The Nanny's Little Matchmakers. Danica Favorite
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“I thought I told you to keep my family business private.”
“And I have,” she said, looking him so firmly in the eye that if he were one of the children, he’d obey her immediately. “However, if you think that you’re going to be able to continue to shelter your children from the reporters and those people with the awful signs, then you can’t keep them at the apartment. Uncle Frank has said that we can all stay here until the furor dies down.”
He should be angry with her. Had every right to be angry with her. Polly MacDonald was so efficient at managing everything around her that she’d forgotten that he was an adult, perfectly capable of managing himself.
Except in this instance, she was right.
If they went back to the apartment, the children were bound to see the signs. Were bound to ask questions like, “Did you kill our mummy?” just as Polly had.
“Thank you,” he finally said. “But I don’t see why everyone needs to be gathered in the parlor over all of this.”
“Because you’re in a serious situation,” a deep voice behind him said.
Mitch turned to see a tall man younger than he sporting a badge prominently on his vest.
“Will Lawson,” he said, holding out his hand as he examined Mitch.
Mitch shook, wondering what this lawman was going to do in the situation. Polly had mentioned a close family friend being a lawman, but that didn’t mean the man was going to be on his side. None of the lawmen in Denver seemed to care about the truth. Why would this guy be any different?
“Mitch Taylor, but I suppose you already know that.”
“Seems to me you’re in a bit of a pickle.”
“My lawyer is handling things.”
“Fair enough. But I’m happy to do some investigating of my own.”
What would Will find that the deputies in Denver hadn’t already found? Supposedly, they’d exhausted every lead, and everything seemed to point right back to Mitch. The last thing he needed was more evidence suggesting he was guilty.
Back in Denver, Mitch had hired an investigator of his own, a man who promised he’d find something on the real killer. That man now worked for the deputies, claiming there was nothing that said Mitch didn’t do it.
Mitch swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you, but I believe my lawyer has everything in hand. I’d hate to take you from your important work here in Leadville.”
“It’s no trouble,” Will said, obviously not accepting the easy way out that Mitch had given him.
What was the other man’s agenda?
“All the same, I think we’ll be just fine.”
Actually, they weren’t. That was the trouble. So much evidence was stacked against him, or at least that’s the way it seemed. It didn’t appear to matter that they couldn’t prove that Mitch had been at the murder scene, or that Mitch had any connection to whatever had been used to bludgeon Hattie to death. But that’s what happened when all they really wanted was someone to take the fall so the sheriff looked like a hero.
Mitch turned to Polly. “I believe you said people were waiting on me.”
Her brows furrowed as she pursed her lips, but she didn’t argue with him. She meant well, he knew, but Polly didn’t understand what he was up against. What he’d always been up against. People were constantly trying to be his friend, hoping to gain access to the amazing Hattie Winston. And now that she was gone, every charlatan in town was offering “help” with the case, only their motives weren’t so pure. Whether it was to prove his guilt, or get the inside scoop for the latest newspaper, all the supposed offers of help never had Mitch’s best interests in mind.
Did Will have Mitch’s best interests in mind? He had no idea. He’d barely met the man, and while Polly’s recommendation might mean something to some people, Mitch had too much at stake to trust just anyone.
Polly led him into the parlor, where Pastor Lassiter, Gertie and Maddie sat waiting. Before Mitch could speak, Pastor Lassiter stood.
“Now I know you object to receiving help, but I have to say that in this instance, you are going to accept what we offer. Those children of yours need protection, and if they’re staying with us, no one is going to know who they are. Folks around here are used to us having all sorts of children running around, and not one will question who these children are. Pride isn’t going to keep your children safe.”
Mitch nodded slowly. “Thank you. I am grateful for the offer. In fact, I was afraid of what would happen if I had to take them back home. They don’t need to be subjected to the scandal.”
The older man looked at him solemnly. “Now, Polly assures me that you’re innocent, but I need to hear it from you. I won’t harbor a murderer in my home.”
The ever-present lump in Mitch’s throat threatened to cut off his airway. It seemed like all he ever did was proclaim his innocence, but no one ever listened.
“I didn’t kill Hattie.”
There. The words were his own, but he hardly recognized his voice. He had children who were grieving a lost mother, and rather than focusing on them, he had to continually defend himself.
“Where are my children?”
Polly smiled at him. “They’re playing in the yard. We’re letting them get their wiggles out before we start lessons.”
Once again, Mitch nodded slowly, trying to process the information. Laughter drifted toward him, and somewhere in there, he thought he recognized the sound of his own children. Pastor Lassiter walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I believe you, son. But from what I’ve seen in the papers, you’re going to need to do a lot more than what you’ve been doing to get the rest of society to believe it.”
Mitch’s body went cold as he looked around the room. “You’ve seen the papers? Are they here? I don’t want the children—”
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