The Devil's Cold Dish Read Online Free

puzzled glance at Caldwell. “Nothing much here but rocks and pine trees.” Unless one of them had killed Ward?
    â€œDrummond lost everything speculating on the western lands and thought Maine might be a good location to recoup his losses.” Caldwell directed a sardonic smile upon his companion. “Besides, Magistrate Hanson introduced Mr. Drummond to an old friend of yours—Molly Bowditch. I understand they’ve formed an attachment.”
    Rees puffed out his breath in surprise. His investigation into the death of Molly’s husband had laid bare her secrets, causing a scandal that rocked Dugard. She was now estranged from her children and from most of Dugard society, and only her friendship with Magistrate Hanson had saved her from worse. “Does he know her history?” he asked.
    â€œDoubt it,” Caldwell said with a grin. “And no one’s likely to tell an outsider. Especially not someone from Virginia.” He paused. “Anyway, I think there’s something off about him, too. Not quite sure he is who he says he is.”
    As he talked, he led Rees into the forest. But Caldwell did not head left, toward Bald Knob. Instead he followed a faint trail up the gentler slope of Little Knob, Bald Knob’s shorter companion. The evidence of a lightning strike several years ago remained visible in the burned trunks and blackened rock. But the scars were clothed in green and the fast-growing birches were already springing up and filling the emptiness with white trunks.
    At first the shallow grade was easy, the granite protruding through the soil acting like stone steps. But soon the climb became much steeper. All conversation ceased as Rees and Caldwell hauled themselves upward from boulder to boulder. The birches thinned, giving way to maple and oak and then to evergreens. Mosquitoes whined about them and both men punctuated their climb with slaps. Rees’s spirits began to lift. The sun fell warmly on his shoulders and the spicy scent of pine needles underfoot eased the frustration and boredom that had dogged Rees for weeks. Since his return from Salem, his life had been an endless succession of farm chores with only a visit to the mill once in a while for variety. He loved his family, and missed them terribly when he was on the road, but the relentless grind of farmwork oppressed him.
    The sound of voices ahead carried through the trees to the two climbers. Rees turned and glanced over his shoulder at Caldwell. “Drummond and Farley,” Caldwell wheezed. Rees put on a burst of speed. He was out of shape. Time was he could fly up these hills and barely break a sweat—and that was when he had walked all the way here from the farm. Now his thighs ached, he was breathing hard and perspiration clothed him in a clammy blanket.
    â€œNothing much up here but moose and bear,” Farley was saying to the tall blond man next to him as Rees burst through the trees. Farley was five or so years Rees’s senior, but they knew each other well enough to regard one another with mutual loathing. “Can’t farm,” Farley continued, spitting a stream of tobacco juice in Rees’s direction for emphasis. “The soil is too rocky. My father thought he could take the lumber.” He wore homespun and boots and carried a rifle in his right hand. His companion took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. In contrast to Farley, the tall blond was dressed in shoes, a pink silk embroidered jacket now marked with dirt, and a lacy neck cloth. Rees hid a grin. Climbing Little Knob must have been a struggle in that garb.
    â€œMr. Farley. Mr. Drummond,” Caldwell said politely. Both men glanced at the constable and then fixed their eyes upon Rees. He wondered at the hostility in Farley’s glare; it seemed unusually pointed. Surely the farmer did not suspect Rees of the murder? Anyway, although it was doubtful the Virginian knew Zadoc Ward, Farley