Messenger Bags and Murder (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “My name’s Heath Wheeler,” he said, and extended his hand to Connor. “Thanks for what you did. If I’d had my gun on me, I’d have helped you out.”

  Connor shook Heath’s hand. “Could have used the help.”

  “Didn’t look like it to me,” Heath said. He turned to the sheriff. “I saw the whole thing. This man came out of the cafe, saw what was happening and took care of those robbers. You ought to be thanking him for what he did.”

  Sheriff Parker eyed Connor for another moment, then pulled on his bushy mustache. “Guess that’s the end of it.”

  “The end of it?” a voice called out. “This calls for a celebration!”

  Connor shook his head. “No. I told you—”

  “Don’t be so modest.” A short, thin man in a rumpled suit caught Connor’s hand and pumped it hard. “Name’s Ike Canter, and I’m proud to know you. Come on over to the saloon. I want to buy you a drink.”

  “We all do!” another man shouted.

  A cheer went up as the crowd headed down the street, sweeping Connor along with them. He stole a glance over his shoulder at the women huddled on the boardwalk.

  “Is that woman all right?” he asked.

  “Oh, don’t pay her no mind,” Ike said. “She’s fine. She’s always fine.”

  Connor moved along with the men, but couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder once more.

  A dozen men flanked Connor as he walked through the bat-wing doors of the Foxtail Saloon. Like the other saloons he’d been in, this one had gaming tables, and a bar with a mirror and shelves of glasses behind it.

  The bartender offered a round on the house, and Ike Canter proposed a toast to Connor. More men filtered inside and raised their glasses. Ike told the story of the shoot-out.

  Connor leaned on his elbow at the bar as Heath Wheeler ambled over.

  “You sure livened up this place,” Heath said. “You’re a hero, just for that.”

  Connor grinned and sipped his beer.

  “Staying or passing through?” Heath asked.

  “Staying,” Connor said.

  “Is that your sorrel outside the cafe?” Heath asked. When Connor nodded, he said, “I’ll take care of him for you. I run the livery stable.”

  “Much obliged,” Connor said.

  “I’ll drop your gear off at the hotel,” Heath said. He drained his glass and shouldered his way out of the saloon.

  A few minutes later Sheriff Parker walked in. He ordered a whiskey and stood off to the side. Connor felt the lawman’s gaze on him.

  Typical. Connor took a long swallow of beer. He’d gotten that reaction more than once.

  After another hour the crowd was still going strong, the story of the shoot-out started to stretch, and Connor had had enough.

  As he eased his way toward the swinging doors, several men slapped his back and called out words of praise for his bravery. Ike Canter started the story again and nobody seemed to mind.

  The streets of Sterling looked pretty ordinary when Connor stepped onto the boardwalk. Nobody shot at anybody. Carriages and wagons rumbled down the street, women carried baskets and pulled children along, while men and ranch hands went about their business.

  Connor spotted the Sterling Hotel down the block. As he headed toward it, most everyone he passed nodded pleasantly, some introduced themselves, and several more made a point of thanking him for what he’d done to stop the shoot-out and the bank robbery.

  Finally, Connor ducked inside the hotel. The lobby held a gold velvet circular sofa and two chairs; gold framed pictures hung on the walls. The place looked a little worn, but clean and respectable.

  “I need a room,” Connor said, and leaned his elbow on the registration desk.

  The young man behind the counter swiped his thick dark bangs off his face. His eyes widened and his mouth sagged open. “You’re that Mr. Wade, aren’t you? The man who stopped the bank robbery?”

  Connor nodded, a little surprised that his name had been spread all over town so quickly.

  “Golly...” The clerk’s smile broadened. “My name’s Johnny Davenport, sir. Proud to meet you, Mr. Wade, real proud. I heard about what you did over at the bank. How you shot all of them noaccount robbers, and how you saved Miss Elizabeth.”

  Connor looked up sharply. “Elizabeth?”

  “Miss Elizabeth Hill,” Johnny said. “Yes siree, that was some fancy shooting, no two ways about it.”

  Connor took a step back as the young man launched into the bank robbery story, looking up at him with awestruck eyes. But Connor didn’t hear a word Johnny said.

  The woman at the shoot-out was Elizabeth Hill? Elizabeth Hill. The woman he’d traveled weeks to find. He’d stumbled on her and hadn’t realized it.

  A little smile tugged at Connor’s mouth. Elizabeth Hill. The woman who would change his life.

  Whether she wanted to or not.

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed Messenger Bags and Murder, and the sneak peek at Fanny Packs and Foul Play and The Last Bride in Texas. Many more books and novellas are available. You’re cordially invited to check them out!

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