The Cowboy's Crime

by Evelyn James

  “I did,” he said, and his voice was distant as if his mind was processing this news and was somewhere else.

  “What else do you remember of the man?” Clara asked, deciding it was now her turn. Any description of the attacker would be of huge value to her as she tried to find him.

  “He wasn’t as tall as me,” Clark said. “Nothing remarkable about him. Young, I suppose, but not a kid. Dark hair, cold eyes. He was dressed in dark clothes and I had never seen them before. With that neckerchief over most of his face, I don’t think I would know him again.”

  That was a shame, but Clara did not say it. Not wanting to push Clark too hard and potentially risk him suddenly breaking down over Gung-Ho again – Clara was not sure how far this ‘observer perspective’ would last if she had Clark think about the traumatic loss of his horse – she turned instead to what seemed the crux of the case.

  “This man implied he had a vendetta against you,” Clara said. “He mentioned Buffalo Rock and you are positive that name does not ring a bell?”

  Clark gave the question an appropriate amount of consideration, drawing into his deepest thoughts to try to nudge out a memory about the place. The more he thought, the deeper the lines on his forehead became.

  “The place means nothing to me. I can think of a town called Cactus Rock and a farmstead called Buffalo Ranch, but no Buffalo Rock springs to mind.”

  “I think this is connected to your bounty hunting days,” Clara persisted. “This man is sending a message. He has already used a knife and a lasso connected with your bounties. He seems to want to remind you.”

  “Well, he is doing one heck of a job,” Clark snorted. “My memory is not jogged one bit.”

  Clara was disappointed as it had seemed they were about to hit upon a solution. She barely noticed David appearing with the pot of tea and a dainty china teacup. She thanked him as he arranged pot, cup and a milk jug on the bare wood table. He had certainly made the effort. Grinning with delight that he had pleased and surprised her, David disappeared again.

  “That fella makes some damn good coffee,” Clark mused. “You know, I first drank my coffee this way in a town called Blue Sands. It was the saloon owner who introduced me to it. He was known for far and wide for his coffee. Great man. He had a son and, well, that lad was determined to ride out and be a cowboy just like me.”

  Clark laughed lightly at the memory.

  “I promised that lad, when he was older, I would ride back for him and he could join me on the trail, with his daddy’s permission, of course.”

  “And did you?” O’Harris asked casually.

  Clark shrugged his shoulders.

  “Can’t remember.”

  ~~~*~~~

  O’Harris walked Clara home, the day turning grey and dull, the leaves whipping down the roads. He slipped his arm around hers and Clara was grateful for the warmth of his body next to her. There was a chill in her bones that refused to leave.

  “Dr Vincent is acting like he has stumbled on a great innovation in psychiatry,” O’Harris mused as they walked along. “He was only too keen to get back to the home and write up his thoughts. This might mean a breakthrough.”

  “That would be good,” Clara said. “At least something positive might come from this horrid event.”

  “It isn’t over yet,” O’Harris reminded her.

  “Oh, I know, but I sometimes feel quite grim about these things. I am the one picking up the pieces of such terrible, often violent crimes and it is hard to see how any good can come from what I do.”

  “There is justice,” O’Harris said. “That is good.”

  “I know, but you always feel that justice can only come after there has already been a dreadful tragedy. I am being maudlin, sorry.”

  “It’s the weather, it makes everyone morose,” O’Harris pulled her closer and smiled at her. “You did a very good thing by saving Private Peterson’s life when you proved him innocent.”

  Clara found her own smile returning.

  “That was something,” she agreed. “I am so glad he is doing well.”

  “If he carries on making the progress he is currently, then he could be home by next summer,” O’Harris nodded. “Now that is a true success.”

  They had arrived at Clara’s house. There was a moment when neither wanted to step aside from the other and they just stood side-by-side, trying to make the decision. Eventually, they both moved at once. Clara popped up on her toes and kissed O’Harris on the cheek before turning towards her front door.

  “You are not getting away that easily,” O’Harris chuckled, catching her elbow and leaning down to kiss her fully on the lips.

  They merged briefly into each other’s warmth and Clara felt filled with a sort of radiance. She wished she never had to be apart from O’Harris, she wished she could spend every moment of the day with him. It was the first time that notion had sprung into her mind and it was so strong and vivid it was slightly overwhelming. She flushed, but it was not from embarrassment, but delight.

  As O’Harris lifted his head, they both heard someone tutting.

  “Well, really!”

  Stood on her doorstep on the opposite side of the street was Mrs Smith and she was puttering loudly about the disgraceful behaviour of young people these days. Kissing in the street! Of all things…

  O’Harris was barely suppressing a laugh, and Clara was equally amused. Just to give Mrs Smith something to huff and puff about she kissed him again on the lips.

  “See you soon?”

  “Any time you desire,” O’Harris grinned. “Now get inside, you are shivering so much.”

  Clara had forgotten how cold she was, she still did not want to leave him, but forced herself away.

  “Very soon,” she promised him before slipping indoors.

  “Upsetting the neighbours again,” Tommy’s face rang through from the dining room.

  “Were you peeking out of the window?” Clara demanded, appearing in the doorway.

  “I didn’t need to, perfect view,” Tommy indicated how easy it was to see the path to the front door from where he sat. “How did things go with the mesmerism?”

  “We received a little information, not much, but a clue at least.”

  “Are you going to tell me, or must I guess?” Tommy teased.

  “Clark said the man who attacked Gung-Ho asked him if he remembered a place called Buffalo Rock, seemed to be important. Something must have happened there involving Clark and his bounty hunting, but he can’t remember what, and that is a portion of his past so far back that Dr Vincent said it could take weeks to gradually work through his memories to find it.”

  Clara sat down at the table, feeling that sense of disappointment returning. She had hoped for more, something that could stop this attacker in his tracks.

  “What have you been up to?” Clara asked him.

  “Researching Clark’s background,” Tommy replied. “Not all that easy considering he is from America, but I found some books in the library about the wild west and there is a reference here and there about Clark and the outlaws he caught.”

  “Anything about a place called Buffalo Rock?”

  “Not yet, but I am going to try sending a telegram to this fellow in the US.”

  Tommy held up a book that was titled Greatest Exploits the West Ever Saw: The Adventures of Cowboys, Crooks and Cattle Rustlers on the American Plains. The author was one, Samuel St John, and the book was published in New York.

  “You never know,” Tommy said. “Oh, a letter came for you, it’s on the stand.”

  Clara rose and retrieved the letter. She was slightly taken aback by the crest on the top of the envelope, which appeared to be a coat of arms. Opening it, she felt her surprise easing. She had been sent an invitation by the Earl of Bristol, to attend the pageant being held at the pavilion. Clara felt the hand of Chang at work, but what was this about?

  She turned over the invitation and saw a handwritten note.

  “For the sa
ke of appearances,” it read, in the distinctive script of Brilliant Chang.

  Of course, he wanted it to be plain that she had nothing to do with the dramatic kidnapping of the earl. Just in case.

  In case of what? Jao Leong finding out she had worked against her? Or Inspector Park-Coombs seeing her as a suspect?

  Clara folded the invitation back into its envelope. It was probably a good idea, in any case. It was an invitation for Clara and a guest, and she knew exactly who to take. She had, after all, promised to see O’Harris soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clara suggested a return visit to the funfair that night with Annie and Tommy. Annie wasn’t keen, funfairs not being something that appealed to her, but then Clara mentioned the poster for the baking competition, and she brightened up. She agreed to come as long as she could scope out the location for the competition and potential judges. Clara wondered if it was taking things rather too seriously to actually work out the preferences of a judge before baking something for them, might it even be considered cheating? Yet, seeing as the ability to research the baking competition was the condition for Annie agreeing to come along, she was not going to argue.

  When she had Tommy alone, she explained her full reasons for wanting to return to the funfair.

  “Clark might be safe with Gunther and Vladimir keeping their eye on him, but I am not so sure about his friends and associates. Who might this vengeful attacker choose to harm next? Maven has his head in the sand over it all, so I want to go there tonight and try to spot anything suspicious.”

  Tommy whistled at this announcement.

  “It’s a big place with a lot of people,” he observed.

  “But we know where to focus our attention best. Maybe it is pointless, but I shall feel happier being there, rather than sitting at home dreading a knock at the door to let me know someone else has been attacked.”

  Clara was avoiding saying that she really feared that the next human victim might not survive their assault. Their man had already killed a horse, how far was he prepared to go? Would he kill one of Clark’s friends next?

  “What are the police doing about all this?” Tommy asked.

  Clara could only shrug.

  “I have not seen Park-Coombs to ask,” she admitted.

  She had been avoiding the inspector, knowing that she was about to become involved in a kidnapping. It was difficult to look a policeman in the eye when you knew you were about to commit a crime, albeit with the victim’s agreement. She wondered how Chang managed it. Maybe it helped to be a naturally dishonest person.

  “Anyway, I would like to be there, watching things with my own eyes.”

  Tommy had no further argument and he was himself keen to go to the funfair.

  After dinner, suitably wrapped up against the cold, they headed towards the bright lights of the fair. It was easy to find as the lamps and braziers burning away cast a yellow haze over the edge of town. People were swarming to the sight; drawn by the promise of amusement and laughter, and the chance to get warm for free. Many did not have money to play the games or go on the rides, but they could watch the free shows and enjoy the spectacle. No doubt many a young mind would be turned to thoughts of joining the funfair when they were old enough by the glitz and glamour.

  The trio wandered through the gates, which were being manned by Duncan and another of the funfair’s dogsbodies. Duncan looked miserable and cold. Clara tried to cheer him up with a warm smile.

  “Hello, got you on the gates now?”

  “I should be in my bed, I’ve got to be up at dawn fetching supplies,” Duncan grumbled. “And my back is giving me hell. Hulu says I need to do these damn peculiar stretches to relieve it. I told him to bog off.”

  Clara smiled sympathetically.

  “There been any trouble?” She asked.

  Duncan heaved his shoulders and winced.

  “Don’t care if there is,” he grouched.

  They headed further into the funfair, pausing before the carousel, which was a handy spot, being central to nearly everything.

  “What’s the plan?” Tommy asked Clara.

  She had to admit she didn’t have one. She pulled a face.

  “We know two potential targets are Mary the Painted Lady, and David the coffee seller. Perhaps we should start there.”

  “I’ll take the coffee seller,” Annie piped up.

  Both Clara and Tommy were surprised at her eagerness. She narrowed her eyes at them.

  “I have been informed by a person who shall remain nameless, but who can’t bake for tuppence, that my coffee is acceptable but nothing more. I therefore plan to improve my skills and rub said unappreciative and uppity person’s nose in it.”

  “Do you really care about this person’s opinion?” Tommy asked her gently.

  “No,” Annie informed him stoutly. “Which is exactly why I must prove them wrong. Point me in the direction of the coffee seller?”

  Clara, trying not to chuckle, indicated the direction she needed to go to find David. Annie went off with her head held high.

  “Would she be referring to that girl Janette who works at the dairy?” Clara asked Tommy.

  “Who knows,” he smirked. “Annie has more culinary rivals than I can keep up with. Pretty catty the world of amateur baking competitions and church fetes, you know.”

  “That leaves Mary,” Clara said, before hesitating for a moment. “I don’t suppose it necessary to watch Polly. I mean, I don’t think the attacker would go for her again?”

  “Unless he meant to kill her and was disturbed.”

  “Yes, but his point has been made. No, you go watch Clark, I’ll keep my eye on Mary. We shall meet back in a couple of hours and decide what to do next.”

  Tommy nodded and departed. Clara pulled up the collar of her coat and made sure her scarf was tucked firmly around her neck. There was a nip in the air that hinted at snow on the way. She briefly glanced skyward, but the clouds offered her no answers as to what they planned on doing. Shrugging off the cold as best she could, Clara went to find the painted lady.

  Mary had her own tent where she sat and welcomed visitors. They paid her a penny when they entered, and she would read them their fortune. If they paid a little more, she would cast the cards to answer specific questions they asked of her and to help them make important decisions – should I accept so-and-so’s marriage proposal? Should I buy that new coat I have been looking at? Is it better to plant potatoes or beets next season?

  When Mary was with a customer, she dropped the flap of her tent which had been painted with the words – Private. Reading in Progress. When she was done, she would lift the flap and stare out at the crowd, looking for her next customer. She was very good at attracting people and catching the eye of potential customers, even those who had never contemplated visiting a fortune teller before.

  Clara arrived at a point when Mary was unoccupied and was trying to lure someone in. She gave Clara an annoyed look as she came over.

  “I have a feeling you are not after a penny fortune,” she said.

  “Not unless your cards can tell me the name and location of the man seeking revenge on Clark.”

  “Sadly, they cannot be so specific. I have asked them repeatedly myself,” Mary sighed. “There are limits to my talents.”

  Clara just nodded, it seemed difficult to describe such trickery as a talent. Clara no more believed in fortune telling than she did Father Christmas.

  “I wanted to come and see you to make sure you were safe and sound,” Clara said.

  Mary was starting to lay out her cards, it seemed an addiction how she was always working the cards. It seemed to bring some sort of peace to her.

  “I am fine.”

  “I hardly need mention that this assailant has been targeting those closest to Clark,” Clara said stiffly.

  Mary snorted.

  “Well, that would rule me out.”

  “I think Clark would be deeply upset if you were harmed in any way.”


  Mary sighed again.

  “Miss Fitzgerald, if my life were in any danger the cards would have told me so already. You do not need to loiter around me all night. Quite frankly, your dogged scepticism is putting off my talents.”

  Clara smiled in slight amusement at the insult.

  “Would you mind if I loiter over there, in the Marvels of Nature tent?” Clara pointed to a tent opposite Mary’s which happened to be one of the free exhibits. Through its raised flap could be seen rows of wooden cases containing badly stuffed animal anomalies. Clara knew the sort of things funfairs loved to show-off, calves with two heads, cats with eight legs, composite creatures meant to look like something out of myth and legend. It was in just such a tent she had once discovered a murder victim.

  “I can watch and keep an eye out for trouble. You never know, this fiend might come past and I shall be able to catch him.”

  Mary scowled.

  “If you must but try not to look over in that disapproving fashion you have. Now, depart.”

  Mary flapped a hand at Clara to indicate she should go.

  Amused, Clara walked over to the opposite tent and stationed herself just inside. She was out of the cold wind and could watch Mary unobtrusively. If anyone paid her attention, she could pretend to look at the exhibits. She stopped beside a case that contained tiny shrunken heads, said to have come from a tropical paradise where the natives practiced cannibalism. Clara glanced at the closed eyes, sewn shut lips and decided not to look again.

  She walked around the nearest exhibits for a bit, getting warmth back into her feet and was able to watch Mary without being obvious. There was a steady stream of customers to the fortune teller. It seemed she sparked people’s natural curiosity, not just because of her cards, but because of her elaborate body art which many just wanted to stare at without seeming impolite. Clara was not entirely surprised to note that most of those seeking their fortune were women.

  Women seemed attracted to such magical promises more than men, or maybe men were a little more embarrassed to be seen asking about their future. There was one older gentleman who paid the extra price Mary asked so she would answer specific questions.