Longing For The Tormented Sheriff (Historical Western Romance)
Page 13
“Sure, I do,” Dennis replied, “I always remember everything,” he said with a weak chuckle.
“So, what do you remember from that night?” Michael said tensely.
“It’s all a bit blurry, to be honest,” Dennis said thoughtfully, “That’s strange, Sheriff, sure is… I’m not to brag or anything, but I can hold my liquor.”
“Did you see anyone unusual that night?” Michael answered, “perhaps someone who left early.”
“I remember someone talking to me… They gave me a drink,” Dennis scrunched up his forehead as he tried to remember, “But, it’s all black. I don’t remember anything else.”
* * *
“We should go over to the ice,” Pat said anxiously.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Charlie agreed and helped Dorothy stand again, “Come on now, up you go.” Dorothy stood on wobbly legs and tried to regain her composure.
“I wish I could go with you,” Charlie added, looking remorseful, “But I have to finish here…”
“Of course,” Dorothy said with a weak smile, “I understand. I know how kind you have been to my Lilli.”
“I just can’t help thinking if I had stayed later last night…” he began, but Dorothy cut him off.
“This is not your fault,” she said weakly, “Now I will go to the see Sheriff Flemming.”
Dorothy and Pat walked together the short distance over to the Sheriff’s office. They entered, and Benjamin Hopper looked up from his desk, which could hardly be seen due to papers cluttered all over the surface.
“Mrs. Walter!” Benjamin said curiously, “And Mrs. Henderson. This is a surprise.”
“Where’s the sheriff?” Dorothy asked, looking around.
“He hasn’t come in yet,” Benjamin replied, “Is everything all right?”
“My Lillian didn’t…” Dorothy began, but her voice failed her.
“Mrs. Walter?” Benjamin said concerned, walking over to the two women.
“What has happened?”
“I cannot find Lillian anywhere,” Dorothy said, unable to keep the tears at bay.
“Is she not at the hotel?” Benjamin said lamely, seemingly uncomfortable around the crying woman.
“We have already checked there,” Pat retorted. She was rapidly becoming irritated.
“When will Sheriff Flemming be here?” Dorothy asked desperately.
“I’m not sure…” Benjamin hesitated, but at that moment, the door to the Sheriff’s office opened and in walked Michael.
“Hello?” he said, looking at the odd scene in front of him.
“Oh, Sheriff,” Dorothy cried, “You have to help me!”
“What is wrong, Dorothy?” Michael asked.
“My Lilli is gone,” Dorothy whimpered, “She’s missing.”
“She’s missing?” Michael repeated gravely, then added quickly, “Where was she last seen?”
“I… I am not sure,” Dorothy’s voice was faltering, “She was at the hotel, and then she was supposed to meet with Vincent.”
“I must go,” Michael said, already turning around, “Let’s go,” he nodded in Benjamin’s direction.
“Please!” Dorothy called, “Allow me to come with you.”
Michael looked at the desperate woman pensively before he finally said: “All right then, come on.”
* * *
Michael had to remind himself to breathe. His whole world seemed to be upside down. Had this been the uneasiness that had been plaguing him ever since he could not find Dennis yesterday. Had he been aware, somehow, that Lillian was in danger. He was rushing towards the house that he knew Vincent was leasing.
He heard slight panting and turned around to see Dorothy struggling to keep up with him, clutching her hip. He slowed down to meet up with her. There was a faint ringing inside Michael’s head, and he felt his blood beginning to boil at the thought that Lillian could be missing. He had not needed more information than the desperate look on Dorothy’s face when he saw her.
Dear God, give me strength—to restrain myself… I will need it, Michael murmured as they neared the front door of Vincent’s house, and he knocked it with so much force it almost came off its hinges.
“Oh my,” he heard Dorothy mutter.
“Open the door!” Michael yelled, angrily, “Or I will kick it open.”
The door opened slowly, and Vincent appeared looking apprehensive in the doorway.
“Sheriff?” he said, surprised, “What’s going on?” Michael strode inside uninvited, causing Vincent to stumble backward.
“Dorothy?” Vincent asked confusedly, looking at her for some answers.
“Where is Lillian?” Michael barked at Vincent.
“Where is…” Vincent repeated, “What do you mean, where is she?”
“Lillian is missing, and you were the last person to see her?” Michael replied, squaring his jaw and clenching his fist.
“I don’t know where she is,” Vincent said nervously.
“Where was she when you last saw her?” Michael spat, not believing him.
“She had to…” he stammered,” “She said to me that she had to return to the hotel.”
“Return to the hotel?” Dorothy asked.
“Yes,” Vincent replied, stroking a lock of his usually slicked back hair, from his face with his right hand, “She said that she had to finish baking….” But he was unable to continue as Michael grabbed his hand forcefully.
“What is this?” Michael growled, looking at his bandaged hand.
“This?” Vincent muttered, “I… I hurt myself,” he said guiltily.
“How did you hurt yourself,” Michael said icily.
“Uhm… Shaving,” Vincent said unconvincingly. Michael chuckled dryly and ripped off the loose bandages, rage coursing through him.
“Liar!” He bellowed, “This is wound from shooting a gun,” Michael said, squeezing his hand, so Vincent gasped.
“You are the shooter!” he added, “You are the one that tried to kill me!”
“I.. I didn’t mean,” Vincent yelped, looking terrified.
“You didn’t mean?” Michael screamed, “What did you do to Lillian?”
“Nothing,” Vincent objected, “I would never…” But at this, Michael lost control of himself and pushed Vincent harshly up against a wall, pinning him tightly, pressing on his neck.
“Where is she?” Michael said enraged. Dorothy stood behind them, looking horrified, “What did you do to her you −?”
“I would never hurt her,” Vincent screamed, “I only meant to hurt you!”
“Why should I believe you,” Michael said, putting more pressure on Vincent.
“I tried to shoot you,” Vincent gasped, “Because she kept mentioning you… Kept looking at you—always searching for you.” Michael dropped Vincent down, breathing heavily.
“She told me that she forgot to finish her baking. That she had to return to the hotel or there would be no bread today… She said that she was worried her uncle would think she was not capable of her job,” Vincent finished.
“You’re coming down to the Sheriff’s office,” Michael said, turning Vincent around to handcuff him.
“You must know, Dorothy,” Vincent said, looking at her, “I would never do anything to hurt her; I love her.”
Dorothy looked away from both of them, tears falling in streams down her cheeks.
“Let’s go back,” Michael growled, pushing Vincent forward.
Michael, Dorothy, and the handcuffed Vincent returned to the Sheriff’s office after a quiet, short walk. People had stopped to stare at them, peering out of windows to get a better look at the odd trio crossing the main road. Michael yanked the door to the Sheriff’s office open and dragged Vincent inside.
“Benjamin!” he called. Benjamin came running, looking from Vincent and Michael in turn.
“Yes,” Benjamin said, apprehensively.
“Take this scum to the cell,” Michael spat, then added at the confused look on his juni
or sheriff, “He’s the one that tried to shoot Jacob Frazier and me.”
“I see,” Benjamin replied seriously, grabbing Vincent and guiding him towards the cell.
“We should tell Jacob,” Dorothy said suddenly.
“He cares about Lillian as she was his own,” she added sadly.
“I’ll go with you,” Michael replied.
“Benjamin, you need to stay here,” he added, turning around.
“Of course,” Benjamin said, “I will send a telegraph over to the Gatesville sheriff’s office.”
“Good,” Michael nodded then left with Dorothy. Rust Canyon did not have a jail, and therefore all prisoners were sent over to Gatesville, often by a bounty hunter.
Michael walked towards the hotel, noticing that Dorothy was growing ever more silent, and an empty look was painted over her kind face.
“I will find her,” Michael said, “I promise you, I will not rest until she is safely returned,” he added defiantly and truthfully. But Dorothy seemed to be in too much pain to be able to reply to him. They walked in silence toward the hotel, and to his great annoyance, some of the townsfolk walked behind them, observing them closely. They entered the hotel, and at once, the young chambermaid ran to the kitchen and called Charlie’s name.
“Did you find her?” Charlie said, out of breath from running from the kitchen.
“Dorothy?” he added, concernedly looking at her.
“We haven’t found her yet,” Michael replied.
“Where’s Jacob,” Dorothy croaked.
“I will fetch him,” Charlie said, turning away from them and walking to the back. After a short moment, he returned, now accompanied by Jacob.
“Sheriff?” he asked, and when he noticed Dorothy, he gasped.
“Dorothy? What has happened?”
“Oh, Jacob,” Dorothy vailed, throwing herself at him, clutching his shoulders as the tears began once more.
“What has happened, dear, Dorothy?” Jacob asked, holding Dorothy up.
“Lillian is missing,” Michael answered.
“What?” Jacob roared, “Are you certain?”
“I am,” Michael replied simply.
“Heaven above,” Jacob gasped, “We will have to go and search for her,” he said, leading Dorothy to a chair, helping her sit down.
“You!” he called to the young chambermaid, “Give Mrs. Walter a very strong tea, with a small swig of the good bourbon.”
“Yes, sir,” the maid replied, hurrying away.
“What are we going to do, Jacob,” Dorothy pleaded, “I can’t lose her.”
“We will find her,” Jacob said reassuringly, “I will close the hotel,” he added, looking at his staff.
“Our focus should be to find my niece.” The staff that had been observing the happenings scattered around with a chorus of ‘Yes, sir.’
“Jacob,” Michael said, “There is something that you should know.”
“What is it, Sheriff?” Jacob anxiously asked.
“I have just arrested Vincent Hays,” Michael continued, carefully observing Jacob’s reactions.
“You what?” Jacob bellowed, “Why on earth have you done that?”
“Vincent was the one that tried to shoot us,” Michael explained.
“Vincent?” Jacob gaped, “It cannot be true!”
“It is true,” Michael replied.
“I cannot believe it,” Jacob said incredulously, “Vincent?”
“He was jealous,” Dorothy said softly, “Oh, dear, Michael. How can we be sure it was not him who took her?”
“Nonsense, Dorothy,” Jacob said, “I don’t believe he could ever have done what this man,” he looked angrily at Michael, “is saying he did.”
“Well, as I am the sheriff in this town, it is not your opinion that matters,” Michael retorted.
“Please, do not argue,” Dorothy pleaded.
“I’m sorry, dearest Dorothy,” Jacob apologized, “I cannot think properly,” he looked back at Michael, “Forgive me. It’s just that, Lillian is the most precious person in this whole world.”
“It’s all right,” Michael replied.
“I will send my people out to search,” Jacob added.
“Good idea,” Michael agreed.
“Dorothy, I think you should go home to rest,” Michael said gently to her.
“I cannot leave,” Dorothy sobbed, “I will not be able to rest.”
“I understand.” Michael nodded sympathetically.
“I feel as if I have been cursed,” Dorothy said desperately.
“Why do you say that?” Michael asked.
“First, I lost my dear Philip, and now I am losing the light of my life as well,” Dorothy cried.
“Dorothy,” Michael said seriously, “I meant what I said before. I will not rest until I have brought Lillian back to you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Very soon, the whole town of Rust Canyon knew that Lillian Walter had gone missing. Michael rode across the main road, and everywhere he looked, he saw people huddled together, speaking to each other looking concerned. Lillian was well-liked by everyone, and it was apparent that the whole town was affected by her disappearance.
Benjamin had been swamped by worried mothers that wanted to know whether their children would be safe. Michael was desperately trying not to allow his own feelings for Lillian cloud his judgment. He had to stay strong; for her. It was getting dark outside, but Michael knew he would not be able to rest. He decided to return to the hotel one more time to see how Dorothy was holding up. Once he arrived there, he saw the hotel’s door wide open, and it was filled with people.
“What’s going on?” Michael asked Charlie, who was carrying a heavy-looking pot to the dining area.
“Mr. Frazier wanted to offer the people that were out there searching for Lillian, some food,” Charlie grunted as he put down the heavy pot on the large table in front of them.
“That’s generous of him,” Michael commented to which Charlie nodded, but moved passed him to fetch more food.
“Any news?” Jacob asked him seriously, appearing beside Michael as Charlie left.
“Nothing yet,” Michael replied, looking around the hall.
“This is some crowd, don’t you think?” Jacob said.
“Lillian is beloved here,” he added. Then someone called his name, and Jacob left Michael with a small nod. Michael was looking for Dorothy when he noticed someone outside, trying to catch his attention. He moved closer to the window and realized this was Dennis. He hurried outside.
“Dennis!” Michael said, “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t stay cooped up in your house, now could I?” Dennis mused.
“How are you feeling?” Michael asked.
“Like I've been battling a bear recently,” Dennis replied with a small chuckle.
“Say, Sheriff,” he added conspiratorially.
“Yeah.”
“I have been thinking about the night you asked me about,” Dennis continued, “And I can’t shake the feeling that I had meant to give you something.”
“You did say that,” Michael replied, now alert.
“Well, after I took off my socks earlier, I found it,” Dennis said.
“Found what?” Michael asked.
“This,” Dennis said, handing him a burnt letter.
“What is this?” Michael asked, examining the burnt remains of an envelope.
“When we were clearing out the old Post Office, I noticed that some of the letters had not quite burned,” Dennis explained, “And this envelope had this fancy looking stamp on it, so I thought I better bring it to you.”
Michael turned the envelope over and examined the faint outlines of the stamp that was present there. It had been sent from Gatesville, which usually meant it was from other sheriffs or possibly bounty hunters.
“Thank you,” Michael said.
“Now, I do hear there is food inside,” Dennis said, no longer focusing on the letter.