by Ami Diane
Ella shook her head, making several rude gestures at the old woman that implied she should stow stun grenade before someone got hurt and they went to jail and that the woman was crazy. Or something to that effect.
What followed was a silent slap contest between Wink and Flo as the diner owner fought for control of the device. The silhouette on the wall finally shrank, followed by the creak of the office chair.
Ella released a slow breath. If they were going to sneak out, it was now or never. Motioning, she grabbed the attention of the other two.
Wink had Flo by the ear while Flo had Wink by the hair in a standoff. They froze, looking at Ella.
Ella crept towards the front door on the balls of her feet, the book clutched to her chest. It was next to impossible not to make the relic of a floor groan beneath her, but she found if she moved at a glacial pace, the sound was minimal. She might not reach the door until next year, but at least she wasn’t drawing Sal’s attention.
The same couldn’t be said for the other two. When she finally reached the door, she watched their progress in painful silence, flaring her nostrils each time Flo made a noise.
They were five feet from her when Sal’s office chair squealed loudly. He thumped around in his office.
Ella’s mouth went dry, and she beckoned the other two to pick up the pace. Turning to the door, she prepped their exit.
The deadbolt made a soft click when she turned it. Looking back, Sal’s shadow moved across the hallway wall, growing larger.
“Now!” Ella hissed.
She tugged open the door and ducked out into the muggy day. Only Wink followed her out. A moment later, the windows of Sal’s barbershop lit up like a supernova, and a soft explosive sound followed.
The crazy woman jumped through the doorway, Superman-style, and landed on the concrete like a squashed bug. Ella retraced her steps and peeled Flo off the ground as the sounds of Sal’s yells broke out across the deserted street.
“What was that for?” Ella said, dragging Flo away from the fray. “Now he’ll come after us.”
“Relax. He can’t.”
Ella skidded to a stop. “Why, Flo? Why can’t he?”
She shrugged.
“What did you do to him?”
“Calm down. He’s just a little unconscious.”
“What?” Ella shrieked. It took a good deal of effort to bring her voice down an octave. “You knocked him out? “Now he’s going to know we were there. We could’ve slipped away unseen. Now, he’ll know someone was in his shop.”
Flo’s cartoon eyebrows rose. “Good point. Hmm, better retrieve the grenade canister before he comes to.”
Before Ella could stop her, Flo rushed back into the barbershop. She popped out after a moment, canister in hand.
“Did you check to see if he was okay?”
“He’ll be fine. It’s like aerosolized anesthesia. Messes with people’s short term memories. He probably won’t remember anything after going into his office.”
Ella opened her mouth but found no words. She pushed all of the air out of her lungs in an exasperated breath and marched down the sidewalk, joining Wink.
“What’s the holdup? What’s wrong?” Wink took in Ella’s expression. “Why aren’t we running?”
“That nutty pyromaniac back there knocked Sal out.”
“Oh.” They walked several paces before Wink followed this up with, “At least we don’t have to worry about him chasing us.”
Ella shook her head. “Yes. That’s our biggest concern.”
Wink twisted her head around to look back. The wistful expression on her face said she was concerned about more than just Flo’s ability to keep up.
Ella looked back, as well, following Wink’s line of sight to the sheriff’s office. Graffiti in shades of red and black had been added alongside the streaks of dried eggs and dinosaur excrement decorating the building’s facade from the day before.
“We’ll break Peanut out. Don’t worry.”
“We should try again tonight,” Flo said, catching up.
Wink’s mouth pressed into a determined line. “But what if Chapman’s there again?”
“Then we need a diversion.” Ella clamped her mouth shut, regretting every word of that statement.
“That’s a great idea.” Wink’s voice poured out with enthusiasm. “We need something that’ll draw him out.”
Ella made the quick decision not to fight what was inevitable and, instead, lean into it.
“One of us can cause a ruckus near the orchards. He’ll think it’s Six or a dino. That’ll pull him away.”
“No.” Flo shook her head, causing her limp beehive to droop further. This weather was not doing her any favors. “But that gives me a better idea.”
She gave Wink a pointed look. “Bertha.”
Wink whispered the name reverently. “Bertha.”
“I know I’m going to regret asking this but who or what is Bertha?”
Wink patted Ella’s shoulder. “It’s best you don’t know.”
Noises up the sidewalk caused them to stop short and to reach for their weapons. Ella noticed with a great deal of alarm that Flo gripped another grenade in her hand.
A figure loped up the sidewalk. When he left the shade of an awning, about to cross the street, Ella got a good look at his face.
“Brandon?”
He changed direction and approached them. “Ella, right? Morning, Grandma Wink. Ms. Henderson.”
It had been some time since Ella had heard Wink’s full nickname, and she wished he’d called Crazy Flo by hers.
“How’re you holding up?” Wink asked in a gentle tone.
“Alright, I guess. Just got off work and was stopping by the store.”
“You’re walking?” Ella scanned up and down the street before noting that he had a modern handgun at his hip.
Flo stared hungrily at the weapon.
“I’m not going far, and I’m armed,” he said.
Discreetly, Ella shifted the library book so he couldn’t see the title.
“You heard about Sal’s?” he asked.
“Such a shame,” Wink and Flo replied automatically in a monotone voice.
His eyelids lowered slightly. “Some people think it’s to take him out of the running.”
“I doubt that,” Wink said. “Probably just some kids screwing around, being out when they shouldn’t be.”
Ella nodded sagely. “Yeah, it definitely had to be the result of people being out when they shouldn’t be, screwing around.”
A thought occurred to her, and she changed the subject. “Hey, you know that small television-looking device you helped me pack home?”
“Yeah….”
“Do you know where it came from?”
“No, I don’t remember. Sorry.”
Her heart sank. “Bummer. Do you remember when it arrived at the store or was it already there when your mother took over?”
“It was already there, I think.” He looked across the street at the store without saying more.
“Hmm, strange. Well, thanks anyway.”
“I should probably get going.”
He shoved his hands in his jeans and aimed to cross the street again when she stopped him for a second time.
“Sorry, one more thing.” She glanced over at Wink and Flo. “I’m told I’m not tactful—”
“You’re not,” Flo cut in.
Wink added, “Absolutely not.”
“Thanks, guys.” She cleared her throat. “I overheard your mother talking to Henry that day in the store. She mentioned something about money missing from the till.” That was as polite and indirect as she could be.
The unspoken question lingered and filled the air with tension. Finally, he responded.
“I wasn’t involved with the finances. That was my mom. She wouldn’t let anyone else help run the business. But I’ve known Henry for seven years, and he would never steal so much as a nickel. I’d stake my life on it.”
; His jaw ticked, and he sidestepped her before marching across the street. His strides were sure, angry even.
“Huh. I was actually trying to ask him if he thought Henry capable of murder, but that works.”
The Keystone Gators set off for the inn once again, this time at a brisk pace.
“You know how people tell you you’re not discreet?” Wink fell into step beside her. “That’s what they’re talking about.”
Chapter 20
ELLA WAS SPRAWLED out on her bed, an electric fan whirring on the nightstand, blowing air at her face. It was midday and time for lunch, as her stomach had been reminding her for the past twenty minutes.
However, the pilfered library book from Sal’s shop had her full attention. The information found inside was enthralling in a historic sense, but so far, she’d found nothing germane to Chapman.
The thrill of the hunt drew her in. Within these pages was knowledge and answers, and she would find it. She was an explorer, navigating the treacherous waters of words.
The paper whispered as she turned another page. She could smell the library and regretted that she wasn’t conducting her research in the inn’s library, which was probably cooler than her room by several degrees.
Filling the next two pages in the book were sepia-toned photographs of the American West, of famous outlaws, gunslingers, and lawmen.
She scanned paragraphs detailing Western frontier life, the obstacles settlers faced in the terrain alone, of vast deserts and rugged mountain ranges.
The majority of those living on the land were Native Americans. Under a decree by President Jackson in 1830, more than 40,000 Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole Indians were forced from their lands. This journey was dubbed the Trail of Tears by the Cherokee after several thousand Native Americans died along the way.
It went on to explain that what largely spurred settlers to move west was victory in the Mexican War and the gold rush in the late 1840s.
As more settlements sprang up, crime cropped up, as well, and Old West gangs formed. They ambushed cowboys, robbed banks and stagecoaches and trains, and stole cattle. Many of the outlaw names listed in bold Ella recognized: Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and Butch Cassidy.
The gangs also had ridiculous names, such as, “The Regulators” and “Hole-in-the-Wall.” Another group flexed its creative muscle by naming their gang “The Cowboys.”
Most towns lacked regular law enforcement, which resulted in many hangings by overzealous judges. And when a judge was in short supply, vigilante groups of citizens doled out punishment.
A particularly violent gang known as the “Rough Riders” had a brutal rampage for a little over half of a decade (from 1845 to 1851) when the group—like many others—came to a fatal end. Before their demise, they terrorized the greater Nevada area and were known for robbing trains and stagecoaches and stealing cattle. They gained notoriety after stealing a mining company’s payroll.
On one afternoon, they rode through the desert in their usual fashion, robbing stagecoaches and burning them in their wake, when they fell upon a family traveling in a wagon. After stealing the family of their goods, the Rough Riders burned the victims alive, including three children and an infant.
Townspeople cried for justice and pleaded with law enforcement to step in and put an end to the gang. Lawmen across several counties heard the cry and banded together, forming a posse. They hunted the gang across the state, closing in on them in a small town.
Cornered, the Rough Riders stood their ground, leading to a hail of bullets in one of the deadliest shootouts on par with the Gunfight at O.K. Corral.
Ella’s eyes drank in the gut-wrenching story, ever thankful that she’d been born at a different time. The top of the next page was dogeared, which sent her sleuthing senses tingling.
Exposition of the aftermath of the shootout continued on the bottom half of the page. At the top, however, were black-and-white wanted posters of the Rough Riders’ members.
Hollow eyes set in a familiar face stared back at her. His angular features were shadowed by a mustache and several days’ worth of stubble, but there was no mistaking Six.
Blood rushed in her ears.
Her finger ran over paragraphs in a desperate attempt for answers. The book finally mentioned the leader of the Rough Riders, a “ruthless gunslinger with a thirst for blood, Jesse Berg, a.k.a. ‘Six Shooter’.”
“No,” Ella whispered.
She continued to read. Although many historians believed Six had died in the gunfight, his body was never recovered, leading some to speculate that he survived and went into hiding. One historic account from a reliable witness claimed the reason authorities were able to locate the stealthy, murderous bunch was that they’d been tipped off from someone in the gang, someone who’d betrayed their fellow outlaws and tucked tail and ran.
Ella’s world caved in. Maybe it was the stuffy room, but suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen.
Six had admitted to a violent and bloody past, but he’d claimed that the blood on his hands had been vengeance for his gang betraying him by ratting him out to the authorities. He’d never mentioned robbing stagecoaches and killing innocents—especially children.
Her stomach turned at the thought, and she leaped to a window. Struggling with the latch, she finally wrenched it up and stuck her nose to the screen. The air was only mildly cooler, but it lacked the oppressive atmosphere in her room.
Who was this man she thought a friend?
She shook her head, struggling to believe the ink in the book on her bed. The Six in that book didn’t align with the man she knew.
When she no longer felt the urge to hurl, she faced her bed and the offending literature. What did this have to do with Chapman?
Both the sheriff and the gunslinger had arrived in Keystone together, with Chapman chasing Six on horseback while the two exchanged bullets. What had Mary read on those pages that incriminated Chapman?
It hit Ella like a three hundred pound linebacker with a grudge. How many killers had she witnessed Chapman arrest? Five?
Every last one of them had been hauled off—except for Mayor Bradford who’d been left behind in a desert. Chapman had not shown a shred of leniency to any of them—rightfully so. Yet Six, who allegedly had the blood of many on his hands, ran amok in Keystone Village as a free man.
Sure Chapman threw him in jail often, but the outlaw’s boots always left the jail cell within twenty-four hours. It didn’t make any sense. This must be what Mary and Sal had found.
So, why be tolerant with Six? What made him different?
The question turned over and over in her mind as she stared out the window until the question became a constant hum. It burrowed in like a splinter and wouldn’t leave. And like a splinter, she had to excise it. She had to find the answer before it became a poison. She had to know.
Chapter 21
“ELLA, DEAR? YOU okay?”
Instead of Rose’s eyes on the deck of cards she shuffled in her hands, they peered at Ella from behind her cat-eye glasses. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The innkeeper’s words brought a new wave of emotion. Ghosts. Six had begun spiraling after he revealed the ghosts of his past to Ella. His demons were catching up to him, and judging by the suicidal stance he’d taken against the T. rex, it was a battle he was losing.
But was this not retribution for his crimes? Not too long ago, she felt his pain, and she ached at her inability to ease it. Now, however, she struggled to muster up an ounce of compassion.
“I’m fine,” she replied at last when she realized Rose still stared at her. “Just thinking. Who’s turn is it to deal?”
“Flo’s.” Rose slid the deck to the left across the card table. They sat in the parlor, playing Bridge.
“Oh good, I was hoping for a break. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, just in time for her to finish dealing.”
Flo stuck her tongue out. Meanwhile, Rose told Jimmy, who sat by the radio, readi
ng, to turn up the volume. Ukulele Joe had just finished a screeching rendition of When You Wish Upon a Star. Jiminy Cricket the man was not.
Ella glanced at the antique Vienna wall clock and the pendulum swinging back and forth. She caught Wink doing the same. It was getting late, and the innkeepers showed no signs of hitting the hay any time soon.
Ukulele Joe’s old fashioned radio announcer voice filled the parlor.
You heard right, folks. Voting will be postponed until the town relocates to a new, safer setting. The sheriff doesn’t wanna take any unnecessary risks, and Sal agrees. Might be the last time those two agree on anything if you ask me.
Personally, I think we owe it to Sheriff Chapman to hear the man out. Do I harbor a grudge against him? Sure. Who wouldn’t? But, folks, do we really want to attack the only man, right now, who has all the answers? I don’t know about you, but until I know more, I’m keeping an open mind.
In other news, Tiny Robbins set fire to his house after seeing a spider the size of—and I quote—“a bloated hippo”…
“Oh, Wink.” Rose twisted in her chair to face the diner owner. “I’m sorry.”
Wink brought up her dark-clad shoulders in a shrug. The color of her attire was entirely intentional, considering their planned activity for the evening. Of course, the woman’s top had more fringe than a burlesque costume, but at least it wouldn’t attract attention for its color. Would it turn heads for its violation of fashion and assault on good taste? Yes, but color, no.
“It’ll just give me more time to appeal to the constituents.”
Ella laid her hands on the deck of cards to stop Flo from shuffling a thirteenth time. “You may need it, Wink, as word spreads about your pet being found near Mary’s body.”
The dinosaur may be innocent, but the public didn’t know that.
Rose tsked at Flo. “What, may I ask, is taking so long?”
“You try doing this with arthritis. Isn’t it past your bedtime, anyway?”
