check in with the boss’s banker.” He nodded at Jessup. “Think you can keep things going out there for an entire morning without me looking over your shoulder?”
“Reckon I can,” Jessup said, then grinned. “Although if I’m to be foreman, I’ll be needing a raise.”
The others laughed and offered themselves to take over if there was a raise in the works.
If felt strange to be joking. Cass nodded at the waiting wagons. “Just get to work. Anything comes up, take it to Jessup. I don’t imagine they’ll tell me much over at First Nebraska, but maybe I can at least find out if there’s any problem making payroll in light of last night. Soon as I know anything, you’ll know. Is that fair?”
Four men headed for the long, low shelter at the back of the lot, intent on getting the draft horses hitched up, while others loaded lumber and tools.
Cass had just stepped back into the office when Christopher Finney, the office clerk, arrived for work. “It’s terrible,” he said. “Just terrible.” He hung his hat by the door and made his way to the massive desk where he spent most of every day, handling the business books, writing letters, keeping up with inventory, placing orders, and generally keeping Sutton Builders running. Cass didn’t think the lanky father of five was really aware of how important he was to the operation.
Cass nodded. “I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Duncan over at First Nebraska. The men are worried about payroll.”
“This company is beyond solvent,” Finney snapped. “Mr. Sutton was an excellent businessman. An excellent man. No matter what people may be saying.”
Already?
Cass had heard the fire chief’s interpretation of events with his own ears last night. Hastings had wasted no time praising Sutton’s bravery at charging into a burning building and trying to save lives. He’d said it more than once. With conviction. Perhaps that was the problem. Too much conviction.
His meandering thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Finney cleared his throat pointedly and raised his voice.
“I
said
,” he repeated, “Mr. Sutton doesn’t deserve to be the brunt of such outrageous commentary.” He waxed on about the “spurious remarks” and “knowing looks” he’d endured on his way to work. “I wish we could do something to squelch it. What if Mrs. Sutton were to hear?” Finney reached for a pile of correspondence on his desk. “And what am I to do about all this? Most of these are inquiries about building projects.”
“Put them in order while I talk to the bank,” Cass said. “Most urgent first. We’ll come up with a plan when I get back.”
“What constitutes urgency?”
Cass thought for a moment. “Highest potential for profit.”
Finney nodded. When Cass opened the door, he called after him. “Do you think we should hang a mourning wreath?”
Cass shrugged. “I suppose. But I’ve no idea where to—”
“I’ll do it when I go to lunch.” Finney paused. “And armbands. We should wear armbands.”
“Good thinking. Get enough for all the men. We’ll plan on walking together behind the hearse out to Wyuka.”
“An honor guard,” Finney said, nodding his approval.
“I expect that’ll be taken care of by one of his lodges. But we can still walk together and show our respect.”
Finney said he’d take care of everything. Cass thanked him and headed off to First Nebraska, hoping that bank president George Duncan would give him the reassurance the men needed to keep them working. Hoping that Mrs. Sutton’s personal disaster wouldn’t mean disaster for the crew building her mansion. And wondering how she was coping with the news. Hopefully, she would find comfort in the heroic version of events.
Hopefully, she would never know the truth.
Cass stepped into the bank president’s office, hat in hand, surprised when Mr. Duncan stood up to greet him and then suggested they conduct their business over breakfast at the Commercial Hotel. It