Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  “What?” Michael retorted.

  “Let’s go to the office,” Benjamin said reassuringly.

  “Hopper, I need to talk with him,” Michael said, gesturing angrily at Mr. Sandham.

  “But I wasn’t…” Mr. Sandham tried again.

  “You will answer my questions,” Michael half-screamed this time.

  “Michael!” Benjamin said sternly, causing Michael to turn around to look at him. He had never heard Hopper raise his voice at him.

  “He wasn’t here last night,” Benjamin said slowly.

  “What do you mean?” Michael said.

  “I wasn’t at the tavern yesterday,” the frightened-looking Mr. Sandham said.

  “What do you mean?” Michael replied.

  “My wife was here,” Mr. Sandham, “I can go and fetch her, but she’s with the children.”

  “It’s all right, Seamus,” Benjamin said, looking intently at Michael, indicating he should follow him. Michael inhaled deeply and turned away from Mr. Sandham, feeling like he wanted to punch someone.

  “Forgive me for my interference,” Benjamin finally said, once they had both walked a fair distance from the tavern.

  “How did you know I was here?” Michael asked.

  “I saw you rush past the office this morning, so I just followed,” Benjamin explained.

  “Someone tried to burn down my house last night,” Michael said, “I was just barely in time to put out the fire.”

  “And you think someone saw you at the tavern yesterday?” Benjamin guessed.

  “Yes,” Michael retorted, “It had to be someone that saw me there… Has to be.”

  “I agree,” Benjamin nodded, “Let’s go to the office, and I will try to go over everyone I can remember from last night.”

  * * *

  Benjamin had made coffee for them, and Michael was examining the two packs of matches. They were identical, with the same light brown material, with a colorful picture on one side, and the other side had letters, but the flame had singed away the name or word that was written there.

  “This is strange,” Michael said.

  “What is?” Benjamin asked.

  “This side is completely singed,” Michael said, indicating the first pack of matches that they had found on the Post Office grounds, “And at first I believed it to be simply from the fire at the post office.”

  “Yeah?” Benjamin replied uncertainly.

  “But this pack,” Michael continued, holding up the other pack of matches, “Which I found in my home last night, it’s seared the same way as the other one.”

  “That sure is strange,” Benjamin mused.

  “I reckon that there is a name of a place on this pack, which the perpetrator does not want to be seen, in case the matches do not incinerate,” Michael finished.

  “Perhaps we should show people the pack?” Benjamin asked, “See if anyone is familiar with the picture. It’s pretty distinct.”

  “I’m not sure,” Michael hesitated, “I don’t want to unknowingly inform someone involved… I don’t know who I can trust.”

  “You’re right,” Benjamin agreed.

  “But I do think there is one person that we can talk to,” he added after a short silence.

  “Who?” Michael asked.

  “Old Dennis,” Benjamin said.

  “Why him?” Michael asked.

  “He is at the tavern most nights, I think,” Benjamin replied, “And I am sure he would know if there was someone unusual there yesterday. He might be a drunk, but he is an observant one.”

  “All right then, let’s go talk to him,” Michael said, standing up and putting the two packs of matches into his pocket.

  “I believe he’s working at the Post Office plot,” Benjamin said, following his boss outside.

  Michael was feeling the lack of sleep as the burning sun shone high in the sky, as the two of them walked towards what was remaining of the Post Office. Michael was impressed when they arrived and noticed that there was almost no trace of the burnt ruins anymore.

  “That didn’t take them long,” Michael said.

  “Jacob Frazier is an expert in this, by now,” Benjamin pointed out. They looked around for Dennis but didn’t see him. A tall, brown-haired man sauntered towards them.

  “Howdy,” the man said, tipping them his hat, “For what do we owe the honor, Sheriff.”

  “We are looking for one of your workers,” Michael replied, instantly disliking the tattooed man, “Mr.?”

  “You can call me Ray,” the man replied.

  “You work for Mr. Frazier, isn’t that right?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yeah, sure do,” Ray replied easily, “So which one of my workers broke the law,” he chuckled, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

  “We just need to talk to Dennis,” Michael said icily, “He’s not in trouble.”

  “What a pity,” Ray said with a mock-concerned look, “He didn’t show up for work today.”

  “Is that so?” Michael asked.

  “He’s quite unreliable, old Dennis,” Ray said, blowing smoke in Michael’s face.

  “I would not do that if I were you,” Michael replied slowly.

  “My mistake,” Ray smiled, “But I will let old Dennis know if he shows up again, that you wanted to see him.”

  “Good,” Michael retorted and walked away from him, Benjamin hurrying after him.

  “There is something very strange going on,” Michael said to Benjamin, “And we are going to have to find Dennis as soon as possible.”

  * * *

  Lillian stroked the bed cover, straightening it. This was the last room she had left to change the linens in, and she grabbed the dirty sheets and carried towards the laundry carriage.

  “Thank you again for the help, miss,” one of the chambermaids said nervously.

  “Of course.” Lillian smiled encouragingly. The young chambermaid had been given so many additional chores by Ray that she was nearly in tears when she realized she still had to make the beds. Lillian offered to help her, wanting to help her, and also she was using it as an excuse. Lillian was on her way to meet Vincent when the young maid met her, and Lillian asked one of the waiters to inform Vincent that she would be late for their meeting.

  I cannot delay this any longer, Lillian sighed, I should go to Vincent and be honest with him. I cannot deceive him any longer. I just worry about what he will say when I admit to him that I have feelings for Michael.

  Lillian had finally decided that she would have to tell him the truth. She was frightened of how he would react, but also how her uncle would react. She walked into the saloon where she saw Vincent standing, holding his jacket over his hand.

  “I’m so very sorry for being so late,” Lillian said apologetically.

  “That’s all right,” Vincent said, although he appeared rather stiff as he spoke.

  “I was wondering whether you would care to take a short walk with me?” Lillian suggested. She did not especially want to have this conversation with Vincent at the hotel, where anyone could hear them.

  “That sounds delightful,” Vincent smiled.

  “After you,” he gestured for Lillian to walk ahead of him. They walked out of the hotel, and the sun was setting, creating a marvelous amber glow over the town.

  “What a gorgeous sunset.” Lillian inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves.

  “It sure is,” Vincent said, and again his voice was strained.

  “Are you all right?” Lillian asked as they walked away from the hotel toward the church.

  “It’s nothing,” Vincent dismissed.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Lillian replied, uncertainly.

  “I actually wanted to talk with you,” she added, looking ahead at the silent bell tower of the church.

  “What about?” Vincent asked.

  “Vincent, I want to be honest with you,” Lillian said quietly.

  “You should always be honest with me, sweet Lillian,” Vincent replied, trying
to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” Lillian asked again, putting her hand gently over his jacket.

  “Ouch,” Vincent winced loudly, causing his jacket to slip from his hand. Lillian noticed a bloody bandage over his right hand, just above his thumb. Suddenly she felt as if she had been doused in icy water.

  “The hammer can give you a nasty cut if you don’t know how to shoot,” Michael had said, “This will help me find the bastard. They will have a very distinct injury just above their thumb.”

  Lillian looked away from the wound and her mind was racing.

  I must get away… This cannot be true! Why does he have a wound just like the one that Michael predicted?

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Lillian said sympathetically, almost convincing herself that everything was all right, “What happened to you?”

  “This,” Vincent looked at his hand, “This was just a silly shaving mishap. I tripped and dropped my razor.”

  “You should have that looked at,” Lillian added.

  “I will be fine,” Vincent smiled, “You should not worry about me.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lillian said suddenly, looking alarmed.

  “What is it?” Vincent said quickly.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Lillian repeated.

  “Tell me, what is wrong?” Vincent asked.

  “I forgot to finish the loaves of bread for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Lillian lied, “If I don’t make them tonight, there will not be any bread available.”

  “Surely, someone else can do it,” Vincent replied.

  “Oh, but my Uncle Jacob will then think I cannot manage,” Lillian said nervously, hoping he would not see through her act. She paused to think before she added, “I was just so excited to see you that I completely forgot.”

  “I have to go back,” she added miserably.

  “Of course,” Vincent said understandingly, “Hurry back, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “Thank you, dear Vincent,” Lillian said with relief. She turned around and hurried away from him.

  I must hurry to Michael; I need to tell him that Vincent’s the shooter…

  But before she could think about which way she should be walking, someone grabbed her and covered her mouth, silencing her scream.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael knocked on the door of the house he stood in front of. This was the third place he and Benjamin were looking at for any trace of Dennis. As he was a migrant worker, he did not have a permanent building to stay at, but moved from house to house, depending on the work. The workers that had been with Dennis from the beginning mentioned the house, most of them stayed in, but after Michael and Hopper arrived, there was no one around.

  Michael knocked again, with more force and urgency this time.

  “Hello?” he called, “This is Sheriff Flemming,” he added. There was no response.

  “Should we head back?” Benjamin asked.

  “Sure, I don’t think there is anyone inside there.”

  “Or they do they do not wish to speak with the sheriff,” Benjamin pointed out.

  “Fair point,” Michael ceded. “Let’s head over to the tavern; maybe he’s there.” Benjamin agreed, and they mounted their horses and rode back towards the town. The sun was setting now, and the blood-red sky made Michael feel uneasy.

  “What do you know about that Ray fellow?” Michael asked Benjamin.

  “He’s one of the men that came with Jacob Frazier,” Benjamin explained, “I heard some wild tales about him being an outlaw, but I think that’s just town-gossip.”

  Michael hummed distractedly. The way Ray had said that Dennis didn’t show up to work was very disconcerting.

  “You don’t think he’s an outlaw?” Benjamin asked, appalled.

  “I can’t say,” Michael replied.

  “Surely, someone like Jacob would not hire an outlaw,” Benjamin continued.

  “It’s difficult to say,” Michael said, thinking about the tattoos on Ray’s arm. Something about them stirred his memory but couldn’t be sure what it was about.

  “We need to focus on finding Dennis,” he added as they arrived at the tavern. They dismounted and fastened the reins to the hitching post.

  Just yesterday, we did the exact same thing. Was there someone then observing me? And are they still watching me now?

  Benjamin pushed open the door and entered the half-empty tavern. This was not the same tavern they had sat in the night before.

  “Hi, Rosa,” Benjamin called, and the woman behind the bar looked up.

  “Two nights in a row,” she teased back, “Should I be concerned, Benjamin?”

  “No need to worry,” he replied, sitting at the bar; Michael followed him.

  “I need to ask you some questions,” Michael said as he sat down.

  “Sure thing,” Rosa smiled, “You fellas want a drink,” she said before adding, “On the house.”

  “Not now, Miss Rosa,” Michael asked, but before he could continue, she said.

  “You’re the one that frightened my poor Seamus this morning,” she said with her eyebrow raised.

  “That’s why I’m here, actually,” Michael interjected.

  “Are you going to frighten me?” she quipped back.

  “No,” Michael replied simply, “I just need some answers… about your patrons here last night.”

  “Ask away,” Rosa replied, looking amused.

  “I need to know if there was someone here last night that you were not familiar with, or if someone unusual was here,” Michael said.

  “The only unusual guest here last night was you, Sheriff,” Rosa responded at once.

  “Are you certain?” Michael doubted.

  “I am,” Rosa replied with ease, “I know my guests, and this ain’t a big town, sheriff.”

  “Do you remember if anyone left the tavern unexpectantly?” Michael asked.

  “Not really,” she said thoughtfully, “it was just the usual guests, mostly Frazier’s workers as well as a few locals.”

  “Do you, by any chance, remember who left before we did?” Michael continued.

  “Sorry, Sheriff. My memory is good, but not that good.”

  “All right then,” Michael said, standing up, “Thank you for your help.”

  “Any time, Sheriff,” she said, before adding, “You should speak with old Dennis, he might know.” Michael and Benjamin looked at each other.

  “He remembers the darndest things, that man.”

  Michael felt uneasy as they walked away from the tavern. Where was Dennis? Why did he seem to have vanished, just as he appeared to be the only one who might be able to give them more information?

  Michael and Benjamin walked towards their horses, both seemingly immersed in their thought. Michael could not shake his guttural reaction that Dennis had not gone away on his own. But what could that mean? Could Dennis have been the one that started the fire? Admittedly, that was a ludicrous thought.

  “Should we head back to the office?” Benjamin asked, pulling Michael from his reverie.

  “Hmm?” he murmured. “Oh, no, I think I will ride around a bit longer. I want to use the time before it gets too dark outside.”

  “All right then,” Benjamin, “Should I ride with you?”

  “No,” Michael replied, “You should stay at the office. Someone might stop by and give us information.”

  “Yeah,” Benjamin replied, not too convinced.

  “At least you can have an eye on the street,” Michael said with a dry chuckle.

  “Yup, I’ll do that,” Benjamin nodded.

  “I will see you later tonight or tomorrow,” Michael said, untying the reins from the hitching post.

  “You think you’ll be out all night?” Benjamin asked.

  “Well, I don’t much like the idea of staying in my half-burnt home.”

  “Yeah…” Benjamin replied, but he stopped dead in his tracks. Then suddenly, he hit his head with con
siderable force.

  “Damnit!” he yelled.

  “What is it?” Michael asked.

  “Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” Benjamin said, annoyed.