by Dallis Adams
“Sheriff Jack MacKissick, my husband,” she informed him. “He wouldn’t let me help diffuse the fight, which I still need to discuss with him as to his reasoning,” she grumbled.
“Last time you helped, you stomped on Chuck’s instep causing him to lean over, and then nearly broke his nose when you jammed the heel of your hand into his face,” Lala said.
“He was about to punch Halbert, and I couldn’t abide that.” Chuck still rubbed Uma wrong, even though he was her grandfather’s son by marriage. Her grandfather had married Celeste Egan, a war widow who was thirty years his junior. After nearly ten years since his passing, Celeste still mourned for him. Uma inwardly sighed, sorry that she’d never gotten the chance to meet her granddad. Apparently Chuck didn’t learn his stepfather’s goodwill and decency. Because Chuck Egan Kincaid was a bully.
“Halbert is only three years younger than you,” Lala reminded her. “He could protect himself.”
“On the contrary. Why are we having this discussion again?” Uma complained to her friend. “Like I said before, Chuck is around twenty years older. Brawnier. Halbert wasn’t taught self-defense or how to use weapons. Not like I was.”
“Well, I don’t blame Jack for nearly having a heart attack when he saw you take on Chuck. He married a teacher, not a fisticuff professional.”
“And take it from a man,” Harvey Wild-Hog Harper interrupted from under the hat that covered his face as he leaned back in the rocker. “Men don’t like their women stepping into a physical fight.” He lifted his hat off his face and looked at Uma, his eyes surprisingly clear even though he’d already begun drinking. “They like to be the ones to ride to the rescue. That’s why my horse-riding stunts were so popular back in the day. There was always a pretty young acrobat who played the damsel-in-distress that needed rescuing from the evil Wilder Gang.”
“Back in the day being the operative phrase,” Uma muttered. “All men aren’t painted with the same brush.” Even as she said it, she wondered if Jack would get tired of her antics because he had been vastly irritated with her the day she’d stomped on Chuck.
“Most men are,” the newcomer, Cyril, inserted. “Most men would never be attracted to a woman who would jump into a brawl.”
“Tit for tat, because many women would never go for a narrow-minded pansy,” Uma told the nosy man. “You don’t know Jack. He is man enough that anything I do won’t emasculate him.” Even as she denied it, she wondered. Did Jack resent her ability to defend herself?
Cyril’s eyes darkened with what — irritation? But the emotion was gone so fast that she wondered if she’d imagined it. He raised his hands as if surrendering. “Oh, and may I say — at the risk of being beaten — that before you leave your home, you should make sure you’re dressed appropriately.” He stifled a chuckle.
She blinked, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wondering what the man was talking about, she glanced at Lala only to find her openly grinning.
“What’s so funny?” Uma asked defensively.
“Nothing,” Lala replied with a smirk. “Other than your dress is inside out.”
She looked down and realized it was true. The dress was loose enough that Jack hadn’t needed to unbutton it to pull it over her head. If she would have had to button the thing, she would have noticed it was inside out. Heat suffused her cheeks. “Good grief.”
Cyril laughed. “A little afternoon delight, I dare say.”
Even as her face turned hotter, she glared at the newcomer. How dare he assume something so intimate, and to refer to it. “Excuse me? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lala raised a brow. “Thou dost protest too much. Your dress was on right for teaching school this morning and this afternoon.”
“Still, no hanky-panky or afternoon delight for me. I’m an upstanding citizen and a God-fearing woman, dammit.” Uma stomped her foot, wishing she could stomp the grins off of everybody’s lips.
Only when they all laughed did she realize she let out the curse. When would she ever get control of her capricious tongue?
“Oh, yeah,” Rick chimed in. “Her and Jack have sporadic romps all the time. I hear them at the Wandering Axe when I take breaks from my violin playing.”
Too bad that The Wandering Axe, the town tavern, was next to the Sheriff’s Office. Too bad that their so-called private quarters was so public. Mortification swamped her.
“You got that right,” Harvey spoke up from under his hat where Uma had assumed the man was sleeping. “I can’t get no sleep at night in my jail cell with all the racket going on up there in their little love nest. Never heard so much bed thumping. And into the wee hours of the night, too.”
“Cease your inappropriate talk.” She decided she was going to have to discuss their lack of privacy with Jack. Under no circumstances was she going to continue with their marital intimacies when everybody in town knew what they were doing, and when. And where. Something had to change. “Besides, can’t you put a pillow over your head when you’re sleeping off your revelry in the jail cell? Stuff your ears with cotton?”
“Aw, don’t worry,” Harvey said with a smile. “I don’t mind. Besides, we know what the best part of marriage is.”
“Yup,” Rick agreed. “That’s the only reason to get married, is the marital consummation.”
“And a lot of it,” Harvey added.
“If you think that, you’ve got another think coming. No wonder the two of you are single.” With that, she turned to leave. She would rather talk to the conniving Doc Elroy than to continue listening to this conversation.
“Where are you going?” Lala asked.
“To fix my dress and then to see Doc Elroy.”
“From the frying pan into the fire,” Rick said with a chuckle.
Uma stopped and turned to look at them. All of them were grinning, including the newcomer, Cyril. “Why do you say that?”
“Ah, we all heard what you said to the doc,” Harvey replied, exchanging a knowing glance with Rick.
“You know, your threat?” Rick clarified when Uma gave him a confused frown.
“Yeah, something about holding him down and forcing poison down his throat?” Cyril added.
“Stop your nonsense,” Uma retorted with an eye-roll that made her dizzy. She gave the rascals a dismissive wave and continued down the boardwalk to do as Jack bade her — visit her nemesis and try to listen to his side of it.
“Just make sure he’s alive before you leave him,” Harvey called out, causing them all to laugh uproariously. “Even if the reprobate might deserve otherwise. You know, with what happened to your stepsister and all.”
What? Doc deserved death? But when he nudged Rick and winked at her, she dismissed the idea. He was just trying to be supportive. And trying to distract her from their lewd talk.
Remembering their bawdy comments had her ire rising. “Yeah, keep it up. I’ll have all of you arrested for being Peeping Toms,” she called back to them. “Jack will be angry enough to do it.”
Rick gave her an impish grin. “Naw, Jack has a good sense of humor.”
“He won’t if I tell them that the four of you are the reasons I’m not going to share marital intimacies with him any longer.”
They stopped laughing.
“Teach them to make fun of my private life,” she muttered to herself as she stomped off toward their loft above the Sheriff’s Office.
After fixing her dress and making sure her hair was coiffed, she left the loft and took long strides toward Caravan Row, and alias Elroy Hancock.
Why was she going to see the reprobate, anyway? It wasn’t as if anything thing he said would change matters. He gave tiny Tiffany a concoction that killed her. It was his fault. That was all there was to it.
Compromise. She was on her way to see Hancock because Jack had asked her to go. She had to admit to a weakness she never thought she would develop. Since when did she forgo her foregone conclusions simply because someone as
ked her to reconsider? Jack had cajoled her to do it. She had agreed only in the aftermath of lovemaking, when she’d been in a state of nirvana, when her mind was compliant. Soft. He had her wrapped around his little finger. Was she about to become one of those mindless women, whose whole existence revolved around a man?
Before they were married, his teasing would infuriate her to no end, and she would rise to the challenge. There was sexual tension between them, something she now understood. She still rose to the challenge, but since she’d gotten to know him in the Biblical sense it was different because he could diffuse her indignant ire by using his hands and mouth in ways she’d never even imagined.
Memories heated her cheeks. But now that she was away from his enticements, she could at least think about how he’d turned her into mindless porridge, therefore taking the edge off of whatever cause she was pursuing, which now was finding justice for her deceased stepsister.
Somehow Jack had changed her. Mellowed her. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Soft was what she’d become. Easily manipulated. Cryptians knew her weakness was Jack.
She didn’t want to be solely identified as Jack’s wife.
Because it would be like her life at the orphanage. And, once again, she would be forgotten.
Jack left the copper foundry without incident, since the dispute had already been resolved. Chuck, owner of the copper mill and foundry, had come and gone, and his workers were melding, welding and hammering once more. Jack watched for a while, and then he left, too, deciding to check up on Uma, to see if she was visiting with Doc Elroy yet. Maybe to listen in on the conversation. And to thwart any upcoming fights.
Not that he didn’t trust Uma. He did. Mostly. But she tended to speak her mind, which was something that he both admired and dreaded. The latter was because she didn’t have much of a filter. She got caught up in her beliefs, her emotions, whatever calling she was marching to, and said whatever was laying heavily on her heart, and damn the consequences.
Too, a nervousness about her and Doc Elroy had sprung to life since he’d left her. A sense of doom darkened his mind, one that he couldn’t shake. He had to check up on her, if only for his peace of mind.
He took a short cut through the Redwoods, going the direct route to where Doc Elroy’s vardos were parked. He reached the closest one and glanced inside to see Doc sitting on a narrow chair, checking each bottle and then repositioning them on one of several shelves.
The shelving swiveled on a vertical axis, so that after a day of sales, Doc could rotate the medicines to the inside of the caravan. That way he could lock them up for security reasons.
Above the glass bottles, on a stationary portion of the wall, were various assortments of horse tack, stirrups, bridles. An intricate horse faceplate brow band made with thin copper plating caught his attention. The center was shaped in a tear drop. The word Twilight etched in fancy scroll decorated the otherwise smooth, copper sheath. Gold lace had been embroidered around the teardrop, woven with the copper through fine holes in the shiny metal.
Doc Elroy glanced up. “Oh, hello, Jack. Did Uma come with you?”
So she wasn’t there. He’d hoped she would have found her way to Doc. But maybe this was better. Her procrastination allowed him to have a private word with Doc. “She’ll be here soon. I just wanted to tell you, be patient with her. It might take a while to win her over. But if she insists that you leave, then I will have to oblige her and ask that you do just that.”
“I understand,” Doc Elroy replied in a solemn tone. “I meant it when I said I would leave if Uma wanted me gone.” Then his expression turned sly. “But I have a plan.”
“You do?”
“I’m sure you saw part of it.” At Jack’s puzzled look, Doc explained, “The daguerrotype I sent through the lad? The picture of me with Uma’s dear mother, Suzette?”
“I didn’t see it.” No, he’d been in a hurry to get to the copper mill and take care of the altercation — one that had taken care of itself.
“Well, I’m hoping to win her over with stories about her mother. I’ll grovel to get her to forgive me.” The expression on Doc’s face was desperate enough to make Jack cringe.
“The groveling is alright,” Jack said, deciding if his friend wanted to try that ploy it was up to him. “Beg and bootlick all you want. But don’t hold her mother or any history about her over Uma’s head. It won’t go well.”
“Alright,” Doc said slowly.
“Just tell the truth. Be yourself. Listen to her before you insist that she listen to you.” He patted the side of the vardo. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Doc Elroy replied with a wry twist of his lips. “I think I’ll need it.”
Jack left, hoping all went well between Uma and Doc Elroy.
Six
Jumpy, uneasy, Jack walked down Caravan Row toward his office. He had wanted to stick by Doc Elroy’s side and wait for Uma. But he knew that by doing so he would be giving Uma the wrong signal, as if he didn’t trust her. He feared she would think he was controlling. And he didn’t want her to think either of those things. The reason he visited Doc was because he’d wanted to protect her feelings. But somehow he doubted she would see it that way.
He decided to stop by The Vine and the room at the back where he kept his kettlebells. He needed a workout. Although he’d felt boneless and satiated after their lovemaking, her animosity for Doc Elroy had him experiencing a strange restlessness.
As he strode back toward the business section of Cryptic Cove, the tingling of fine hairs on the back of his neck continued to stir. What caused the sinking sensation that hit him in the middle of his chest? The kettlebells would surely get rid of the pent up energy that crowded his gut. And maybe the physical exertion would clear his head, get rid of the sense of doom that seemed to be hanging over him.
He walked across the street, heading for The Vine at the far end of the boulevard, and started to cross the mouth of the alley between buildings. The hush of a man’s voice and the contents of what he said caused Jack’s hackles to rise. He halted in his tracks.
“… getting old.”
Then a woman spoke, her tone whiny. “I’m sick of these small towns. I can’t wait for him to keel over. If I could spend money, like on a new dress or a hat, these tiny towns would be bearable. But he’s so stingy. He shouldn’t have joined Cojocaru because now we’ll have to share the profits. He should have stayed on his own, and spent money on the bigger venues. It takes money to make money.”
“Of course it does. You’re so clever,” the man replied, his tone soothing.
The woman continued, her voice high and testy, enough to make Jack grit his teeth. “I keep telling Doc that we can make so much more money if he would just get away from Cojocaru’s. Freelance. But he won’t listen to me. I’m tired of following his dictates. I want my inheritance now so I can choose where to go. I know I can make a lot more profit than he does. I’m the one who has the head for business.”
Jack moved to stand under the awning, out of sight from the participants of the discussion, and continued to listen. He finally recognized the woman’s voice. Angela Wicket. But she sure sounded different from her theatrical performances on the street. Now her voice sounded screechy, like fingernails dragged down one of Uma’s slateboards.
Yes, she was Doc Elroy’s helper, the one who spun that story of how the Doc saved her when she was sick. The story was fabricated, he was certain of it. And it bothered him that Doc would allow her to spin concoct tales. But, on the other hand, Doc Elroy had a business to run. She was an adequate actress. And even if she embellished on the story, hopefully an element of truth was hidden in the tale. Because Jack knew for a fact that the Doc did save lives. However. Why not tell the actual stories of Doc’s successes? He decided he would make a point to discuss the problem with his friend.
“Just be patient,” the man said, interrupting Jack’s thoughts.
Although he hadn’t officially met him, Jack assumed the speaker was
Doc’s assistant, Cyril Eley. Cyril had been at the altercation between Orlando and Doc Elroy. It must be him. Who else would Angela talk to about her employer? Another employee only made sense. And they were the only two that worked with Doc Elroy.
Cyril continued, his tone hushed. “Like I told you, he’s old. His health isn’t what it used to be. Can’t you see how he’s failing?”
“Yeah?” she said slowly, her tone contemplative. “Maybe.”
“How he takes more naps? How he sometimes gets sweaty and struggles for breath? Well, I haven’t told you but the other day I saw him mixing a drop of cyanide with Panacea’s Elixir Salutis. I asked him who the concoction was for but he told me to mind my own business. I kept pestering him, but he wouldn’t say, which is unlike him. Angela, one of the reasons to use cyanide is for heart problems. He must be experiencing chest pains, Angela. So just sit back. Wait. Believe me. He’s not long for this earth. Things will work out. You’ll see.”
If Jack was remembering Doc Elroy’s contract with Cojocaru correctly, Cyril’s job was to assist the doc with the mixing of his elixirs. According to Doc Elroy, Cyril was his great-nephew. Both of Cyril’s parents had died. Doc had found Cyril begging on the streets of San Francisco. So the doc had taken the young man under his wing and had been teaching him the trade of a pharmaceutical assistant so Cyril would have a profession to fall back on once Doc retired.
To hear the pair discuss Doc Elroy’s heart problems and upcoming death so callously had Jack balling his hands into fists. He decided to take a page out of Uma’s book and confront the couple.
“Good day, folks,” he said as he stepped out into the alley’s mouth.
Angela’s eyes widened. So did Cyril’s.
Angela glanced down at the star pinned on Jack’s soft cow-leather vest. “Oh, you must be Sheriff Jack.” She batted her lashes and gave him a sloe eyed glance. “You are more handsome than words can say.”
