She knelt as far as comfortably possible.
Ran her fingers along the planks.
One board near the large kneading table showed newer nails.
“Here.”
Caleb crouched.
He took out his knife.
Worked beneath the edge.
The board lifted.
Below was a shallow cavity.
Inside:
A leather ledger.
A packet of letters.
A small metal cashbox.
Abigail stared.
“My God.”
Caleb lifted the ledger.
Before he opened it, the front door rattled.
Both froze.
Someone entered the bakery.
Caleb pushed Abigail gently behind the storeroom wall.
He drew his revolver.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Then a voice:
“Abigail?”
She recognized it.
Horace Bell.
Caleb’s eyes hardened.
Bell continued.
“I saw the door open.”
No answer.
Footsteps closer.
Caleb motioned for Abigail to stay.
She ignored him and stepped out.
Bell stopped.
For one second all three simply looked at each other.
Then Bell smiled.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“Mr. Bell.”
His eyes moved toward the lifted floorboard.
The smile vanished.
“What are you doing?”
Abigail held up the ledger.
“My father left me a wedding gift.”
Bell’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“That belongs to the bakery.”
“The bakery belongs to my father’s estate.”
“Which belongs to the bank until the debt is settled.”
Caleb stepped into view.
“Debt’ll be paid.”
Bell glanced at his gun.
Then back at Abigail.
“You should be on your way to Black Ridge.”
“We forgot something.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
Bell stared.
Abigail opened the ledger.
Columns.
Names.
Dates.
Loan numbers.
Property transfers.
She recognized several local families.
Carson.
Mills.
Hayward.
Grant.
Beside each:
FORECLOSURE.
Then an amount.
Then:
WRH.
Western Range Holdings.
Her hands began shaking.
Caleb looked over her shoulder.
Bell said:
“You have no idea what you’re reading.”
Abigail turned a page.
Then another.
At the bottom of one:
MERCER—TX.
Caleb’s breath stopped.
Bell moved.
Fast.
Toward the ledger.