of the building where she’d turn to head to the freight office.
“Morning, Miss Thornton,” Gentry called out. He stood in the center of the side street, waiting for her.
Mary Rose paused and cut her eyes in the direction of the marshal, but the street lay empty. An odd sense of disappointment washed over her.
“You said you’d be here at noon.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I believe you’re a bit early.”
“I wanted to get a look at the files on Daniel’s desk today before we opened,” she hurried to say.
“Of course,” he nodded, slipping the watch away. “May I?”
He offered her his arm.
She looked back once more at the empty street before she stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. “Lead on.” She smiled.
They paused as he unlocked the front door and stood back so she could enter. The building looked the same as it had the day they left, only now the mound of crates and backlogged freight seemed to mock her. She walked toward the mess and placed her hand on her hip. “I suppose the first order of business is to get this sorted.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it,” she heard Mr. Gentry reply. With a glance over her shoulder, she waited as Caleb placed his hat on the rack and put the apron over his clothing.
“How do you want it sorted?”
“Sort it by runs. Short runs to long. We can get the short runs done in the next few days. I’ll need to interview two drivers for long hauls. Until they find out who did this, I want no long hauls without someone riding shotgun.”
“Yes ma’am.” The clerk nodded and started on the packages.
Seeing him occupied, she turned away and moved toward her brother’s office. Unlike her desk, his was in the back of the gated area. Daniel had constructed a small room where he could work in silence and view the employees from windows that lined the walls. She paused at the door.
Without thinking, she brought her good hand up and rubbed the outside of the sling. She wanted to push open that door and find him. But, no amount of yearning would allow her brother to rise from the ground. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she placed her fingers around the brass knob and turned.
The smell of the cigars her brother was so fond of lingered bittersweet in the warm air. She went to the desk, placed a finger on the edge, and traced the outline around to the back, where the chair sat ajar as if he’d just left it. Her lips trembled.
There it was, his throne. Evidence of his life lay scattered everywhere—files upon the desk, some haphazardly askew with their contents spilling from the edges, his pens at the edge of the blotter, not placed into the holders. With a shake of her head, Mary Rose reached over, picked one up, and slid it home. Grabbing hold of the chair, she turned it around and sat down. There was much to learn and little time to do it.
Pulling the files together, she made a nice neat pile to go through later. Then she opened the desk drawer and found the journal he used to list the runs completed and those that needed to be finished. She flipped it open and ran her finger down the list. Odd. There wasn’t a mention of the last run. Perhaps he’d planned to fill it in later, when he returned.
Now she must do it. She reached for the pen and wrote the date, noted the loss of the supplies and employees killed in the line of duty. She took care to sign her name. She stared at the entry and wondered if Moe had any family. If so, she should write to them. They deserved to know what happened.
The sound of boxes being moved drew her eyes to Caleb’s movements. Rising, she walked to the door and called out to him, “Mr. Gentry, did my brother keep information on our employees?”
He turned around and wiped his hands on the apron. “I’m not sure. If he had something, it would be in the file cabinet.”
With a nod, she moved to the four cabinets standing below the windows at the back of the room. Opening each drawer, she scanned the contents until she came across a file with Moe’s name. She pulled it out, sat down, and thumbed through the papers. There wasn’t a mention of any wife or family, which wasn’t