The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  It was perfect.

  * * *

  “Geraldine, would you care to accompany me for a stroll?” The Sheriff boomed. You sound like an idiot, he informed himself, standing in front of a mirror. That whole morning, he was trying to practice speaking with Geraldine since apparently, that was something he forgot how to do between last night's dinner and now and was failing miserably. Everything felt wrong to him.

  The words he was using felt too formal all of a sudden or weren't formal enough. He didn't want Geraldine thinking it was all just a big jest or refusing him for acting cold and distant. Also, there was something terribly wrong with the sound of his voice. Do I really sound like this? Apparently, he didn't speak, he growled. And then there was this whole issue about his expression. He looked in constant pain. Overall, he was lacking, and that frustrated him to no end.

  Last night, after he helped Geraldine clean up the mess her mother made for no apparent reason, he offered to prepare a meal for them. He was certain she would fight him on that and was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. They shared a wonderful night, as far as he was concerned. They talked, and laughed, in a manner he started to be accustomed to when they were involved and that helped him make a decision. Robert wanted to officially start courting her. Of course, that would occur only if he managed to find proper words to ask her for permission.

  Oh, stop stalling like some coward and simply go and speak with her like a man, he snapped at himself, getting tired of such behavior. Not giving himself the opportunity to change his mind, he left his room with the purpose to march to the kitchen and simply reveal his intentions when he came face to face with Geraldine in the hall.

  He avoided colliding with her at the last moment, managing to maintain his balance and distance. Could her poor balance be contagious? He joked. He wanted to tease her for it. Sadly, he couldn't since she wasn't alone. “You have a visitor,” she informed him even though he could see that on his own. It was Dr. Carmichael. They greeted one another.

  “I have looked for you everywhere,” Dr. Carmichael complained.

  “Yes, Oatman doesn't have a hotel, but I found something even better here,” Robert replied looking at Geraldine who smiled ever so slightly. He wasn't talking about the accommodations, of course. His friend didn't have to know that. At least not yet.

  “I discovered that, and then I ran into a very chatty lady who pointed me in the right direction.”

  “Brilliant,” Robert replied, trying to guess who that lady could possibly be. Just for fun, of course.

  “I need to speak with you,” Dr. Carmichael said in all seriousness.

  “You can settle in the living room,” Geraldine offered before excusing herself.

  “Are you sure we won't be disturbed,” the Doctor wanted to know, and Robert nodded. “I am sure.”

  “All right, then,” he replied, reassured.

  “Where were you all this time?” Robert asked conversationally while they walked the short distance to the living room. He tried to reach him on many occasions to inquire about his research and couldn't find him.

  Dr. Carmichael took a very theatrical breath while sitting down. “I had to travel to a very remote place since the owner of the ranch thought his family suffered from the black plague.”

  “And did they?” Robert countered lightly, matching the doctor's tone. “They suffered only from stupidity and lack of personal hygiene.”

  Robert shrugged. “It still beats the alternative.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So, why did you want to see me?” Robert asked, deciding to return to the main topic.

  “Because of Elsa Potter, of course.”

  Robert was hoping that was the reason. “Did you find anything?”

  “Remember how I told you during the examination that there was something strange with her internal organs?”

  “You called them deteriorated, in far worse condition than they should be based on her age,” Robert tried to recollect.

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you find the cause?”

  “I believe I did. I am waiting for the reply from one of my university colleagues who is an expert in the field, for an absolute confirmation. I am fairly certain without it.”

  “And?” Robert was getting impatient with this preamble. He should be used to by now; his friend loved the theatrics.

  “Elsa Potter suffered from poisoning.”

  What? That completely took Robert by surprise. “Poisoning?”

  “Yes, I believe she was poisoned by a very specific kind of mushroom.” He had to take out a small notebook he always carried with himself to read the Latin name of such fungi.

  “Could she have digested it by accident?” Robert wanted to know.

  “As far as I could deduce, based on her condition, it was consumed over a long period of time. Her symptoms that her physician described to me could actually be explained by this form of poisoning.”

  Interesting, Robert mused, thinking about Elsa's murder from a whole new perspective. “Can it be self-inflicted?”

  Dr. Carmichael frowned. “I cannot tell you that.”

  Or maybe the killer tried to poison her then grew tired of waiting as she only got sick and decided to strangle her instead, he continued to speculate. “Thank you, my friend. That was rather helpful.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  “Tell me something else, though.”

  “Yes?”

  “This mushroom, is it wildly spread?”

  “I did some reading about it and it's fairly common in these parts.” That, on the other hand, wasn't so helpful. If everyone had access to it, then Robert couldn't single anyone out specifically.

  “Thank you again, my friend, I appreciate all your help.”

  “You are most welcome. It was quite interesting, as a matter of fact,” the doctor confessed, a bit sheepishly. “I felt like a detective trying to solve this puzzle.”

  “Maybe you should change vocation.”

  Dr. Carmichael chuckled. “Thank you. I am quite pleased with my occupation. I could never do what you do, Robert.”

  Not many could.

  Robert thought for a moment about what he learned. This new piece of evidence changed everything, adding a few people to his list of suspects. Only time will tell if that was a good or a bad thing. “How about we go for that promised meal now?” Robert offered, and the doctor beamed with joy. “I thought you would never ask. I was starting to get a bit peckish.”

  Robert knew he would say that and barely contained himself not to laugh. “I know the perfect place.”

  “Then lead the way, my friend. Lead the way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Oh, my good Lord. “Poisoned?” Geraldine parroted the Sheriff's words once he shared what he learned from Dr. Carmichael. “Someone was poisoning my Aunt Elsa?”

  “That is certainly one of the possibilities,” the Sheriff replied cautiously. “But yes, I do believe someone intentionally did that to her.”

  Oh my. Geraldine was speechless. Her head was spinning trying to insert this new information to the existing image. Eventually, she started thinking out loud. “So, what you're suggesting is that she was poisoned, and then someone—” Geraldine had difficulties saying some things, like strangled while keeping her calm. “Ended her life?”

  Geraldine hugged herself, sitting on the sofa in the living room as if that would prevent her from hearing any more bad or horrible news.

  The Sheriff had a sympathetic expression on his face while he tried to answer her question. “It is highly unlikely that we have two killers on our hands.”

  This was all the work of one murderer? She thought to herself and started to shake ever so slightly. “All right,” she started slowly. “Someone was poisoning her with mushrooms-”

  “Over an extended period of time, making her sick,” the Sheriff interjected, and Geraldine nodded. “And then killed her in a completely different manner. Why?”

&n
bsp; Did he simply want to torment her before killing her? She felt like crying and raging at the same time. She was beyond enraged because some monster did that to her Auntie and was heartbroken Elsa had to go through all that in the first place.

  The Sheriff shrugged. “My guess is that the murderer grew impatient.”

  “He was killing her too slowly?” Geraldine exclaimed. “That is simply too horrible,” she started shaking her head. She wanted to get rid of the images that were plaguing her mind. Unfortunately, it did not work. Geraldine kept seeing her poor Aunt sprawled on the kitchen floor.

  “I agree,” he replied simply.

  Geraldine needed something concrete to do, or something other to think about or she would go completely mad. “What about this mushroom? Is it hard to obtain?” Geraldine asked, simply to stop herself from seeing the image of Elsa's dead body over and over again. If she focused on catching the murderer she would maybe stop tormenting herself.

  “I asked in the local apothecary, after I sent Dr. Carmichael off since he had to go back to Fort Mohave.”

  “You met Mr. Benjamin,” Geraldine said with a smile. “He is such a lovely man.” Always asks for my mother's health whenever he sees me.

  “Yes, and very helpful. He said it cannot be bought legally since it's highly poisonous.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “He didn't rule out the possibility that someone was collecting it on their own, since it grows here in abundance, if you know what you're looking for.” “So, it must be a person who is somewhat knowledgeable.”

  “My point exactly. He also told me that the mushrooms would probably need to be dried out and made into a powder to be consumed without detection.”

  What a scary notion. Not simply that someone would go to such lengths to commit this heinous crime but that the tools could be provided from the Earth. A mushroom that came from the ground could easily kill you. On the other hand, that same thing could be said for a lot of different things. From plants and animals to extreme weather, there were a lot of ways that could end a life. This world was beautiful. It was also quite deadly. Of course, the deadliest creature in this world were humans.

  And the most vicious one as well, Geraldine added. “Did this new information help you with the investigation? Do you believe now that one of the husbands is more likely to be the killer?” Geraldine wanted to know next.

  “Of course, it helped. I just have to determine how exactly,” the Sheriff replied honestly. She appreciated that he was always perfectly honest with her. Geraldine was certain there were things he couldn't say even to her, nevertheless, she appreciated he included her this much as is. “There's one more thing,” he added after a small pause.

  “And that is?”

  “I don't want to jump to any conclusions, however, poison is known to be women's preferred weapon of choice.”

  “Do you believe one of the scorn wives killed Elsa?” Geraldine exclaimed. Her mind started to spin as she tried to recollect every gesture, word, or glance all those women shared with her during her visits. Could one of them be the killer? “As I said, I am not going to jump to any conclusions. I will let the evidence take me in the right direction,” the Sheriff insisted.

  Geraldine pondered about his words for a moment. It had to be someone she saw on a regular basis, Geraldine mused. Who? The only person she saw almost every day were her and mother. She must have had a secret visitor.

  Geraldine felt like weeping, thinking about Aunt Elsa and how someone day in and day out came to her house and tried to do her harm. And actually, succeeding in harming her, she corrected herself glumly. “I feel like we are missing the most vital piece of information. Why would someone do such a thing?”

  The Sheriff laughed without actual humor. “Well, of course we do, that is why it's called an investigation. If we had everything, we would already have the killer as well.”

  Good point. “Since we are sharing, I do have something to tell you,” Geraldine started then wavered. Maybe she was being silly. “I didn't believe it was important at the time, perhaps it is not of any relevance.”

  “No matter how big or small you should always tell me everything,” the Sheriff reassured her. “Sometimes the smallest of details could solve a case.”

  Well, when he put it that way. “I still don't think it would be of any help... Could I see that single letter that was written by an unknown author once more?”

  Of course, the author was very much known, simply not to them. Elsa knew. Sadly, she took that information with her to the grave.

  Even though it was clear he failed to make a connection between the letter and what she had to share, he nodded and went to his room to bring it. “Thank you,” she said once he returned and offered her the letter. Geraldine read it once more, needing to be completely sure in herself before speaking. It bugged her to no end the signature was unreadable. It was as the Sheriff said, if everything was clear there wouldn't be any need for an investigation in the first place. “Well?” He prompted, clearly getting impatient with her secrecy

  “I believe I know this handwriting.”

  “Really? Why didn't you say it before? Do you know his name?”

  Geraldine started shaking her head long before he finished. “I do not remember how I recognize it, I just know I saw it before.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. It's these Z's.”

  “They are written a bit differently,” the Sheriff allowed. “You have to remember where you've seen it.”

  “I've been trying.” Believe me. She drove herself mad for the past few days. “Maybe it was one of your teachers?”

  “I only had one teacher, Mrs. Henley, and I know her handwriting by heart. It's not hers.” Besides, why would she write to Elsa?

  Perhaps it was her husband's? Geraldine pondered.“Maybe you read it in one of the books? You know how people like to write inscriptions and all kinds of notes in the margins.” The Sheriff was reaching, however, Geraldine realized that was a fair possibility. “Maybe I could show it to her since she has the biggest library in the town, plus almost all my books came from her.” Others were bought in Fort Mohave.

  “I cannot give you that letter, it's evidence.”

  Geraldine understood that completely. “I will think of something else then.” She could draw the letters to Mrs. Henley. Now she was the one reaching. “Where could you have seen it?” He asked in frustration. “Here on the farm or maybe you saw the letter at Elsa Potter's when younger,” he clearly spoke his thoughts out loud.

  “I shouldn't have said anything.”

  “No. It's good that you did,” the Sheriff was quick to reassure her. “We will definitely work on that.”

  “I read once that there are certain techniques one could utilize that help in recovering forgotten memories,” Geraldine replied.

  “Truly? What techniques would that be?” The Sheriff asked, intrigued.

  Geraldine offered a small smile in return. “I do not remember.” The Sheriff laughed as well.

  “Brilliant. We will work on that, as well,” he added in a much lighter tone.

  “I am sorry I wasn't that helpful.” Or at all.

  “Everything is all right. We may not see the big picture yet, but all the small pieces are being collected and they will fall into place.” He reassured her.

  The Sheriff really had a lovely way with words. He should have been a poet. Of course, she did not say that out loud, not wanting to embarrass him.

  He checked the time and frowned. “I have to go to Oatman really quickly to send a telegram to one of my deputies.” She understood why there would be a need for urgency since the post office worked short hours. And then she processed his words. Is he planning on leaving again? Geraldine couldn't help feeling an ache inside her heart. “I am not going anywhere. I just need Deputy Bane to come to Oatman.”

  “You are calling for your men here?”

  “I realized I need him to answer some of my questions in
person and help me with some other matters,” he replied vaguely, and Geraldine did not want to press. “I don't want to spread myself too thin,” he added, and it was clear he was speaking with himself.

  “Good thinking,” she commented, nevertheless.

  * * *

  Robert hated lying. Especially to Geraldine. Technically, he did not lie, simply omitted, chose not to disclose everything. The rationalization did not work on him since he hated that as well. The main reason he wanted deputy Bane to come to Oatman was, of course, Mr. Johnson.