by Ed Gorman
“Unfortunately, it does.”
“But somehow-somehow, I fell in love with him. My God, I can still remember the first time I got jealous over him. I couldn’t believe what I felt. I hadn’t been like that since I’d had crushes on men at society dances. I even started throwing up sometimes. I’d just get so sick, thinking of him with other women.”
She stood up and walked to the far edge of the porch. Pressed her fingers against the screens. “Not even Chesney knew about me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I made sure. I convinced David to concoct this story about a girl in her teens he was seeing out here. Chesney would have gone straight to my husband. He’s never liked me. At a party once he hinted that we should sneak off somewhere. I was new here. I thought of myself as very proper. I’d never been unfaithful to any of my beaus, and I certainly wasn’t going to be unfaithful to Paul. He’d rescued me. He’d made me rich again, even if I did have to live out here. I think Chesney was always afraid I’d tell Paul what had happened, but I never did.”
A sudden rustling in the forest. Close by. She jerked around. “What’s that?”
“A bear, I suppose.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“What could it be?”
“A person. Spying.”
“Be quiet.”
We listened for a time. The noise path of the animal continued through the forest.
“If he’s a spy, he’s a damned bad one,” I said. “Making all that noise.”
After another few minutes, the commotion in the woods began to fade. She put her head against her hand and shuddered. “I thought I liked the danger. And I suppose I did at first. But I got tired of it, too. I don’t think I’m built for sneaking around. I don’t like to think of myself that way. Plus I get scared all the time. Like now, at that bear or whatever it was.” She shook her head.
I said, “Did you kill him?”
She watched me. “Do you think if I did I’d tell you all this?”
“Sure. You’re telling me all this because you want me to think you’re an honest woman. Forthright. Holding nothing back. You could be holding a whole lot back.”
“So could you.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that Callie killed him and you want to make it look as if somebody else did.”
“She didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t either, Marshal.”
“You had a lot more to lose than Callie did. You had a lot of money and a very comfortable way of life to lose.”
“Callie had her reputation.”
"True. But all Callie needed to do was move with me to another town and we’d start all over where people didn’t know she’d been married to Stanton. If Paul divorced you, you’d have to find another rich man to take care of you.” The melancholy smile again. “Oh, I forgot. I’m getting older. Just the way David said I am. I’m losing my charms, aren’t I?”
I didn’t feel like complimenting her this time either.
She walked to the far edge of the porch, hugging herself as if she were suddenly cold. She stared out at the lawn behind us and the nearby forest. “I’ll always remember standing here with him one afternoon. I saw a side of him I thought I never would.”
“What was that?”
“This was the only place I ever saw him scared.” She turned and smiled at me. “It’s a terrible thing to say, but I enjoyed it-seeing him scared.”
“What was he scared of?”
“Somebody saw us. Somebody in the woods.”
“Do you know who?”
“No. But he was afraid it was Paul. Paul still owed him the second half of the blackmail payment. David was afraid he wouldn’t pay it if he found out about us.”
I started to tell her about Bayard’s employee, then stopped myself. Bayard had definitely said that the employee had seen them standing on the front porch together.
This was the back porch. Somebody in the woods had watched them on the back porch.
I wondered who it had been.
FIFTEEN
ON THE RIDE back to my place, I decided it was time to talk to Ken Adams again. There was always the possibility that he-or his wife-had killed Stanton. The same for Laura Webley, too. And now Paul was another possibility. He wouldn’t abide another man-particularly a man like Stanton-sneaking around with his wife.
I was on the last stretch of road when I saw Horace Thurman riding toward me. The only place in this general direction was mine.
We met on the road and stopped.
“I was just at your place,” he said.
“I kinda figured that. You talk to Callie?”
“Couldn’t. She wasn’t there.” He nodded to my animal. “Isn’t that her horse?”
“Mine’s still in town.”
“You happen to know where she is? I knocked several times but there was no answer. I didn’t see any horses so I figured you two were gone somewhere.”
I knew enough to lie. “The last good pickings for berries. I’m sure she’s out gathering them up. Anyway, you just talked to her earlier.”
He grimaced. “ Lot of pressure from Toomey and Grice. They’re working the whole town up. Saying that Tom Ryan and I won’t arrest Callie because of our friendship with you. I decided to appease them by riding out here and talking to her again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sonsofbitches followed me. You know how they are when they get a bug up their ass.”
“I’ll tell her you want to see her.”
“I’ll stop back later. Toomey and Grice don’t seem to think so, but I’ve got a lot of other cases to worry about besides this one.” He laughed. “And whatever you do, remember to wear your top hat and spats tomorrow when you come to see the lieutenant governor. He’s going to put on some kind of display for the town. I think Toomey and Grice think he can walk on water.” I nodded good-bye and headed home. I kept the horse at a trot. I didn’t want Horace looking over his shoulder and seeing me race home. But something was wrong.
I’m not sure I believe in ghosts exactly, but I do believe that a mood can settle on a house just like a ghost. I’ve been in houses where murders were recently committed and you could feel the violence in the air.
I wasn’t sure what I felt when I walked inside my cabin. But something troubling lingered there.
I didn’t find the note for a few minutes. It was tucked up against the top of the sink. The handwriting was unmistakably Callie’s.
***
Dear Lane,
I’ve destroyed your reputation and your life. I can’t face it. I’m going somewhere far away. I love you with all my heart.
Callie Margaret
***
I carried the note to the table, poured myself a drink, rolled a cigarette. And just kept staring at the note.
She’d written it under duress. A peace officer gets all kinds of threats, as do his loved ones from time to time. We’d always agreed that if somebody made us write something under duress, we’d sign it with our middle names- Lane George Morgan or Callie Margaret Morgan.
Somebody had taken her.
But who, why, and where?
I searched the house for any evidence of struggle. There was none. But her clothes were gone, as was her suitcase. Whoever’d taken her had done a good job. First by forcing her to write that note. Second by taking all her clothes away. Making it look as if she’d simply run away.
Who, why, and where?
Toomey and Grice would be elated to hear this. There was no better evidence of guilt in a court of law than flight. Now, to all appearances, Callie had run away.
I went outside, found fresh but unremarkable tracks. They could belong to a hundred different horses in the area. The only thing useful was that there was only one set of tracks that indicated two people riding on the same horse. Horace had used the road up and back. The other tracks showed that the rider had approached from over the bluffs to the east and had used the same course.
I got on Callie
’s horse and followed them all the way down to the river, where I lost them.
I’m not much for sitting around. But I didn’t know what else to do. Back at the cabin, I went through everything a second time. I still didn’t turn up anything. Her kidnapper had known what he was doing.
***
In late afternoon, Horace came back. I met him at the door. “Callie back yet?”
“Back and gone again.”
A skeptical smile. “This won’t do you any good, Lane.”
“What won’t?”
“Hiding her like this.”
“I’m not hiding her. Really.”
“Well, she sure as hell isn’t out berrying all this time. And since her horse is here-and yours is in town-she’s got to be around here somewhere. Mind if I come in?”
“Look, Horace, when she comes back, I’ll bring her to you. How’s that?”
He dropped all pretext of being friendly. “Lane, you’re putting me in one hell of a bind here. Toomey and Grice want her arrested. Tom Ryan won’t do it. They’re already talking about firing him. And now they’re after me to get a confession out of her. They think because we know each other socially, she’s more liable to talk to me. I’m arguing that if she did do it, I won’t press for anything more than manslaughter. They don’t like it, but they’ll go along with it. That way, when the lieutenant governor arrives tomorrow, they’ll be able to say that law-abiding Skylar locks up its killers very quickly.”
“She’s not a killer.”
“Then if she doesn’t have anything to hide, let me come in and talk to her.”
“She isn’t here.”
“Of course she is, Lane. Now please don’t make me go back and get a search warrant.”
“That’s what you’ll have to do, Horace. I’m not letting you in otherwise.”
He seemed genuinely hurt. “I always thought we were friends.”
“Yeah,” I said, “so did I. Until you decided that my wife is a killer.”
His anger was evident in his blanched face. “I’ll be back. And she’d damned well better be here, Lane.”
I watched him stalk back to his mount and ride away.
***
I did some drinking. The effect was neutral. Didn’t help, didn’t hurt. It was one of the few times in my life I felt helpless.
I watched a rose-and-purple dusk through the window move from the snowy mountains to the aspens and maples on the nearby slope. A deer came all the way up to the open door, peeked in, and then swung away. I gave up drinking and fixed myself a cold dinner.
I went through the cabin again. And found nothing again. I had pretty much decided what was going on. Kidnap Callie, force her to write a letter of confession, and then fake her suicide.
The town would have its murderer. The case would be closed.
***
Around seven o’clock, I heard a horse approaching. I grabbed my Colt and sat at the table and waited for whoever it was to appear.
I suppose I was expecting Horace Thurman. Instead the man in the doorway turned out to be Old Sam.
“You going to shoot me with that?” he said, nodding at my six-shooter.
“Right now I’d sure like to shoot somebody.”
“Guess I can’t blame you there. But you wouldn’t want to shoot some creaky old bastard like me, Lane. Shootin’ younger folks is a lot more fun.”
I surprised myself by laughing. “C’mon and sit down.”
When he was seated across from me, he said, “You gonna offer me a drink or do I have to sit up and beg for it?”
“I’d like to see you sit up and beg sometime. Hard to imagine.”
He poured himself a drink. “Hits the spot.”
He wore a cotton shirt and a pair of faded corduroys. He looked like an ancient cowhand.
“I was thinking you’d be Horace,” I said.
“Oh, he’ll be here, all right. He’s gettin’ a search warrant.”
“Good old Toomey and Grice.”
“It isn’t just them now. Tom Ryan’s doin’ his best to hold everybody off-he’s the one who’d actually have to arrest you for not cooperating with the law-but he’s runnin’ out of support. Even the other two fellas on the town council are wonderin’ why you won’t turn her over.”
“Can’t, Old Sam. I don’t know where she is.”
I pushed the note at him.
He read it. “This sure isn’t like her.”
“No, it isn’t. She wrote it under duress.” I explained the code of using both her first and middle name. “Somebody took her.”
“Took her? But why?”
I explained that to him.
“You seem awful sure about this, Lane.”
“I am. She’d never run away. She isn’t guilty. Running away is as much an admission that she’s guilty.”
“They won’t believe you. They’ll think she took off on her own.”
“I know. That’s why I’m going to stall them as long as I can. Maybe I can figure out who took her and where she is.”
“Then you’d have the real killer, too.”
“That’s the way I figure it anyway.”
He pointed to the bottle. “Mind if I have a few more drops?”
“You just want to make sure it’s fit to drink?”
“Exactly right. You’re a very perceptive man. I like you a lot, Lane, and I wouldn’t want you pouring any bull piss down your throat.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
He took a whole mouthful of the stuff.
“Horace’ll either be out here tonight or early tomorrow morning,” he said.
“They want to issue a warrant before the lieutenant governor gets here.”
He shook his head. “The man’s a fool. I sure don’t know why they’re making such a fuss over him. He only got elected because he decided to run on the same ticket as the governor, who’s a popular man. If he’d run as an independent, the way the lieutenant governor usually does, he wouldn’t have gotten ten votes.”
“You know Toomey and Grice,” I said. “They see themselves as Roman emperors. And they think he can help them.”
“You should see all the events they’ve got planned.”
“I’m going to,” I said.
“You are? Why the hell would you go down there and let half the town have at you that way?”
I poured a shot for myself and then brought him up to date. “Adams, Paul, Laura Webley-one of them killed Stanton. I just want to see how they react when I show up.”
“Grice and Toomey’ll try and have you arrested.”
“Ryan won’t arrest me.”
“He’s a good man, that’s for sure. But you know, he’s threatened to resign if they come after you. By the time the lieutenant governor gets here, Grice and Toomey may have their own marshal in place. And whoever that is won’t hesitate to move in on you.”
“I can’t think of what else to do, Old Sam. I want to see those three people close up. See how they look and talk. I’ve been a lawman a long time. I’ve developed some pretty good instincts.”
He raised the letter, read it again. “That code thing’s a good idea.”
“Read it in a dime novel actually.”
“Thought you hated dime novels,” he said in his best sardonic voice.
“We’ve all got a little hypocrisy in us.”
He laughed. “In my case, more than a little. I’m always talking about law and order, but I’ve probably gotten a dozen murderers off scot-free in my time. And two of them killed people again. So I’d be willin’ to match you any day for hypocrisy.”
We talked a good half hour more. He drank coffee instead of whiskey. His papery, gaunt cheeks were flush from the alcohol. He said, “I’d sure think it over hard, Lane.”
“You mean about tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. You’ll be turnin’ yourself over to Toomey and Grice. And they’d just love to make a big show of arrestin’ you in front of their important guest of honor. T
hen he’d go back to Denver and tell them what a couple of comers Toomey and Grice are, forcin’ the former marshal to be arrested.”
“You know something, Old Sam?”
“What?”
“I agree with you.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still going tomorrow.”
“But why?”
“Real simple,” I said. “I don’t have any choice.”
SIXTEEN
THEY RESEMBLED A small posse: Horace Thurman, Tom Ryan, Toomey, and Grice. I’d washed up in the creek at dawn, and was just putting on fresh clothes when I heard them coming fast down the road. By the time I was in the doorway, they were dismounting.
Tom said, “I’m sorry about this, Lane.”
“I know you are, Tom.”
“That’s a hell of a thing for a peace officer to say,” Toomey said. “You’re the acting marshal and you’re apologizing for doing your job?”
Horace said, “I brought a search warrant, Lane. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
“You’re welcome to go inside and look around.”
“Are you going to tell us where she is?” Grice said.
“I would if I knew, Mr. Grice. But I don’t. When I came home yesterday, she was gone.”
“In other words,” Toomey said, “she ran away.”
“I guess that pretty much tells the story,” Grice said.
Horace had the grace to look embarrassed by the two buffoons.
“You want to come inside with me, Tom?” Horace said.
Tom nodded. Glanced at me.
“You’re just doing your job, Tom,” I said.
“If you apologize to him one more time,” Grice said to Tom, “there’ll be hell to pay, believe me.”
Grice was sensible enough to lean back when Tom glared at him. The glare had the power of a fist.
Horace and Tom went inside.
“You realize you’re aiding and abetting a felon,” Toomey said to me.
The morning was still fresh. The sun hadn’t been up long enough to bum off the dew yet. One of those hazy mornings when it would be nice to float downstream in a canoe and fish a little from time to time. But mostly just take in the splendors of Indian summer on the facing shorelines.
