Then turned toward Nola.
“You knew they were coming?”
“I hoped.”
“You did not tell me.”
“You would have ruined it.”
“I am starting to dislike how often that is true.”
“Good.”
Dr. Merritt entered.
His eyes went immediately toward Wren.
“Well.”
Wren glared.
Merritt looked toward the medicine bag.
Then the burned paper.
Then toward Nola.
“You must be the apothecary girl.”
Nola frowned.
“I’m twenty-five.”
Merritt stared.
“I didn’t ask.”
Garrick laughed.
Wrong moment.
Still happened.
The burned page survived enough.
That was all investigators needed to begin.
Crow’s initials.
Dates.
Payments.
References to “tonic deliveries.”
Mae Hale’s name abbreviated.
Another notation beside Weston’s.
The doctor’s ledger contained more.
Not direct confession.
Criminals rarely wrote “murder” in their books.
But enough patterns.
Payment dates matching medical visits.
Crow’s bank drafts.
Special preparations.
Landowners later selling property at extreme discounts after family illnesses.
The territorial marshals had already been investigating Crow for fraudulent land acquisitions.
Hollow Creek connected pieces they lacked.
By dusk, Wren was in custody.
Pike too.
Crow had not yet arrived for the sale.
When he did, he found three territorial officers waiting in Garrick’s kitchen.
He stopped in the doorway.
For one extraordinary second, nobody spoke.
Then Crow looked toward Garrick.
Understanding crossed his face.
“You.”
Garrick stood.
“No.”
He pointed toward Nola.
“Her.”
Nola raised an eyebrow.
Crow looked at her.
The contempt on his face transformed into hatred.
“You.”
“Yes.”
The lead marshal stepped forward.
“Vernon Crow.”
“We need to discuss your financial relationship with Dr. Silas Wren.”
Crow recovered quickly.
“I pay physicians.”
“For workers.”
“Neighbors.”
“Charity.”
Nola smiled.
“You are famous for charity.”
Crow looked toward her.
“You think this ranch survives without me?”
Garrick answered:
“It survived you trying to kill it.”
Crow’s face hardened.
“No one can prove that.”
Dr. Merritt spoke from the corner.
“Perhaps.”
Crow noticed him.
Not good.
The marshal held up the partially burned paper.
“Perhaps not yet.”
Crow looked toward Pike.
The deputy looked away.
That was the moment Crow realized control had left the room.
He did not fight.
Men like him rarely fought when physical defeat became obvious.
They fought later.
Through lawyers.
Banks.
Names.
Influence.
He allowed the marshals to take him.
As he passed Garrick, he whispered:
“You still lose the ranch.”
Garrick’s jaw tightened.
Crow smiled.
“The bank note is real.”
Then he left.
Nola looked toward Garrick.
His face fell.
Because Crow was right.
Justice did not erase debt.
The days after the arrests were almost disappointing.
No triumphant music.
No sudden wealth.
The barn roof still leaked.