Kitty's Deputy

by Renea Westlyn

  As Kitty stepped into the small sitting room, a tall, lean man with short dark brown hair and a matching set of deep eyes stood up. He seemed nearly too tall for Father Jacobs’s tiny home. His face was clean shaven, his lips were formed into a thin line. Profound creases formed across the bridge of his long nose, probably from the stress of his job. He certainly looked like a detective, she thought.

  He reached out his hand. “Miss O’Byrne, I presume.”

  “Yes,” Kitty responded as she shook his hand.

  “I’m Detective Gibson, your father hired me. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Allen explained to me that my papa had hired you. What I would like to know, however, is how do you intend to keep me safe? I have to get to Oregon as quickly as possible, my sister is expecting me. She will be greatly worried if I don’t arrive next week.” She stated, leaving off the fact that a groom was also expecting her. She had yet to come to terms with her impending marriage, so why speak of it?

  “We believe that Natalie’s real husband, Mr. Bloomberg, or an employee of his, will be arriving the day after the funeral, according to a correspondence Natalie received,” said Detective Gibson.

  “You read her mail?”

  “We intercepted a telegram for Natalie, before it was delivered to her. I would like you to know that you will be able to bury your father in peace tomorrow. However, when Abby does not appear, Natalie could become more troublesome for you. After all, the man is coming to collect two young women. We do not believe she will harm you, as you are now her only meal ticket, so to speak,” Detective Gibson stated.

  “Meal ticket or not, it won’t matter.” Kitty knew there was a slight edge to her voice as she spoke, but if Detective Gibson really thought that woman would not harm her, he was dead wrong. Natalie would beat her just for spite. “Natalie broke Abby’s arm when I snuck her up to see our papa shortly before he passed. So forgive me if I don’t believe you, Detective Gibson,” she said as she took her seat.

  “I’m sorry miss, I was unaware of that information.” He looked toward Mr. Allen before returning to his own seat. “Our reports do not mention any violence from Natalie.”

  “It was not common knowledge. Only Ms. Lena, our cook, knew about it. She’s the one that treated Abby as Natalie would not allow me to send for a doctor. When papa could no longer get up from his sick bed, Natalie banished Abby to the servant quarters. She treated Abby as a slave instead of a daughter. Therefore, I do not believe the physical well being of a young woman matters much to Natalie or to whomever she is selling the women to, if she is indeed doing as you say.”

  “Miss O’Byrne, do you not believe her capable of these crimes?” Detective Gibson asked, his tone serious.

  “Oh, I know exactly what she is capable of, Detective. The woman is pure evil,” Kitty responded coldly.

  Father Jacobs sat down next to her, taking her hand into his wrinkly one. “Kitty, we are all very sorry about your pa, he was a great man. We know you are hurting something awful, but we are all here to help you and to uncover the truth. You do want that, don’t you? To know the truth and prevent other young ladies from going through a similar fate?” he asked gently, his twinkly blue eyes full of compassion.

  “Yes, I do, Father. I just, I’ve lost my papa, my sister, and my home. Please forgive me if I sound a little ungrateful. That is not the case at all. I simply do not think everyone is aware of Natalie’s true nature. That is one thing I can bring to this investigation. I have lived with her for nearly a year.” She squeezed his hand, then let go and stood.

  Pacing within Father Jacob’s small home was tricky, but she found it was easier to process things when at least standing. “Gentlemen, with this new information and the inside knowledge I have of Natalie, and though it is barbaric, could she be attempting to break the young women down before someone comes to collect them?” Kitty asked. “It may be that the young ladies would be less likely to fight back.”

  She assumed none of them had thought of such a thing and, in some twisted way, she wondered if Natalie’s cruelty hadn’t been an act of kindness. Perhaps, Natalie herself had been a saloon girl and being mean was preparing them for the life they were unknowingly about to live. But, if that were true, why would Natalie sell all those girls to begin with?

  “So, what is the plan?” Kitty asked, breaking the deep silence that had enveloped the room as they each became lost in their own thoughts. She had things to do and no time to sit there in silence, wondering about what if’s and what nots. It wouldn’t get any of them anywhere, that was for sure.

  Sheriff Riley cleared his throat, startling Kitty who looked at him. How had she not seen him sitting there? Oh yes, the ever-imposing Detective Gibson had distracted her.

  “Miss O’Byrne, first I’d like you to know we’ve deputized Bart Jones. He works for you correct?”

  “Yes Sheriff, he does. He said he would keep Abby and I safe, but I had no idea he’d been deputized.”

  “He has been feeding us bits of information. Deputizing him is mainly a form of precaution.”

  Mr. Allen spoke up. “In the event that Mr. Jones should need to apprehend Natalie or whoever shows up, we’d like him to have that authority.”

  “I see. Is Mr. Jones my only deputized employee?” Kitty asked, wondering how Bart would keep her safe and arrest two others at the same time.

  Again, Mr. Allen spoke. “He is the only one your pa trusted, and the only one with this information.”

  She turned toward Sheriff Riley. “Sheriff, how is one man supposed to protect me and apprehend two others? That does not seem plausible. Furthermore,” Kitty took a moment to look each of the men in the eye, “while I appreciate everything you are all doing, I would like to know the real driving force behind this. Many would be willing to turn a blind eye to young women disappearing. Apparently many already have, otherwise how would Natalie and this Mr. Bloomberg have gotten away with it all?”

  “If I may, Sheriff Riley,” Detective Gibson said. “I think I can answer Miss O’Byrne’s questions.”

  “Be my guest,” Sheriff Riley said as Kitty watched him relax into his seat. It was interesting how a few questions could make the Sheriff sweat in his boots—some Sheriff he was. The ever-confident Detective Gibson, however, seemed unshaken. She wondered what it would take to rattle such a fearless man, not that she cared to try.

  “Miss O’Byrne, you are correct that many would look the other way, but these women have families and friends who have reported them missing. They did not choose the lifestyle they’ve been thrown into. Several reports indicate their fathers had remarried, yet the new wife has vanished into thin air each time. The only thing that remains the same is the description of one female and her name, Natalie. I requested this case as I thought it might lead me to the whereabouts of my niece, Shannon. I am personally invested in this case, I care about these young women. They need someone willing to step up on their behalf, are you able to assist me in that?” Detective Gibson asked.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your niece. I—I didn’t know. I do know if someone had taken my sister, I would stop at nothing to find her. Therefore, it would be my honor to assist you and I think it would make my papa proud.” She smiled softly. “Though, I do need to get to Oregon as quickly as possible. I have a promise to keep and I don’t break my promises, Sir.”

  “Nor do I, Miss O’Byrne. All we need is for you to remain here until the day after the funeral. We’ll be watching the train depot for arrivals, and we have been stationed between here and Rosendale. We want to catch this guy when he shows up to collect you, and that, in itself, will partly convict Natalie of her crimes. We’ll take your statement and you can be on your way,” said Detective Gibson.

  “So, I won’t actually be alone. You’ll have eyes on me the whole time?” Kitty asked, a bit of relief settling into her chest, making it easier for her to breathe.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Detective Gibson and Sheriff Riley said in u
nison.

  Chapter Two

  Sweetwater, Tennessee 1899

  “Mr. De Luca! Mr. De Luca!” called out a young boy as he ran down the dusty boardwalk toward him. Milo stopped and waited for him to catch up.

  “A telegram for you, sir. Mr. Turpin said you wanted it right away,” The lad said as he hunched over to catch his breath, holding up the telegram.

  Milo stifled a chuckle as he reached out and took it.

  “Sorry, sir, that one plum winded me. Ol’ Frank said you were at the inn getting some grub, but Miss Dolly said you’d done skedaddled on out to give your horse some treats, and then Mr. Wilson said you’d done skedaddled on outta there too and headed for the bath house. I sure is glad I found ya, I was getting mighty tired a running, and I didn’t wanna interrupt your bath.”

  “Well, thank you, young man. I sure appreciate it,” Milo said and tipped him generously, after all, the poor boy had just run all over town looking for him. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to have an energetic son. He quickly shook the thought away; he had no time for such foolish thoughts. Having a son meant settling down with a wife and taking the risk of not being able to protect either one of them. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Milo smiled and watched as the messenger turned to walk back in the direction he’d just come. He unfolded the telegram.

  NATALIE ARRESTED. CROWLEY DEAD.

  BLOOMBERG SPOTTED, WESTBOUND TRAIN FOR OREGON.

  - GIBSON

  What the devil! Milo had been tracking Crowley and Bloomberg to Georgia, and now he had to turn around and go the opposite direction. Sometimes he hated the life of a bounty hunter. But at least tracking down bad guys was easier than being responsible for a whole town full of women and children, as say, a sheriff or a marshal. Though he might enjoy the slower pace of life, he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone, other than himself, ever again. Gibson understood that and their mutual investment in Bloomberg didn’t hurt matters any.

  Bloomberg was more squirrely than a junebug and seemed to have more lives than a cat. He was always two steps head and never in one place long. The question, however, was why Bloomberg was headed to Oregon? His reach didn’t go past the state of Colorado, though that hadn’t helped any in catching the crook. Every time they had him in their crosshairs, Bloomberg would vanish and pop up three states over. All Milo could do was pray that, eventually, Bloomberg would slip up and make a mistake. Just one mistake was all they needed. Perhaps they were about to get it, now that Bloomberg’s right-hand man, Crowley, was gone.

  Milo sighed and turned away from the bath house. The bath would have to wait, he needed to send a telegram to his contact in Colorado. Hopefully, Gus would have some information that could, at least, point him to the right part of Oregon. Once he sent the telegram he’d go back and get that overdue bath. He was tired of being on the receiving end of the foul looks from the ladies or the reprimands of the old biddies. They sure had sharp eyes and tongues. He couldn’t help that sometimes he smelled like he’d been on a cattle drive. Bad guys moved fast and if he wanted a payday, he had to be quicker.

  Soon as he got a hot bath, he was gonna have a nice meal and a good night’s sleep. If all went according to plan, he’d have a response by morning and be on the next westbound train, rested and refreshed. What more could he ask for?

  His spurs jangled against the boardwalk as he made his way to the telegraph office. Sweetwater was one of the friendlier little towns he’d visited recently. He enjoyed their slower pace of life, their pleasant atmosphere, and welcoming nature. If he were the settling down type, a place like this wouldn’t be a bad idea. Up ahead he watched as two young boys ran full speed to the general store, the younger one bumping an older man as he ran by.

  “Sorry, Granpa Joe!” the little tike hollered as he darted into the store, the bell ringing as he ran through.

  “Young whippersnappers. Always running everywhere, never lookin’ where they go,” Milo heard the old man say.

  “Hey stranger,” the other man called out to Milo, “Did young Ben find ya? That telegraph you’s waitin’ on came in.”

  “That he did. How’s the checker game going?” Milo asked with a grin. What was it about old timers sitting out front of general stores playing checkers? There seemed to be a pair of them in each of the small towns Milo had passed through over the years. They were often the best eyes and ears in a town. Though one was generally grumpier while the other was the more talkative type.

  “Ol’ Frank here thinks he’s got me beat, but little Bobby just messed a couple of his pieces up and in my favor,” the man who Milo assumed was Granpa Joe answered.

  “I can still beat ya, old timer.” Smirked Frank as the two boys came rushing back out of the store, each with a piece of red licorice in hand, and grinning ear to ear.

  “Look Granpa Joe!” The smallest boy held up his candy. “Ben gave us money for a piece of candy.” He beamed as he bit off a piece.

  “Well, I hope you thanked him for sharing his hard-earned money with you young’uns.” Granpa Joe gave them a stern but gentle look.

  He must be the grumpy one, thought Milo, but it looked like he had a soft heart he was trying to hide.

  “Oh, we did, Granpa Joe,” the older one piped. “And I made sure Bobby told Miss Aimee thank you, too. And we didn’t mess up her store, neither,” he said proudly as he puffed out his little chest.

  “That’s mighty fine of ya, Billy. I’m glad to see you boys minding your manners,” Granpa Joe said as he reached over and ruffled Billy’s straw-colored hair.

  Ol’ Frank tucked his smoke pipe into the front pocket of his overalls and glanced up at Milo. “Bobby and Billy here, are Ben’s little brothers. I got me an inklin’ that you are the one that made these little fellas’ day.”

  “Hey Mister, why you wearin’ that dirty ol’e coat?” Bobby asked as he bit off another piece of the licorice.

  Milo knelt down to Bobby’s level and looked him in the eye. “Well, young man, I do a lot of traveling and this here coat, it protects my guns from all that dirt.”

  “My momma would skin me alive if my coat were that dirty.” Bobby shuttered.

  Milo laughed and noticed Billy had inched closer to him.

  “Are you a marshal?” Billy asked. “I’m gonna be a marshal someday. I can shoot real good, my pa even said so,” Billy announced pulling his shoulders back as he stood a little taller.

  “No, I’m not a marshal, but I bet you’d make a fine one someday.” Milo winked at him.

  “Are you a bad guy, then?” Little Bobby asked, stepping forward to inspect Milo. “You kinda look like a bad guy. You’re all dirty and you wear a black hat instead of a white one. Billy says the good guys wear white hats.” Bobby stepped closer and eyed Milo, then reached up with his sticky little hand and patted Milo’s cheek. “You need a shave, but you don’t got no mean eyes like a bad guy.”

  “Nosy little fellas, aren’t they?” Ol’ Frank laughed and Granpa Joe joined him. Milo had a feeling the two old timers were enjoying this far more than their game of checkers. It was a little unnerving to have them all watching him so closely, like a bug caught in a glass jar, as he sat there under the observation of the smallest boy. He wondered, for a moment, if this youngster could actually see into his soul. Perhaps souls appeared to children in black and white colors like hats. Milo knew all about men with mean eyes, but what did little Bobby know about fellas like that?

  “Nah, Bobby. I ain’t a bad guy. I hunt the bad guys. You sound like you’re a pretty good investigator,” Milo said, hoping he explained things in a way the little tike might understand. He didn’t have much experience with kids, though he liked ‘em just fine.

  Bobby scrunched up his face. “What’s an in-bes-a-gator?”

  “A person who asks a whole lot of questions, like you do,” Ol’ Frank told Bobby.

  Billy piped up then. “Like a bounty hunter? I�
��ve heard the sheriff talk about ‘em.”

  “That’s right, Billy, very impressive,” Milo said.

  “Is there a bad guy in Sweetwater? Is that why you’re here?” Billy asked, the concern for his home written across his little face. He was smart and observant. He certainly would make a fine marshal someday.

  “No, son, the bad guy isn’t here, and I wouldn’t let him hurt y’all if he was.” Milo moved his coat slightly, showing one of his guns to Billy, hoping he would feel reassured.

  “Was he here?” Bobby asked and continued in rapid fire, “That why you didn’t take a bath? You gotta go chase him? Want me and Billy to help ya? We’re good chasers, ask Granpa Joe.”

  “Nah, fellas, he wasn’t here, but he ain’t where I thought he was, either. I might have to chase him all the way to Oregon, and that’s a mighty long way from here. I gotta send another telegram to make sure, and it’s gonna be real important I get the response, quick as lightning. Think you boys can help your brother Ben get it to me when it comes in? It’d sure help me out.”

  “Yup, we can help, can’t we, Billy? We’re good helpers, right Granpa Joe?” Bobby asked.

  “That’s right, Bobby. You boys better skedaddle on and tell Ben now.” Granpa Joe ushered them off.

  “Alright, Granpa Joe. Let’s go, Billy.” Little Bobby said, tugging at his arm.

  “I hope you catch the bad guy, mister,” Billy said. He was the quieter one of the two, another reason he’d make a good marshal. He listened, and viewed everything cautiously.

  “Me too, Billy, and you can call me Milo.” He tipped his hat and Billy nodded, then trotted off with his brother.

  Granpa Joe glanced up from his checkers. “Your good with them, got a son back home?”

  “No sir, life of a bounty hunter doesn’t leave much room for settling down and raising a family. I best get this telegram sent. A word of advice though, you can beat Ol’ Frank there in two moves.”