Come the Spring (11 page)

She was getting all worked up again. “Miss James, if you would calm—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “And last but certainly not least, I would like to introduce you to Jessica Summers and her son, Caleb. She was just about to feed her baby supper when she was ripped out of her home and dragged here.”

“I'm sure she was neither ripped nor dragged,” he argued, though a part of him wouldn't have put it past Sloan to do such a stupid thing. “As I said before, I'm real sorry about the inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience? It's an atrocity,” Rebecca cried out.

Both Grace Winthrop and Jessica Summers nodded their agreement.

It was apparent to Cole that while they had been locked up together, Rebecca had taken on the role of speaker for all of them. Grace and Jessica both seemed content to let her do their talking. It was also evident that the three of them were united in their outrage.

“Are you certain Marshal Ryan didn't give the order to lock us up?” she asked once again.

“No, I didn't give that order.”

Ryan answered the question from the doorway. Cole noticed he was staring at the three women with a look of surprise on his face. He was obviously reacting to the sight the very same way Cole had.

“Ladies, if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if you would stay inside the cell for a few more minutes.”

Rebecca took a step forward and answered for all of them. “We most certainly do mind. Come along, ladies. We're leaving this vile place.”

Cole had only just noticed the rifle in Ryan's hands when Rebecca tried to get past him. His arm shot out to block her.

“I think you'd better wait here a little longer,” Cole said.

“I cannot believe such rudeness,” she declared before she backed away. Jessica tried to get past him then. He shifted so that he blocked her with his body.

They stood toe-to-toe. She didn't back away, and so he gave her a look that suggested she shouldn't tangle with him.

She gave him the identical look. Hell, she was better at it than he was. She didn't even blink. She could stare a rattlesnake down, he thought to himself, and, Lord, she smelled good. Like fresh air and flowers. He quit scowling at her. It wasn't working anyway, and it was his own fault because he wasn't concentrating. He couldn't seem to get past the fact that she had such pretty eyes.

“Cole, we've got a little situation developing out front. I could use your help,” Ryan said.

The baby was peeking up at him. Cole winked at him, then swung the door closed in his mother's face. He locked the door and went back to the front office, her outrage ringing in his ears.

Twelve
 

The little situation turned out to be a mob. Ryan had left the front door open and stood on the boardwalk with the rifle at his side. He was in the process of trying to convince forty to fifty angry men to go back home.

“I'm ordering you to disperse,” Ryan shouted. “Go home and let us do our jobs.”

A man near the middle of the group shouted, “Give us the women. We'll get them to talk.”

Curious, Cole shouted, “How are you going to do that?”

“We'll hang them, that's how,” he answered in a bellow.

“That makes a lot of sense.” he muttered to Ryan. Ryan glanced over at him. “You can't reason with angry people.”

“They aren't angry. They're just a little riled up. That's all. You want angry, go back inside and let those women out. They're going to flay you alive.”

Ryan hid his smile. “All right. You take care of this crowd, and I'll take care of the women.”

“Deal,” Cole agreed. He stepped forward to address the men. “No one's going to hang anyone. You've all been listening to idle gossip. We don't have a witness.”

“We read it in the paper that you do,” a man in front shouted.

“The paper's wrong.”

“Then why did the sheriff lock those women up?” someone yelled.

“You'll have to ask him,” Cole replied. “Now go back home.”

“Why don't you and the other marshal go home and let our sheriff take care of the women? He'll get them to talk.”

Before Cole could answer, a man in front stepped forward and turned around to face his friends and neighbors. He put his hands in the air to hush them. “I know for a fact that the lady with the funny accent was in the bank before it got robbed. I stood in line with her, and I heard her talking to the teller.”

“Then it's got to be one of them other two,” yet another man called out. “Did anyone see either one of them in the bank?”

“I did,” a man in the back shouted. “I seen the yellow-haired woman when I was getting change for my bills from Malcolm. I remember her real good 'cause she was about the prettiest thing I ever laid my eyes on.”

A snicker rolled through the crowd. “What about the woman with the baby?”

“I seen her,” a man called out. “The boy made MacCorkle angry because he was swinging on his gate, and his mama had to get out of line to fetch him. She blistered old man MacCorkle good for raising his voice to her young'n.”

“If all of them women were seen in the bank, then it
don't appear we got a witness after all,” the placater, waving his hands in front of the crowd, concluded.

“Maybe one of them sneaked back inside to hide under the desk,” someone else suggested.

“These people aren't real bright, are they?” Cole whispered to Ryan.

“Sloan has gotten them all worked up,” Ryan said. “All right,” Cole shouted to the group. “Here's what's gonna happen. All of you are going to go home. I want you to think about what you were doing on the day of the robbery. If any of you saw or heard anything unusual, then come back to the jail tomorrow morning and tell us about it.”

“You don't have the right to tell us what to do,” a man near the edge of the crowd shouted. Cole recognized him. He was the reporter from the
Rockford Falls Gazette
who didn't want the bodies covered with sheets. Cole had taken an instant dislike to the man.

The reporter took a step forward. His eyes darted back and forth from the crowd to the marshals. “This is a local matter, Marshal. Sheriff Sloan ought to handle it.”

“Federal money was stolen,” Ryan shouted. “And that makes it our business. Do as Marshal Clayborne ordered. Go home and let us do our job.”

“I'm not going anywhere until I talk to those women,” the reporter shouted.

Cole wasn't in the mood to argue any longer. Quicker than the man could blink, he drew his gun and shot the hat off the reporter's head.

“You had no right to do that,” the reporter screamed.

“Sure I did,” he answered. “Marshal Ryan explained I can't be tried for murder now that I'm a U.S. marshal, so the way I figure it, I can shoot every one of you and get away with it. This is the last time I'm going to tell you. Go home.”

“Cole?” Ryan whispered his name.

He kept his attention centered on the crowd as he answered. “Yeah?”

“I made that up.”

Cole smiled. “They don't know that.”

The marshals continued to stand their ground until the crowd ran out of steam. Grumbling to themselves, the mob dispersed. Then Ryan let the ladies out.

Ten minutes later Sloan came slinking around the corner. He had escorted the ladies home and was returning with a proclamation from them—if they were to suffer an inquisition, it was best to get it over with tonight so that they wouldn't have to worry about it any longer.

Ryan and Cole decided to accommodate the women. They started with Rebecca James.

She was staying at the Rockford Falls Hotel, where Cole and Ryan had also taken rooms. The old, four-story building was located one block north of the jail on Elm Street. A veranda circled the hotel on three sides. One of the housemaids was sent up to tell Rebecca the marshals were waiting for her on the porch.

The sunlight was fading, and a cool breeze was a welcome respite after the blistering heat of the day.

“We won't learn anything important,” Cole predicted. “We already know all three of the women were spotted in the bank earlier in the afternoon. Talking to them is a wasted effort. What could they have seen?”

“We won't know the answer to that question until we talk to them. It shouldn't take long.”

Thirty minutes later, he had to revise his estimate. Rebecca kept them waiting until well after eight o'clock. Cole paced around the veranda. Ryan was sprawled out in one of the wicker chairs when Rebecca finally arrived. She didn't apologize for being late, and from the expression on her face as she
walked across the porch to join them, they could tell she was still fuming.

Ryan stood up as soon as he spotted her coming toward him. He waited for her to take her seat, then pulled up another chair to face her. Cole leaned back against the railing and folded his arms across his chest.

She sat on the edge of the chair, her back straight and her hands in her lap. She was furious all right, and if she became any more upset, Cole thought smoke would start pouring out of her ears.

He leaned back, content to let Ryan question the woman while he watched her. He knew he was being rude; he didn't care. The woman was magnificent. He searched for a flaw, hoping that if he found one, he would be able to get past his fascination with her.

Ryan was also staring intently, and Cole wondered if he was playing the same game.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Ryan began. “And we're both sorry about the trouble earlier.”

“I don't believe I'll be much help with your investigation,” she said. “But I'll be happy to answer your questions. Then I'm going to leave this horrible town and never look back. The town is charming, I'll admit, and the waterfalls are spectacular, but the people are a bit … backward, and since the rumor was put in the paper, it's been very difficult. I'm happy I'll be getting back home.”

“Where is home?” Ryan asked.

“St. Louis. I had planned to leave a couple of days ago to meet some friends in Salt Lake City, but then I became ill and had to delay my trip.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“A little, thank you. The doctor told me I was fortunate because I have only a mild case.”

“Are you originally from St. Louis?” Cole asked.

“I grew up in the east,” she explained. “I moved to St. Louis to be near close friends.”

She turned back to Ryan. “I thought you wanted to talk about the robbery.”

“We do,” Ryan answered. “Do you remember what time you were in the bank?”

She took several seconds to answer. “As a matter of fact, I do remember. I was inside the bank at two o'clock, give or take ten minutes. I stood in line, but I don't remember any of the other people who were there. I wasn't paying any attention to them. I'm sure someone will remember seeing me there. Are you writing down every word I say on paper?”

Ryan glanced up and smiled. “I'm trying to,” he said.

“Why?”

He leaned back in the chair, finished jotting down his notes, and then said, “There have been so many robberies, it's the only way I can keep the information straight. Does it bother you?”

She shook her head. “No, I simply found it curious, that's all.”

Sheriff Sloan interrupted the questioning when he came lumbering up the steps. He looked sheepish, and as soon as he saw the marshals' hostile expressions, he turned around and tried to leave.

Ryan's voice lashed out at him. “Sit.”

As quick as a trained dog, Sloan obeyed the command. He grabbed the nearest chair and fell into it.

“You have caused considerable trouble, Sheriff,” Rebecca said. “Because of you, people in this town believe there was a witness to the robbery and murders at the bank. I read the article in the paper. So did everyone else. You were quoted numerous times. Do you have any idea what you've done? If the men who murdered all those people read the
Rockford Falls Gazette
or hear the rumors
you
started, they'll come back here and kill Jessica and Grace and me. My God, don't you realize what those fiends are capable
of? They've already killed other women. They certainly wouldn't think twice about killing three more.”

“Ma'am, I wouldn't fret about the Blackwater gang coming back here. They've probably left the territory by now.”

His cavalier attitude infuriated her. “Witnesses don't last long,” she cried out. “Everyone knows what happened to that poor man in Middleton. I believe those murderers killed his wife too, didn't they? If either Grace or Jessica had been in the bank during the holdup, do you honestly think she'd admit it? She'd be signing her death warrant.”

“I'm real sorry about your situation,” Sloan said. He blushed with embarrassment. “I wouldn't worry about the gang reading our little paper, though. No one outside Rockford reads the
Gazette,”
he added in a halfhearted attempt to placate her. “And I didn't have a choice about the interview. That reporter was hounding me for details, and I am the authority in this town. I had a duty to tell him what I knew, but all I remember saying was that the marshals happened to find a purse under one of the desks. He jumped to his own conclusions.”