by Joe Slade
The sheriff chewed his words for a moment. ‘Near the Stanford house. Seems like when she was shot, she stumbled off the road and fell into an old abandoned mine shaft. That’s why we didn’t find her straightaway.’
‘What was she doing there?’ Doc asked, more to himself.
‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.’
A banging on the outer door brought a pause while Martha went down to answer it. Seconds later, boots pounded up the stairs and Rick burst in with Leo on his heels. They looked between Maggie and Doc, ignoring the sheriff as an unasked question passed silently between them.
Doc raised a hand for calm. ‘She’s been shot but she’s alive.’
Sheriff Anderson closed in as the men crowded around the examination table. ‘I’m glad you’re all here. I need to talk to you about Mrs. Simpkins, or should I come straight out and say Maggie O’Bannen?’
The sheriff watched a look pass between the three of them, saw them close ranks, but he was determined to have answers. ‘I learned something interesting today,’ he said, letting the revelation hang. ‘It turns out George Stanford had a daughter, Margaret. She was kidnapped about seven years ago by Frank O’Bannen and his gang. Until recently she was presumed dead.’ He waited for a response but wasn’t surprised when none was forthcoming. ‘But you all knew that, didn’t you?’ It was a rhetorical question. ‘Any reason why you didn’t tell me who she was?’
‘We didn’t think it was anybody’s business but hers,’ Rick answered.
‘Well, it’s my business now. How well do you all know her?’
‘Well enough,’ Doc assured him.
‘Rick?’ the sheriff asked.
The younger man considered for a moment. ‘She’s like a sister to me.’
Anderson got the distinct feeling there was a warning in there but he had a job to do and, past friendship aside, he intended to get it done.
‘And do you believe she’s Margaret Stanford?’
Rick nodded. ‘I know she is.’
The conviction in Rick’s voice left no doubt but raised a huge question that Anderson really didn’t want an answer to.
‘I was with her,’ Rick volunteered, ‘when Frank O’Bannen died. We came down from the hills together.’
Whatever his suspicions might have been, Anderson wasn’t quite prepared for that. ‘Jesus, Rick! I’m a lawman are you sure you want to be telling me that?’
Rick shrugged. The truth was out and he was obviously prepared to deal with the consequences. ‘You used to believe a man was guilty based on facts, not by association.’
Anderson held the steely gaze that seemed to weigh and measure him. He was doing much the same thing himself. Rick Talbot had certainly done a lot of growing up since they had last seen each other. Back then he had been so green he had put a noose around his own neck. Anderson hoped for Dora Talbot’s sake that he hadn’t traded one bad decision for another.
‘Are you wanted for anything?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No, sir.’
The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well, that’s something, at least. Listen, if what you say about Maggie O’Bannen is true, things just got a hell of a lot more complicated.’
‘They tend to do that,’ Doc said.
The sheriff eyed the three men who stood between him and Maggie O’Bannen like a hundred-foot wall. He had a feeling that facing down three guns would have been easier than breaking through their resistance. If he wanted to get to the bottom of this he was going to need them on his side as much as they were going to need him.
‘Right now, she’s the only one with a motive. However,’ he said, holding up his hand to belay their protests, ‘until I can question her there’s nothing I can do about that. You think she’s a victim in all this, so here’s what I suggest: you help me find the real killer before a bad situation gets worse.’
‘Do your job for you, you mean,’ Doc said.
The doctor’s blunt disdain ruffled him but Anderson decided to ignore it. ‘The Fourth of July celebrations are tomorrow and my men are going to have all on keeping the peace. I could use some extra help. If I were to deputize you, no one would question it. We could help each other and your friend, if she’s innocent.’
‘Count me out. I’m a medic, not a lawdog.’
‘What about you, Rick?’ the sheriff asked.
‘I never thought about being a lawman but…’ He shrugged. ‘What the hell, I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch who shot Maggie anyway, it might as well be legal.’
Chapter Thirteen
By the next morning, Maggie still hadn’t regained consciousness. Doc refused to leave her side and after dropping off Doc’s gear from the hotel, Rick made his way to the sheriff’s office. Already, along the main street, trestle tables and sideshows were being set up and the final pennants were being hung. On his way to the jailhouse, he spotted Sheriff Anderson outside the Stanford Grand watching the flag above the main entrance being hoisted to half-mast.
‘How’s Maggie O’Bannen?’ the lawman asked, tearing his gaze away and straightening his hat as he got down to business.
‘No change, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down when you say that name.’
The sheriff frowned. ‘I thought we could take another look around the Stanford house. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.’
Rick appreciated the confidence but he doubted it. In Rick’s experience, Ben Anderson didn’t miss anything. His mind recorded detail like an artist’s brush on canvas. Maybe he hadn’t put everything together yet but, if the killer had left any clues, Ben would have seen them. By the time they arrived at the front door, the sheriff had told him everything he knew.
A young, dark haired woman dressed in mourning admitted them to the house. The sheriff introduced her as Emma, adding that she was Cavanaugh’s fiancé and George Stanford’s former nurse. She asked after Maggie then showed them upstairs, lingering in the doorway of Stanford’s bedroom until the sheriff excused her. Even then, Rick had the feeling she hadn’t gone far.
For the first few minutes, he wandered around the room, noting everything the sheriff had told him including the fire damage and the disarray on the nightstand. Rick almost felt like he had been there before as all the pieces of Anderson’s description fell into place.
‘Well?’ Anderson prompted.
Rick shrugged. ‘Seems likely you’re right.’
‘So the only question is; who was the intended victim? George or Lucille?’
‘Stanford was already being poisoned,’ Rick reminded him.
‘The doc mentioned arsenic. If it’s true, why didn’t anyone report it to me before?’
Rick didn’t like the hint of criticism. ‘You’d have to ask them.’
‘Cavanaugh said he had suspicions but didn’t know for sure until your doc confirmed it. The nurse says she believed Doc Peters when he said Stanford had consumption.’ He took a deep breath and blew it out loudly. ‘Until I get a second opinion, I don’t know what to believe.’
‘Are you saying Doc lied?’ Rick asked, loyalty making him quick to anger.
‘I’m saying I need all the facts.’ Anderson cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘You remember what happens when people go off half-cocked, don’t you?’
Rick shuddered as events he had laid to rest, resurfaced with nightmarish clarity. He could feel the noose, the way it chafed the skin on his neck, the slow suffocation as the rope strangled the breath out of him. The bright flashing lights behind his eyes and the deafening ringing in his ears that drowned out the shouts and jeers of his executioners and—
He shook himself free of the memory. ‘When will you have your second opinion?’ he asked.
‘Doc Porter should be back in town tomorrow. Until then, let’s concentrate on what we know.’
‘What do we know?’ Rick asked skeptically.
‘We know Maggie O’Bannen was near the house.’ He held up his hand to ward off the inevitable backlash. ‘Think about it
, Rick.’
Rick nodded grudgingly. ‘You’re wondering why someone shot her. To stop her getting away or to shut her up?’
Ben smiled. ‘That’s better. Now, you’re thinking like a lawman.’
From horse races to shooting contests to the huge picnic held right in the middle of Main Street, the Fourth of July celebrations were peaceful for the most part. Rick left it to the regular peacekeepers to deal with the drunks, instead using his time to look and listen. Beyond the disbelief and speculative gossip that the murder of a prominent citizen stirred up, Rick didn’t hear anything that might help him identify the killer and it weighed on him like a guilty conscience.
As the festivities moved from day to night, tables were cleared away, lamps lit and a band played lively tunes as folks danced into the torch-lit night. At around ten, fireworks were let off and after that families started to drift home and the saloons and bawdy houses began to fill up. The idea of facing Doc and Leo without any good news to offer soured his mood.
The Fool’s Gold saloon beckoned like a temptress. An hour later, with a glass of beer in his hand and a couple of saloon girls vying for his attention, he was facing a tough choice. Both young and pretty, both eager to get him into bed, in the end it came down to a simple choice: Daisy the blonde or Ruby the redhead. He swallowed his beer and turned to the blonde on his left.
‘Another time,’ he said, slipping her a few coins for a drink.
She pouted, prepared to make one last play, but Ruby already had her arm around him, laughing as she dragged him towards the stairs. At the top, she pushed him into the first room and shut the door. The bed was mussed. The air reeked of perfume despite the breeze fluttering the light curtains.
‘You made the right choice, lover,’ she said, wetting her lips as she looked him over with hungry eyes.
She unfastened her dress, letting it fall to the wooden boards under her feet. Beneath it she was naked and her pale skin glistened in the lamplight as she slunk towards him. He waited for her to come to him, admiring her shapely body and the seductive way she used it, ignoring the bruises on her arms and legs. When she kissed him, he forgot about Doc and Leo and Maggie. Expertly, she stripped off his clothes and pushed him down onto the bed. When she lowered her warm, silky skin onto his and started to move against him, he forgot about everything else. For a brief time, there was no ugly past and no uncertain future, just a soft creaky bed and a passionate woman with a laugh like a mule, and a two-dollar price tag.
Downstairs, crammed in against the bar, Latimer had watched sullenly as Rick Talbot flirted with the whores. When at last the kid had decided on the red head and followed her upstairs, Latimer had tossed back a shot of whiskey before elbowing his way outside. He stopped on the plank walk and looked both ways. A few drinking men were moving from one saloon to another but otherwise the town was quiet. Unhurriedly, he crossed the street and ducked into a side alley. Picking up his pace, he followed it to the back of the building then turned left and walked two blocks past darkened yards before turning right and back towards Main Street.
‘Sumner,’ he called softly, ‘are you here, you drunken son of a bitch?’
A few yards ahead, a tall figure moved out of the darker shadows. ‘Said I would be, didn’t I?’
‘Did you get what I told you to get?’
‘Sure. You got the fifty you promised me?’
Latimer reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a roll of notes and peeled one off. ‘Ten now, the rest when it’s done.’
Moving closer, he handed it over, wrinkling his nose at the reek of filth and booze emanating from the man. His broken nails scratched Latimer’s hand as he snatched the money, almost missing it as he lurched unsteadily to the side.
Against his better judgment, Latimer grabbed his arm. ‘I told you to stay off the gut rot, didn’t I?’
‘I’m as sober as you are.’ Sumner yanked his arm free. ‘When do you want me to do it?’
‘Leave it for a couple of hours.’
‘Time for another drink then.’
Latimer punched him in the stomach. ‘No more drinking ’til it’s done. I can’t afford for you to make any mistakes. Do I make myself clear?’
Sumner finished coughing and straightened up, holding his belly. ‘Sure. You’re the boss.’
Latimer punched him again. ‘And don’t you forget it,’ he said, as he turned and walked away.
Rick had been dozing but now he left the warm, damp bed, and peered out the window. All along the street men were running, others poured out of buildings as the alarm spread. The faint stink of smoke reached him on the breeze and he leaned further out.
‘What’s going on?’ he shouted out.
The man looked up. It was Doc. ‘Rick?’ What are y—’
He cut him off. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The undertaker’s is on fire. Are you coming?’
In the time it took Rick to pull on his clothes, the blaze had lit up the sky giving it an eerie yellow tinge. It reminded Rick of the night the Pratt place had gone up in flames.
‘Where’s Leo?’ he asked, joining Doc on the street.
‘I told him to stay with Maggie. I thought it was for the best under the circumstances.’
Rick agreed, knowing Leo still had nightmares about the night his ma had died.
By the time they arrived at the undertaker’s office, flames had engulfed the building, licking out of heat smashed windows and warped doors with a dozen hungry tongues. Through the chaos, he saw a smoke blackened body being dragged away from the blaze, heard the sheriff call for a doctor as he bent over the prone figure.
Someone thrust a pail into Rick’s hand and he joined the bucket line, moving towards the blaze as the heat forced the men closest to drop back. Even before he reached the front of the chain, Rick was breathing hard, his lungs burning, his heart racing. He knew it was a lost cause. They all did.
When the roof finally caved in, a strong hand clamped him on the shoulder. It was the sheriff. ‘That’s enough, Rick.’
Admitting defeat, Rick joined the other men in throwing his last bucket aside. ‘How’s the man you pulled out?’
The sheriff shook his head. ‘Bob Johnson didn’t make it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as the man who set this fire is going to be.’
‘You think it was deliberate?’
The sheriff chewed his lips as he looked around the faces in the crowd. ‘I know it was and I have a hunch I know why.’ He straightened his gun belt. ‘Are you ready to get some answers?’
Rick wanted nothing more than to sit and let his aching back and screaming muscles rest, but he fell in beside the lawman who wasn’t waiting for an answer. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To arrest the man responsible.’
Rick lengthened his stride to keep up with the taller man.
‘You know who it was?’
‘Yep. Bastard clubbed Bob and threw him back inside when he caught him starting the fire, but Bob gave me a name before he died. Sumner. If we can find out who paid him, we might just find out who murdered George Stanford.’
‘You think there’s a connection?’
‘Don’t you?’ the sheriff asked, clearly surprised. ‘George Stanford’s body was the only proof we had that he was being poisoned. Without it, the deaths of Stanford and his wife are just murders without an apparent motive.’
Skirts rustling and the sound of quick footsteps made them both pull up short as a woman stepped from the shadows a few feet ahead of them. As her face came into the light, Rick recognized Emma.
She put a hand to her forehead and dabbed at a line of perspiration. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’ she said, breathlessly.
‘Miss Harris, what are doing on the street alone at this time?’ the sheriff asked.
‘I couldn’t sleep and when I saw the flames from my window, I ran down the hill to see if I could help. It’s just terrible and poor Mr. Johnson…’ She gulped back a
sob. ‘Who do you think started it?’
The sheriff physically bristled at the question. ‘We’re looking into it.’
‘Do you think it was deliberate?’ she persisted, sniffling into a lacy handkerchief.
‘We’re looking at all possibilities. Now, I suggest you go home and get some rest.’
She gripped his elbow. ‘Do you think it had something to do with the murders up at the house?’
Anderson had been about to walk away but he stopped mid-stride and looked down at her upturned face. ‘Were you eavesdropping, Miss Harris?’
She shook her head rapidly.
‘Then why would you say a thing like that?’
‘W-well the bodies were there. I just thought…I don’t know it just popped into my head, I suppose.’ She squirmed under his scrutiny. ‘Probably just me being a silly woman, thinking too much. Goodnight, Sheriff.’ She inclined her head to Rick and strode away.
‘That’s the second time she’s done that,’ the sheriff remarked, as they both watched her until she disappeared from sight.
‘Done what?’
‘Given me her opinion when I didn’t ask for it.’ He shook his head and strode on.
They continued on to Main Street, stopping briefly at the Fool’s Gold before moving on to the Silver Buckle saloon. Already the place was starting to fill up again as men who had run towards the fire now returned to lubricate their parched throats and speculate on what had happened.
Rick shadowed Anderson as he peered over the split doors. ‘He’s here,’ the lawman growled, pointing towards an oily-haired man leaning against the bar. ‘Remember he’s a killer. If he goes for a gun, don’t hesitate to go for yours.’
Chapter Fourteen
Sheriff Anderson accepted the drink the barkeep offered but left it sitting on the scarred oak top. Using the mirror on the wall, he watched the man next to him. Lyle Sumner was known to him as a drunk and troublemaker. A late arrival to the gold and silver strikes that had built the town, he had never claimed an honest foothold and instead found solace in petty crime and the bottom of a bottle. His ruddy-faced appearance and hand-me-down wardrobe were testament to the charity of others. The near-full bottle of whiskey at his hand suggested other means.
