“Not all are fond of the sheriff, I'm afraid,” Robert joked, keeping a straight face.
“Really?” Dr. Carmichael started looking about as if trying to assess the threat, if any, around them.
“No,” Robert replied simply to end his misery. Dr. Carmichael was not amused by his jest. “I am glad you managed to come,” Robert added, changing the subject. “Shall we? The remains are in Mr. Rose's house; he is the local undertaker.”
Dr. Carmichael looked at him as if he suddenly spoke in a foreign tongue which confused Robert. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you look like that,” he replied, gesturing toward his ruined shirt.
“Oh,” was all Robert had to say to that.
“Oh? Don't you want to change first?”
“Good point.” Unfortunately, Robert did not have spare clothes with him, since he rode to Oatman in a hurry. He shared that with his friend.
“I will lend you some of mine,” he offered in return.
“All right. I will escort you to Mr. Rose's home to wash and change while you examine Miss Potter's body.”
“Very well. Lead the way.”
If Mr. Rose was surprised to see him all covered in yolk, he did not comment on it, which stood as a testament to his professionalism.
“I had a small accident,” Robert still explained himself.
“I see that. You are most welcome to use the washroom, it's through there,” Mr. Rose pointed.
“Thank you. This is Dr. Carmichael,” Robert made introductions.
“If you would follow me, Doctor.” Mr. Rose and Dr. Carmichael disappeared into the basement so the doctor could examine the body while Robert went to a small washroom and tried to make himself look more presentable again, which was a lost battle to begin with.
There was a basin and a pitcher available. Firstly, he assessed the damage, looking at himself in the mirror that was hung on the wall. He was still covered in eggs, and the yolks started to dry and flake, and he couldn't even explain what was happening on his head. No wonder people kept staring at him; he looked like a clown, and not a good version at that. Quickly, he washed his hair and scrubbed his face until it was squeaky clean. He wished there was something he could do about his nose as well since the smell was intolerable. I hate eggs.
Unfortunately, the shirt the doctor provided was too tight for him; he should have figured as much since his friend was much shorter and leaner than him, so he couldn't button it up at all.
Abandoning that idea, he refocused on cleaning his own. Robert took a washcloth and wiped his shirt and vest to the best of his abilities. In the end, he realized he looked only marginally better, smelled pretty much the same, and was even wetter. But what can you do?
Once he rejoined Dr. Carmichael and Mr. Rose in the basement, the doctor frowned disappointingly, wrinkling his nose as if the smell bothered him. And that was strange coming from a man who was in the process of cutting a dead body.
“What happened to the shirt?” the doctor wanted to know.
“Too tight. So? What do you have for me?” Robert inquired, swiftly changing the subject. He was done with this nonsense, it was time to get back to work. They were all there for a reason, to uncover the truth and catch a killer, with or without some broken eggs.
* * *
Geraldine couldn't believe she just did that. All of it. From tripping the poor man, to covering him with eggs, to teasing him. Her cheeks started to heat up again. That was not the proper way she wanted to meet the sheriff. Since she never met the man before the only reason she did know it was him was because he wore a distinct golden star on his vest. The look on his face, while covered in egg yolks and shells, was priceless. She chuckled, remembering their exchange, however brief it may have been.
Geraldine tried to calm herself, pressing cold hands on her hot cheeks, taking deep breaths. Her heart threatened to jump from her rib cage. Did I really say all those things to him? He was quite cheeky. Oh my, she could not explain what came over her to behave in such a manner. Of course, she spoke like that with Jeremy all the time; alas, that was different. They had been friends most of her life, and she never met the Sheriff before today.
And what an introduction that was. He was sure to remember her, no matter what. That made her smile even more.
“What happened to you?” Jeremy wanted to know, running into her in front of his store. “And why are you smiling like that? It is rather scary looking.”
Geraldine did not pay attention to his jibes. She was still daydreaming about the Sheriff. She did not expect him to be so young, or dashing. And those eyes...
“I have to go,” she murmured to her friend before walking away toward Whitey.
She felt slightly guilty for accepting all his money when he did not do anything wrong. I will find a way to redeem myself. And she needed to think of something fast, since she was certain, sooner rather than later, that their paths would cross again.
Chapter Eleven
Robert had to patiently wait for the doctor to finish his examination before deeming it fit to speak with him. Still, Robert was getting restless. This was not his area of expertise for a reason. He was a man of action, so in a way, all this waiting around was really making him build his character. “So? What do you have to say?” Robert prompted at one point and Dr. Carmichael sent him the look that meant he wasn't done yet.
Another quarter of an hour passed before Dr. Carmichael moved away from the table, pulling a white sheet over the body and wiping his hands. “This woman died from mechanical asphyxia, there's no doubt about it,” he announced.
“She was choked to death.”
“Correct. Swelling of the neck, petechial hemorrhages in the eyes confirm as much.”
Robert nodded, satisfied he finally had an official cause of death. “Anything else?”
“She has severe adhesion burn marks on her palms that were made shortly before she died.”
That was also consistent with what Robert speculated. She fought with the attacker for the rope and scraped her hands, and he said as much.
The doctor nodded. “And there were some additional bruises on her arms and legs.”
“So, she struggled to get hold of the murder weapon, was pushed into various things, ultimately lost, and the killer choked her to death with that rope.”
He nodded toward the murder weapon. “Unfortunately.”
At least he had something concrete to build this theory on. “But there's something else.”
“What?”
“Her internal organs are in a rather poor state, weakened and severely damaged. Simply put, they looked much older than they should for a woman her age.”
“Father Mathew told me she was sick for the past couple of months,” Robert provided, which made Dr. Carmichael frown.
“Indeed. Did he say what kind of sickness troubled her?”
Robert tried to remember every conversation they had with the priest. “No. I do not believe he knew. Maybe you can shed some light on that,” since Robert was intrigued as well.
“I will most definitely try, yet it will take me some time.”
And then something occurred to Robert. “Maybe her physician can help in that regard. He prescribed all kinds of medications.”
“Do you know which ones?”
“Not by heart. I can visit the ranch later and write them down for you.”
“Thank you,” Dr Carmichael replied. “Only, I would still feel much better if I conducted a more thorough examination myself. Do some additional tests.”
“Of course.” Robert did not have any problems with that. The more he knew the better. Besides, this was not his area of expertise, so he relied on Dr. Carmichael to do his job to the best of his abilities and help Robert solve this case.
“I'll leave you to it, then.” Robert planned on doing some interviewing now.
“Oh, I cannot proceed now. Mr. Rose has to help me, and he is away on business.”
; Meaning, someone passed away and needed an undertaker. “Take your time, I have the utmost confidence in you, you know that.”
“Thank you, my friend. Besides, I would like to use this small reprieve to eat something. I am quite famished.”
Robert barely contained himself not to laugh. Dr. Carmichael was always hungry. It was a true miracle he remained so skinny despite the amount of food he was able to consume. “I rushed here immediately after receiving your telegram, skipping breakfast altogether.”
“Thank you for coming in such a rush, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” he replied instantly then added. “Do you know some fine establishment for a gentleman like me to get a proper meal?”
Robert had no clue. He was about to find out. “Let us go, I am sure we can find something together.”
Getting upstairs, they ran into Father Mathew. Robert smiled, making quick introductions. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“I came here looking for you, Sheriff,” and then he focused on Robert.
Here we go again. “What happened to you? You look,” and smell, Robert added to himself knowing what was on priest's mind, “as if you survived a war.”
“I was under attack,” Robert replied in all seriousness.
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Dr. Carmichael decided to speak up as well. “However, you failed to explain to me what actually happened.”
Robert shrugged. A part of him did not want to tell them anything. He wanted to keep that meeting to himself, besides it was more fun for him, like this. “Who attacked you,” Father urged.
“A very peculiar creature,” he answered cryptically, joking, yet as it turned out, that was funny only to himself.
Seeing his friend and the old priest genuinely distressed, Robert sobered. “I was only joking. It was merely a little accident at the market, nothing more.”
“You should have said that then, and not try to jest with us,” Dr. Carmichael scolded without actual heat in his words.
“I couldn't help myself,” Robert replied honestly. “And it was nothing for you to worry about.”
“I worry about my nose,” Dr. Carmichael wrinkled it in disgust, which Robert found rather funny considering he examined dead bodies and would have troubles stomaching a few smelly eggs.
Robert was more than aware he was starting to smell, and he gave his friend the look; the doctor pretended not to see it. “Why did you want to see me, father?” Robert decided to change the subject, feeling their small intermezzo served its purpose and was now time to continue with the investigation.
“Ah, yes, I sent words to the Laurel farm and I wanted to see if you were available for us to go and visit them?”
“That would be perfect.”
“All right then, good day doctor and thank you for coming. Our little town appreciates it.”
“It was my pleasure to be of assistance.”
“Let's go,” Robert urged.
Father Mathew hesitated to leave, and Robert sent him a questioning look.
“Sheriff, do you wish to change first?” He asked, timidly, as if not wanting to offend. It was just that Robert wasn't that easily offended. Besides, he already knew what he looked like.
“No, we have no time to waste. Let's go,” he decided on the spot.
“What about me?” The doctor inquired, and Robert felt the need to roll with his eyes.
“You are a grown man, I am sure you can manage to find your way around a small town to eat something before continuing your work.”
He sighed. “Very well. I was hoping for some company; however, I do understand you are busy.”
“Another time,” Robert promised. Dr. Carmichael nodded. “I will see you later then, we can perhaps have some supper together.”
“I will have to go back to Fort Mohave soon, but I will continue to do my research on Elsa Potter and have a full report for you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.”
They said their goodbyes, shortly thereafter, went their separate ways.
This time, the father did not complain he had to ride and so soon, which made Robert quite impressed. He suspected the father had health issues that made riding uncomfortable and for that he respected him, even more, and appreciated his sacrifice to show him the way. He was certain he could have found another guide or found it himself, yet having the father by his side would be preferable since it would put both women at ease to speak with him more freely. Especially Stephanie, and then something occurred to Robert. “Father?”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“You mentioned how Stephanie Laurel isn't quite well. Is it the same affliction Elsa had?” It would be quite intriguing if it turned out both women suffered from the same disease, especially since Robert did not believe in coincidences.
“Oh, no,” father replied instantly.
There goes that theory.
“I'm afraid she suffers from the nerves.” Father refused to say anything else, afraid he would be accused of gossiping or something even worse, and Robert did not press despite the fact he found the notion quite frustrating. He was the sheriff and needed all the information, unfortunately, at times, he had to practically force people to speak with him, in a nonviolent manner.
In any case, they would arrive at the farm shortly, and Robert would learn everything he needed straight from the source. He just hoped that said source, the girl he was about to meet and her mother, were more talkative than the father. One can hope...
* * *
Geraldine was still in shock while returning home. I met the Sheriff. And met was not a proper word to describe that encounter, at all.
She practically attacked him, showering him with eggs; Geraldine's cheeks instantly reddened at the memory of it. Whatever was said about her was true, she was a clumsy, awkward person. “My own two feet would be the death of me,” she told herself, and looked at them with a frown, as she rode.
There was something else that surprised her and shook her to the core. Geraldine did not expect him to be so dashing, tall and muscular, with beautiful blue eyes, and she acted all rude, teasing him after she ruined his clothes. Shame on you, Geraldine. She did not feel shame though… She was intrigued and at the time of the meeting she was having fun.
Geraldine found a letter on her doorstep. It wasn't the first time something like that occurred. When her mother was having one of her bad days she refused to leave her bed for any reason, so with time, people got used to leaving everything on the porch, if they could not find Geraldine working about. She instantly opened it up and started reading while entering inside. It was a rather short note.
“Mother, I'm home,” she yelled, not bothering to go up to her mother's room to check up on her. She would do that once she prepared some supper for the two of them.
Father Mathew sent word for her. Father Mathew! She exclaimed inside her head. Geraldine completely forgot, in her state of confusion because of the Sheriff, how she made a promise to herself to go and visit Father Mathew today, to ask about Elsa's case. As it turned out, he was going to come and visit her. He is not coming alone. Father Mathew is bringing him, here. The Sheriff.
Is there a chance there is another sheriff in our small town? She asked herself, starting to feel nervous all of a sudden, and she couldn't even explain to herself why. She was about to see him again. He was coming on official business and not to have some tea with her. Calm yourself, Geraldine. This is what you wanted, a way to be involved. And that helped calm her.
The Sheriff wished to speak with her and her mother about Elsa, since they were the ones who discovered her body. Realizing he would need to speak with both of them, Geraldine instantly got alarmed, looking upward, this time for a whole different reason.
How would her mother act around the Sheriff? Can she handle it? What if she refuses to speak to him? Geraldine simply did not have answers to such questions. Only time would tell.
At the same time, something else occurred to her. The She
riff was coming here, and he was going to see her. Her. The egg girl. She did not care to take on the nickname, but it was fitting. Geraldine turned scarlet again. Being in his presence made joking feel very natural to Geraldine. Sadly, once she started looking about, she discovered people were staring at them. The last thing she needed was a scandal on her hands, so that made her sober up, and she managed to escape without causing an additional scene.
She would be the tale of the town either way, she did not have to add kindle to and already burning fire. Geraldine did not particularly care about gossip, although Susannah spoke ill about her for years, so she became used to it. Unfortunately, this was not about Geraldine. At least not solely about her since she did not want the sheriff's name to be dragged through mud as well. Speaking of names, she did not know his.
The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 11
