The Marshal's Pursuit

by Micki Miller

  “Where are you going?” McElroy asked.

  “To work,” Garrett replied before closing the door behind him.

  Aside from the jail, the bank was the only brick building in town. There was a large window in the front wall and a smaller pane of glass in the door where a “Closed” sign presently hung. Garrett turned the knob and stepped inside.

  The place was small, a short counter with room for one clerk and an orderly desk off to the side. The low, wooden wall closing off the back would be a simple thing to step over, though Garrett didn’t think even that much effort had been necessary. A gate in the wall was propped open. Even if closed it wouldn’t have mattered, as there was no lock, just a latch. In the back wall was the safe. Not very large, but then, it was probably as big as was needed. The door to the safe was opened part way.

  Again, Garrett considered the size of the bank. He could understand why someone wouldn’t go to a big city to commit his crime, more obstacles, more danger, and the chance of getting caught was much greater. But there were plenty of small towns larger than this that would have been a much better get with only slightly more risk. The reasons he’d considered earlier returned to his mind, along with a new one. If the robber had any knowledge at all as to what kind of sheriff this town had, he knew getting away would be easy.

  A young clerk with a head of curly blond hair rebelling against his pomade stood behind the counter reviewing a ledger and making notes on a separate piece of paper. He raised his head when Garrett walked in, sliding a pair of round spectacles up his nose. Garrett gave him an acknowledging nod. The clerk quietly returned it.

  At a scraping sound, Garrett turned toward a man who was kneeling on the floor, a tin bucket at his side. The man had a large brush in his hands. He was using it to scrub a bloodstain from the boards. Beside him stood a man somewhere near to Garrett’s age. He was dressed in a soft gray sack coat with matching waistcoat and trousers. His shoes were shiny. In his hands, he held a bowler hat of the same color.

  Turning from the stain at his feet, the man looked at Garrett and said in a clipped voice, “We’re not open today.”

  “You’re open for me,” Garrett said, lifting aside his duster to show his badge while stalking toward the man who appeared to be in charge.

  “Oh, Marshal,” he said, taking a step toward Garrett before turning back to the man on the floor. “If you can’t scrub it out then replace the boards.

  “Name’s Kincaid,” Garrett said as soon as the man faced him again.

  “Hello. I’m Bentley Werner. I’m…I’m in charge here now.”

  “Were you in here during the robbery?”

  “Yes. I worked for Frank Wills.” He paused, confusion creasing his face. “I’m not sure why you’re here. We have a sheriff, and I’m confident he is perfectly capable of handling the situation.”

  “Your confidence is misplaced.” The man looked insulted. Town pride, Garrett figured. Before the man could argue he said, “Bank robbery is a federal crime. The murder was committed during the robbery.”

  “I see. Well, things happened very fast, and he had a bandana covering his face, so I don’t think I can offer you much help.”

  “How many robbers were there?”

  “Just the one.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I…I couldn’t really say. As I already told you, his face was covered.”

  “What color hair did he have?”

  “Oh, um, well, I believe it was brown.”

  “What color were his eyes?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know.”

  “Was he a tall man, heavy, thin?”

  Bentley huffed out a breath and rubbed his ear in an agitated fashion. “As I said, everything happened quickly. I just didn’t notice those things. All I remember is that gun, and what he did with it.”

  “Who else was in here when the robbery took place?”

  “Neil over there,” he said, motioning toward the clerk behind the counter. “He can’t help you, though. He fainted as soon as he saw the gun.”

  Garrett turned toward the clerk. “Can you tell me what you saw, heard, anything at all about the robber?”

  “Sorry, sir. Mr. Werner is right,” the clerk said, looking as if he wanted to crawl into a hole. “I was unconscious during most of the robbery.”

  Turning back to Bentley, Garrett asked, “Was anybody else in here at the time?”

  “Just us.”

  “No customers?”

  “We’re a small town, Marshal, and it was a slow period. Happens a lot.”

  Neil spoke up then. “Miss Penny was here.”

  Bentley issued a sour expression to the clerk, who flushed deeper and proceeded to dive back into his ledger.

  “Penny Wills?” Garrett asked, shooting a sharp look on Bentley. “Frank Wills’ daughter? You forgot to mention her, Mr. Werner.”

  “This has been a terrible ordeal for her, as you can imagine. She witnessed her father’s murder. Besides, she was standing behind me most of the time and saw less than I did, so, she really can’t help you. You’ll just have to make do without her. I don’t want her further upset.”

  “I’ll take all that into consideration when I talk to her.”

  “Now see here…”

  Before Bentley could finish his sentence, the door to the bank flew open. Garrett turned to see a young woman enter; a vision, really, flushed, breathless, as if she’d been running. Her determined eyes alight with ire. Though she was wearing a dress of prim black layers from foot to throat, letting him only guess at her form, she had a face the finest artists striving for perfection could not have accurately formed.

  Even the heaviness beneath her wide eyes marking her sleeplessness could not mar their emerald color, tinted with flecks of gold that held a glow even from across the room. She wore her hair, the hue of freshly washed lemons, all of it tucked into a small black bonnet, leaving him to wonder at the length. Her alabaster skin bore not a single flaw, so soft in appearance it made a man’s hand ache to touch it. Her nose had a tiny upturn with nary a freckle. Full lips with a pink tinge that in the space of a few accelerated beats of his heart stole every thought he had but the carnal ones.

  For a moment, she locked eyes with Garrett. And for just that instant, the rest of his world paled to gone, like night to the morn. All he could see was this woman. Again, it struck him how her face appeared too perfect to be real, the rendering of an artistic angel. Garrett blinked, hard, disoriented even, thinking he couldn’t possibly be seeing her clearly. He was, though. For when he focused on her again, he held no doubt she was indeed a flesh and blood woman, albeit the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen. The young woman spun, then, directing her hostility toward Bentley.

  “You should have told me the marshal was here. If I hadn’t gone into the mercantile I wouldn’t have even known.”

  “Penelope, you should be home resting. I’ll handle this.”

  Penelope. This was Penny, Garrett realized, the murdered man’s daughter. She wasn’t a child, though, but a grown woman, young, but grown. That explained the weight of her eyes. It also explained her eagerness to see the lawman who had come to town to catch her father’s killer.

  Poor little Penny, the man at the mercantile had said. Looking at her now, no one would think her wilting under the stress of what she’d witnessed. Her spine was as straight as a fine aim, her shoulders pulled back, imparting dignity and fortitude to her carriage. She looked ready to challenge the world, not hide from it. After what she’d gone through, he had to give her due respect.

  Whipping his wits into shape, Garrett said, “You’re Frank Wills’ daughter?” She turned to him, so clean and fresh she was a million miles from anything he’d seen in months.

  “Yes, Marshal,” said Bentley. “This is Miss Penelope Wills. Penelope, Marshal Kincaid.”

  “My condolences,” Garrett said, removing his hat and placing it on the edge of the desk without really looking.

 
; “Thank you. Have you…”

  A couple entered the bank then, and everyone turned toward the door. The man was dressed in well-worn work trousers and a shirt to match. The woman, however, wore a sunny yellow gown with a matching bonnet and looked properly fit to attend a ball.

  “Are you open for business yet?” the man asked Bentley.

  “Tomorrow, Burt. We’ll be open tomorrow.” Then, to no one in particular, Bentley said, “Doesn’t anybody read a sign anymore?”

  After they left, Bentley stared a moment as they passed by the front window before turning a baffled expression to Penny. “Penelope, was Lucy wearing one of your dresses?”

  “Yes. I gave it to her this morning.”

  Something outside the window caught Bentley’s attention, and he scrunched up his face as he moved closer to the glass. His head swiveled one way and then swung sharply the other. At the same time, his hands shot to the windowsill. His nose rubbed against the glass as he strained to peer down the street. “Penny, several of the townswomen are wearing your dresses.”

  Garrett took a good look out the window. A woman passed by, and two more across the street wearing dresses of varying styles and colors, all lovely, all looking brand new.

  “I spent the morning giving away most of my dresses and skirts and blouses,” Penny told Bentley.

  “Giving them away!” He swung around from the window and marched a few steps toward her.

  “Yes. Bonnets, too.” She turned to Garrett then. “Marshal, have you caught the man who murdered my father?”

  “Penelope, why would you give away all of your clothing?” an irate Bentley asked.

  Barely sparing him a glance, she said, “I didn’t give everything away. I kept what I need. Marshal?”

  Back to business, Garrett said, “No. I haven’t arrested anyone yet. I will, though. Can you tell me anything about the man who shot your father? I understand his face was covered, but did you notice anything about him, size, his clothing, maybe the color of his eyes?”

  “I got a good look at his face,” she said, stunning the marshal.

  Garrett shot an accusatory scowl toward Bentley. “You told me his face was covered.”

  “It was,” said Bentley, defensive and cowering a bit under the marshal’s glare. “He came in with a red bandana tied over his face.”

  “Yes,” Penny cut in. “It was covered when he came in, but he must not have tied it tight enough because it fell off.”

  “It fell off, did it?” he said, directing his words toward Bentley before shifting his eyes back to Penny.

  Bentley said, “Well, that was right at the end, and it was only for a moment. Not enough time to really see him.”

  Ignoring him completely now, Garrett said to Penny, “Tell me everything you can remember about him, Miss Wills.”

  Penny looked directly at Garrett and said, “He was filthy. I can tell you that. He smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in a year. He was taller than Bentley here, but at least three or four inches shorter than you, Marshal. He had a bit of a belly, but he looked strong. His hair was probably blond, but it was very dirty and so it’s hard to say for sure and impossible to tell the shade. He had dark brown eyes, and his beard was two or three inches long. It was uneven, mangled, and dirty, and he had a terrible scar on his face that cut into his beard. It was a raised scar, and light pink and hair didn’t grow on it. It was right here.” She ran an index finger along her face showing the marshal exactly where and how long the scar had been.

  “His teeth were brown and rotting,” Penny continued. “His clothes and boots were old and caked with dirt. He carried a knife at his waist, a rather large one. It was oddly clean with a nickel inlay. Oh, and his voice was rough and gravely, if that’s any help.” She thought for a moment. “I think that’s everything. I wish I could tell you more.”

  Garrett had seen lawmen less able to give such a detailed description. Brains wrapped in a pretty package. The wholeness of her stifled his voice for a moment or two. Finally, Garrett cleared his throat and said, “You did well, Miss Wills. Very well.”

  “Please call me Penny.”

  “Penny. You’ve a sharp mind. That’s far more information than I’ve gotten from the other two witnesses combined.” Garrett couldn’t help but throw that in, slanting a sharp glance toward Bentley. However, the man didn’t notice him at all. He was gawking at Penny as though she was a creature from another world.

  Penny simply nodded. Her ego seemed untouched by his praise. A small frown line appeared between her elegant brows as she thought harder, trying to remember anything else that might be of some help. That’s what he figured, anyway. Or maybe she was grappling with the terrible memory of what she’d witnessed here in this very room a mere two days ago.

  “That scar,” Garret said, his memory speaking aloud while his eyes stayed on Penny, stuck like a fly in molasses. A part of him knew his voice was speaking independent of his brain; however, the knowledge was too disengaged to keep the words behind his teeth. “A couple years back I arrested a man fitting such a description, had a scar just like that. He was part of a group of cattle rustlers. He was particularly fond of knives. If I remember right, name was Zeke Cotter.”

  “Zeke Cotter,” Penny said, thinking on the name and then saying it again. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him. Either of you?”

  Bentley and the clerk both shook their heads.

  Garrett immediately yanked his gaze away from Penny to stare out the front window while he mentally gave himself a good sock in the jaw. Another one of those fancy dresses floated by, something pink with white lace. He barely noticed. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that name out loud. He knew better than that. These people were grieved and angry. The last thing he should be doing is giving them a name to chase. Talk about asking for trouble. What had happened to his good sense?

  The answer was standing there right in front of him, beguiling as a lily in moonlight, and though it was mulish, he could not accept a pretty face had set him so off kilter. His problem was he’d been too long at the job without a break, and way too long without the sweet comforts of a woman.

  After vowing to remedy both of those situations in the near future, Garrett turned to Bentley and said, “Can you at least tell me how much money was taken?”

  Bentley gave his waistcoat a dignified tug and said, “Of course I can tell you. It was almost six hundred dollars. Neil can give you the exact amount.”

  “That’s all?” Garrett and Penny said at the same time.

  Penny marched through the open gate to the back wall of the bank where she peered inside the safe that was open about a third of the way. She then twisted back toward Garrett, surprise evident on her face. “He didn’t take any of the money from in here.”

  Garrett walked to the back and stood beside Penny. He caught a whiff of rosewater. It smelled even better than the bread, stirring appetites he’d just vowed to appease. A reminder the girl had just lost her father and that his thoughts were turning wholly inappropriate helped shame him back to work. It still took a force of will before he could focus on the inside of the safe.

  It was tidy, not the sloppy scattering of papers shoved aside in a rush to grab the money. Nor were there any stray bills lying here or there that had escaped a hasty looting. Cash sat stacked in neat bundles, most of them wrapped and placed in perfect order on the three shelves. In the corner was a single, four tier wooden file cabinet. The drawers all shut, nice and neat. Nothing at all appeared to have been disturbed.

  “Was the safe open when he was here?” Garrett asked.

  “Yes, it was,” answered Penny.

  It was easy to understand why she sounded so baffled. Garrett was right there with her. A man risked life and limb to rob a bank, yet left the open safe untouched?

  To Bentley he said, “Was anything missing from the files?”

  Bentley shook his head. “He never went in there at all.”

  Penny tipped her head up until her
eyes met Garrett’s. “But there was a pause in their footsteps, my father’s and the robber’s. It was when I was standing behind Bentley.” She turned to Bentley, then. “I assumed he was collecting the money from the safe.”

  Bentley said, “No, he never even looked in there. He must have panicked and left without thinking about the safe.”

  “What made him panic,” Garrett asked. He walked back through the gate toward the center of the room. Penny followed. “Did Mr. Wills argue with him?”

  “No!” Penny nearly shouted. “My father was completely cooperative. He spoke calmly and did everything asked of him. That man had no reason to…” Her voice caught.

  Tears threatened, but she managed to shore up. However, Garrett could see it was a strain on her fortitude, and he felt like a brute putting her through this.

  “No reason to do what he did,” Penny finished.

  Garrett resisted the urge to put his arm around her. Somebody should, though. He shot quick glances toward the other two other men in the room. They knew her. Likely, they’d known her for years. It was their place to offer comfort. Neither of them did.

  Bentley said, “He probably panicked when his bandana fell off. It was right after that when he shot Mr. Wills.”

  “The both of you saw his face, too,” Garrett pointed out. “Did he aim the gun at either one of you?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Penny said. “We saw him plain as day. Why wouldn’t he kill us, too?”

  She looked to Garrett who gave a small nod, as that was also his question.

  “He probably intended to also kill us,” Bentley said. “People don’t think straight when they panic. It was a very stressful situation, Marshal.”

  It wasn’t completely implausible. He shot the gun, could have even been by accident. Once he realized he’d killed a man, he panicked and ran before he gave thought to the other two witnesses. Still, things weren’t sitting right.

  Bentley continued. “After shooting Frank three times, he had to know others would hear the shots and come running.”

  “He shot your father three times?” Garrett asked Penny as gently as he could. It was a horrible question to put to her, but if he wanted a straight answer, he already knew she was the one to ask.