Read Chapter 32: The Mayor's Masquerade

The storage closet door hung open, revealing nothing but Maeve's winter coats and a stack of folded linens. Kinsey was gone.

Maeve stood frozen in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat. Eli moved past her, checking the window at the far end of the room.

"Fresh scuff marks on the sill," he said, crouching to examine the wood. "He went out this way."

"Or someone took him out this way." Maeve's voice came out steadier than she felt. She crossed to the window, peering down at the alley below. The mud showed only the faintest impression of boot prints, already filling with the afternoon's rain.

Eli straightened. "We need to move. If Grant's men already have Kinsey—"

"He doesn't have men." Maeve shook her head. "Kinsey was Whitfield's foreman. Grant's manipulation ran through Whitfield. The mayor worked alone in town."

"Until he didn't." Eli's jaw tightened. "Whitfield said there were failsafes. That means Grant has contingencies. What better one than grabbing the man who could testify against him?"

The weight of it settled on Maeve's shoulders. She had spent months building this town's trust, had watched Mayor Grant preside over Sunday picnics and Fourth of July celebrations, had accepted his condolences when Patrick died. The same man who had helped her secure her first loan for the hotel renovation had been quietly stealing the town blind for decades.

"We can't go through the front door," she said, forcing herself to think. "If he's taken Kinsey, he knows we're onto him. And if he's expecting us, the lobby will be watched."

Eli pulled his revolver and checked the cylinder. "Then we go through the kitchen entrance. Nettie keeps the back door unlocked during supper prep."

Maeve nodded. She moved to the hallway, pausing only long enough to grab the iron key from her desk drawer—the one that opened the supply room connecting to the hotel's old service passage. The tunnel had been bricked up years ago, but Patrick had shown her the access point from the kitchen pantry, a childhood secret he'd discovered playing hide-and-seek.

They slipped through the kitchen, Nettie's eyes going wide when Maeve pressed a finger to her lips. The cook nodded once, turning back to her stew pot, and Maeve pulled the pantry shelf aside to reveal the narrow opening.

The passage smelled of dust and old timber. Maeve led the way, her handskimming the rough-hewn walls as they moved in darkness. The service tunnel emptied out behind the feed store, two doors down from the town hall.

Through the grimy window of the supply room, Maeve could see the back of Grant's office. A lamp burned low inside, casting shadows that moved against the glass. She counted two figures.

Mayor Grant and someone else. Smaller. Hunched.

"Kinsey's alive." She breathed the words.

Eli came up beside her, squinting through the glass. "Grant's alone with him. No deputies in sight."

"This is too easy."

"It's a trap."

They said it at the same time, and Maeve felt the grim humor of it settle between them. Of course it was a trap. Grant had spent thirty years staying two steps ahead. He wouldn't leave his back door unguarded unless he wanted visitors.

"Doesn't matter." Maeve turned to face Eli fully. "Kinsey's the only witness who can tie Grant to the cave-in. Without him, the ledger's just paper. And I'm not letting that man walk free after what he's done to this town."

Eli searched her face for a long moment. Something passed between them—the weight of everything they'd survived together, the unspoken promise that had grown between them in the darkness of collapsed mine shafts and midnight chases.

"I go in first," he said. "You stay behind me until I give the word."

They entered through the supply room door, which was—predictably—unlocked. The office beyond was cluttered with maps and claim documents, a lifetime of paperwork that had built Gold Creek's prosperity while lining its mayor's pockets.

Grant looked up from his desk as they entered. He smiled, and Maeve felt her stomach turn at the warmth in it. That smile had graced her husband's funeral. It had welcomed her to every council meeting, had cheered her first successful season at the hotel. And now she saw it for what it was: the mask of a man who had arranged for Patrick's death just as surely as he had arranged for six miners to be buried alive.

"Mrs. O'Donnell." Grant folded his hands on the desk. "I was hoping you might stop by. Though I confess I didn't expect you to bring the marshal."

"Where's Kinsey?" Eli's voice was flat.

"He's safe, I assure you. Resting in the back room." Grant tilted his head. "Interesting thing about Mr. Kinsey—he was always more loyal to Whitfield than to me. It made him valuable. It also made him predictable."

A cold certainty settled in Maeve's chest. She took a step forward, deliberately positioning herself between Grant and the window. "You're going to kill him."

"I'm going to do what's necessary to protect this town. The same thing I've done for twenty years." Grant stood slowly, his movements unhurried. "You see, Mrs. O'Donnell, I built Gold Creek. I found the initial investors, brokered the land agreements, steered the claim registrations through Denver. I did it because I believed in this place. And then I realized that the only way to keep something you love is to control it absolutely."

"You killed miners." Maeve's voice rose despite herself. "You buried six men alive so you could buy their claims for pennies."

"Collateral damage." Grant waved a hand dismissively. "The claims will go to Pacific Consolidated. The mine will continue production. In five years, every miner in this town will be richer than they ever were under independent ownership—assuming they stay and work. I'm not destroying Gold Creek. I'm securing its future."

Eli moved to flank Grant, his hand resting on his holster. "You're under arrest, Mayor. I have Whitfield in custody, and he's already given testimony."

"Whitfield." Grant's smile thinned. "A useful tool, but ultimately replaceable. Just like Kinsey. Just like your predecessor in the marshals' office. Just like—" He turned to Maeve with deliberate slowness. "—your husband."

The words hit her like a physical blow. The hotel's back staircase, steep and slick with rain. Patrick's fall, ruled an accident by the town doctor. She would have believed it forever if Grant hadn't just as good as confessed.

"You killed him." It came out as barely a whisper.

"I had him killed." Grant's voice was almost gentle. "The Shamrock Hotel was losing money. The property was worth four times what he owed on it. The bank was prepared to foreclose if he defaulted on his next payment—which he would have, given that the shipments I arranged never arrived. He was going to lose everything anyway. I merely accelerated the inevitable."

Maeve's vision swam. Eli tensed beside her, ready to move, but Grant raised a hand and three men stepped out from the shadows of the back room. Deputies. Men Maeve had trusted to keep the peace in her town, now pointing rifles at her chest.

"Now, Mrs. O'Donnell," Grant said, all pretense of kindness gone from his voice, "we're going to have a conversation about that map you gave the marshal. And about what I'm going to do once I retrieve it."