The Elusive Heiress Read online

  “So why does that bother you?” Ned asked. “You said that there was some pressure to hurry with the investigation.”

  “He told Hannah that Mr. Winthrop was feeling much worse. Hannah was pretty concerned. She seems to feel Mr. Mathews was hinting that Mr. Winthrop might not live too much longer and must draw up his final will soon. If I can’t find his daughter, she will be left out of it.” “Gee, that does make it rough,” Ned sympathized. “What are you going to do?”

  Nancy stopped and looked up at him. “I won’t know till tomorrow, after I talk to Mr. Webber. If he can’t give me a clue on Clarinda’s whereabouts, I guess I’ll just have to try the other names on Grace’s list.”

  “Well, I’m sure you will find her if anyone can, so don’t worry about tomorrow,” Ned reassured her. “And I know that’s what your father would tell you if you asked him.”

  Nancy stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “You’re sweet,” she told him. “Thank you for the reassurance. I just feel that I haven’t accomplished a single thing since we arrived.” “We still have Jennifer safe and sound,” Ned reminded her, “and with the mustached man and his blond friend after her, that’s a pretty big accomplishment.”

  “And tomorrow I really start my search for Clarinda Winthrop,” Nancy agreed, feeling restored by Ned’s faith in her. “Let’s just hope Mr. Webber can offer us a real clue.”

  9. Clues

  The morning was as bright and sunny as Saturday had been and, though it was very early to be going out, Nancy couldn’t help feeling a glow of hope. Still, as they drove away from Grace’s house, she kept checking over her shoulder to make sure that there was no blue car following them.

  Once downtown, however, she forgot all about the threat. Music filled the air and when they’d parked the car and made their way through the throng, the scent of flapjacks and ham made her stomach rumble with anticipation.

  Hay bales had been set out for use as tables and chairs, and there were lines of hungry people waiting to be served. They joined the nearest line and were soon chatting with the other early risers who were listening to the country-western music of a small band that stood on a flatbed truck.

  Once their plates were heaped with ham and flapjacks laced with syrup, and they each had a cup of milk or coffee, Grace led them away from the crowded bales. “Joshua has reserved a bale for us,” she said. “He’ll be joining us in a little while.”

  “No rush,” Nancy said. “It may be unprofessional, but at the moment I want to give this food my full attention. I don’t know when I’ve been so hungry.”

  “That’s what you said last night when we sat down to dinner,” Jennifer teased.

  “It must be the altitude,” Nancy answered, giggling.

  Their plates were almost empty by the time a tall, thin, elderly man came toward them. Since he wore an apron, Nancy guessed at once that this was Mr. Webber. Grace’s introduction confirmed it and Mr. Webber sank down on the bale with a sigh.

  “I swear my feet get more tired every year,” he said.

  “You could retire from the chuckwagon committee,” Grace told him unsympathetically.

  “And miss all the fun?” Mr. Webber chuckled. “I’ll just complain a little and eat my breakfast, then I’ll be fine.”

  Though she was anxious to question the man, Nancy took the hint and said nothing about her investigation till he’d finished his breakfast and was sipping his coffee. His dark eyes turned her way then and he smiled pleasantly.

  “Well, Miss Drew, Grace tells me that you have some questions about someone who might once have worked for me or my father in the store. I didn’t recognize the name she gave me, but if you could tell me what she looked like, maybe I’d remember. I’m better at faces than names—especially from so long ago.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Nancy told him, taking the photographs out of her sweater pocket. “This is the girl I’m trying to find. Clarinda Winthrop.”

  There was a long silence as Mr. Webber studied first one, then the other photograph; then he shook his head. Nancy’s heart sank.

  You don’t recognize her?” she asked when he handed the two photographs back to her.

  “That’s not Clarinda Winthrop,” Mr. Webber stated flatly. “That is Lindy Thorpe. She worked for us for a couple of years. Right up till her fiancé came back from the war.”

  “What?” Nancy just stared at the man, unable to believe her ears.

  “She was a right nice girl, Miss Drew, and a hard worker. We were real sorry when she quit her job.”

  “Do you know where she went after she quit?” Nancy asked, collecting her wits quickly.

  “Sure. Her husband had a ranch about twenty-five miles out of town. They were going to live out there and it was too far for her to drive in to work in the winter.” Mr. Webber sipped his coffee.

  “And is she still living there?” Nancy pressed, excitement bubbling through her as she began to sense that she was perhaps closer to her quarry than she had imagined.

  “What was her husband’s name?” Grace asked before Mr. Webber could answer.

  “Catlin. Leroy Catlin.” Mr. Webber’s smile faded. “And no, I’m not sure where she is, but I don’t think she’s still living in Cheyenne.

  I haven’t seen or heard anything about her in . . . oh, it must be close to thirty years.”

  “But. . .” Nancy began. However, before she could go on, someone shouted to Mr. Webber from the serving line area and he got reluctantly to his feet.

  “Guess they can’t get along without me,” he observed with a wry smile. “I hope I’ve helped you, Miss Drew. I’m sorry I can’t give you more current information.”

  Nancy hurried to thank him for his assistance, but once he was gone, she sank down on the hay bale with a sigh. “Thirty years ago,” she murmured to herself. “How in the world am I going to find out where she went next?” Grace patted her hand reassuringly. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where she went, but I can tell you why she left Cheyenne,” she said. “What?”

  “Well, T may not have all the details, but when Joshua mentioned the name Leroy Catlin ... I had no idea that your missing heiress was Mrs. Leroy Catlin, Nancy.”

  “Did you know the Catlins, Grace?” Nancy asked, her spirits reviving considerably.

  “Well, not personally, but I do remember that there was a terrible scandal about them and it must have been about thirty years ago. It seems that there was a spectacular bank robbery about that time, and during the investigation, sacks of money and checks were found hidden on the Catlin ranch.”

  “A bank robbery?” Nancy gasped.

  “Mr. Catlin always maintained his innocence, but his wife was the only one who was with him the day the robbery took place, so he was considered a suspect anyway. There was a terrible fuss in town and some people were talking about going out to arrest him themselves if the sheriff wouldn’t do it.” Grace shook her head.

  “How horrible,” Nancy murmured. “Did they put him in jail?”

  “They never got the chance,” Grace replied. “The Catlins just packed up a few of their belongings and disappeared one night. As far as I know, no one has ever heard from them again.” “You mean they ran away?’’ Nancy was shocked at the idea.

  “I guess they didn’t feel that they had a choice,” Grace said. “Anyway, they left behind just about everything they had—their ranch, their stock ... It was sad. Especially later, when Leroy was cleared.”

  “When was that?” Ned asked.

  “A couple of years later, I think. One of the men who actually robbed the bank was caught during another holdup and he confessed to hiding the loot on the Catlin ranch to divert suspicion from him and his friends.”

  “How terrible.” Nancy sighed. “And the Catlins never came back?”

  “They may not even know that he was cleared,” Grace told her. “There was just no way to find them and tell them what had happened.”

  “Didn’t the police try to trace them w
hen they first disappeared?” Nancy asked, horribly worried that her search had just reached another dead end.

  “I’m sure they must have,” Grace admitted. “I’ll call Dave Hill when we get home and see if he can look up the old records, but I’m really afraid there won’t be much to find.”

  Nancy shook her head. “It was such a wonderful lead,” she said. “We found out that she changed her name and that she got married. Where could they have gone?”

  No one had any answers for her, and Nancy was glad when, a few minutes later, Grace suggested that they should leave. “We have to go by the Fergusons so you can pick up your costume for tomorrow” she told Nancy.

  “Tomorrow?” Nancy looked at her blankly. “Have you forgotten already that you’re going to ride in the parade?” Grace teased.

  “And we should talk to Mrs. Carleton, too,” Jennifer said. “I have to find out about riding with them and so do you, Ned.”

  “I should also meet the horse I’m going to be riding,” Ned commented.

  “Why don’t you all go riding this afternoon?” Grace suggested. “My horses can use the exercise, and that will give you a chance to decide which one you want to ride, Ned.”

  Nancy agreed to the plan, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was so afraid that she’d failed. The trail of Clarinda Winthrop, or Lindy Catlin, seemed to have come to an abrupt end and she had no idea where to begin again.

  In spite of her misgivings, however, the day passed pleasantly. Mrs. Ferguson was charming, and the gown—a lovely blue satin that just matched Nancy’s eyes—was a perfect fit. Nancy hated to take it off after she tried it on.

  As soon as they reached her house, Grace immediately suggested a trip to her attic, saying, “I’m sure I have a hat that will go with that gown.”

  Nancy followed her up into the hot, dusty dimness of the attic and watched as her hostess opened and closed a half-dozen trunks that contained everything from old clothes to a selection of wigs Grace said had belonged to her two daughters.

  The hat, when she found it, proved to be a perfect match. Nancy hugged her hostess in delight.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Grace told her. “I’ll see if I can brighten it up before tomorrow. I just hope it makes up for your disappointment this morning. I was so hoping that Joshua would have good news for you.”

  “Well, be did. I mean, he told us a lot about what happened to Clarinda after she got here. That has to help. And the hat is wonderful. Thank you for finding it.”

  The long, easy ride in the country after lunch helped her to lift her spirits, too, though she round no answers in the rolling prairie they rossed. Seeing Jennifer laughing and happy was reassuring and the outing did help Nancy make one decision.

  Immediately after dinner, she excused herself and went to place a long-distance call to her father, aware that she must consult with him about what she should do next. The phone at Chain Creek Lodge rang only once before the slightly familiar male voice answered it. Nancy asked for her father.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Drew is no longer staying here,” the man informed her.

  “What?” Nancy nearly dropped the receiver. “But when? Where . . .?”

  “Mr. Drew checked out this morning.” The words were cold, the tone unfriendly.

  “Did he say where he was going?” Nancy asked, her fears growing immediately.

  “He checked out and left no forwarding address,” was the reply.

  “But. . .”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you, miss.” The line went dead.

  Nancy sat in the chair for several minutes after she’d replaced the receiver. Her mind swirled with confusing thoughts. It made no sense. Where could her father have gone? And why would he check out without calling her to say that he was on his way to Cheyenne? And, most important, where was he now?

  10. Runaway

  Though Ned and Grace both offered reassuring reasons for her father’s sudden absence, Nancy was unable to fully accept the excuses. Still, there seemed to be little that she could do, since she had no idea where he could have gone.

  Tuesday morning dawned rather cloudy and Nancy was a little afraid it might rain, but by the time they had finished an enormous breakfast of eggs, bacon, and French toast, the wind was herding the clouds away. The sun shone brightly as Nancy changed into the elegant blue satin gown.

  She surveyed herself in the mirror. The gown had a pretty sweetheart neckline edged with faded ecru lace. It fit tightly to her slender waist, then flared over her hips to brush the tops of her feet.

  “I just wish I had some high button shoes,” Nancy told Grace and Jennifer as they watched her transformation.

  “Your feet won’t show in the stagecoach,” Grace assured her. “That’s why you need the hat. People can see il better than they can see the gown.”

  Grace disappeared for a moment, returning with the wide-brimmed hat that was trimmed with a mixture of blue and white plumes. Though age had dimmed its elegance somewhat, Grace had cleaned it well and it was the perfect final touch to the costume.

  “I almost wish I was going to be in the stagecoach with you,” Jennifer said, looking down at her rather commonplace Levis and red and white chocked shirt.

  “I wish you were, too, honey,” Nancy told her, giving the girl a hug, “but you and Ned will be having fun, I’m sure.”

  “Which reminds me, I’ll have to ask Ned which of the horses he wants to ride. We really must get started soon. The traffic is horrendous near where the parade forms.”

  It took a surprisingly short time for Ned to agree to Grace’s suggestion that he ride Buck, a rather unexciting buckskin gelding. “He’s not the prettiest,” she told him, “but he’s been in more parades than most people have and nothing bothers him.”

  “Since I’m a novice at parade riding, I’ll honor his experience,” Ned acknowledged. He looked very much the cowboy in properly faded Levis and a well-fitted brown and gold Western shirt.

  The area where the parade formed was a beehive of activity and Nancy was a little concerned for Jennifer’s safety in such a busy crowd. However, she soon discovered that the Pony Club was to ride immediately behind the Fergusons’ stagecoach. She felt better knowing that both she and Ned would be able to keep watch over the girl.

  Though it seemed the chaos would never be sorted out, by ten a.m. the harried and hardworking parade officials had managed to get everyone organized and the flag-bearing lead riders were ready to move out as the bands began supplying the bright marching music. The parade was underway!

  Nancy was seated by the right-hand window in the small stagecoach with Mrs. Ferguson in the middle and another elderly lady at the window on the other side. “Just wave and smile,” Mrs. Ferguson instructed. “You look like a very elegant turn-of-the-century miss going out to a party.”

  Once the parade was moving, Nancy leaned out the window and waved to the crowd, then peered back to make sure that Ned and Jennifer were riding behind the well-cared-for stagecoach. “This is fun,” she told Mrs. Ferguson. “I’m certainly grateful to you for the opportunity to ride in the parade.”

  “Riding in the parade is fun,” Mrs. Ferguson agreed, “but after about an hour of it, you’ll be glad you were born in an era with automobiles and airplanes.”

  Nancy laughed as the coach bounced and she realized how little spring there was in the sturdy vehicle. “I think I see what you mean,” she said.

  “Can you imagine what it must have been like crossing the country in one of these?” the third woman asked. “My great-aunt came west this way with two children.”

  “I think it would be nice to have a dress with a thick bustle,” Nancy joked, patting the handsome, but rather hard leather seat.

  The two ladies laughed and agreed.

  Everything rolled along smoothly for nearly half an hour. Nancy’s arm grew a little tired from waving and she began to realize that riding in the parade was almost as much work as marching in it would have been. Suddenly, however, she
felt a tingling of premonition and she began to scan the crowd through the bright paint-trimmed window.

  At first she saw nothing unusual, then a man leaped from the curb and yanked at the stagecoach door, pulling it open. At the same time, a second man threw something toward the front of the coach under the horses’ hooves.

  Nancy screamed as the sharp, staccato explosions of firecrackers filled the air. The stagecoach jerked and swayed wildly and there were screams from outside as the terrified horses and people bounded in every direction.

  Nancy leaned forward trying to catch the stagecoach door, but the vehicle was bucking too violently.

  “Hang on,” Mrs. Ferguson shouted, bouncing dangerously since she had nothing to grasp.

  Nancy braced her feet against the framework where the opposite seat had been removed and wrapped one arm around her hostess’s waist. The other arm she used to grip the window support. Beyond the open door she could see the people scrambling frantically to get out of the way as the coach careened down the street. The team was running away!

  Nancy tried to see ahead of the swaying, bouncing stagecoach, then almost wished that she hadn’t. They were racing toward the corner, and beyond the place where the parade was to turn was a barricade. On the other side of the fragile wooden barrier was a solid mass of people, all of whom seemed too frozen in terror to move out of the way of the frightened horses.

  Suddenly, she heard the pounding of hoof- beats and a big buckskin horse thundered by the open door, Ned leaning forward on his neck. The reins hung loose as Ned guided the well-trained horse with his knees. Leaving his hands free, he used one to hold on to the saddlehorn, and the other to grab the reins of the right-hand lead horse.

  For a moment, Nancy’s heart stopped as Ned was nearly jerked from the saddle. But moments later, more riders thundered by on the other side and the left-hand lead horse was caught and stopped. The stagecoach shuddered to a halt, no more than a few feet from the crowd.