Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (15 page)

Oh, why had her parents decided to push a man on her now? If they’d only given her a little more time, she’d have the marshal caught, bridled, and saddled.

She expected a proposal any time—she only needed to prove her value to him as a detective. Then she could spend her life helping her husband solve crimes instead of slaving over a soap kettle or chasing chickens for the soup pot. She’d be in town, where she could buy soap at the store and meat at the butcher shop.

The clip-clop of hooves and the clatter of the freight wagon caught her attention and reminded her the fingerprinting kit ought to be included with this shipment. She gazed out the window, then to Flynn’s hand, dumping the spoon of coffee beside his mouth. It trickled down his cheek and pooled in his ear.

She jumped away so the brown liquid didn’t stain her dress, although it was more reaction than actual threat. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She dug into her purse, producing a tiny mirror that her mother had given her for Christmas. She removed it from the case and wiped the glass clean. Lowering the mirror to Flynn’s hand, she pressed first his thumb, then his forefinger to the glass.
Mike Flynn
would be her first effort at producing a print.

Dismissing the nagging thought that prints did no good in this case, since she didn’t have anything to compare them to, she placed the mirror back in its case.

At her earliest opportunity, she’d track down Porker Rankin and get prints from him. The marshal seemed to have a fixation on catching the boot thief, and she’d produce the very evidence needed to make a solid case. Again, how a fingerprint would help, she’d figure out later. But this new technique would certainly be the way to the marshal’s heart.

“That’s mighty touching, sweetheart.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. “What?”

“You pressing my hand on your mirror. Same as me touching your face, you pretty little thing.”

She moved away from him. “Not at all the same.” She wagged her finger at him. “And don’t you get any silly notions, either, Mr. Flynn.”

“How’d you know my name?”

“Why did you call yourself Sidney Adler?”

“Huh?” He started to sit up, but dropped back down on the bed.

“You gave me a telegram from Mr. Adler. Where did you get it?”

“Hell if I know. He, uh
…
” Flynn covered his face with both hands, then rubbed his eyes. “I need to talk to him.”

“Shortly. The marshal’s at the saloon, but he and Doc are bringing a patient back here any time now.”

Flynn struggled to sit up again, and made it. “Where’s my boots?”

Eyeing him up and down, she’d bet her bottom dollar he was planning to skidaddle before the marshal showed up. She pushed him back down.

“You’re a heartless wench, for such a pretty girl.”

Just as she was about to retort, Mrs. Mueller from the confectionery opened the door and poked her head in. “Da freight vagon ist here und your fadther is busy. Da driver needs someone to sign.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mueller. I’ll be right there,” she said as Mrs. Mueller shut the door.

Now what?
She wasn’t done interrogating Mr. Flynn yet, and slow-moving as he seemed, she didn’t trust that look in his eye any more than she trusted a bull with his tail on fire. Daisy quickly searched the doctor’s office but didn’t find any rope or cord to restrain Flynn. Then she spied his boots. Scooping them up, she left the office and hurried to the freight wagon.

“Daisy
Gardner
!”

She pivoted to her left. Sarah tromped toward her, obviously in a toot. “Hi, Sarah.”

Sarah pointed to the boots. “Those are Mr. Flynn’s!”

Daisy knew this was a serious breach of propriety. “They are.”

“So now, not only do you want the marshal, you want Mr. Flynn, too. Don’t you think that’s a little selfish?”

Taken back by Sarah’s conniption fit, an uncommon occurrence, Daisy couldn’t believe Sarah was so overwrought by a man who would shoot—even murder—another man. Daisy was convinced Flynn had shot Sidney Adler. But then, Sarah wasn’t aware of the damning evidence and Daisy couldn’t tell her, at least yet. “Good grief, Sarah, I don’t want Mr. Flynn, and neither do you. And just how come you know his name in the first place?”

“Deputy Kunkle told me.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “There are a grand total of two decent looking men in this town, Daisy Gardner, and you can’t have them both.” She spun around, tossing her blonde curls, and started for the doctor’s office.

“Sarah, don’t go there!”

Sarah stopped and turned toward Daisy. “I will if I want,” she said, hands on her hips and eyes glaring.

“What about Doc? He’d make a good husband. He’s nice a
nd you’d have a nice house.
”

Sarah scowled and flipped her ringlets behind her shoulder. “You know very well that Doc likes to flirt, but he doesn’t have time for a wife. Besides, he hasn’t asked.”

“There’s another man in town.” Daisy realized her words came fast and her tone sounded too pleading. She took a breath and calmed herself. Sarah needed to be diverted from peril, and Mr.
Mike Flynn
was nothing but danger, top to bottom. “Patrick Dugan—you know, the man who my parents sought to marry me off to. He’s a dairy farmer near
Silver
City
. He’s even better looking, and well set-up, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your
third
beau. He probably looks like Ichabod Crane or something.” Despite her words, Sarah took a couple of steps and looked much more relaxed.

Relieved, Daisy added, “He’s inside the store, now. I’ll be happy to introduce you.” She grabbed Sarah’s arm and started for the mercantile. “And there’s a dance tonight at your dad’s livery. You can spend all the time you want with him.”

“Hey, lady, ain’t you forgetting something?” The freight driver hollered, holding out a parcel. “Sign for it, and you can run off and chase all the poor fellers you want.”

Letting go of Sarah’s arm, Daisy sprinted back and hastily signed the delivery receipt. “Thanks.” She grabbed the box and hurried back to Sarah. “Let’s go. You’re gonna like this fellow!”

She had no time to spare on Sarah’s love life, or lack thereof, but she knew there’d be no rest until her friend was diverted. Only then could she begin learning how to take fingerprints. How that would prove that
Mike Flynn
was Marshal Adler’s shooter, she had no idea. But it was a start. Honey Beaulieu would leave no stone unturned, and neither would she.

Cole retrieved Bosco from the marshal’s office just as he was about to resume his dinner. Thomas nodded at the both of them as they approached the wagon. “Good to see you, Bosco.”

“Take him out of the wagon when I holler at you,” Cole instructed his deputy. “We have to get Flynn off the Doc’s examining table before we bring this fellow in.”

Doc nodded. “You do that. I’ll stay out here with the patient. Flynn’s all right—he’ll just have a helluva headache for a day or two.”

Cole went in and Bosco followed.
Mike Flynn
sat on the examining table, stocking feet dangling and eyes glazed.

Nodding toward the chair across the room, Cole said. “Go sit over there. We have a sick man on the way in.”

“Christ,” Flynn muttered. He slid off the bed and wobbled. Cole caught him before he fell, and half-carried him to the chair. Flynn stared at Cole. “Who the hell are you?”

“The marshal of this town. And you’re leaving.”

“No I ain’t, and you ain’t Sidney Adler.”

With gritted teeth, Cole held himself from throwing the bastard out the back door. “And neither are you.”

Flynn chuckled. “Oh, I got it. You don’t want me telling anyone.”

“Listen, buddy, you’re in big enough trouble now. I could toss you in the jug and throw away the key for impersonating a law officer. So I strongly suggest you get your ass out of town while I still have some humor.”

“Ain’t got no boots. The pretty little filly what was spooning cold coffee in my ear done took ‘em.”

Cole’s jaw tensed again. “Listen, asshole, be careful about how you talk about respectable ladies.” But sure enough, it sounded like something Miss Daisy would do. Why, who knew. “I’ll get your damned boots, then you’re going.” He motioned for Doc to open the door and tell Bosco to bring in the patient.

Bosco hefted the unconscious man. “I ain’t never hauled so many knocked-out fellers in my life,” he grumbled. “Psheweee! He shore could use some washing up.”

Doc held his office door open. “Just don’t toss him in the trough. He’s in bad enough shape already.”

“I don’t mind the smell, but he’s making my eyes water.” Bosco laid the man on the examining table.

Doc poured water in the basin and washed his hands. “Take his clothes off and send them to the Cho Lu’s Laundry,” he told Bosco. He opened the cabinet and took out some rags. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You done with me?”

“Yes. You don’t need to come back—I’ll send word if I need anything else.”

“Good. I got me a date with a meatloaf sandwich. Been trying to eat it all afternoon.”

Doc shook Bosco’s hand. “I sure appreciate the help.”

“I’ll be leaving you to your work too, then,” Cole said. He hoped Thomas was still on the wagon—and that he intended to go back home. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He shot a glare toward the stranger. “Flynn, be ready to ride.”

Just as he got outside, he saw Miss Daisy standing by the wagon, holding a box, and heard Thomas say, “...my brother.”

She beamed a smi
le at him. “Very n
ice to meet you, Mr. Adler.”

“Mr. Adler?”

Shit-criminy!
Cole half-ran to her, hoping to nip this conversation in the bud. “Thomas was about to leave.”

“Yup,” Thomas said, “just as soon as I pick up a few supplies. Now that I know where my brother is, I want to get home to my pretty wife and a little princess. I gotta talk to you about something, though.”

Thinking fast, Cole motioned for Thomas to pull the wagon in front of
Gardner
’s Mercantile. “Give me your list and I’ll get it loaded. I’ll put it on my account.”

“All righty.” His brother tipped his hat to Miss Daisy, then slapped the reins.

As the wagon left, Miss Daisy turned to Cole and held out the box. “Guess what I have in here?”

He wouldn’t want to venture to guess. It was too small to hold Flynn’s boots, and that was the first thing he needed. But playing along with her game was the fastest and least suspicious way to get rid of her for the moment. “What?”

“You’ll have to guess. When are you going to your office?”

“As soon as I get Thomas loaded up and on his way.”

“I’ll be there when you get there.” Her skirts billowed as she whirled and practically trotted down the street.

Lordy, that woman knew how to keep a man guessing. “Wait! Miss Daisy!” But she ignored him and continued on her way, or mission, so it looked. Damn, he needed Flynn’s boots. But at least she was safely away from Thomas, no harm done.

Bosco came out of the marshal’s office with a bundle of clothes. “Finally got that there meatloaf sandwich et. I’ll go ahead and do my rounds after I take these here duds over to the laundry.”

Cole nodded, then headed across the street to the mercantile. Thomas had maneuvered the wagon in between two others, pulled the brake, and wrapped the ribbons around the footrest. “I don’t have a list. We need salt and Arbuckles mainly, and maybe a piece of candy for Callie.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Cole ducked into the store.

Cyrus Gardner greeted him with a smile. “What can I do for you, marshal?”

“I’ll have ten pounds of salt, fifty pounds of flour, ten pounds of coffee beans, and a dozen pieces of that horehound candy.”

Mr. Gardner raised one eyebrow.

“It’s for my brother.”

The store owner smiled. “Coming right up.” He gathered the goods and helped Cole haul them out to the wagon.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Adler.”

Thomas lifted his eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could spill the beans, Cole said, “Come on back in the store, Mr. Gardner, and we’ll settle up.”

There’d been way too many eyebrows raised that afternoon, he thought as he entered the store. He needed to get Thomas the hell out of town before his plans went south and
he
ended up in jail instead of the miners.

A few minutes and a few dollars later, he returned to the wagon. “Like I said earlier, I’ll see you in a few days or a week. Do you need Bosco?”

“Nope. We’re handling the chores just fine on our own for now. Just come home as quick as you can—I got something important to talk to you about.” Thomas looked around to see if anyone was in hearing range. “Just what the hell is going on here, little brother? Everyone keeps calling me Mr.
Adler
.”

Cole shook his head. “You’ll just have to go along with me on this one. We’ll talk in a few days.” He backed away from the wagon and waved. “So long.”