Come the Spring (9 page)

Cole whistled. “That's a lot of money. I'll bet the bastards knew before MacCorkle did that the money was coming.”

“I'm sure they did. All they had to do was follow him.”

“Why bother robbing the banks?” Cole asked. “Why not rob the paymaster on his way to the fort with the cash?”

“It's too dangerous and unpredictable, that's why. The paymaster doesn't ride alone, and the guards assigned to him are all crack shots. Banks are easier if you know what you're doing, and the men we're up against obviously do.”

The discussion ended when they reached the hotel. The only rooms available were in the attic and were about the size of clothes closets. Cole's room faced the street. Ryan's room was directly across the hall. The beds were soft though, and with a little persuasion, the night manager agreed to send up supper.

Neither Ryan nor Cole got much sleep that night. Cole kept thinking about the grisly scene he'd walked into, and Ryan spent his time thinking about the possible witness.

Eight
 

Morning came all too quickly. As agreed, the marshals met at the bank, where Sheriff Sloan was waiting to report that the posse hadn't had any luck finding a trail. Ryan handed him the list of people he wanted to report to the jail to be interviewed. The three women's names were at the top.

The sheriff looked over the names and shook his head. “Some of these folks are sick as dogs with influenza. It hits hard and fast,” he warned. “And some of the others are getting ready to head out of town. I ran into Doc Lawrence at the restaurant, and he was up all night tending to the Walsh family, and you've got John Walsh's name on the list. Doc told me Frederick O'Malley is heading out of town with his brood as soon as the general store opens and he can get some more supplies.”

“No one leaves Rockford Falls until Marshal Clayborne and I have talked to them. That includes Frederick O'Malley.”

“I can't make him stay.”

“I can,” Ryan replied.

Sloan wanted to argue. “This seems like a waste of time to me. If anyone saw anything, he would have spoken up by now.”

“Marshal Ryan wants to follow procedure,” Cole explained.

Sloan was staring at the blue bag on the desk. “Where did that come from?”

Ryan answered. “It was on the floor under the desk.”

“You think someone left it?”

“That much is pretty obvious,” Cole said. “We're curious to know who it belongs to.”

A gleam came into Sloan's eyes. “It had to have been left here on the day of the robbery because the Stewarts, who clean the place every night, would have found it if someone had left it the day before. They would have put it in the lost-and-found box. They're honest people,” he thought to add. “You don't think one of the robbers left it behind, do you?”

“No, we don't think that,” Cole said dryly.

“Which desk was it found under?”

“Lemont Morganstaff's,” Ryan answered. “We're going to talk to him right away. Do you know where he lives?”

“Sure I do. I know just about everybody in town. I'll take you over to Lemont's as soon as you're ready. Are you going to ask him about the bag?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered.

Sloan's mind was whirling with possibilities. “Where exactly was the bag found? Was it right by the chair or was it way under the desk?”

“It was in the kneehole,” Ryan answered. “In the corner.”

Sloan's eyes widened. “You don't think that maybe someone was hiding under the desk, do you?”

“We haven't drawn any conclusions yet,” Cole told him.

“But it's possible, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Ryan agreed. “It's possible. The matter of the bag is confidential, Sheriff. I don't want you telling anyone about it.”

Sloan dropped down to his knees. “You can see through here…”

“I want to get started,” Cole said impatiently. “Show us where Lemont lives, and then start rounding up the people on the list. We'll use the jail to talk to them.”

“I'll wait out front to take you to Lemont's,” Sloan said, bolting for the door.

As soon as Sloan had stepped outside, Cole said, “It was a bad idea to tell him where the bag was found.”

Ryan shrugged. “He's a lawman, and he'll only get in our way if we don't feed him a little information now and then. What harm can he do?”

Nine
 

As it turned out, Sloan could do a great deal of harm. Before the day was over, Ryan actually considered locking the sheriff in his own jail. Unfortunately, the law frowned on incarcerating a man just because he was stupid.

In a town the size of Rockford Falls, everyone knew everyone else's business, and carefully guarded secrets had a way of leaking out like water through a sieve. The employee who worked at the desk where the purse was found, Lemont Morganstaff, a prissy old-maid of a man, was shown the cloth bag and duly questioned. The interview took place in the claustrophobic parlor of Lemont's home. Dressed in a bright lime green velvet robe and slippers, Lemont resembled a parrot. He sat in a faded yellow velvet chair, rested his arms on the lace-covered arms, and puckered his lips in thought for several minutes before declaring that the purse couldn't have been found by his desk. He made it a rule, he explained, never to let any of the customers, man or woman, past the gate.

However, since he hadn't been working on the day of the robbery, he couldn't be certain the other employees had enforced his rule.

Sheriff Sloan, who had insisted on being part of the interview, blurted out the fact that the purse had been found in the kneehole of Lemont's desk. “It couldn't have been kicked there,” he said, “because your desk faces the lobby and that front panel goes all the way to the floor. Someone had to go around, past the gate, and get behind your desk. I've had a little time to ponder on it, and I think that maybe there was a woman hiding there during the robbery. I'd wager the marshals think the same thing. Now, there were three women in the bank—their names are on the list Marshal Ryan gave me—and I'm going to go round them up as soon as I'm finished here. I'm hoping the woman who saw the murders is just too timid to come forward, but if she's deliberately keeping the information to herself because she's scared, I'm going to have to arrest her.”

Lemont covered his mouth with his lace handkerchief and looked horrified. “You think a woman saw the murders? Oh, that poor dear,” he whispered.

Ryan quickly tried to repair the damage Sloan had done, while Cole shoved the sheriff toward the front door.

“We don't believe any such thing,” he said. “The purse could have gotten under the desk a hundred different ways. There could have been a lot of women inside the bank, and any one of them could have sat at your desk and accidentally dropped it.”

Lemont wasn't paying very much attention to the marshal's explanation. “It had to have been left on the day of the robbery,” he said excitedly. “The bank's cleaned every night by the Stewarts, and they always do a thorough job. Still, you're right. A woman could have left the bag sometime during the morning hours.
If you look in the tellers' drawers, you'll find a record of every customer who did any business that day.”

Sloan elbowed his way back over to Lemont. “I got a feeling the three women on my list were there in the afternoon. I got their names right here. There was Jessica Summers, Grace Winthrop, and Rebecca James. Do you know any of these, Lemont?”

“As a matter of fact I do. I know Rebecca James. I saw her just last night, but she was feeling very poorly, and I fear she's caught the influenza. I sent her home, of course.

“I met the dear woman last week,” he continued. “She stopped by to tell me how glorious she thought my garden was. She appreciates beauty,” he added. “I don't know the other two women, but then I keep to myself. By the time I get home from the bank, there are only two hours left before dark, and I spend every minute of it tending my flowers.”

“None of the women on the list have lived in Rockford Falls long,” Sloan said. “Are you sure you've never met Jessica Summers or Grace Winthrop?”

“I might have, but if I did, neither one of them made much of an impression.”

Cole grabbed hold of Sloan's arm and pushed him out the doorway. Ryan kept his attention on Lemont.

“The sheriff spoke out of turn,” he began. “His conclusions aren't based on fact.”

“Perhaps a stranger left the pocketbook behind,” Lemont said. “There are so many of them in town this time of year. They come to see the falls and trample all over the glorious flowers growing wild on the hills outside of town. Some of the men and women are quite audacious, Marshal. Why, just two weeks ago one of them vandalized my garden and picked all of my tulips. I've asked and asked Sheriff Sloan to do something about it, but now that you're here, perhaps you can apprehend the culprits. I'll press charges,” he
added. “I don't care if it was the work of a child or not. The hooligans belong in jail.”

Cole returned to the parlor in time to hear Lemont's remarks. “It seems you're more concerned about your garden than—”

Lemont interrupted him. “Than the people who died in the bank? You're right, Marshal, I am. Flowers, you see, are more precious to me. They serve only one purpose. To be pretty, and I like pretty things.”

“Let's go,” Cole told Ryan. “We've taken enough of Lemont's time.”

The two men headed for the door. “I don't want to hear that you've told anyone about our talk,” Ryan ordered, “or you'll end up in jail.”

Lemont immediately gave his word to keep quiet. He found it impossible to keep his promise, however. He received a visitor an hour later and simply had to relate every word of the conversation he'd had with the marshals. He also told his housekeeper, Ernestine Hopper, who just happened to have a mouth the size of the stuffed bass mounted on the sheriff's office wall. A rather dull-witted woman, she also led a rather dull life, and news such as this couldn't be kept to herself. She told everyone she knew that there was a possibility of a witness to the murders, and after retelling the story four or five times, she stopped using the word “possibility” and made it fact. By the time the rumor circled around to Ryan and Cole, the story had blossomed into front-page news in the
Rockford Falls Gazette.
Convinced the story was the hottest news to hit town, the reporter had talked the owner into printing an evening edition. It was the first time in the history of Rockford Falls that folks were treated to two newspapers in one day, and needless to say, the special edition caused quite a stir.

Ten
 

Ryan wanted to kill someone. Cole suggested he start with the sheriff and then head on over to Morganstaff's house and shoot him and his damned flowers too. The men, furious and frustrated, discussed the problem of dealing with Sloan on their way to Melton's restaurant that evening. They still hadn't talked to the three women. Jessica Summers and Grace Winthrop had gone to do an errand and weren't expected back at the boardinghouse until suppertime. Rebecca James was staying at the hotel, but was too ill to receive visitors. Hopefully she would be well enough to talk to the marshals tomorrow.