Page 22 of Justin's Bride

But right now, he didn't have a choice. There was a dead girl buried by the church and no one to bring her killer to

justice but him. That was more important than any woman, or any feelings either he or Megan might have.

He opened the door and stepped inside the store. As the door slammed shut behind him, he heard the faint tinkling of a bell. Despite the big windows in front and spaced on the sides, it was dimmer inside than out and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Before he could see all the merchandise in her store, he could smell it. Leathers and perfumes, burning wood, tobacco, coffee, salt brine from the barrels along the wall, and underlying it all, exotic spices. He inhaled deeply, remembering how, as a child, he'd loved visiting the general store. Old man Bartlett had chased him out quick enough, fearing the young Kincaid boy was as likely to steal as a cow is to eat hay. So his trips had been furtive, planned out in detail as he tried to enter hidden by the full skirt of some respected matron. He took great pride in the fact that he had never stolen anything, despite his reputation. All these years later, when he had every right to be in the store, he couldn't quite shake the urge to look over his shoulder.

Although the bounty of the store was similar to what he remembered it had in the past, Megan had changed the organization. Instead of a hodgepodge of goods piled around, she had rows of neatly stacked items for sale. Bolts of fabric were at the front of the store, along with tables of pattern books and magazines. Behind them were the household goods. Dishes, steel knives, pans, pails, brooms. There was even an adult-size coffin tucked under a table. Display cases down the center of the store held jewelry and pistols. On the left of the room was the food. Barrels and bags, jars, tins, boxes. A dozen or so customers filled the aisles.

"Good afternoon, Justin. Have you come to see me?"

He turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Widow Dobson sitting behind a desk by the front window. Her black dress, different from the one she'd worn yesterday, but no less severe, clung to her generous form. The buttons over her mammoth bosom seemed to test the strength of the fabric.

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Not specifically," he said. "But I do have a few questions.' ' He motioned to the store. "If you're done with your shopping."

She cackled gleefully. "I'm not shopping, I'm working." She spread out several letters in front of her. "Should I be looking for mail for you?"

Of course. She ran the small Landing post office. He shook his head. "No. I'm not expecting any letters."

Her bright green eyes danced. "We can always hope. From a young lady, perhaps?"

Just what he needed. A matchmaking, meddling old woman spreading gossip about his correspondence. A sharp retort sprang to his lips, but he held it back. He reminded himself again that Mrs. Dobson had been kind to his mother. He owed her for that.

"How is my kitten?" she asked, leaning forward and resting her bosom on the table. It smothered some of the letters and pushed others aside. He wondered if Mr. Dob-son had ever felt inadequate at the sight of such largesse.

Kitten? He stiffened. The one he'd given to Megan last night. "She's fine."

"It's puzzling," she said. "Megan came in this morning with a kitten. Just like the one I gave you. I didn't know you and Megan were acquainted."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he scented danger. The older woman could make trouble for Megan. He didn't trust her with the truth, so all that was left was a bluff. Slowly, he reached up and removed his hat. He slapped it against his thigh, then met the woman's gaze. "I'm sure I don't know anything about that."

Her green eyes narrowed as she studied him. He waited to see if she would call him on the lie. Instead, Mrs. Dobson leaned back and straightened the pile of letters. "I see. You said you had some questions for me. What are they?"

"I'm investigating a murder that occurred here last month. One of the saloon girls was beaten and left on the edge of town. Do you know anything about that?"

Mrs. Dobson stood and glared at him. "Because I know you didn't mean to insult me with that question, I will pre-

tend I never heard it. I'll ask you to go on about your business."