She read them off. “Laidlow. Donovan. McLaren. Kirkpatrick. Reynolds M and Reynolds A.”
McLaren. The old sheriff. Hunter would be devastated when he discovered his old mentor had been part of the conspiracy. Or did he already know? Donovan and Laidlow, neither surprised her. Of the final three names, Shamus Kirkpatrick was no longer a threat, having taken on more than he could chew in Rachel and Caleb six months previous, but the Reynolds were not familiar to her.
The Syndicate. Six men who had destroyed her family. Still, the list meant nothing without corresponding proof. And that proof had been stolen from her. Even with the ledger sheet, how did she prove it tied them to the injustice perpetrated against her father? All the ledger sheet showed was payments made to these men. Payments that could be for anything.
She needed more. She needed to find the evidence her father had. Surely this wasn’t all of it. She flipped the paper over. Written in her father’s hand at the top were the words: Look into yourself.
“Oh, Pa, this isn’t the time for riddles,” she muttered. Her brain was overtaxed as it was with everything that had happened tonight and the words he’d written made no sense to her at all. If she was to look into herself right now, likely all she would see was an ugly, writhing mass of anger and hurt.
Next to her, Vernon’s labored breathing rattled, the sound taking on a liquid quality. She glanced at him, his cheeks had sunken somewhat, as if already the solidity of his body was giving over to what came next. It took her a moment to realize his eyes had opened and he was staring at her.
“What are you doing here?” His words were spoken between breaths, the effort leaving him visibly weakened.
“What I came back to Salvation Falls to do. I’m proving my father’s innocence.” She flipped the paper over and showed him the list. “Recognize this?”
The fever in Vernon’s eyes flared briefly, then died. “Doesn’t matter now.”
But it did. It mattered to her. She’d lost everything because of the men on this list. “I want to know what my father knew, what evidence he had against the Syndicate. I already have a torn ledger page and the legend to decode its meaning, but there’s more, isn’t there?”
She read the confirmation through his pained expression. “Your pa took what was mine. Deserved what he got.”
Anger blazed within her. Even now, on his deathbed, Vernon had the audacity to spout such lies against her father. “My father was a good man. He never stole a thing from you.”
“Vivienne.” The name was spoken with a reverent mix of love and hate. It disgusted her. His obsession with her mother had never waned, it colored everything he did and twisted him into a bitter, hateful man. He claimed her father had stolen her away, but she’d never been his to start with.
“My mother never belonged to you and she certainly never loved you.”
“No.” She couldn’t tell if the one-word response was a denial to her claim, or an agreement. Meredith shook her head and for the first time in her life she saw Vernon Donovan for what he really was. Not a monster she needed to fear, but a sad, pathetic man who had convinced himself of a lie because he couldn’t face the truth. A man who threw away everything of value in his bid to seek revenge on her father for doing nothing more than being the better man. He’d lost his wife, his son and now his life. And for what?
Vernon fell silent and his eyes closed. Meredith berated herself. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. She needed information.
“Vernon?”
He opened his eyes again. The color in them had begun to fade as his life slowly ebbed away inch by inch.
“Who is Reynolds?”
“Dead.”
“Both of them?”
“One.”
It appeared the Syndicate did not come out of their treachery unscathed. She wondered who did them in, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. “Who is the other Reynolds?”
He looked at her. She could see defeat and resentment in his gaze. “Bancroft.”
She sat up straight. “Anson Bancroft?”
Vernon nodded. Meredith couldn’t believe it. She shook her head in disbelief, but it was a fleeting sensation. There had been something about him—a coldness—that had been undeniable. Had Charlotte known? Is that why she had remained so aloof, not inviting friendship or conversation? Or was it the impetus for Mrs. Bancroft’s nervous chatter? She shook her head again. She would deal with that information later. First she needed something to deal with. She needed evidence.
“What is it my father held over you that kept him alive?”
Vernon glared at her but gave up nothing.