glint of wicked humor. “Must be my five-foot-two strappin’ good looks and commanding appearance that skew their reasoning.”

Josephine couldn’t help but smile. “That misstep is to their utmost detriment, I would imagine. And even hope,” she added in a stage whisper and appreciated the warmth in his expression.