by David Boop
Mikey’s eyes bulged as he stared at Deane.
“What you talkin’…?”
Deane looked down at his hand, and there he found the Colt Lightning. It was warm in his palm—like the first time he picked it up. It terrified him though he didn’t know why. He relaxed his finger off the trigger and looked down the barrel; flicking it open he counted the bullets inside. There were four remaining.
“Get outta here,” he told Mikey, and the boy ran back toward the high street.
Deane stuck the gun in his belt. Where was his own gun? His holster hung empty, and he never went anywhere without it. When had he last touched the weapon? Unnerved, Deane wondered why he had Henry’s Colt. Why had he drawn it?
He went back to his office. Petey was still sitting at the desk writing on his slate as though he hadn’t noticed Deane leaving at all. Deane opened the safe and found his iron inside. Deane shook his head. He must have been so tired that the previous night, when he thought he’d stowed the Colt, he had placed his own gun inside instead.
Deane took out his gun and holstered it. Then he placed the Colt firmly inside the safe. There was not likely to be anyone claiming the gun, but Deane didn’t want to touch it ever again.
A short time later Alice came by to take Petey back home with her.
“I sure do hope they get us another school teacher soon,” she said.
Deane watched his wife and son leave. He wondered about how bad Petey must have been that morning in order for Alice to bring him to the office. The boy had sat quiet and had not bothered Deane even with the simplest request. Frowning, Deane locked up the office and followed Alice and Petey down the main street. He crossed the road to the other side and stood in the shadow of the apothecary’s doorway. At a distance, he saw his wife talking to the grocer as he swept the dust from his front step. Then he saw the man touch Alice’s hand. It was a quick, sly and intimate gesture. Deane slipped farther back into the shadows. He watched as Alice cast a glance up the street towards his office—expressing, perhaps, a moment of guilt?
Alice walked on, and Deane continued to follow. He had never had any cause to doubt her and didn’t know how to react to the sensation of suspicion and jealousy. Surely, this was all in his mind. He couldn’t have seen what he had just seen. He had to be misreading things.
He passed by the grocer shop and glanced at the owner—Daniel Hooley, a widower of not more than a year. Hooley glanced up from his sweeping and frowned when he found Deane watching him.
“Sheriff…” he said giving a nervous nod.
Deane nodded back and then followed Alice and Petey all the way home. When he got to his house, he saw bed linen and clothing hanging wet on the washing line out front, the bright hot sun bleaching the cotton white. Deane knew that Alice had to have been washing when she said she was, but there was a deep-rooted nagging doubt now about her and Hooley.
“Daddy, what you doing home?” asked Petey.
Alice turned and saw Deane behind them. An imperceptible flush colored her cheeks.
“Thought you’d be busy today, trying to find who killed Miss Lacie,” she said.
“I’m busy right enough,” he said. “Just wanted to check on you and Petey. Things ain’t right around here…”
Alice frowned. “You don’t think we’re in danger?”
“Until we find the culprit, no one is safe,” Deane said. “Stay indoors and don’t stray beyond what’s necessity.”
Alice hurried inside with Petey. Deane stared at the door long after it closed. Then he turned away and walked back to his office. Hooley was inside the store stacking his shelves with new stock. Deane didn’t go in, and Hooley didn’t notice as he passed. If he had, Hooley might have seen the tightness of Deane’s jaw and the hard set of his eyes.
* * *
A loud knocking on his front door brought Deane from a deep sleep. He staggered from his bed in his long johns, and lit the lantern on the dresser.
“What’s that?” said Alice. She was sitting upright in the bed by the time the light filled the room. Her eyes were wide and scared.
Deane picked up his gun from the table at the side of the bed, then he took the lamp and went downstairs leaving Alice once more in the dark.
The hammering on the door continued.
“Who is it?” Deane said.
“It’s me. Felix! There’s been another one, sheriff…”
Deane opened the door to his deputy looking scared and tired. Two nights of no sleep would do that to a man.
“Who is it?” Deane asked.
“Daniel Hooley. The grocer. Someone shot him clean through the head.”
A loud gasp behind him caused Deane to spin around. The lamplight spilled over his wife’s terrified face. She looked as though she were about to collapse with shock.
“That poor man…” she stammered. “And after his wife, Andrea, died in childbirth…”
Deane’s face went blank as he turned back to Felix. “Where’s the body?”
* * *
“It was a .38 bullet…” Doc Stewart said. He dropped the crumpled metal down onto Deane’s desk. “Just like Miss Lacie. This was lodged in the man’s brain.”
“So someone else has a gun like this one,” said Deane, “’cuz Lacie’s gun is locked up inside my safe.”
“In the safe?” Felix asked, puzzled.
“Yeah.”
“I went in there for spare ammo. I didn’t see it,” Felix said.
Deane opened the safe, and all three men peered inside.
“See,” said Deane. “There it is.”
He reached in and picked up the weapon. It was the Colt that had belonged to Lacie’s brother Henry.
“I guess I mustn’t’ve noticed it,” said Felix.
The metal of the gun felt uncomfortably warm in Deane’s hand. Out of habit, he flipped the barrel open and counted the bullets. There were only three.
He placed the gun back in the safe and closed it, saying nothing of his findings to the doctor or his deputy. Instead, he dismissed what he’d seen, believing he must have miscounted the bullets earlier.
“I have to get back to my wife,” Deane said.
* * *
Alice looked like she’d been crying when Deane returned to the house.
“What’s goin’ on?” she asked. “Why’re nice people suddenly dying?”
“Who said the grocer was nice?” Deane asked.
“Well…he didn’t…there was never anyone with a bad word about him or Andrea…”
“Go to bed,” Deane said.
Alice scurried away, though she wasn’t usually one to take orders from anyone. Deane couldn’t help noticing how affected she was by Hooley’s death.
Was that all his imagination? Or had Alice and Hooley been more than acquaintances?
In their bedroom Deane stripped back down to his long johns and slipped under the sheets.
“How well did you know him?”
“No more’n anyone else,” Alice said.
Deane didn’t believe her. But, if there had been something forming between them, that no longer mattered. Daniel Hooley was dead, and he wouldn’t be coming back from the grave any more than any other corpse.
The next morning Alice was her normal self, and she hummed a little tune while making breakfast.
Deane ate the usual grits this time with crispy bacon (usually only served him on a Sunday).
“Thought you deserved that,” said Alice.
After breakfast, Deane put on his gunbelt and holstered his gun. The metal felt uncommonly hot and, as he raised the weapon up to examine it, he found the .38 Colt Lightning in his hand instead of his usual Smith and Wesson.
Startled, he shoved the weapon into his holster before Alice saw it. Then he kissed his wife on the cheek and hurried out.
It was early, and Main Street was empty as Deane walked along it. His heels brought up puffs of dust as he walked. Felix had sent a telegram late last night to Hooley’s only brother. The groce
r’s store was closed and would remain so until Hooley’s relative arrived to either reopen it or to sell it on.
In the office, Felix slept soundly in the empty cell. Deane didn’t wake him. Instead he opened up the safe. There he found his own gun again, and he quickly switched it with the Colt. He didn’t look inside to see how many bullets remained.
* * *
A few hours later the pastor’s wife came in.
“My husband didn’t come home last night. I think he was down by the saloon. And maybe…with one of them floosies…”
“Don’t excite yourself,” Deane told her. “Sure, he drinks. But he’s never shown any interest in the girls.”
Deane left her in the office with some hot coffee. Then he went to the saloon. He walked in and straight upstairs, knocking on each of the girl’s rooms before poking his head inside. The pastor wasn’t there.
“Anyone see him last night?” he asked the bartender.
“He didn’t come by…” said the man as he dusted and polished the glasses for the day.
As he pushed open the doors, Deane came face to face with Banks, the undertaker.
“I found the pastor,” Banks said. “Down in the cemetery.”
* * *
“Another .38?” Deane asked as Doc Stewart examined the pastor’s body.
The doctor nodded. “He’s been dead since the early hours. The stiffening is just setting in.”
Deane didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t understand why anyone would kill the pastor. There had to be a connection between all of the victims. But the only thing he could determine was the type of weapon used.
When the undertaker took the pastor’s body away, Deane stood alone once more in his office. He opened the safe and took out the Colt. The gun felt hotter than ever in his hands. He opened the barrel and found, without surprise, that only two bullets remained.
I’m losing my mind, he thought.
No one had access to the gun but him and his deputy. He knew that Felix was not involved: The weapon kept appearing in Deane’s own holster around his own waist. But why?
Instead of returning the gun to the safe, Deane placed it in his holster. He wanted no more deaths in his town. He would keep the weapon with him that day, thus ensure that no one else could use it. Or, if the culprit was desperate enough, he may even try to take it from the sheriff, in which case Deane would catch him.
Daniel Hooley’s brother, Ethan, arrived later that day. Daniel’s body was already in the ground and so after visiting the grave, Ethan made his way to the sheriff’s office.
Deane was sipping coffee and eating cake that Alice had packed with his lunch.
“Do you know who did this?” Ethan asked.
“We are still investigating,” said Deane. “Perhaps you could tell me if your brother had any enemies?”
Ethan grew quiet a moment. Then he said, “At his last town he made himself too familiar with other men’s wives… Eventually the scandal forced him and Andrea to leave. I thought he’d learned his lesson.”
Deane looked away from Ethan, out the window and to the street.
“There’s been no scandal here that I’ve heard,” he said.
“No? I guess it must be somethin’ else,” said Ethan.
Ethan went to open up the grocery store.
“It’ll be business as usual,” Ethan promised. “I’ve been looking to settle somewhere hereabouts anyways.”
* * *
“What you doin’?” Alice said.
Deane woke. Alice had lit the lamp and was staring at him. His wife looked scared, as though she’d seen a ghost and not her husband standing at the foot of the bed.
“How’d I…?”
“I heard somethin’,” she said. “Then I woke and found you…just standin’ there.”
His hand burned. Deane looked down, finding the Colt clutched in his grasp. His finger poised over the trigger and the hammer pulled back as though ready to fire. Alarmed, he put the gun down on the dresser. His hand trembled.
“I wanna ask you somethin’,” he said turning to look at Alice.
“What?”
Alice shrank back. She looked frail and small, almost childlike. Deane felt guilty that he had scared her so much.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“Hooley…”
Alice frowned. “What about him?”
“He ever…get friendly with you?”
“Hooley was a flirt. But he did that to all the women…”
“Did you like it?” Deane asked.
“No. It made me feel…uncomfortable. I married you. I only want to know you.”
Deane rubbed his hand over his brow. “I don’t want any more deaths in my town, Alice.”
“Come back to bed,” his wife beckoned. “You’re just stressed. And no surprise with a killer out there.”
Deane came around the bed to his side. He sat down and swung his feet up onto the mattress.
“Jeez…” hissed Alice. “Your feet…”
Deane looked down and saw dust and muck on his bare feet. And bloody scratches on his ankles. He winced as he suddenly became aware of the stinging.
“What did you do?” asked Alice.
“Guess I musta walked outside,” he reasoned. “In my sleep.”
Alice got up and brought the wash bowl and jug around to Deane’s side of the bed. She washed and dried his feet.
“It’s gone. You can sleep now,” she said.
Deane curled up in the bed and fell asleep as though nothing had happened.
* * *
Deane woke to more chaos and Felix, once again, banging on his door. This time the prostitute, Celeste, had been found dead. Not in the saloon, but out near the cemetery, in the center of a wild rose bush that the pastor’s wife had planted some time back. Deane didn’t need to ask what bullet the Doc had found in her. He already knew. Just as he knew that only one bullet remained in the gun he now carried in his holster.
Deane went to Main Street. He found Ethan already at the store. A fresh supply of fruit had come in. The housewives of the town had lined up to buy it.
“I need to talk to you,” said Deane.
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” said Ethan. “I’ll call by when I finish serving these ladies.” He smiled at the women with the same flirty expression his brother had once had. Deane didn’t like it. He found his hand resting on the gun as he walked away from the store.
A little later, Ethan came to the office.
“Sit,” ordered Deane.
Ethan sat by the sheriff’s desk and looked at him benignly.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“I’ve been thinking. Your brother. He only lived here, about eighteen months…”
“That’s correct, Sheriff.”
“Where did he live before he came here?”
“Glenwood Springs.”
“Glenwood? That’s where Miss Lacie came from.”
“Miss Lacie?”
“The schoolmistress. She arrived about six months ago. Along with the pastor and his wife. But before them, Celeste came to town.”
“I don’t understand…” said Ethan.
“Did you know any of them?”
Ethan frowned. “I knew a Lacie. Back in Glenwood. Lacie Holliday. She married Doc Holliday, a few days before his lungs packed in.”
Deane asked Ethan to describe Lacie Holliday. The description sounded just like the dead teacher.
“What about Colin Dylan, the pastor?”
“Yeah…He gave Doc his last rites…”
Deane stroked the butt of the gun.
“He left ’cuz of scandal, too,” Ethan said, though by then the explanation was unnecessary.
“How’d your brother fit into this?” Deane asked.
“Rumor was that Lacie married Doc because she knew he was dying and it helped deflect some of the suspicion Daniel’s wife had of him and Lacie. By then, Andrea was pregnant. Daniel said they’d bought a store out t
his way, and she was happy to leave with him. Next thing I heard Andrea had died in childbirth.”
“What about a whore called Celeste?”
Ethan shrugged. “I didn’t know any women of that sort. But my brother may’ve.”
Deane knew there had to be a connection, and he wanted the mystery wrapped up in a neat little bow. Daniel, Lacie, and the pastor were all connected to Doc Holliday. Deane, of course, had heard of the infamous Holliday’s death. It had reached their town in a newspaper brought by a group of prospectors. The news of Holliday had made interesting gossip for a few days. Deane recalled this was where he’d heard the name Glenwood Springs before. It had been in that newspaper clipping. He thought he even had it still somewhere.
“Is that all, Sheriff?” Ethan said.
“There’s a connection,” Deane said as though speaking to himself. “I’m just not sure yet what it is.”
Ethan left the sheriff’s office, and Deane barely noticed. His fingers stroked the Colt’s butt, over and over, feeling the heat of the weapon seeping into his hand.
What did it all mean?
Deane took the weapon out of the holster and looked in the chamber. He’d already known this, but had to confirm, that there was one bullet left.
Someone else in their little town probably hailed from Glenwood Springs.
Deane thought he knew everyone in the town, but he couldn’t remember when they all arrived, or where they all came from.
And then, Deane realized, he hadn’t mentioned the first victim to Ethan. Miss Lacie’s brother Henry had to be somehow involved in this too.
He locked up the office and headed back to the store to take this up with Ethan, only to find the store had been closed early.
* * *
Later that day, Deane asked the pastor’s widow, “Do you know of anyone else here who hailed from Glenwood Springs?”
“Glenwood? Why there?”
“It seems there was a connection. The people who died, including your husband, came here directly from there. So you must have known Miss Lacie and Mr. Hooley.”
“I married Colin just before we moved here. We met in Wichita. He never said he knew anyone here already.”
Deane questioned her further, but it was clear she didn’t know anything of her husband’s life in Colorado.
“Here’s the town register, Sheriff,” the woman said eventually. “It may have the information you’re looking for.”
