I spent the interim time unpacking and organising my things, a necessary, if unexciting, task. A quarter to three came soon enough, and Holmes and I bundled ourselves up and marched through the drifting snow to the home of the late Hugh Hieman, in hopes we would learn something more about his death.
As we departed the inn, I saw Silas Albright watching us from across the street. As soon as I looked directly at him, he slipped behind the building. Even so, it was a bright day, and I discerned his features more clearly now than in previous cases. He was tall and broad and handsome, and I wondered why he was wasting his life in this manner.
Holmes muttered, "Our shadow is not much for spy work."
When we arrived at the Hieman's, the home was quiet. The children were in school and a sign in the window proclaimed that the shoe store would reopen at four. Mrs. Hieman answered the door and led us to the small sitting and dining room upstairs, where we had investigated that morning, and invited us to sit down. I extracted my notebook and pencil from a coat pocket and prepared to write.
When Mrs. Hieman spoke, her voice trembled, but she came straight to her point. "Mr. Holmes, was my son murdered?"
Holmes inclined his head solemnly. "It appears so, madam."
"I know who did it," she said in a hoarse whisper.
I gripped my notebook tighter, and leaned forward.
Holmes' expression was inscrutable. "Who?"
Mrs. Hieman gritted her teeth. "Silas Albright," she spat.
I dropped my pencil and attempted to retrieve it as unobtrusively as possible.
"How do you know?" asked Holmes. His tone was even, but I could sense his excitement.
"I just know," she replied.
I glanced to Holmes. We both knew a woman's instinct was nothing to take lightly, but this seemed more like an attempt to assuage grief by placing blame.
Holmes shook his head. "I am afraid I must ask you to be more clear. Even if you have no direct proof, there must be something that led you to this conclusion."
Mrs. Hieman gave a shaky sigh. "Silas wanted to marry Lena; he never tried to hide it. With Hugh out of his way, he would be free to do so."
"Has he made any such advances yet?" Holmes asked.
"How should I know?" she exclaimed. "But he probably has."
"No offense meant," said Holmes gently. "I am only trying to understand."
"Sorry," said Mrs. Hieman.
"Tell me more about Miss Hallstrom," said Holmes, reclining in his chair and closing his eyes.
Mrs. Hieman glanced to me uncertainly, so I motioned for her to go on.
"Well, Lena's parents met in Wall Lake, and while her father was off working for the Union Pacific, Lena lived with her mother and uncle on a farm south of town. My husband and I lived on the farm adjacent, until he died five years ago and I moved into town. Hugh and Lena grew up together; they were inseparable, even after they graduated eighth grade. Just a year or two after we moved into town, the Hallstrom family came into a large sum of money—you'll get different stories from different people, but some wealthy relative out east died—and they moved into Sac City and built a big fancy house and whatnot.
"Even after we'd moved apart, Hugh insisted on visiting Lena at least a couple times a month. Two years ago, he determined he would marry her, but she had a number of other male friends who would call, now that she was both beautiful and wealthy." Though Mrs. Hieman tried to keep her tone even, she could not quite mask the scorn she felt toward these other "friends" of Lena's. "I thought all along she was going to break his heart, but then six months ago, he proposed and she said 'yes'.
"Hugh was overjoyed, never looked so happy since before his father died." Her dark eyes grew distant for a moment before continuing. "At one time, Silas Albright was one of Lena's male friends, and I don't think he ever gave up on her, even though he was a little too old for her. She never said so, but I daresay she thought it."
"Thank you," said Holmes as soon as Mrs. Hieman paused for breath. He was clearly a little irritated to be receiving far more angry suspicion than fact. "May I ask you a few questions about your son's character and habits?"
"Yes, of course," said she. Her manner shifted from anger into sadness, and she seemed to shrink into her chair. "Ask what you will."
"Was your son predictable in his habits?"
She shrugged. "Usually. He was fairly set into his ways."
"Such as?" Holmes prompted.
"Visiting Lena the same day each week, attending church on time, getting up and going to sleep at the same time," she replied. "Hugh would always honour commitments. And he was kind. Such a big-hearted young man. Always lending a hand where needed and being a friend and mentor to our neighbours in the country, especially the Kelly boys. They'd go down to the river together—"
"Yes, thank you," interrupted Holmes. "Was Hugh careful? With his safety, his finances, etc.?"
"He was careful enough with money, when he needed to be," she replied, "though he loved spending to make others happy. As for his safety, he was never careful enough about that. Just like his father that way," she said.
"In what way?" Holmes asked.
"Well, it's like this. When Hugh was nine, his friend Ernie Anderson got himself stuck in a tree, and Hugh helped him down, even though it would've been easier to ask for help, and he ended up breaking an ankle in an attempt to break Ernie's fall."
"And he retained these traits into adulthood?" asked Holmes.
"Well, he gained some sense, but the tendencies for foolish bravery remained. He worried me sick some days, but a mother couldn't ask for a more upstanding young man to be her son."
"Did he have a large circle of friends?"
"Yes, and no," the mother replied. "Hugh was friendly, and he'd talk at length with anybody, but he kept much to himself. I would say Ernie and Lena were closest to him. Most of his other childhood friends work outside of town and across the country."
"Did he have any enemies?" Holmes asked. "Rivals, whether in business or matters of the heart?"
Mrs. Hieman frowned. "Few. He was too well-liked for much of that nonsense. Not many men as young as he would have been appointed town deputy, especially since Sheriff Sweet has such high standards for his deputies."
"Indeed," Holmes replied, "but I ask that you answer my question with names."
"Silas, for one," said she. "Thankfully, Lena's other 'friends' all seem to have found other young ladies to chase. He had only one rival for becoming deputy: James Johanson.
I interrupted briefly, and against my better judgment. "Is he any relation to a Johanson who frequents the inn at lunchtime? Thin, older man," I continued, "farmer, wears glasses..."
Recognition dawned on Mrs. Hieman's face and she nodded. "Oh, that'd be James' father. Probably a good man at heart, though he is not someone I'd care to take tea with. But James takes after his mother. And anyway, he never actually put his name forward to the Sheriff about it, though he said he meant to."
"Has he now, that the position is once again unfilled?"
Mrs. Hieman shrugged. "I have not heard, but I will be surprised if he does not. And he would be a good man for the job, but I cannot help but wonder..." She trailed off, but I grasped her meaning well by the shadow that seemed to pass over her face, deepening premature wrinkles and dimming eyes that had already seen too much.
Holmes spoke firmly. "Whoever is responsible for your son's death, I shall find him out and he will be brought to justice."
Mrs. Hieman gave a curt nod. "Thank you. I'm so glad Ernie thought to write you. Sheriff Sweet is a good man and a good sheriff, but between you and me, he's not quite so young as he once was, and he's never had to figure out something like this before. And as for that expert Des Moines sent, I'm not so sure this isn't his first assignment. He looks like he's fifteen and he's all shaky..." She shook her head. "All that's to say, thank you for coming to help."
"And thank you for allowing us access to your knowledge and your home." Holmes stood. I followed his lead and Mrs. Hieman ushered us down the stairs and to the door.
"Good day to you, madam," said Holmes, more kindness in his voice than was his wont.
"Good day," she replied, mouth set in a sad smile, and we departed.