The Bride's Prerogative (26 page)

Ethan walked to the mayor’s house after lunch at Hiram and Trudy’s. He’d rather be anywhere else right now than on his way to Charles Walker’s house. He’d as soon be with the dozen women out shooting in the ravine on Bert’s ranch. But a summons from the town council could not be ignored by an employee. Since Ethan had accepted his pay at the end of May and hoped he would soon receive a full envelope for the month of June, he supposed that obligated him to go when the council summoned him.

Mrs. Walker met him at the door, and he handed over his hat to her. In the parlor, Charles and the four town councilors were enjoying coffee and cigars. Ethan’s eyes watered in the blue smoke.

“Coffee, Sheriff?” the mayor asked.

“No thanks. I just had some.” Ethan took the only vacant seat in the room—a horsehair-covered armchair.

“Is there any progress on this crime spree, Sheriff?” Walker got right to the point, and Ethan had a feeling the council had talked about it before he arrived.

“Well, sir, I’ve been working hard on making sure it doesn’t happen again. Setting up patrols, checking on the—”

“Yes, yes,” Walker said in his squeaky voice. “We know all about the deputies and the ladies patrolling in scandalous costumes.”

Ethan eyed him for a moment. So far as he knew, only one of the women had adopted the bloomer getup, and he’d bet the council wouldn’t designate her a lady. He decided to take a different approach.

“I’ve been able to narrow the field of suspects.”

That got their attention.

Cy Fennel leaned forward and tapped the ash from the end of his cigar into an ashtray on the side table between him and Oscar Runnels. “Care to enlighten us?”

“I have evidence that leads me to believe Bert Thalen and Milzie Peart were killed by the same person.”

“What sort of evidence?” Zach Harper asked. The lopsided stars of sheet metal Griffin had made for him and Oscar were pinned to Zach’s vest and Oscar’s waistcoat. Griffin’s was somewhat better crafted and had been burnished so that it shone a bit. He must have taken more pains on his own.

“I’m not sure I want it to get about yet,” Ethan said. “If the killer knows everything I know, he might not play into my hand.”

“Oh, that’s good, Sheriff.” Oscar held his cigar up in front of him and savored the words. “Play into your hand.” He nodded.

“It’s nonsense,” Cyrus barked. “This isn’t a poker game. Tell the council what you’ve found so far.”

Griffin stroked his beard. “Yeah, Ethan, you might tell your deputies, too.”

Ethan shoved the hair back off his forehead. Another thing this town needed, besides a bank and a doctor, was a barber. “Well, Mr. Fennel, you know your daughter was frightened by a man in the alley near your office a few nights before Millicent Peart was killed.”

Cyrus harrumphed and crossed his legs. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Mrs. Peart was killed in that same office, only four nights later. It’s my thinking that an unknown assailant waited for you on that first occasion, planning to assault you when you returned to your office that evening. Your daughter’s appearance and the subsequent commotion scared him away. But on the evening Mrs. Peart was in town, he again waited for you to come and lock up for the night.”

“I’d only stepped down the street for a minute.” Cyrus looked around at the others as though seeking their assurance of his innocence.

“Oh, I know that,” Ethan said. “I saw you myself at the Nugget.”

Cyrus cleared his throat and tapped his cigar on the ashtray again, though it had hardly burned down.

“You make a habit of it?” Griffin asked. “Going out and leaving the stage office unlocked?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Occasionally I step out and leave the door unlocked, if that’s what you mean. So what? Do you lock up the livery stable every time you stroll over to the post office?”

“S’pose not.” Griffin sank back against the sofa cushions.

“What are you getting at, Sheriff?” Zach asked.

Ethan looked around at them. None of them was stupid, but most of them he considered a bit shortsighted. “I think that person had it in for Mr. Fennel. It’s my theory that the same killer who did in Bert Thalen planned to give Mr. Fennel the same treatment. But on the second time he tried, his plan was again interrupted, this time by Milzie Peart. She wandered into the Wells Fargo office and found him lurking there, waiting to attack Mr. Fennel.”

“And he attacked Milzie instead.” Oscar’s eyes widened in his round face. “By George, Sheriff, you may have something there.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Cyrus straightened and glared at Ethan. “Folks thought he was hanging about Mrs. Adams’s place. He did set a fire there earlier, you know.”

“But this time he did his mischief in your office.”

Cyrus’s face reddened. “That’s a lot of flapdoodle. Who would want to kill me?”

Ethan shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Well, someone wanted to kill Bert,” the mayor noted, his voice rising. “No one knew of any enemies he had either. Unless it was someone Bert put in jail back along. But that doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Oscar swept his cigar through the air, trailing smoke. “I figure the person who killed Bert was a lunatic who hated lawmen.”

Ethan frowned and shook his head. “Then why didn’t he attack me last week instead of Mrs. Peart? And why did he wait in Mr. Fennel’s office, not mine?”

“Interesting questions, Sheriff, but this isn’t getting us anywhere.” The mayor pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

The thick smoke brought tears to Ethan’s eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, but that made his eyes sting more. He coughed. What would they say if he opened a window to clear the smoke out?

“So you don’t think the fire at the emporium is significant?” Cyrus demanded.

“On the contrary, I think it’s tied in with these killings, but I’m not sure how just yet. And I don’t know why he set a fire there instead of attacking Mrs. Adams, as he did Bert and Mrs. Peart. That fire was deliberately built to make a lot of smoke but not to burn the whole building. And the arsonist made enough noise to wake Mrs. Adams. He didn’t intend to kill her.”

“Well, our womenfolk are frightened, I know that. We need a man who can see this job through.” The mayor lifted his cup and took a sip.

Things weren’t going well. Ethan clenched his teeth and wished he could get back to work. Let them call him incompetent if they wanted to. He was doing the best he knew how. But the looks on Walker’s and Fennel’s faces told him that his best didn’t equal enough.

Zach sat forward. “Do you suppose this lunatic has set out to ruin the town? If you’re right and he didn’t intend to attack Mrs. Peart but was waiting for Cyrus, that would be two prominent business owners he’s gone after. Bert wasn’t a business owner, but he had a lot to do with town business.”

“Don’t forget the livery,” Oscar said. “He attacked Griffin, too.”

“Maybe.” Poker game or not, Ethan still wanted to play it close to his vest. He didn’t want to say anything about the pennies. Not yet. If he had to reveal that later, fine. For now he’d keep it to himself and the Dooleys. A few people knew some of it, but no one but Ethan, Hiram, and Trudy had all the facts. And would it hurt to let the town council think the killer also pulled off the incident at the livery? “Anyway, with my new deputies helping me patrol at night and the shooting ladies keeping their eyes peeled by day, I hope we can avoid another crime.”

Zach stubbed out the end of his cigar in the ashtray. “So you think he might be planning to strike again?”

“Are you thinking he’ll go after Cy?” Oscar asked.

“Yes. He failed last time—and got the wrong person. So next time he’ll try to make sure he gets it right.” Ethan met Cyrus’s gaze. “If I were you, sir, I’d take extra precautions. Don’t sit up alone late in your office. Lock the door when you go out. Take someone with you on your way home to the ranch.”

Cyrus’s face had taken on a grayish hue.

Zach leaned back in his chair and frowned at Ethan. “What if he attacks someone else in town?”

“It’s possible he’ll go after one of the other business owners. He might attack one of the saloons, or the telegraph office, or the feed store. We just don’t know what’s going through his head. But I don’t think these attacks were random. He planned them.”

“Why do you say that?” Walker asked.

“He made preparations.”

“What kind of preparations?” Cyrus shifted in his chair. “It’s my understanding he used a piece of Bert’s firewood to clobber him with and my poker to bludgeon Mrs. Peart. He used Mrs.

Adams’s merchandise to fuel his fire. Seems to me he used what came to hand.”

All of their eyes drilled into him. Ethan wished he hadn’t said so much. The men waited. Nobody smiled.

“All of that is true,” he conceded. “But if this man who was seen loitering in the alley is our killer, then I’d say he waited for the right moment. He knew what he intended to do. It happened that the wrong person came along.”

“Hmm,” said Oscar. “That doesn’t sound like much preparation to me.”

“Or much evidence.” Cyrus looked at Mayor Walker. “Charles, perhaps you want to tell Chapman what we decided earlier.”

Walker cleared his throat. “Certainly. Cyrus here—that is, we all decided we’d like to see this killer apprehended, and soon.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “We all would.”

“Yes, well …” Walker glanced at Cyrus, who nodded. “If you can’t show us some results soon—say within a couple of weeks, why we’ll just have to appoint a new sheriff, that’s all.”

Ethan’s heart clunked against the bottom of his belly. They were going to take the position away from him so soon? Who would replace him? He couldn’t imagine any of the men in this room doing more than he was doing to protect the town or figuring out who had killed two citizens.

He hadn’t wanted to be sheriff, but he’d done his best. It struck him all of a sudden that he liked being sheriff of Fergus. He’d wrestled with the crime issue. He’d tried to make the town safer. And he didn’t want to give up now. He had to be close to solving the riddle of the pennies. If they took his badge away, would the next sheriff they picked be able to do more than he could?

He wanted to keep this job. But he couldn’t let them know how much. Cyrus was mean enough to push him out sooner if he knew.

Ethan shrugged with one shoulder and put a boring drawl into his voice, which was hard since it was scratchy from the smoke. “If that’s what you want to do, Mayor, it’s up to you. I think I can solve these murders. I’m getting close, but I need a little more time.”

“Well …” The mayor’s high-pitched quaver grated on Ethan’s nerves and made him shiver.

Cyrus struck a match and lit a fresh cigar. “Two weeks, Chapman. That’s it.”

CHAPTER 30

O
n Wednesday evening Libby waited inside the door of the emporium until she saw the Nash family walking down the street toward the church. She opened the door and called to them. Florence and her stepmother, Ellie, paused and waited for her to lock the door and hurry over to join them. When Peter realized the women lagged behind, he called to his two boys to wait. Libby was glad she didn’t have to walk the short distance alone.

Together they headed for the old haberdashery and the midweek prayer service. They’d only begun the custom three weeks ago, but already prayer meeting had become one of the highlights of Libby’s week.

Florence wore the new dress she and her mother had sewn. The plaid cotton had come in Libby’s last shipment of yard goods. “Your dress came out very well, Florence,” she said. Florence smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. Mama likes the pattern so much, she’s going to make a dress for herself after it.” Libby nodded to Ellie. “It should suit you well.”

“Thank you. I’ve got a piece of gray flannel I thought I’d make up for fall. Oh my!” Ellie had spotted Libby’s new, basket-shaped, French bag of soft leather. Idaho Territory might be a few months behind the New York fashions, but Libby refused to bypass them completely and stick to the basics.

“I saw them in the latest catalog and couldn’t resist.” She held it up so that Ellie could see it clearly. No need to mention the pearl-handled Smith & Wesson revolver inside. She’d decided to add it to her arsenal, leaving the heavier Peacemaker at home under her pillow except for shooting practice. The little gem of a pistol in her bag allowed her to go armed wherever she pleased and still appear dainty.

Mr. Nash held the door open for them, and the ladies entered the old store now used as a sanctuary.

Just inside, hugging the back wall and peering at the crowd with wide, frightened eyes, stood a young woman dressed in claret-colored silk. She clutched the edges of a fringed gray shawl before her bosom, but even so, the white expanse of her neck hinted at a low neckline. Rosettes caught up the skirt in front, exposing the girl’s clocked stockings and shoes with scandalously high heels. Opal, the new girl from the Nugget.

Fearing she would tear out the door, Libby stepped toward the anxious young woman. Before she reached Opal’s side, Apphia Benton scooted down the aisle and reached for the girl’s hand.

“My dear Opal. Welcome.”

Libby watched with interest. Opal had come into the emporium last week and purchased a fan and some perfume. But how did Apphia know her? The minister’s wife must have expanded her outreach to Bitsy’s rivals. Libby stood entranced as Peter Nash herded his family toward a bench halfway down the aisle. Ethan’s ranch hands, the McDade boys, appeared, and the older one managed to end up seated beside Florence.

“Won’t you come and sit with me?” Apphia asked the saloon girl.

“Oh, I …” Panic filled Opal’s eyes as she flicked a glance toward the front of the room. Perhaps she had guessed correctly that the pastor’s wife usually sat in the front row.

Libby stepped toward them and smiled. “Good evening. I’m Libby Adams, from the emporium.”

Opal met her gaze and nodded slowly. “I remember you.”

“Would you like to sit with me? I’m all alone tonight.” Libby gestured toward a bench in the next-to-last row.

“Thank you,” Opal whispered. She caught her breath and turned to look at Apphia.

“It’s all right, my dear. I’ll find you afterward, and we can visit for a few minutes.” Apphia smiled gently at both of them, nodded, and turned toward the front of the room.

Libby entered the row and sat on the bench. Perhaps she should have suggested Opal enter first. The girl might feel the urge to bolt if Pastor Benton launched into a fiery exposition.

Two rows ahead, Libby saw Gert and Hiram sitting with the Harpers. Across the aisle, Goldie and Vashti claimed seats. Goldie glanced over at them, and her eyes widened. She elbowed Vashti, who leaned forward and stared past her. She glared at Opal and turned to face the front with a flounce of her black cloak.

Libby would have laughed if they were anywhere but church. Apparently, the competing saloons’ employees harbored deep resentment toward one another.

Opal drew in a shaky breath. “I oughtn’t to have come.”

“I’m glad you did,” Libby said.

“I have only an hour,” Opal said. “Mr. Morrell says if I’m late coming back, he’ll never let me go again.”

“I’m surprised—” Libby stopped short and felt her face flush. “That he let me come at all?”

“In the evening, I was going to say,” Libby admitted in hushed tones.

“Well, I wanted to come Sunday morning, but I was ailing.”

“Perhaps he’ll let you come next Sunday.”

Opal nodded judiciously. “Mostly we can do what we want Sundays. He said I’ve got to be back tonight by eight o’clock. It’s never busy on Wednesday, but most of the traffic we get is after eight.” She shot a surreptitious glance across the aisle. Goldie was staring at her malevolently. Opal caught her breath.

“Don’t mind them,” Libby said. “They’re good girls, really. They’re always well behaved when they come to the shooting club.”

Opal’s eyes sparked. “I heard tell about the club. I … I want to learn. Would they let me?”

“I expect
all
the members would welcome you.”

Pastor Benton stood at the pulpit and raised both hands. “Let us pray.”

As she bowed her head, Libby prayed silently,
Lord, thank You
for bringing this wayward one in. You know her heart. Let her see Your love here
.

Ethan walked past the haberdashery as the opening hymn rang out. He wished he could be inside, singing along to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Maybe sitting next to Trudy.

He ambled along the boardwalk, past the closed telegraph office and an empty building. He hummed the hymn as the strains grew fainter and kept on until he reached the Spur & Saddle. Only two horses dozed out front at the hitching rail.

Inside, Augie was behind the bar, and a cowboy leaned on it, one foot on the brass rail below, with a mug of beer before him. Bitsy rose from the round table where she’d sat with two of Oscar’s mule drivers.

“Evening, Sheriff.” She wore one of her frothy dresses, but she went behind the bar and fetched a glittery silver shawl before joining him near the door.

Ethan waited, nodding to the two customers. Bitsy slung a twine bag over her shoulder as they stepped out onto the street.

“Got my piece in here,” she said confidentially, patting the bag. “Not that we’ll have to use ‘em tonight, but I like to be prepared.”

Ethan smiled. “Good of you to volunteer for this hour. I know evening’s your prime business time.”

She shrugged, causing the shawl to slip down over her shoulder and show a bit of white skin. “Wednesday’s always slow anyhow. I let the girls go to the prayer meeting. Augie can handle what little business we’ll get before that’s over. But as you can see, I’m dressed for business tonight. Not a deputy sheriff’s usual getup, hey?”

Ethan smiled. “Not quite. Griffin says he’ll take over the patrol when church is done.”

They crossed to the east side of the street. The reddish light from the setting sun reached between the buildings and glittered bright off the windows of the storefronts opposite. They walked in silence for a while, past the lane to the Harpers’ farm, then the Nashes’ house and post office. Ethan wished she’d worn the bloomers tonight. Would anyone see them walking together? Probably at least half the town’s residents were at the prayer meeting; the novelty of church services still drew most of them in.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Bitsy stopped in front of the Walkers’ house and fumbled in her bag. She pulled out a piece of brass. “Griffin finally made badges for me and Gert. Not bad, eh?” She held it out so he could see it. The word
Deputy
was engraved in block letters on the five-pointed star.

Ethan nodded. “He’s getting better at it.”

Bitsy drew her chin in and craned her neck as she fastened the badge near the neckline of her dress. Ethan looked away.
Please don’t ask me to help you with that!
He gulped.

“There!” Bitsy moved forward, and he exhaled. They moseyed toward the emporium. “That Gert Dooley is a nice gal.”

“Uh, yes she is.” Ethan observed Bitsy cautiously from the corner of his eye.

“I never thought she’d mix with the likes of me, but she’s been nothing but sweetness to me and my girls.”

Ethan could well believe that. Ahead of them, Cyrus came out of the stagecoach office and turned to put the key into the lock.

“Evening, Mr. Fennel.” Bitsy’s husky voice cut through the stillness.

Cyrus’s head jerked around, and he straightened. “Well, well. The evening patrol, I assume?” He looked Bitsy up and down from her shoes, better suited to a dance floor, to the little ruffled cap that graced her curls.

Ethan winced, again wishing “Deputy Shepard” had put on more suitable clothes. “Bane will take over at nine o’clock,” he said. “We’re just making sure no one’s doing mischief while most of the business owners are elsewhere.”

Cyrus nodded. “I thought of that—everybody over to church. It’s a good time to break into one of the stores.”

“Well, sir, we’ll take special care of your place.” Bitsy laid her hand on his sleeve and gave him what some might consider an alluring smile. It made Ethan shudder.

Cyrus pulled away. “Thank you. I’m late for prayer meeting, and I told my daughter I’d meet her there.”

Bitsy chuckled as he hurried across the street. “Can’t stand that man, the old hypocrite.”

Ethan frowned and cocked his head to one side. “Then why’d you …”

“Play up to him?” Bitsy smiled as they resumed their walk. “Cyrus used to spend plenty of time at my place, and I was glad for his business. His respectable friends came, too. But I’m doing well enough now that I can get along without him.”

“Even with the new competition down the street?”

“I think so. I cater to a different clientele than Jamin Morrell. My place is a respectable house and nicely furnished. You’ve seen it.”

Ethan nodded reluctantly. Bitsy’s establishment had the atmosphere of a hotel lobby, with rugs, lamps, and padded chairs. Jamin’s had rough furniture and a tinny piano. You could get wine in the Spur & Saddle, someone had told him. Jamin served strictly beer and whiskey.

“He’s got sawdust on the floor.” Bitsy shook her head. “I did that back in the day. You know, when these hills were full of miners. But as soon as I got a little money, I put it into decor. Paintings, wallpaper, a fancy chandelier. And I don’t let people spit on the floor anymore.”

“You’ve got a real homelike place. Prettier than most homes in Fergus.”

“Sure I do. And gentlemen like to come there and relax. They’ll spend a little more for a drink at my place because it’s peaceful. They can sit and play cards for a couple hours and not worry about someone starting a brawl and upsetting their poker game.” She looked up at him. “Did you know we make as much on the Sunday dinner as we do on Friday night drinks?”

“No.”

“Yup. We served twenty-six chicken dinners last Sunday. Of course, Saturday night’s our big night. Always has been, probably always will be.”