First and foremost, Robert wanted to ask his deputy why he was so lenient with Mr. Johnson, allowing him to evade paying taxes. That was a serious crime for both parties as far as Robert was concerned. He was also thinking bigger at the moment and didn't want to charge Mr. Johnson solely for that. Robert was certain he committed something even greater, and he was determined to discover what.
That was where deputy Bane came into play. As a way of redemption, he will help Robert start an investigation of his own about Mr. Fergus Johnson and all his dealings, since Robert needed proof they were dirty. Robert was prepared to lay down his life; his conviction was so strong that Mr. Johnson, without a doubt, broke some laws while multiplying his riches.
Mr. Johnson bragged how he was a savvy businessman with good fortune. Now, he had Robert holding all the cards and his luck was about to change. Not simply because of what he and his daughter did to Geraldine. There has to be justice in the world or else what is the point in having laws in the first place? The people who think that they were above the law irritated Robert to no end.
Placing Duke to the corral he proceeded toward the post office. “Sheriff Bradway,” he heard someone calling out for him, so he slowed his stride, and turned. It was Mrs. Hobbs, he was surprised to discover. “Just the person I hoped to see,” she exclaimed.
“Good day, Mrs. Hobbs,” he greeted her once she reached him.
She looked a bit out of breath as if she ran to catch up with him. “Oh, please,” she started speaking between deep breaths. “You do not have to be so formal. Call me Betty,” she offered generously.
That bemused him. Still, that wasn't what he said out loud. “What can I do for you, madame?”
“It is what I can do for you, Sheriff Bradway,” she replied enigmatically, flashing a small smile.
This woman is full of riddles, I do not understand her at all. “Do you have any information for me regarding Miss Potter?” He inquired, thinking that would be a rather fortunate turn of events.
“No,” she replied, waving with her hand as if he was speaking of completely unimportant matters that she had no patience for. He found that kind of behavior quite rude. “I heard you have been staying at the Laurel’s farm.”
“Indeed.”
“You must be craving some good homemade food then,” she tsked at him as if she pitied him. Robert didn't appreciate her tone or her true meaning. “My Mary is an excellent cook, so I wanted to invite you for dinner this evening.”
Looking at the woman in front of him, Robert couldn't decide what irritated him the most. The way she acted about Elsa Potter was quite appalling. It never failed to amaze him, in a completely negative sense of course, how certain people in this town acted about the victim. Granted, Miss Potter had a certain reputation in Oatman, and from what he could learn so far, it was well deserved. For crying out loud the woman was dead, and Robert felt the need to shout at the people of Oatman to at least have some decency if they couldn't have genuine empathy for Elsa Potter. That was the least she deserved as one of their fellow citizens and more importantly as a human being.
The second reason for his ever-growing irritation was her implying untrue characteristics about Geraldine, that she was a terrible cook. Nothing could be further from the truth. Geraldine was an amazing cook. One could perhaps argue how he was a tad better. Of course, Robert would only say such a thing in front of Geraldine, and in a teasing manner, fully knowing it would lead to a word war with her which he adored.
For those reasons, Robert completely lost his patience with Mrs. Hobbs, refusing to stand here and chat with her a second longer. “Thank you for your kind offer,” he started to reply quite stormy. “I am unfortunately terribly busy, trying to solve a crime that occurred in your town.”
“You cannot work all the time. You must eat,” Mrs. Hobbs protested.
Robert offered a smile that did not touch his eyes. “I do. And when I have the time, I prefer to choose my company with care.” In other words, he would gladly spend his entire life eating only raw eggs with Geraldine than having the most delicious meal with Mrs. Hobbs and her family. “Good day, madame.” And with that, he left Mrs. Hobbs to only gawk after him.
Robert was no fool, he knew he was harsher toward Mrs. Hobbs than was necessary. It was just that as of late he developed a rather peculiar trait; he had zero tolerance for anyone speaking ill of his Geraldine. Especially after that whole incident with Susannah Johnson. Robert couldn't quite say when he started to think of her as his Geraldine. He did though, and nothing could change that.
Maybe from the moment she broke all those eggs on me, he joked to himself, entering the post office. It was love at first smell. He chuckled and the young clerk looked at him questioningly, so he had to get serious.
Right, first get this all business done and then you can continue fantasizing about Geraldine.
He liked the sound of that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Geraldine decided it was way overdue for her to wash some laundry. Her sudden need for clean clothes had nothing to do with the lack of said clothes. It was a necessity of the mind. She hoped some manual labor would help her solve a puzzle she had. Geraldine needed to remember why that handwriting felt so familiar to her, and she needed to remember it as soon as possible. The not knowing was driving her mad. Now more so than before since she shared it with the Sheriff. If she was honest with herself, she knew that the urge to remember came from the fact she did not want to disappoint him in any way.
That was the reason she gathered as much as she possibly could and got down to work. By this rate, she would use the entire laundry soap, however, that did not stop her from her endeavor. Geraldine grinned like a fool, spotting one of the Sheriff's shirts in the pile. Of course, it wasn't the one with eggs on it. She washed that one a while back and returned it to him.
It still smells like him, she realized, bringing it to her nose. One whiff was all it took for her to be transported back to the moment when he embraced her. She hugged the shirt more tightly, trying to prolong the memory and make it even more vivid. That was one of the best, happiest moment of her life. I hope it wouldn't be the last. That notion snapped her back to reality. She was in the process of putting the shirt away, Geraldine felt the need to wash it separately, with some extra care, when she stopped. This needs mending, she realized, finding a tear on the sleeve. And that needed to be done first and before washing so it wouldn't get worse.
Looking at it more closely, she deduced it would be an easy thing to remedy. I will do this now then return to do the rest, she decided.
Geraldine went to her room and after she carefully placed the Sheriff's shirt on her bed, she took out her needle and threads and was highly disappointed to see she did not have a proper thread to mend it. It was imperative for her to stitch it back together perfectly. Oh, shoot! Geraldine used it all on her own skirt last week; she remembered and then forgot to buy some more.
Maybe mother has some, came a sudden thought of hope. “Mother?” She called out while entering the room. Geraldine frowned once she realized the bedroom was empty. To think about it, she hasn't seen her mother the whole day. The meal she prepared for her was eaten, so Geraldine wasn't that worried. She is someplace on the farm since she never leaves it. At any rate, Geraldine preferred some distance at the moment, she was still a bit cross at her mother for creating such a mess, that the Sheriff had to help her clean, while 'looking for something'.
She knew where her mother kept her needles and threads, so she simply opened a large closet and knelt down to look for the specific box that was always in the back. She spotted it almost instantly. Geraldine tried to pull the box out. Something was holding her back as if it was stuck on something. She tried it once again with a little bit of force. “Come on,” she urged, starting to get a bit irked. She couldn't believe a simple box was causing her so much grief. Grabbing it with both hands, Geraldine pulled on it really hard and almost fell backward in the process. She managed to
pull the secured box out, so all was well. Geraldine felt like raising it up in the air, to show her victory when something inside the closet caught her eye.
There was a loose board on the bottom of the closet. That was the thing that got in her way in the first place, preventing her to take out the box. When she pulled with all her might, it got moved even further, revealing a hole underneath, like a secret compartment. Curiously, Geraldine moved the board away completely to look inside the space.
She gasped in wonder seeing all kinds of things hidden inside. Geraldine would normally feel bad, guilty for invading her mother's privacy, but most of the things inside were her own. Maybe this was father's, she added that as a possibility. Reaching inside, she pulled out her baby dress, the one she wore at her christening.
Geraldine knew it belonged to her since she saw it many times on the photograph she had of that day. It was placed in the living room and was the only photograph she had of her whole family. Her father was proudly holding her that day, with her mother at his side. In her more lucid days, her mother would tell her about that day, how she wouldn't stop crying until her father took her in his arms. “You were always your father's little daughter, his princess, from the moment you opened your eyes and took your first breath,” her mother would say to her.
Geraldine carefully put the dress aside and reached to see what treasure she would discover next. She laughed in delight, taking hold of a small wooden horse. It was a toy her father carved for her when she was four years old. Geraldine moved her fingertips along its lines as her eyes filled with tears. It was easy to forget these days, when she was occupied with so many things, how much she actually missed her father. She had a very special bond with him and since he went missing, Geraldine felt like a part of her was missing, as well. That hole couldn't be filled with anything or anyone else.
Kissing the horse's nose, she kept the toy in her lap and grabbed some papers from the hidden compartment. It thrilled her to discover it was actually letters and some drawings. She grimaced looking at her failed attempts. I was never to be an artist. She put them aside, focusing on the letters and small notes. They were written by her father to her.
I completely forgot about those, she exclaimed with joy. Her father had a habit of writing her letters before riding out with the herd on the pasture since she was a very poor reader while little, and he was trying to encourage her to do better. It actually worked. She remembered jumping from joy every time she found a letter next to her pillow when she woke up. Geraldine would miss her father terribly while he was away, so she would reread his words over and over again until she practically learned every line by heart.
Eventually, that love of his words spread to all written words and she started enjoying reading books. How I miss you, father. She started to read one of them and abruptly had to stop. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Geraldine realized something else in the process. Sadly, she comprehended why she felt like she knew who wrote that mystery letter to Elsa. The handwriting was her father's.
Oh no, please no, which meant that her father had an affair with Elsa. Oh, dear Lord, please save me from this pain.
* * *
Geraldine was thunderstruck looking at her childhood letters as the words started to blur in front of her eyes. You cannot cry now, she snapped at herself, wiping the treacherous tears from her eyes with her hand. She had more pressing matters at the moment than feeling sorry for herself for learning that her father wasn't the perfect man. It wasn't as if she wasn't aware of that fact before, he did inexplicably borrow a great deal of money from Mr. Johnson, so this was just an additional layer to an already complicated story. Nothing more.
Geraldine took a deep breath in hopes to calm herself. She couldn't stay here, in this house, she needed to find the Sheriff at once and tell him what she discovered. Getting up, she immediately sat right back down. Am I making a terrible mistake? She wavered.
Her father had been missing for ten years, so it was only logical to assume he wasn't a murderer. Having that in mind, what was the purpose of telling the Sheriff about this piece of the puzzle? Geraldine had to think of her mother. She didn't want her to suffer even further. And then it actually hit her. Mother! Did she know about the affair? No, she couldn't, she banished that thought immediately.
Elsa was her best friend. What would her mother do if she discovered her husband and her best friend were lovers? She would never recover from such betrayal. Geraldine didn't want her mother to be hurt all over again, especially not so soon after she lost Elsa.
Despite knowing all this, Geraldine realized she had to tell the Sheriff; there was no other way. She had to do the right thing. Placing the letters inside her skirt pocket, she then collected all the other mementos and returned them to the hole in the closet, hiding them anew just the way she found them in the first place. Once she put everything back as it was, she ran outside to collect Whitey. Not bothering to saddle him, she mounted him and rode straight to Oatman.
The Sheriff said he was going to the post office. That was a while ago and she couldn't hope to find him there. She had no other plan in mind, so she hoped for the best. Luckily Oatman wasn't that big of a town and she could always ask local folks if anyone saw him. Miraculously, she ran into him halfway there. He smiled recognizing her, urging Duke toward her. His expression changed once he managed to read her current mood.
“What happened, Geraldine?” He demanded in his authoritative voice. Geraldine sighed and dismounted, so did he. Reaching into her pocket she took out the letters.
“I have something to show you,” she said, reluctantly giving him the stash of letters from her childhood. Still frowning, the Sheriff accepted what was offered and started looking at them.
“My dearest Geraldine?” He frowned as he began to read at random.
She hesitated to admit, “Yes, they were written to me by my father.” He nodded. “All right, why—” he stopped mid-sentence to look at her.
Geraldine swallowed hard before speaking. For some reason, confessing her father's infidelity felt too hard for her. She shouldered on, nevertheless. “I think I know now why the handwriting of that last letter felt so familiar to me.”
The Sheriff instantly looked at the letters he held in his hand, understanding what she was implying without further words. “It was written by your father,” he guessed.
“I believe so.”
He didn't say something else that was clearly on his mind, how that also meant her father had an affair with Elsa. And for that Geraldine was grateful. Instead, the Sheriff took a step closer to her and put his free hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry, Geraldine.”
“Me too. It is what it is, though,” she faked indifference, of course, he saw right through her charade.
The Sheriff gave her shoulder a squeeze. “The saddest part of growing up is learning our parents were people and not heroes we painted them to be.”
Those words were too true. “So now we know. That last letter was P, for Peter,” Geraldine explained, for no other purpose than to fill the silence with something, because inside of her a true storm was raging.
How could her father do that to mother? Geraldine believed with all her heart he loved her. Of course, Geraldine was nothing more than a child back then, what could she possibly know about marriage? The question remained valid, how could he? How could Elsa betray her only friend in such a manner?
The people she loved the most in the world were connected in such a manner it was giving her a headache. Geraldine was experiencing a true whirlwind of emotions and she didn't know how to stop it. Didn't know if she wanted to in the first place since it was far easier to be angry than sad. “Geraldine?” The Sheriff was calling her, snapping her back to reality, and by the looks of it, he was trying to get her attention for a while. She was really losing it.“Hm?”
“I know this is extremely difficult for you, but I need to speak with your mother again.”
That sobered her immediately and forced her to focus s
olely on him. “What for?” She demanded, acting overprotective.
He did not take offense of her attitude. “I know you are distressed at the moment. I beg of you, try to think about it rationally.” He pleaded.
Actually, she was. She needed to keep her mother out of this, spare her from any additional hurt, no matter what. “With the discovery of the fifth author,” he continued. “We now have another suspect on our hands.”
“My father has been missing for years,” Geraldine argued back. “Are you suggesting he was hiding someplace all this time then decided to reappear ten years later only to commit a murder before disappearing again?” Preposterous!
“I wasn't speaking of your father,” the Sheriff replied calmly.
Geraldine's mind stopped working, comprehending what he was saying. Even though she understood his meaning she didn't at the same time, if that made any sense. “I... I...” She failed to form a sentence.
The Sheriff took the last step between them, coming even closer. “I am terribly sorry for doing this to you, Geraldine, I really am. And so soon after discovering the involvement of your father. However, it is crucial for me to speak with your mother to see if she had anything to do with Elsa's murder.” The Sheriff's eyes were pleading her to understand, be reasonable, remain strong as well. His faith in her was what made her nod in return.
The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 26