The Lady Doctor's Alibi

by J. R. Roberts

  “I reckon I’ll have to go and look for him,” Boone said. “Where will you be?”

  “My hotel, I guess, or the doctor’s office.”

  “Okay,” Boone said. “When I find him, we’ll come and see you.”

  “All right.”

  “You can make your case to Sheriff Brown and we’ll see what he says.”

  Clint shook hands with the man and left the office.

  He went back to the doctor’s office, found both Lissa Sugarman and Marietta hard at work.

  “I thought you were going to take a rest,” Clint said to the doctor.

  “I will,” she said. “I just need to give Marietta a few more instructions.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In with the patients. Do you want to come in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come.”

  Clint followed Lissa into the other room. It looked a lot like a bunkhouse, with beds fitted in at every angle.

  “Was this supposed to be his hospital?” Clint asked.

  “The beginning of one, I guess,” she said.

  Marietta straightened up from the patient she had been tending to.

  “Dr. Graham was a great man,” she said. “He was going to give Veracruz a real hospital.”

  “Not if his wife could help it,” Clint said.

  “You know?” Marietta asked, eyes wide.

  “Know what?”

  “That one,” she said, “the doctor’s wife. She is an evil woman.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I know she’s a hard woman.”

  “What do you mean by evil, Marietta?” Dr. Sugarman asked.

  “He hated her, and she hated him,” Marietta said, “but even though he was a great man, Dr. Graham was weak. And she was strong—very strong.”

  “She dominated him.”

  “Yes,” Marietta said. “She did not want him to help people. She was very . . . greedy.”

  “How did she expect him to make money if he didn’t help people?” Lissa asked.

  Marietta shrugged.

  “I only know she did not want him to spend money building a hospital.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “she has her way now.”

  “What will happen to the hospital?” Marietta asked. “What will happen here?”

  “I imagine after these patients are sent home, she’ll close this place down,” Clint said.

  “B-But now we have another doctor,” Marietta said.

  “I’ll have to go back to my own office, Marietta,” Lissa said.

  The young Mexican girl looked at her.

  “Will I be able to work for you?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Lissa said. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you much.”

  “That does not matter,” the girl said. “At least . . . I wouldn’t have to be . . . be home.”

  “I’m sure your husband wants you home, Marietta,” Clint said.

  “He is not my husband,” she said. “He was married to my mother.”

  “I see,” Clint said.

  “I do not want to go back there,” she said. “He is . . . cruel.”

  “Cruel,” Clint said, looking at Lissa. “Seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  Lissa went to Marietta and put her arms around the girl’s shoulders.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll need you here for a while. You can stay here.”

  “But what will happen after she closes this place?” Marietta asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lissa said. “Why don’t we just take care of things here and we’ll deal with it later.”

  “Doctor?” Clint cut in. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Of course.” Lissa patted Marietta’s shoulder. “Take care of the patients. I’ll be right back.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  They went back into the office.

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked.

  “I—I don’t, but the doctor may have had one around here someplace.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  It didn’t take long for them to determine that there was no gun on the premises—or so they thought.

  “Señor Adams?”

  They turned and saw Marietta standing in the doorway.

  “Yes?” Clint said. “What is it, Marietta?”

  “I have this,” she said, and brought a Navy Colt out from beneath her skirts.

  “Jesus,” Clint said, “that might blow up in your hand.”

  He went to her and took the gun.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I took it from . . . from home.”

  He checked it over, found that it was in good working order.

  “Will it work?” Lissa asked.

  “Oh yeah, it’ll work fine.” He turned to Lissa. “Can you shoot?”

  “I—I never have,” she said.

  Clint looked at Marietta.

  “I can shoot, señor,” she said.

  “Then I guess you better hold on to this.”

  He handed her the gun back. She took it into the other room with her.

  “Why do we need a gun?” Lissa asked Clint.

  “I think the doctor’s wife had him killed,” Clint said. “And I wouldn’t put it past her to try to kill you, too.”

  “Oh, my . . .”

  “Lissa, you could leave here if you wanted to,” he said. “Nobody would blame you.”

  “I can’t do that, Clint,” she said. “Who would take care of these people?”

  “All right, then,” he said. “There’s a man, a big, dark-haired man named Rufus. I think he and Mrs. Graham killed the doc. So if he comes walking through this door, you shoot him—or have Marietta shoot him. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  He gave her a better, more accurate description of Rufus Holmes.

  “Got it?” he asked.

  “I’ve got it,” she said. “I only hope Marietta can shoot.”

  “I’ll bring another gun back with me later,” he said. “And I’ll show you how to use it.”

  “All right,” she said. “All right, that would be . . . better.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint went back to his hotel to retrieve his little Colt New Line. The .32-caliber revolver would be easier for Lissa Sugarman or Marietta to handle than that big Navy Colt. He tucked the gun into his belt, at the small of his back.

  He returned to the lobby and was about to leave when Sheriff Brown came walking in.

  “Just the man I’ve been lookin’ for,” Brown said.

  “Likewise, Sheriff.”

  “Yeah, Boone told me you were tryin’ to find me,” Brown said. “I had some trouble in one of the saloons I had to take care of.”

  “Boone tell you why I wanted you?”

  “He did,” Brown said. “I’m not sure I agree with you, Adams, but it’s somethin’ to look into. I figure to go and talk to Mrs. Graham, and to Rufus Holmes.”

  “You know Holmes?”

  “I’ve had him in my cells a time or two, but never for anythin’ big I could prove. Can’t say I can see him and Mrs. Graham as a couple, though.”

  “A man could do a lot of things for money, Sheriff.”

  “That’s true enough. Where are you headed?”

  “Back to the doctor’s office. Got two women there need looking after.”

  “You thinkin’ they’re in danger from Mrs. Graham or Rufus?”

  “Or both,” Clint said. “She doesn’t like Lissa Sugarman very much, and she already fired Marietta once, just for being pretty.”

  “Marietta?” Brown asked. “Doc Graham’s nurse?”

  “Yeah, I went and found her and gave her back her job, for a while anyway.”

  “How did Manolo take that?” Brown asked. “Pretty happy, I bet.”

  “Manolo? The big fat fella she lives with? I thought he was her husband.”

  “Ain’t hardly,” Brown said, “although he treats her like a wife—a Mexican wife.”

>   “She doesn’t want to go back to him.”

  “She don’t have to if she don’t want to,” Brown said, “but if I was you, I wouldn’t get in the middle.”

  “I’ll leave that for later,” Clint said. “If you’re going to talk to Rufus Holmes, I’d like to come along.”

  “Boone told me you won’t wear a badge,” Brown said. “It would make it easier to have you along if you would.”

  “He told me you’ve been talking to your mayor.”

  “The mayor wants me to find out who killed Dr. Graham, and he wants it done quick.”

  “Does he want you to find out who really did it,” Clint asked, “or does he want you to pin it on somebody quick?”

  “I don’t think he cares,” Brown said, “but I do. I want the bastard who actually did it.”

  “You’d probably find that out faster if you forgot about Dr. Sugarman as a suspect.”

  “We’ll see,” Brown said. “Right now I’ll go back to the doctor’s office with you. After that, Mrs. Graham, and then Rufus.”

  “Okay, Sheriff,” Clint said. “You call the shots.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Adams.”

  “Clint, just call me Clint.”

  “Okay, Clint,” the sheriff said. “Let’s go. Your two ladies are waitin’.”

  When they reached Dr. Graham’s office, they heard screaming from upstairs. It was a woman, and she sounded pretty angry. When they entered, they saw Lillian Graham standing there, yelling at both Lissa and Marietta.

  “. . . don’t belong in here, and I want you two bitches out of here now!” she was screaming.

  Marietta looked frightened, but Lissa just looked exhausted.

  “Mrs. Graham,” she said, “somebody needs to look after these people.”

  “Not you,” Lillian said, “so you get your skinny little ass out of here.”

  “Not until these people are cared for.” Then Lissa saw the sheriff and Clint. “I’ll stay as long as the sheriff wants me to.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Sheriff Brown said.

  Lillian whirled on him, and her face was a mask of hatred and rage.

  “You! You put this bitch in here?”

  “Like she said, Mrs. Graham, somebody needed to care for these people.”

  “This was my husband’s property,” Lillian said, “and now it’s mine. I want you all out, and if you’re so worried about those patients, take them, too.”

  “Mrs. Graham,” the sheriff said, “I think you should come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace I think we’ll be able to straighten this all out—jail.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  As they entered the sheriff’s office, Lillian Graham asked, “Am I under arrest?”

  “For what?” Brown asked.

  “For murdering my husband, of course. Are you a dense man, Sheriff?”

  “Mrs. Graham, if you were under arrest for killing anyone, you’d be in chains. Sit down.”

  She ignored him.

  “If I am not under arrest, what am I doing here?”

  “You’re here for questioning.”

  “About what?”

  “Well now, that would be your husband’s murder.”

  “You asked me about that already,” she said impatiently.

  “I know,” the sheriff said. “It’s Mr. Adams, here, who has some questions.”

  She turned and looked at Clint, then back at Sheriff Brown.

  “He is not a lawman. Besides, I already spoke with him as well.”

  “He’s got some new questions.”

  She glared at the lawman, then turned, looked at Clint, and folded her arms.

  “You know a man named Rufus Holmes?”

  If he expected her to be shocked, he was disappointed.

  “Rufus? Is that what this is about?”

  “So you do know him?”

  “Of course,” she said. “He fucks me, brutalizes me in a way my husband could never have imagined. And I love it. Anything else?”

  Clint looked at Sheriff Brown, who was red-faced and shocked.

  “You’re not going to shock me, Mrs. Graham, so stop trying,” Clint said. “You’re only scandalizing the sheriff.”

  Now it was Brown giving him a dirty look, not Lillian Graham.

  “You think I had Rufus kill my husband,” she said.

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if Rufus did it,” she said, “but if he did, I didn’t know anything about it. So I guess that means you’re going to have to talk to him.”

  “I plan to,” Clint said.

  “So do I,” Brown said, recovered now. “Mrs. Graham, I want you to stay away from your husband’s practice while Dr. Sugarman is there.”

  “What?” She whirled on the lawman. “I own that building—”

  “Not until after you husband’s will is read,” Clint said. “I assume he had a will?”

  “Well, yes—”

  “And usually the will is read after the funeral,” Clint said. “When is the funeral?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she said. “His body is still at the undertaker’s.” She turned to Brown. “When can I bury him?”

  “Not until I find out who killed him.”

  “What?” she asked again.

  “And since his will won’t be read until after,” Clint said, “I guess you don’t own that building yet—if, indeed, he even left it to you.”

  “You can’t do this!” she said.

  “I’m doin’ it,” Brown said. “Those people need to be treated, and Dr. Sugarman is the only doctor in town.”

  “That’s my building!” she shouted.

  “Ma’am,” Sheriff Brown said, “if I catch you in that building again, or anywhere near Dr. Sugarman or the nurse, Marietta, I’ll toss you in a cell.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said. “I won’t stand for it.”

  “That’s right, you won’t stand for it,” Brown said. “You’ll sit for it, in a cell. Mrs. Graham, go home and stay there.”

  “Wha—”

  “I’d do as he says, before he puts you in a cell now,” Clint advised.

  He took her by the elbow, escorted her to the door, opened it, deposited her outside, and then closed it. Then he looked over at the sheriff, who had seated himself behind his desk.

  “Think that’ll do it?” the sheriff asked.

  Clint walked back to the desk.

  “It should,” Clint said. “If that doesn’t drive her to Rufus, nothing will.”

  “And you think she’ll have Rufus kill someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “you, me, Lissa, Marietta, one of us.”

  “That’s the best you can do?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Great.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Why would a woman want to be brutalized by a man?”

  Clint turned his head and looked at Deputy Boone. He’d found Boone in his favorite saloon and the deputy offered to buy him a beer. While they drank, Clint told Boone about the meeting with Lillian Graham in the sheriff’s office.

  “Apparently,” Clint said, “it’s because her husband would never do it.”

  “Yeah, but . . . he was her husband. Maybe he didn’t want to—although from everything I’ve heard, she sure deserved a smack or two.”

  Clint studied Boone.

  “Deputy, are you . . . easily shocked?”

  “At my age?” Boone asked. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because Lillian managed to make the sheriff blush with her comments.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the sheriff is kind of a prude about women.”

  Clint stared at Boone.

  “What? Isn’t that the word? Prude?”

  “At his age?”

  “He doesn’t have much experience with women.”
>
  “Okay,” Clint said, “listen, the sheriff said I could use you to watch Lissa and Marietta.”

  “The lady doctor and the little Mexican nurse?” Boone asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You want me to guard them?”

  “Right.”

  “Why not use the kid, Ed?”

  “Would you trust the lives of two women to an inexperienced deputy?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  “It’s not an order from the cap’n?”

  “No, it’s not an order, Deputy,” Clint said. “I’m asking as a favor.”

  “A favor to you, or the cap’n?”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Yeah,” Boone said. “See, the cap’n owes me a favor. It’s his turn.”

  “I see. Well, this one’s a favor for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Just tell me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Who am I protecting them from?”

  “Rufus Holmes.”

  Boone nodded and said, “I’m gonna need a bigger gun.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  After Deputy Boone got himself a bigger gun—a shotgun, in fact—Clint walked Boone over to the doctor’s office and introduced him to Lissa Sugarman and Marietta.

  “The deputy is going to stay here with you, just in case,” Clint said.

  “In case of what?” Lissa asked.

  “Well . . . in case Lillian Graham comes back,” Clint said. “The sheriff has warned her to stay away from here until all the patients are gone.”

  “Will she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if she does not?” Marietta asked. She was standing in the doorway to the next room. “Will he shoot her?”

  “No, ma’am,” Boone said, “but I will arrest her.”

  “So why the shotgun?” Lissa asked.

  Deputy Boone shrugged and said, “Well, you just never know, ma’am.”

  Marietta went into the other room to be with the patients. Clint took Lissa by the elbow and pulled her aside.

  “Bone is here in case Lillian tries something,” he said, “or sends someone.”

  “And what will you be doing?” she asked.