6Caleb reeled out of the Camp House, his hands clammy, a dull thud hammering over his eyes. He muttered a quiet curse at the lawman who thought he’d already solved the case — and found Caleb guilty. He needed a drink. He stomped across to the American Fork House, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of teamsters and horses, tourists and miners as they surged in and out of the popular watering hole.
Clutching a cold ale, he scanned the pulsating beer hall, searching for the quietest corner to hide, somewhere he wouldn’t attract attention and could collect his thoughts. He edged across the room to the wing furthest from the billiard tables, where the noise levels were more moderate and family groups and lady travelers gathered. Somewhere he could bury himself behind Rory’s old newspaper and t
