CHAPTER 7

Deadly Words

Mary was right in the middle of baking when she discovered the rancid smell in her flour bin. Raspberries and gooseberries had all been washed and cleaned. The sugar, cornmeal and butter were all lined up at attention and now…no flour.

Cicely immediately jumped on the opportunity to go into Dodge – alone. Mary Ragger was a lady and as such would never consider going into town until she was properly dressed and coiffed. Definitely not with hands stained with berry juice and graying hair caught up in a floral scarf. After much whining and begging, her daughter had finally worn her mother down.

"You go straight to Jonas Mercantile and come right home. It's just now noon, you should be back at least by 1:30." Deep down, Mary knew it was bad idea but she was out of choices. "Cicely, I mean it. Don't stop by the Lady K to see that boy! You come right back."

The pretty blonde hummed to herself as she watched the pinkish tint of twilight caress the sky. Obviously, her curfew had expired hours ago. Not that she cared. She tossed back her head with a throaty laugh at the recollection of that stupid man at the freight office. "What a dunce!"

All it took was a little flirting and he was stumbling all over himself to take her to lunch. Boy could he talk. Within the first hour, she knew everything she needed to work her way into the lives of the royal family in Dodge.

Cicely noticed the grey quarter horse tied up to the hitching post as she rode on toward the barn. If this were a normal home it could be company, she thought. But this house was anything but normal! Sudden anger was about to override the exciting afternoon she had just enjoyed.

She unsaddled her horse and slipped into the back door of the house.

John Ragger was desperately trying to calm the enraged intruder. "Mr. Douglas, please. I know how you feel-"

"SHUT UP!'" Douglas Fletcher waved the revolver angrily at the other man. "You have no idea how I feel. My son was through with that little tramp. He was engaged to be married to a lovely young woman but your daughter wouldn't let go of him. She lured him up there somehow and pushed him off." His face burned red with rage. "Where is she!"

Again, John tried to mollify him. "It wasn't her fault. I know that you're hurting but she's only a girl."

"Only a girl!" Fletcher spat out the words. "I guess you know I am the editor of the Tribune. That gave me access to a lot of information. Private things. The kind of secrets that families like yours try to hide. Terrible ugly secrets about your daughter."

The emotional load John had been carrying began to crush his slender frame. He staggered back to his desk and dropped into the swivel chair. A single question raced through his mind. How much does he know?

As a father, Fletcher recognized the pain in the other man's eyes. A modicum of empathy found its way to his voice. "I know all of it. For starters, she not an innocent teenager. She's twenty three and this wasn't the first time that a man that refused to marry her died accidentally! How many times have you had to move to keep her one step ahead of the law? One step away from the hangman's noose."

John braced his elbows on his desk and rested his forehead on his clasped hands. "I thought if I could keep her away from other people…"

"You actually thought that hiding her away would solve the problem! She is a danger to everyone around her. What about your other daughter? What kind of future will she have in a home like this?" Rage was threatening to overtake him again and his words were rising to a fevered pitch. "I should shoot you for letting all of this happen. If you had stopped her my son would be alive!"

Cicely had found a place just inside the back door to listen to the drama unfold in her father's study. She heard Fletcher spew his anger over his boy's death. Tyler was a loser anyway. His father was right about one thing. She had lured him up there. He had dumped her to marry that little mouse Aggie Brumfield but he was still willing to go to the bell tower for a last fling.

Cicely's full lips twisted into a macabre smile as she languished in the memory of young Tyler. His arms flailing about, desperate to grab onto something. The panic in his voice when he begged her to help him. But mostly, she cherished the look of sheer terror on his face when he realized he was doomed.

It wasn't Douglas Fletcher's words that brought silence to the room. It was a cast iron skillet wielded by a terrified Mary Ragger. Even with a shaking hand, she somehow managed to hit her target when he turned at the sound of the creaking floor board. With only a faint groan, the wounded man hit the floor.

It was several seconds before reality came to the foreground. Mary dropped the pan and raced into the security of her husband's arms.

Cicely peeked around the corner, stunned that the wimpy old woman had the guts to sneak up behind Fletcher and crack his head with a heavy skillet. She quickly brought her hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.

John was making every effort to control his hysterical wife but Mary just kept shrieking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought he was going to shoot you. I'm so sorry."

While her outburst did nothing to bring Douglas Fletcher back to a conscious state, it did summon the little blonde haired child. Trisha came running from her room, terrified by not only the screaming but the sight of the unconscious man. Unlike her mother, the little girl was unable to make a sound.

Cicely finally made an appearance into the chaotic scene. In a calm, detached mood, she let her eyes travel slowly from the bleeding man to her parents. She could read the fear in her father's eyes but she only had one question.

"So can we move back to New York now?"

Mary's sobs became quiet gasps for air as she turned in her husband's embrace. Both parents stared in horror at the ugliness that lay buried in this beautiful young woman. "This man is seriously injured. He could die!" John cried. "You killed his son. Doesn't that mean anything to you! He might have killed all of us."

Of all the things John Ragger could have said, those words proved to be the most deadly. Cicely stepped closer to Douglas Fletcher. "I guess he might have." Her tone was cool and the look in her eyes was ice cold. She leaned down and retrieved the weapon.

Still wearing a malicious smirk, Cicely Ragger looked into her father's eyes and then pulled the trigger. Before Mary could comprehend her daughter's actions, she too was brought down by a shot. Trisha was too afraid to cry as she clutched her bear tighter. The meager stuffings of the old toy did little to stop the bullet from shattering the young heart.

"And now, everyone will think he did." Cicely's breathless words stemmed from excitement, not fear.

She quickly scanned the death scene at her feet, instantly picking out the details that she needed to adjust. First order of business was to take care of the New York intruder. She walked around her father's desk and opened the top drawer. Her objective had been the .45 he kept loaded but then she spotted the derringer.

"I might just take you for myself." She whispered as she dropped the tiny pistol into her pocket. Grabbing the .45 Cicely walked back around the desk and fired a shot into the unconscious man's heart. Then she leaned her father back in his swivel desk chair and forced the gun between his lifeless fingers.

Now it was just a matter of taking care of the details. Carefully avoiding the rather large hole in the dead man's chest, Cicely reached into his inside vest pocket and pulled out a handmade leather wallet. A quick check of its contents revealed a business card and some news paper clippings about his son. She shoved the papers into her pocket and like she had done with her father, left Fletcher's gun in his cold hands.

Cicely stood up brushing the loose hair from her cheek. A contented smile made itself at home on her young face as she stared down at the carnage she had created. Everything had worked out perfectly. Now, she would slip back into town and…"

The sound of a rider approaching brought her thoughts to a close. Cicely glanced out the front window knowing she had to alter her plan quickly.