The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Robert simply nodded in return. Sometimes he loved small towns; everything was so transparent and out in the open. Glancing back toward the house and the room where Miss Potter currently lay, he amended that. Everything was out in the open and transparent until it wasn't.

  At the same time he thought about all that, Robert spotted a small light in the distance. “I guess you were right, father.”

  Shortly after, a sturdy-looking man rode in a typical undertaker's wagon. After the introductions were made, Mr. Rose went inside with an assistant to collect the remains of Elsa Potter.

  After they finished with that business, Mr. Rose came to say goodbye. He wasn't a chatty fellow; Robert liked that. “I'll send word to Dr. Gildow,” Mr. Rose informed them.

  “Thank you,” Robert replied. “And tell me, would it be all right if I come by later tonight to see the body in more proper lighting?” Before the doctor did his exam, Robert simply wanted to make sure he did not miss anything.

  “Certainly; you may visit whenever is convenient to you.” And with that, Mr. Rose and his completely silent assistant departed.

  “Are we taking our leave as well?” Father Mathew wanted to know.

  “Yes. I want to speak with Stephanie Laurel and her daughter.” Since they were the ones who discovered the body, they were the only eyewitnesses Robert had, and his first suspects until proven otherwise. “So, if you would be so kind as to put up with me a bit longer and show me the way to their house.”

  Robert hoped they lived close by since they were neighbors, so he didn't have to torment the old priest much longer with tedious riding. Father Mathew hesitated, which made Robert frown. “What is it, father?” He prompted.

  “If I could have a quick word with you, Sheriff.”

  “Go on.”

  “Stephanie Laurel is a rather frail woman,” he started carefully, clearly trying his best to choose his words wisely. “I do not believe her capable of speaking with you, especially so soon after the incident.”

  Robert gritted his teeth. He did not like where this was heading, one bit; besides time was of the essence. “I need to speak with her regardless of her state or sentiments,” Robert insisted. Because she may be our murderer, he added to himself. There was no point in sharing this to the good old priest that most crimes like this one were committed by someone who knew the victim. It is standard practice to think of everyone as a suspect.

  “And you will, but could you perhaps start with her daughter, Geraldine?”

  “Very well, I will speak with the daughter,” Robert allowed, seeing the priest was rather invested in this, and he did not feel like arguing. He will have his way, one way or the other.

  “Good,” Father Mathew looked equally relieved and pleased. “I will send word announcing our arrival first thing in the morning.”

  Robert jerked his head. “In the morning? I need to speak with her at once.”

  He did not want her to have time to prepare her answers. Robert was certain she was an outstanding young woman, just like Father Mathew previously said she was. On the other hand, he had to do his job thoroughly and be suspicious of everybody until he could rule her out. Of course, Father did not have to know any of that, since he was on the list as well.

  “Please, Sheriff, that is not possible,” father Matthew insisted.

  “Why not?”

  “Mrs. Laurel lives alone with her daughter, it is not decent.”

  Robert could not believe his ears. “And this is murder, Father. There is nothing proper about it as well.”

  Father looked like he wasn't about to budge on this, going all red in the face, so Robert did. As he saw it, if he tried to barge in on his own, it would cause more damage than good. He sighed, loudly. “Very well. I will speak with Miss Geraldine in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  With his plans changed, Robert decided to immediately follow Mr. Rose to see the remains. Suddenly, thunder could be heard in the distance. “It looks like we will have another storm on our hands.”

  Robert agreed. “Give me a moment, Father,” he said and dashed back into the house. Quickly, efficiently, he made sure all the doors and windows were closed before leaving. He did not want something to happen to the house and the potential evidence inside if it rained.

  “Where to now, Sheriff?” Father asked him once he returned.

  “To Mr. Rose's.”

  “All right.”

  They started walking again when something occurred to him. “Father, could you please refrain from coming here? For now, I need everything as is while I conduct my investigation.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Let us go then.”

  * * *

  The ride to Oatman was a quiet one, just as Robert preferred. He had a lot on his mind and needed some time for himself to sort through everything.

  Mr. Rose ran a small undertaker's business from his house that was just a little further away from the main street. Robert visited many places that looked just like Mr. Rose's establishment. Undertakers were necessary everywhere people lived, just as physicians were. There are two constants in the universe. People will always be born and always die.

  As promised, Mr. Rose himself waited for them to arrive. The house itself had a very distinct smell. It was a mixture of cleaning supplies, embalming fluids, and death, and was embedded in the walls, omnipresent. Robert couldn't help but shudder even though he kept a straight face.

  “Hello again, Jeffrey,” Father Mathew greeted Mr. Rose as Robert did the same.

  Mr. Rose looked at him, apologetically. “Dr. Gildow cannot examine the body. I'm afraid he is out of town on business.” Which was usually the case with physicians. They were in short supply and small towns were in desperate need.

  “That is quite all right,” Robert instantly reassured the other man, who looked like he was about to start crying, as if the doctor's absence was somehow his fault. “I will call a physician from Fort Mohave.” Actually, that was a better option as far as he was concerned. Not to be disrespectful toward Dr. Gildow, merely Dr. Carmichael was a friend of Robert’s, and he trusted him immensely since they worked on several cases together. He had an opportunity to test his competence over the years and was beyond satisfied he had someone like that at his disposal.

  “I will make sure he has the necessary assistance,” Mr. Rose replied, clearly relieved Robert found a solution.

  “Please, do not disturb the body until he arrives to examine her.”

  “That goes without saying,” Mr. Rose said, and made a gesture with his hand for the sheriff to follow him. “If you would please.”

  “I will remain here if that is all right with you,” Father Mathew said.

  They descended into the basement. Elsa Potter's body lay on the examination table, still fully clothed. “I took the liberty to remove the rope, but refrained from anything else,” Mr. Rose provided.

  Robert nodded, getting closer to see the bruises around her neck. They were consistent with the manner of her death and told him nothing further. She also had significant cuts on her palms. “She put up a fight,” Robert murmured to himself.

  “Indeed.”

  Her dress looked untouched, which Robert took as a good sign. “May I see the rope,” Robert inquired next. Mr. Rose took it from a small table with wheels that stood next to the bed and handed it to Robert without delay.

  Maybe that wasn't quite nice of him; Robert felt a bit disappointed looking at it. As far as he could determine, it was a regular steer rope that could be found and bought everywhere. A part of him wished it was unique in some way which could help him determine something about his killer. As it turned out it could have easily been a simple weapon of convenience, something the killer picked up along the way, maybe even from Elsa Potter's ranch, right before he went to the house.

  As he pondered about that, Mr. Rose covered the body. “That poor woman, God rest her soul,” Mr. Rose murmured in sorrow, crossing himself. “Probably s
ome bandits surprised her and took her life.” Mr. Rose continued to speak to himself.

  As that was a sore spot for Robert, because of his own family, he felt compelled to speak up. “I would say that is highly unlikely to be the case.” He returned the rope to the table. “I learned everything I could for now, but I will return once the doctor finishes with his examination.”

  Mr. Rose nodded and escorted him out. They reconvened with the priest in the parlor. “What made you say that,” Mr. Rose inquired, all of a sudden.

  “Say what?” Father Mathew wanted to know as well.

  “Sheriff is quite certain Miss Elsa was not killed by the bandits,” Mr. Rose replied, and Robert nodded in agreement.

  “She was not.”

  “Based on what?” Mr. Rose prompted.

  Robert couldn't say what forced him to explain his theory; alas, he opened his mouth and words emerged without his say so. “Many years ago, my family was raided by a group of bandits.”

  “I am very sorry to hear something like that happened to your family,” Father Mathew offered his condolences.

  Robert nodded before continuing. “Trust me, when they appear, complete carnage and destruction are left in their wake. And this is not it.”

  “So, what do you think happened?”

  “I do not like to guess.” Robert liked to be certain, have some kind of evidence before speaking; however, once again he answered the pair. “This murder was committed by someone Elsa knew.”

  “What?” Mr. Rose exclaimed in surprise.

  “The weapon used suggests that,” Robert replied. Among other things.

  Father Mathew frowned as if deeply disturbed by Robert's revelation. “That is impossible.”

  Robert knew those were empty words that meant nothing. It was not only possible, more often than not, it is the only reasonable explanation. “It is possible, Father, and I am quite certain the murderer is someone from Oatman,” he insisted, making himself perfectly clear, intentionally. Robert was certain of his assessment, he now just needed to find some proof.

  Father Mathew crossed himself. “That cannot be; may God help us all.”

  “I am sorry, but you have a snake in your garden.” And Robert was the one who would find it.

  Chapter Eight

  Geraldine couldn't sleep a wink all night. Images of poor Elsa's body lying on the floor kept plaguing her. It was a horrific fate for anyone to leave this world in such a way. She must have been so frightened and lonely in her last moments, Geraldine sobbed.

  Then again, Geraldine was quite certain, if she did manage to fall asleep, she would have nightmares. She still could not fathom what happened. Her dear auntie Elsa was dead and in such fashion. Who would do such a thing? Why would anyone hurt Elsa? She was one of the best people Geraldine knew. Not that Geraldine was suggesting Elsa Potter was a saint. She made mistakes in her life just like the rest of them. The point Geraldine was trying to make, Elsa did not deserve to die for them.

  Whoever did this is a monster! There was no other way to describe such an individual, who would torture and kill that poor woman. Geraldine shuddered as new images invaded her mind and tears started to fall again, soaking her pillow. Geraldine's mother stirred beside her. That could have been Mother! Geraldine couldn't even think what might have happened if the murderer was still there, at the ranch, by the time her mother arrived. She would have the two people she loved in this world to mourn.

  No, don't think about that! she snapped at herself. Geraldine's mother mumbled something and turned over on the other side. She was so distraught all day, that Geraldine had to stay at her side from the moment she returned from town and eventually lay with her, so she could calm enough to fall asleep.

  Geraldine wished she could be that fortunate and rest her spirit for just a bit. She had half a mind to drink one of her mother's night tonics for nerves but reconsidered. Something deep inside of her was telling her she would need all her wits, so she endured the insomnia and her troubled mind.

  Just to switch it up, for a heartbeat or two, she started wondering about Father Mathew, since she did not have enough on her plate, already. Did he have luck in finding the sheriff? Geraldine worried. She had never met the sheriff from Fort Mohave. Since Oatman didn't have its own station, all things that were crime related were referred to them, and a few times in the past, deputies came. One, in particular, Deputy Bane she believed he was called, was more regular than the others.

  If the rumors were true, he had other motives for coming to their small town apart from dealing with outlaws, not that Geraldine was judging. Just because she did not have time for the matters of the heart did not mean she didn't approve of them or understand how others would want to pursue such endeavors.

  What is happening now? She couldn't help but wonder. It was in the middle of the night, still, she hoped something good was happening. In her mind she could already see the search party assembling, hunting for the murderer across the Rocky Mountains. Of course, she knew that was nothing more than a fantasy. Or is it? Sometimes these things resolve pretty fast, she prayed.

  Geraldine wished she could have done more than stay on the farm, worrying. She had her mother to take care of, that was true, alas she felt obligated to Aunt Elsa as well. Truth be told, Geraldine wanted to be the one to go to Fort Mohave and speak with the sheriff, make him come here to find Auntie’s killer.

  In hindsight, that would have been a bad idea since her mother would be left all alone at the farm. She looked quite lucid when they departed from the Black Tail Ranch, regrettably, that changed. Geraldine found her quite distraught, in her bedroom, shouting about ropes and justice. In that regard, the daughter was in agreement with the mother. The monster who did this deed deserved to experience the same fate as his victim; it was only just.

  While Geraldine spoke with Father Mathew, she was ready for departure. She would ride even longer distances to bring the sheriff and help Elsa, partly because she did not want to trouble the old father. Geraldine knew he had severe problems with his joints and detested rides, even in a carriage. And partly because she felt like that was her duty. Elsa was such a big part of her life, she was more like family and that made Geraldine craving to stay involved, to be the part of the group of people that uncovered the mystery and catch the murderer.

  Of course, Father Mathew had a conniption when she suggested she should have been the one traveling to Fort Mohave. Never in her life had she seen someone turn such a bright shade of red in an instant. She feared he would get seriously ill if she continued to insist. Not wanting to cause him additional distress and knowing her story already shook him a great deal, Geraldine relented and agreed to return to her farm as might be expected of any young woman in crisis. The problem with doing what she was told was just that. She wasn't accustomed to it. Besides, once she took care of her mother, Geraldine had unlimited time in front of her to be alone with her thoughts and do what she did best – worry.

  Geraldine would much rather do something other than thinking. It wasn't like she did not have enough work to keep her busy, unfortunately whenever she tried to accomplish anything, her mind would trail off, and she would accomplish nothing. Ultimately, she had to abandon all her chores and retire for the night.

  There was another problem that kept bothering her. She was at her farm, and not where she felt like she was supposed to be, as in being in town and helping the sheriff or the deputies to uncover the truth. Maybe that was a silly notion from her part since she did not know anything about solving crimes. Being the only one close to Elsa, apart from her mother, she felt obliged and highly motivated to see this resolved.

  Geraldine wondered what was happening, once again. Did Father Mathew contact the sheriff? Did he agree to help us? Is Elsa's body still at the ranch? Not knowing was killing her; she flinched, that was such poor choice of words. Not knowing was hurting her, since she had a full head of unanswered questions and if she did not do something to change that, it would certainly exp
lode.

  Don't be so overdramatic, Geraldine, she chastised herself. However, she made a decision in those moments as well. First thing in the morning, after setting up the shop at the market, I am going to visit Father Mathew and inquire about what was going on. Or how the investigation is supposed to be going. I will get some honest answers from him for sure, even if I have to coax him a little. Father Mathew was always fond of her and would understand her concerns and willingness to help.

  She could ask Jeremy to look after her goods while she was away; it wouldn't be the first time. Every time his father was cross with Jeremy, he would threaten him with sending Jeremy to work at the farm with Geraldine and to sell eggs, as well. Not that Jeremy cared, he was calm that way, so she knew she could count on him while she spoke with Father Mathew.