by Evans, Tabor
He carried everything up onto the porch, and unloaded it all onto the pair of aging rocking chairs he found there. That part of the chore done, he fished in his pockets for the ring of keys Norm had given him back at the jail—as a prisoner Norm wasn’t allowed metal objects inside the cell, but the young deputy named Jeremy had been helpful about fetching anything Norm wanted from among his personal possessions—and let himself into the house.
There was a musty scent in the place. Likely the windows hadn’t been opened since Norm was locked up. Longarm went through the house opening windows and shutters to let in both light and air, and by the time he was done with that, everything looked and smelled considerably better.
There wasn’t much to Norm’s little house, just a parlor and small bedroom and overlarge kitchen. Obviously the kitchen was intended to be the main room of the house, but it was not where Norm seemed to spend the bulk of his time, as the kitchen shelves and cabinets were mostly empty. The parlor, on the other hand, looked well used, with a man-sized overstuffed armchair, ottoman, and reading lamp filling most of the space. A pair of spectacles lay atop a recent issue of the Police Gazette. Longarm hadn’t ever seen Norm wear eyeglasses, but then there appeared to be a good many things that had changed in Norm Wold’s life these past few years.
An ashtray handy to the reading chair showed more pipe dottle than ashes, and there was a fancy-looking cut-glass container close by that held an amber liquid. Longarm pulled the glass stopper out and smelled the stuff. Brandy, he guessed, which didn’t interest him much. Too syrupy for Longarm’s taste. But then, every man to his own vices.
Longarm poked through the rooms for a few minutes, then carried his gear in and distributed the things among the rooms as future use would require.
Norm’s wide bed, soft and comfortable, with a deep goose-down mattress and a heavy quilt on top, was as tidy as a virgin’s drawers, and the sheets even smelled clean. Longarm took that to be a welcome bonus as he put his carpetbag onto a straight chair beside the wardrobe. He dumped his saddle and Winchester in a corner, and considered himself fully moved in.
Out in the kitchen he had the wherewithal to build himself a lunch, but Longarm wasn’t much bigger on cooking than Norm seemed to be.
Besides, a man can keep his belly from going empty if he takes care of his own needs, but he won’t learn a whole hell of a lot from talking with himself.
Seeing as it was coming lunchtime anyway, Longarm took a last look around Norm’s little house, then went back outside and headed for town and another crack at the cafe where he’d had breakfast earlier.
He didn’t bother to lock the door behind him. Marshal Wold’s recent experience aside, Longarm kind of doubted that Crow’s Point was the sort of place where a man had to worry overmuch about burglars, snatch-purses, or other such miscreants. Excitement in a town like this wasn’t apt to consist of anything much more serious than Sister Hattie’s mule getting rambunctious and causing a display of stocking.
Chapter 7
The same young fellow who had served Longarm his breakfast was still on duty. He greeted Longarm at the door with a smile and a nod toward a table in one of the far corners. “Nice to see you again, Marshal,” he said. “You’re invited to join the gentlemen over there.”
Longarm supposed there was no reason to be amazed that he was already known in town. After all, no one had told Jeremy it was to be a secret. Nor would that have done any good, even if Longarm had wanted his identity unknown while he was here. It was too late for that as soon as he walked inside that jail and spoke to Norm, so there was no sense in having second thoughts now.
“Thanks, son. Do you mind telling me whose company I’ll be enjoying?”
“The gentleman in the suit coat and tie is Mayor Chesman. The man next to him is Pete Hankins. Mr. Pete is our pharmacist. He’s also a county commissioner. And the gentleman on the right is Sheriff Jonas Brown.”
“And they were expecting me?”
The young man grinned. “There aren’t so many choices you might have made, sir, and I expect the folks over at Dottie’s place will have been told to send you over here if you were to show up for lunch there instead.”
“Thanks, son.”
“Will you be wanting the special for lunch today, Marshal?”
Longarm looked at the chalkboard listing the choices, which were headed by mutton stew. If there was any one eatable that he could reasonably be said to detest.... He made a face. “Not damn mutton, I won’t. Just bring me a steak and some fried taters. Coffee, biscuits, you know how it should go.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter started to turn away, then hesitated. “In case you’re wondering, Marshal, this place is favored mostly by the town folk and farmers. The cow-men generally take their meals over to Dottie’s.”
Longarm nodded his thanks, and made a mental note to add a tip to the boy’s income from this meal. The waiter was trying to be helpful.
Longarm racked his Stetson by the front door, and ambled over to the corner table where the Crow’s Point gentry were expecting him. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but he went through the motions of introducing himself, and received the same courtesy in return.
“It’s nice you could visit our little community,” the mayor allowed. “Are you on official business here?”
“No, sir, I’m not. Come to visit an old friend, you might say. I hope you won’t mind that.”
“Not at all, Marshal. Not at all, I... would you mind if I called you, uh, Custis, is it?”
“My friends generally just call me Longarm. I’d be pleased if you felt so inclined.”
“Now that is just fine, Longarm. Just the sort of attitude we were hoping you would have.”
“You don’t have any objection either, Sheriff?” Longarm asked.
“Not at all. In fact, I’ll be glad to show you everything I have in Norm’s case. And I’ll instruct my deputies to cooperate with you any way they can. Believe me, Longarm, I like the old fellow too. Having to place Norm Wold under arrest was one of the hardest things my job has ever forced me to do. No, I take that back. It wasn’t one of the hardest. It was hands-down the most difficult single thing this badge has ever required me to do. If there is something I’ve missed, in Norm’s favor or otherwise, I would be pleased for you to point it out to me. If you want to look into his case—and I have to assume that is why you came here—you won’t get any resistance from me. You and your expertise are more than welcome here.”
Longarm was quite frankly surprised. Damn near dumbfounded, in fact. This was not what he would have expected. Dumbfounded, but almighty pleased. He truly appreciated Sheriff Brown’s welcome.
Moreover, the welcome seemed to be matched by that of the Crow’s Point mayor and County Commissioner Hankins.
“Is there anything I should know? Anything you’d like me to avoid looking at while I’m here?” Longarm asked in a deceptively mild tone. If there were any reservations lying unstated behind the welcomes, that might be a way to sniff them out.
Each of the three gents in turn shook his head. “No,” the sheriff said, “nothing at all that I can think of. You look into anything or anybody you want. I mean that. Anything. You won’t be grating on my nerves any.”
“You know,” Chesman confided, leaning forward a little and dropping his voice a mite, “we wouldn’t necessarily be this open with just anybody riding into town. But you aren’t exactly unknown, Longarm. You have a good reputation. It’s said you’re honest. So are we, and that is all we would ask of anyone. You, Norm, anybody. Just be honest with us. We won’t get our backs up about anything that’s true. And that is a promise, sir.”
“I wish I had to deal with gentlemen like you three everywhere I go,” Longarm said, meaning it quite sincerely. “Thanks.”
“If you want to start this afternoon, Longarm,” the sheriff offered, “I’ll tell our court clerk to open the records to you. I’d go over everything with you myself, except that I have a meeting this afterno
on with the county attorney. As soon as I’m done there, though, I will be glad to make myself available to answer any questions you have at that point.”
“And if you need me for anything,” Chesman said,
“I operate the livery down at the edge of town. You’ll find me there most times.”
Longarm was amused. Mayor Chesman was the most carefully dressed of the three. And he was the one running a livery where you would normally expect overalls and grime. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your welcome,” Longarm said.
Of course, it remained to be seen if the fine words were genuine. But if only for Norm’s sake, Longarm damn sure hoped they were.
The waiter came with their food, and conversation slowed considerably while that was tended to. Afterward, the gents excused themselves one by one, until Longarm was the last man left at the table. When he tried to pay for his meal, he was told it was already covered. A request for the name of the friendly soul who’d paid for his lunch brought only a smile and a shrug.
“Thanks,” Longarm told the young fellow, and remembered to add an extra-large tip.
With this kind of cooperation, he thought, he should have a shot at clearing Norm’s good name in no time at all.
He lit an after-dinner cheroot and wandered outside into the afternoon heat.
Chapter 8
Since he would be downstairs anyway, Longarm trudged the extra set of stairs to the top-floor jail to look in on Norm before he spoke with the county clerk. Besides, he reasoned, he needed to give the sheriff time to let the man know a stranger would be prowling through the records. Most clerks Longarm was acquainted with would get their hackles up mighty high in the air at the idea of someone—pretty much anyone—coming in and wanting access to their files.
In the sheriff’s office and jail, young Jeremy was nowhere to be found. Norm was in his cell enjoying a dish of cherry cobbler that was layered thick with sugar and was swimming in cream so rich it was yellow in color.
“Sure looks good,” Longarm said.
“Tastes even better than it looks,” Norm assured him.
“Dottie, she makes the best.”
“I’ll have to try her place next time.”
“You do that. So what brings you back up here, old friend?”
Longarm explained, then shrugged. “Remains to be seen what happens next, don’t it?”
Norm’s expression clouded into a scowl. “Don’t let those good old boys fool you, Longarm. Somebody ... I won’t claim to know who or how many, maybe all of them, but maybe not... somebody has it in for me. And whoever those somebodies are, they want my butt on a platter. Bad. Don’t believe quite everything you hear around here. And maybe half of what you see. You know what I’m telling you?”
Longarm gave the old man a smile and advised, “Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I might look easy, but I ain’t exactly a virgin when it comes to poking my nose in other folks’ affairs.”
Longarm heard Jeremy coming up the stairs. He touched the brim of his Stetson and made his way back down to the clerk’s office.
The county clerk turned out to be a fat, balding man who was puffing from climbing the short flight of stairs from ground level, but who did not stint in his welcome.
“The sheriff told me to expect you,” he announced.
“He said you’re federal and that you have a good reputation. His recommendation is enough for me. Can I call you Longarm?”
“I hope you will.”
“Good. I’m John Stein, but my friends generally call me Schooner.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow. “You a sailing man, are you?”
Stein threw his head back and roared. “Lord, no. I turn green and puke all over myself if I have to take a ferry across a creek. But I’ve been known to lift a schooner of beer now and then.”
Longarm grinned. “A man after my own heart, I’d say. Well, then, Schooner, what can you tell me?”
“Step right this way, Longarm, and I’ll tell you everything I know. That should take, oh, six or seven minutes.”
“Lead the way, Schooner. I’m right behind you.”
Hirt County, Kansas, did not own a fireproof vault to protect its documents. Had the county been prosperous enough, and farsighted enough, to buy one, Longarm thought, Norm probably would not be upstairs in that cell right now. But then hindsight is always perfect, he conceded. The hard part is preparing for odd contingencies ahead of time.
The most important records, such as tax and voting rolls, court documents, and a few pieces of physical evidence relating to criminal cases pending in the county court, were all—or at least had been all—stored in a wooden locker that occupied much of one wall. The locker stood roughly eight feet tall by twelve feet in width, and was—Longarm measured—fifteen inches deep.
The arsonist who’d tried to destroy it had very nearly succeeded. The three sets of double-wide doors had all been left standing open—they’d been locked at the close of business hours, but the locks had been forced open with a pry bar or some similar instrument—and the heavy, canvas-bound ledgers rearranged on the shelves so they were fanned partially open. That had allowed the flames access to the pages. Closed books were not exactly immune to fire, but it took quite a blaze and a very long period of exposure for closed books to burn.
Coal or whale oil had been splashed liberally inside all three sections of the locker and set on fire.
Enough damage had been done that Schooner was having difficulty reconstructing the records.
“I won’t ever get all of it down,” he admitted. “Not exactly the way it was.”
“How serious will that be?” Longarm asked.
“In the long run?” He shook his head. “More like a nuisance than a disaster, really. Nobody will lose his farm because of it, or be disenfranchised from his vote. We don’t have so many folks around that we can’t know them all. Some better than others, of course, but I don’t think you could say there’s any strangers in the county. And most of the people here aren’t all that contentious. We get along with each other pretty well for the most part. I mean, there won’t be anybody suing his neighbor over a fence line because the survey records burned, nothing like that.”
“Uh-huh. Was there any other damage?”
“Down in the corner there were the town records.
There isn’t any city hall, you see, won’t be until we move the county seat and ownership of this building goes over to the town. We let the city clerk keep his stuff there. I wouldn’t have any idea what he lost, but I know whatever was there is pretty much gone now. It was on the bottom there, and of course the coal oil ran down onto the floor, so it was down at that level that the fire was the worst. We were able to salvage some of the stuff from the higher shelves, but you can see how the whole cabinet was doused with the oil.”
Longarm nodded. He could see that plain enough, all right. The wood was charred, and there was still, after all this time a faint, rather unpleasant scent lingering inside the records locker. Longarm supposed Schooner was so used to the smell that he was no longer aware of it, but Longarm would have found it unpleasant to have to work at one of the desks close by.
“None of the desks was bothered?” he asked.
Schooner shook his head. “Not even messed with as far as we can figure out. Not that we lock them at night. Never had any need before, if you see what I mean. But the things in the drawers, stamps and little personal items and like that, nothing was missing, nothing seems to’ve been disarranged.”
Longarm frowned. A vandal—and the truth was that he’d been thinking of this in terms of it being done by some half-grown idiot who liked simple meanness—more than likely would have helped himself to some petty thievery before calling attention to himself with fire.
If the desks were ignored, that made casual vandalism much less likely as a motive.
“Mind if I look through what’s left in there?” Longarm asked. “I don’t have the vaguest idea what I’m looking for, but I’d kinda
like to poke around just in case something catches my eye.”
“Help yourself,” Schooner invited. “That desk over there isn’t being used by anybody. Consider it yours for as long as you’re in town if you want. Anything you can find, Longarm, you’re welcome to look at. And if there’s anything that you want but can’t find, just ask me. I’ll be glad to lend a hand.”
Longarm was pleased. Obviously the town fathers had meant every word at lunch when they’d told him he could count on their cooperation. He couldn’t ask for better than this. Longarm removed his coat and Stetson, and hung them on a deer-horn rack, lest he end up smearing them with the soot that coated most of the remaining record books in the big locker. Then he pulled one off a shelf at random, settled in behind the desk Schooner assigned him, and prepared to spend some time in a state of total boredom.
Chapter 9
At five o’clock Longarm laid a slip of paper into the record book he was browsing through and closed it, marking his place so he could pick it up again come tomorrow. He would have continued reading, except that Schooner Stein had been coughing, shuffling his feet, and otherwise making small sounds for the past fifteen or twenty minutes. Longarm guessed this was not an office where the help liked to work late.
But then, hell, it was not really the sort of place where anyone would generally need to work late either. Very little would happen here that could not be put off for a spell and no harm done.
“If you want to stay longer, I’ll keep the place open for you,” Schooner said. Longarm would not exactly say the fat man sounded eager to do that. But it was damn sure nice of him to make the offer.
“Thanks, but there’s no need for that. Can I buy you a beer?”
Schooner smiled. “That’s the sort of thing I do like to hear, but we have a rule at home. Me and the kids all show up on time for dinner. That keeps the old woman from getting her apron in a wad. If we want to socialize afterward, that’s fine, but we all line up fresh-washed and hungry when supper goes on the table. Tell you what, though. If I run into you later on of the evening, I’ll darn sure take you up on that beer.”
