Reluctant Berserker: Isaacson Trilogy Book One

Chapter 25

Three more days passed without a glimpse of Dusty or Mrs. Foley. It had become a daily ritual to scout the outlying areas, searching for any evidence they were hiding nearby, but as of yet, there was no sign of either one.

Flurries of snow sparkled in the air, settling upon Gunnar's shoulders as he circled the town, heading back home.

Blades of grass, coated in a fine layer of frost, crackled under Wasp's weight. The day had been rough and tedious due to the never-ending questions that rattled around in his brain. If Mrs. Foley wasn't responsible for the poisonings, why had she run?

Was Dusty on the train or not? Were they correct in thinking Uncle Franklin and Nora were the intended targets of the attack? Could it be possible that the poisonings and the train attack were connected?

How long would this drag on before they had the answers they sought? Frustration ran rampant through his veins, making one thing clear. The first thing he would do if he saw either suspect was to plant his fist solidly in each of their faces. Really give them a good pummeling, vent his displeasure, and then start asking questions.

He didn't know how his father could bear it; this constant state of waiting was enough to drive a man insane. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement.

Turning to his left, he saw black skirts snap above booted feet and then vanish around the corner of the mercantile. He frowned and nudged Wasp to hasten her step. Seconds later, he reined to a stop when a dark figure opened the back door of the mercantile and disappeared inside.

If he wanted to discover who it was, there was no other option but to follow. Because the mercantile had been closed since Mrs. Foley's disappearance, he could only assume this fellow was up to no good, possibly hoping to loot the abandoned goods.

Gunnar dismounted, crouching low as he approached the building. He cautiously peered in one of the rear windows, grumbling when he could see nothing through the drawn curtains.

Creeping to the next window, he could look through an inch gap in the curtain. He saw the figure dressed in black moving a crate from the stockroom and out of sight. Gunnar tried lifting the window, biting back a cry of delight when it slid up two inches without protest. He reached to move the curtains aside when the figure marched back toward the stockroom.

Gunnar dropped to the frozen earth. Would they notice the window was open? Part of him hoped so because he would welcome an altercation. Footsteps shuffled within the room, and shrill sounds of a heavy object scraping against the wood floor reached his ears. Gunnar crouched and glanced through the window again, only to drop quickly to the ground to avoid the person inside discovering him.

The movement inside the store suddenly stopped, leaving no other sound but heavy breathing. Gunnar waited a few seconds, then peeked into the window, cursing before he could stop himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth but knew by the sinking in his gut he was too late.

Thinking fast, he bent Wasp's right foreleg, pretending to inspect it just as the door opened behind him. Gunnar muttered and looked over his shoulder, truly surprised to find Reverend Hornsby in all his grim-reaper-like glory, glaring down his scythe-shaped nose.

"Deputy Marshal...what brings you here—is something amiss?"

Releasing Wasp's foreleg, Gunnar gave her a pat on the neck. "I feared she was going lame; it's been a long day for her."

"Yes, I've noticed you and your brothers have been out and about quite a bit as of late."

"Just doing our jobs—you haven't seen any suspicious activities around town, have you?"