“He’s blaming her.” John reread the poem with a cynical scowl on his face. “In my work, I’ve found it’s typical that an abusive man blames the woman. Whatever he did, however she ended up dead, he blames her for it.”

“Hawkins makes no mention of his wife dying birthing a child,” Wyatt added.

The sheriff said grimly, “I consider this poem as good as a confession.” He looked at John.

Molly felt the lawmen banding together. It was a little annoying considering she’d been something of a lawman herself while in Hawkins’s house. Plus, she’d found the safe and now opened it.

She wasn’t going to be left out. “We should search the house. I’ve always wondered what’s on the third floor.”

“And we should take his account books.” Wyatt sounded like he didn’t like being left out, either.

“If he’s run away, where would he go?” Molly wondered out loud. “Could he have a hideout right here in the house?”

“Rachel looked at the floor plans and talked to one of the men who helped build it,” John said. “She hasn’t specifically said there isn’t a hidden room, but she’d’ve mentioned it if there was something like that on the plans. And she found both safes, so they knew she was wondering what he might be hiding.”

“I’m surprised the builders talked that much,” Sheriff Corly said.

“I asked Rachel about that, and she said Hawkins was tightfisted, slow to pay his bills, and, in the end, cut back on what he paid by complaining about shoddy workmanship.”

Everyone took a moment to look around the oversized bedroom. The house was splendid and still standing in very good shape twenty years after it was built.

“Yep,” Wyatt muttered, “I’ll bet they didn’t mind gossiping about him.”

“The account books are a good idea, Wyatt,” John said. “I’m going down to fetch them.”

Wyatt handed him a strip of paper. “The top number is the combination to the downstairs safe, and there was more in there than just account books.”

“I’ll bring everything. I’ll look through his desk, too.”

Wyatt told John which picture to look behind.

John went downstairs. The rest of them went to the door to the third floor. Molly remembered the sounds she’d heard from up there, the feeling of the house being haunted. Could Hawkins be upstairs? Molly, more curious than honestly believing Hawkins was there, tried the door. It was locked.

After fiddling for a few seconds, Wyatt pulled his gun and shot the lock off. The door opened on a narrow flight of stairs. As her head rose to the level of the next floor, she heard a strange sound coming straight for her and ducked so hard she fell backward. She shrieked, then Wyatt’s strong arms clamped around her, steadying her.