by Dallis Adams
She shrugged. “If I wanted to, I could.”
“She really could,” Creed concurred. “I saw her take down Barry Bigman, the man who murdered her mother years ago.”
“Barry Bigman? The clown?” Spivey scoffed. “He was almost shorter than Mrs. MacKissick. That’s the only reason she succeeded. Too, she probably caught him off-guard.”
Uma narrowed her eyes. “Taunting me will get you nowhere. I’m not giving you a legitimate reason to lock me up. Some day you’ll get your comeuppance.”
Surprised she wasn’t flying off the handle for being unjustly arrested for murder, Jack stared at her. Except for the steely glare she gave the Marshal, she was unusually calm, as if she’d turned her attention inward.
What was she thinking? Had she seen something before Marshal Spivey arrived on the scene? She seemed to shake herself out of her reverie. “Anyway, I’m not going to try to escape because I believe in the justice system. Truth will out.” She turned toward Jack. “Which reminds me. I want you to teach me that thumb maneuver.”
Really? He gave her an exasperated look. “I don’t think that’s relevant right now.”
“It might be. Later. If my faith in the justice system is misplaced,” she mumbled.
In other words, her faith in him. Jack felt heat rise to his face. He took a fortifying breath in an attempt to get control of himself. He had to remind himself that they’d only been married for a few months, and that trust wasn’t easy for her. Even though Madam Wiggie had taken her in as a young child and had provided her with care and an enriched education, there had been twenty-four other orphans who needed attention. Several times Uma had been forgotten or overlooked in her young life, which had left an impression. Trust was obviously a trait that Jack had to earn.
“Oh, and will you tell Celeste that I need to cancel our tea time together this Saturday?” Uma asked breezily, as if getting locked up for murder was a common occurrence. “Unless I’m exonerated in a couple of days.”
Celeste was Uma’s grandmother through marriage to Uma’s grandfather. It still amazed him at how close the pair had become. That she didn’t believe she would be released by the end of the week cut him to his soul. He really was going to have to work on proving he was trustworthy. He would have to show her that he would walk to the ends of the earth for her.
Jack turned to give the marshal his attention. The man was stern. And he was known for tracking down the Booth Gang, masterminded by Isadore Booth. The outlaw had terrorized the northern territory from Sacramento to Redding, robbing banks and stagecoaches. Although his dad — who had been the former Cryptic Cove sheriff and was now deceased — respected Spivey, Jack had never liked the man.
Marshal Van Spivey was the type of lawman who only saw black and white, never the gray areas. He wasn’t the crime-solving type. “Marshal Spivey, you are overstepping your bounds. This is my town. I’m the Sheriff here. As a matter of fact, aren’t you supposed to report to the elected sheriff whenever you come to a town?”
Spivey shrugged and gave Jack a sour look. “I didn’t get a chance. And the prime suspect is your wife. Which is a conflict of interest and the reason I need to interfere and take over.”
“How is Uma the prime suspect?”
Back stiff, Spivey held up his nose. “She threatened Doc Elroy in front of a crowd. Since I was in the crowd, I was one of many witnesses,” Spivey said in a condescending manner, causing Jack’s hackles to rise. “She described exactly what she would do to him if he didn’t leave town. What she detailed is precisely how the doctor died. Too, I found her standing over the body.”
“Of course you did,” Jack muttered as he rubbed the ache that had started to pierce one of his temples.
Uma frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you have a penchant for trouble.” Jack sighed as he turned back to Spivey. The man had a lot of gall, asserting his so-called authority in Jack’s town, and arresting Jack’s own wife. But Jack forced his anger down, knowing the emotion wouldn’t do Uma any good.
Instead, Jack held onto facts. He would appeal to the Marshal’s better side, and hope to get the fellow lawman to be reasonable. “Uma has passionate nature and sometimes spouts off before she thinks. As a matter of fact, she got mad at me the other day and said she was going to drown me in the watering trough. Did she actually do it? No.”
“That’s what I told the Marshal,” Lala said. “Uma’s always mouthing off with ridiculous threats that she doesn’t actually mean.”
Marshal Spivey stared at Jack, his expression cold. “Well, luckily we didn’t find your body floating in a watering trough. Unfortunately, we did find Doc Elroy, dead by poisoning, empty medicine bottles surrounding the body and the beginnings of bruising on his throat. Like I told you, I witnessed your wife as she threatened to hold Doc Elroy Hancock down and force his medicines down his throat if he didn’t leave town.”
In a continued attempt to reason with Spivey, Jack motioned toward Uma. “Look at her. She’s barely over five feet. At the most, she weighs ninety pounds. Doc Elroy is a big man — at least six feet tall and must weigh at least one hundred and eighty pounds. How could she have forced poisons down his throat? She’s too small to force a man as big as Doc Elroy to drink copious amounts of medicine.”
Marshal Spivey widened his stance. Jack was certain the Marshal thought by doing so, it made him look superior … more in charge. But to Jack, he looked like a puffed up banty rooster. “I’ve heard that she’s had some very unusual training in fighting,” Spivey said in that condescending tone that made Jack want to smack Spivey up the side of his head. “Some kind of strange Japanese fighting or something. With training like that, she would have no problem holding down a man the size of Doc Elroy.”
Somebody was telling secrets. Well, Uma’s fighting skills weren’t exactly secret. But there was an unwritten code that Cryptians followed, and that was to not gossip about unusual quirks and backgrounds to strangers. “Who told you that?”
“Never you mind,” Spivey retorted with a scowl. “It’s a need to know situation. The person is an upstanding citizen. And that’s all you need to know.”
“Whoever it was might have a motive for framing Uma. I need to know the identity of your source,” Jack insisted.
“Now you’re simply grasping at straw,” Spivey scoffed. “There is no reason for this line of inquiry. Face it, man. Your wife is the main suspect.”
“You know nothing about Uma. Besides, it’s not your job to keep the law in Cryptic Cove. I am the elected Sheriff here. So it’s my jurisdiction.”
“So, Sheriff.” Ice-blue eyes bored into him, considering his worth and finding him lacking. “Are you going to arrest your wife?”
Jack had never liked the arrogant, condescending man.“Of course not. She isn’t a killer, and words don’t make her so.”
“Exactly like I predicted,” Spivey muttered under his breath but easy enough for Jack to hear. “I rest my case. You, Sheriff, are too close to the suspect to admit what she has done. I’m the United States Marshal of California Northern Territory. Since you are married to the suspect, it is my job to step in to see justice done.”
Jack shook his head. “You’re wrong, Marshal. There are multiple suspects. Everybody heard what she said. So anybody could have done it in the manner she described to throw the suspicion on her. It could be a ploy from the real killer to keep me from finding him … or her.”
“You can argue all you want,” the Marshal said as he maneuvered around Jack. Before he understood what Spivey was about to do, the Marshal snatched the key ring from the wall, pushed Uma inside of the cell opposite from Creed, and then locked the door.
“What the —” Infuriated, Jack sprung forward to intervene, but it was too late.
“Calm down, Sheriff MacKissick,” Spivey said, and then slipped the ring inside the hidden pocket of his waistcoat. “You know I’m right. Mrs. MacKissick will remain in jail. You won’t interfere, unless y
ou want to be arrested, too. I plan to telegram the Honorable Judge Zaphaniah Weyman, and instruct him to come to Cryptic Cove on his circuit in two-weeks time, which is when he will be up in this area.” Then Spivey took the key to Uma’s cell off the ring and pocketed it before hanging the rest of the keys on the hook. “I’ll take custodianship of Mrs. MacKissick’s confinement.”
Jack’s face heated. His fingers curled into fists. “I’ll be contacting your boss, the Deputy Director of the United States Marshals.”
Spivey’s mouth tightened briefly before he smirked. “Exactly what I’m going to do — contact York Brock, my Deputy Director. You can also contact him, although it’s a waste of time and money for you. But. That is your prerogative. Unless you find her an alibi, or unlikely evidence supporting the theory that your wife is merely a scapegoat, and that somebody else is the murderer, she will appear for a hearing in Judge Weyman’s court. I’m sending him a telegram to make sure he stops here.”
“You cannot pass,” Orchilo said from behind Jack.
Jack turned to see her standing in the doorway. Her cream-colored skirt contrasted with the darker, ecru-colored crocheted scarf that draped over her hips. Her blouse matched the overlay. What struck him as odd was the hooded cloak she wore, which was more of a brownish gray. Embroidered Celtic symbols decorated the edges of the hem and sleeves. Several golden studs rimmed the shells of her ears, earrings that were shaped in the same strange Celtic symbols. Bracelets jangled. She looked like some kind of formidable, magical, gypsy wizard.
“Madam,” Marshal Spivey said in a polite tone that contrasted with the pure menace darkening his features. “Move. Get out of my way.”
Jack didn’t like Spivey’s expression, or his mannerisms toward Orchilo. He started to intervene, but then Orchilo’s demeanor changed, becoming lighter, brighter, fiercer — as if lit by an inner light.
An energy emitted from her small frame as she stood her ground. “I am a servant of Ana Babd Macha, wielder of the four elements of Earth, Protector of the innocent and oppressed. You cannot pass! Dark forces that you use to pervert the law will not avail you, douser of Neach Lagha. Go back to the shadow. You shall not pass.”
In a theatrical manner — deep and foreboding — she made a sweeping, circling gesture with her arms to bring the staff high over her head. As she did, a bizarre flash lit the room at the same time she slammed down the walking stick. The strange-looking staff — with runes carved down the length of it — was another prop that Jack had never seen. Although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, rumbling thunder boomed in tandem with the pounding of the cane. Coincidence?
Surely it was. Doubt had him rubbing the back of his head. The fine hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck bristled as the air around them crackled with energy. Over the years he’d seen Orchilo perform feats that he couldn’t explain. Oh, he’d tried to come up with a viable explanation. But sometimes he had a feeling that magic was real, and that Orchilo really had unnatural powers. Not that he would ever admit to such a far-fetched notion — not to anybody. If not Orchilo, then Creed would scoff at him and spread the word that he was a superstitious idiot. He was pretty sure the whole town would never let him live it down if he ever asked Orchilo if she’d instigated some kind of magic to cause the thunder and lightning.
Spivey frowned, his jaw muscle flexing. “Move aside, Madam, or else you will be confined in the cell next to Mrs. MacKissick.”
“On what charges? Illegal abuse of my powers to cause it to rain?” As she said it, she brought the staff down hard and tapped the end of it on the wooden floor in a series of beats. Dark clouds rolled in and belched, then spit rain.
Again, was it coincidence? Jack wondered. Luther had a joint that ached whenever the clouds got heavy with rain. And his prediction for rain because of the pain in his knee was usually correct. Had Luther given her that prediction? Was that how she knew it was about to rain?
Although Spivey stepped forward in an obvious attempt to intimidate Orchilo by towering over her, his shoulders sagged and he seemed as fragile as a dandelion puff. His jaw quivered. “Do you take me for a fool? I will not be hoodwinked by a trickster Gypsy carney like you. Besides, a little rain won’t hurt me.”
“No, but lightning will,” Orchilo muttered as Spivey nudged her out of the way and walked out the doorway.
He stepped out into the street, headed for Thistle Do Nicely, where the telegraph office was. A loud pop split the air, and suddenly Spivey yelped. He jumped to the side as if avoiding something. Then he kept striding toward the general store. Another loud pop! and he cried out again, skittering like a beetle avoiding a human foot from squashing it.
“Mama?” Lala said in a hesitant tone. “Using firecrackers to make him think lightning is about to hit him won’t solve anything.”
“Maybe it will keep him from sticking his nose in our business.” Orchilo smirked. “And it will make me feel better to take down the arse. Besides, who said I’m using firecrackers?”
Jack smiled. Luther must be out there, throwing small firecrackers that the town had left over from the fourth of July.
Uma gripped the bars and pressed her face between them to look through the window and then at the supposed instigator. “Orchilo. You’re pretty clever with firecrackers, and I’m guessing you have help. Too, I like your so-called mind control.”
“Thank you. Controlling the mind and so-called weather is easy. It’s all about power of suggestion. That’s all I’m going to say.” As she spoke, she brought her arms to her sides and over her head in another grand gesture before pounding the staff against the floor. Another sizzle and pop rent the air.
Through the window, Jack saw Marshal Spivey as he shook his head and then headed once again toward the general store, this time in a sprint.
“The third time’s the charm,” Orchilo muttered with a circle of her arms, ending with another pounding of her stick.
Spivey shrieked, the pop of the firecracker uncomfortably close to his foot. Jack was sure the man’s boot leather smoked. The Marshal threw himself to the side, landing in a steaming pile of horse dung left recently next to the hitching post. The marshal’s string of curse words could be heard from across the street.
Lala made a disapproving sound. “Can’t you arrest him for foul language?”
“I can,” Jack replied with a shrug. “But it will only get him off of our backs for one day.”
Dripping with muck, Spivey finally changed directions, this time toward The Infernal Inn, which was the only hotel in town. With another shake of his head as he stared up at the sky, the Marshal entered the hotel and disappeared from sight as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door. Well. At least Orchilo had delayed the Marshal from contacting the circuit judge.
“Jack?” Uma said, her expression concerned. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve been thrown in jail, and I suspect it won’t be the last.”
He realized he’d been scowling and rubbing his temple again, a sure sign of stress. He gave her a wry smile. “And here I thought I would have to comfort you.”
“That sounds interesting. I’ll look forward to some comforting if you promise to give it to me tonight. Can you spend the night with me here? In jail?”
“Sheriff still means something in Cryptic Cove,” Jack mumbled, already planning to role-play. Something to do with a feisty outlaw and Sheriff.
“Lovemaking in jail should rile the Marshal,” Orchilo smirked. “Should be fun.”
Brows raised, Lala studied Uma. “You’ve been arrested before?”
“Of course,” Uma responded with a grin. “Surely that doesn’t surprise you.”
“What for?”
“Protesting. Child labor laws. The minting of coin. Oh, and I got thrown in jail overnight for protesting against the firing of Irish immigrant, Fionn O’Sullivan, who was a fine construction manager for the city. He was replaced by a member of Wendel family. Robert Wendell had no experience. The way immigrant
s are treated is abominable.” She sat on the cot and then swiveled her hips to lie upon the ticking. “This is quite comfortable. I’ll be fine.”
Jack’s heart twisted into a knot at the sight of her in that jail cell. As a child, she had been through so much. Once the foundling school had forgotten her during a field trip. She had been around four years of age. Older children had accosted her and she had fought them like a wild thing. Once the constables had found her, they were unable to calm the four-year-old, and so they’d had to lock her up in a jail cell until Madam Wigg could claim her. Uma hadn’t mentioned that lockup to Lala. That Uma was now putting on a brave face, acting as if being locked away was no big deal, made his breath hitch and his eyes to burn.
“Jack,” Uma said softly, bringing him out of his remorse. “I talked to Doc Elroy and then I went for a walk to mull over what he’d told me. I went back to his vardo and found him dead. His tongue stuck out of his mouth and he smelled like bitter almonds, so I think he was poisoned with cyanide. Ask Catalina, but I’m pretty sure the cyanide is what killed him. Although lots of morphine could have been the culprit as well.”
“Yes,” Jack replied, his tone slightly hoarse. “I’ll get Catalina to help me examine the body.”
“Oh, and he was shot. At least, I think so. There was a bloody bandage on top of his left shoulder.”
“Alright, I’ll look into it. Don’t worry, my love.”
She rolled over to her side and propped her head on one hand. “Just as long as you discover who’s the real killer. I don’t want to hang.”
“I will never allow it to come to that,” Jack vowed.
“You would break the law to save me?” The question came out as part wonder, part doubt.
“If need be.” Jack believed in the law as a whole. As long as he was in charge, he believed in himself, he qualified. However, as long as Marshal Spivey was in Cryptic Cove, mucking up the wheels of justice, Jack wasn’t so sure justice would be served.
She scowled, making Jack wonder if she truly believed him.