by Dallis Adams
“So they can jump on the bed?” Tawni asked. “At least, that’s what it sounds like they’re doing.”
“Tawni!” Uma’s face heated as she cringed at the thought of the little girl listening to her private moments with Jack.
Devlin bit his lower lip, looking confused. Then he scoffed, slapping his knee. “Yeah, right. Sheriff Jack released Creed so he could jump on the bed with his wife and kiss her. In private.”
Uma inwardly grinned. It was as if the lad sensed a husband and wife did more than simply jump on the bed. Devlin’s sensed the privacy was for intimacy, thus he added kissing to the explanation.
“Now pay attention.” Devlin pointed to another section of his drawing. “That is Ziggie in his cage. See the difference?”
With a squint, Tawni studied the jail bars. “I see no difference, other than the people’s cages are taller. And Sheriff Jack made Miss Uma’s cage more comfy for his wife. He’s good that way.”
“You’re quite right, Tawni,” Uma said. “Back to the Doc’s sidekick. Who is it?”
“I think Tawni means the Doc’s assistant,” Nelson replied. “His name is Cyril. He assists Doc Elroy with mixing medicines, or at least he used to until somebody offed his boss.”
“Yes,” Uma replied. “I met Cyril. When did Ziggie bite Cyril?”
Tawni wiggled on her rag rug. “Yesterday. After the Sidekick drove his vardo out to the line of trees to park next to Doc Elroy’s medicine vardo. He was watching you when you visited Doc.”
“Hmm.” Why would he spy on his boss? On her? Was he the one who killed Doc Elroy? If not, could he be her alibi? Or, better yet, did he see who did murder the doc? She would have to ask Jack to check Cyril out.
Tawni gave a big sigh. “You and Ziggie have a lot in common.”
Uma thought about the little five pound Yorkshire Terrier but couldn’t see the similarities. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you were both locked up for reasons that aren’t right.”
“But Ziggie bit somebody.”
Tawni frowned and picked at a cloth flower on her dress. “The sidekick was sneaking around our caravan, hiding on the other side of our vardo. Ziggie can’t talk. But he can bark, which he did. Right before he bit the Sidekick. Mama told the Sidekick that if she saw him sneaking around our caravan again that she would make him sorry. But she locked up Ziggie because the man threatened to feed Ziggie poisoned meat for biting him.
“It wasn’t Ziggie’s fault. Ziggie was only protecting us. And he didn’t break the Sidekick’s skin. But Mama is afraid Ziggie will get poisoned.” Tawni shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“I don’t get why Ziggie is the one locked up. The Sidekick should be locked up for threatening Ziggie.”
Again, Uma wondered why Cyril was slinking around caravan row. Was he trying to steal something? Or spying? “How close is your caravan to Doc Elroy’s caravan?”
Tawni shrugged. “It’s the closest one.”
Nelson glanced at Tawni and then gave Uma a nod. “Tawni’s right. Her vardo is about sixty yards from the Doc’s, which makes it the nearest one.”
“And can you tell me what time this was?”
“It was when I was practicing the triple fold. Tawni jumped up from her folded rug. “See?” She sat back down on the floor and bent backward in a seemingly impossible position, folding her tiny body.
Uma absently watched the little girl. But her mind was working furiously, trying to get a better picture of the time line. “Who was the Sidekick spying on?”
With a pointed look that clearly said pull your head out of the Pacific Ocean and listen, she replied, “You and Doc.”
“Cyril was? What were Doc Elroy and I doing?”
“Doc sat on a fold-up stool and you stood. Well, you weren’t really standing. You were pacing. The Sidekick was hiding on the other side of our vardo and he was trying to listen.”
“Interesting,” Uma muttered. “Did you see anybody else visit Doc Elroy after I left?”
“Yes,” Tawni replied as she uncoiled her body into another position, where she rested on her hips and thighs to arch her back, another odd maneuver. “I was practicing this — the full cobra — when a lady with a serape went into the Doc’s working caravan where he was inside.”
“A serape?”
“You know, those colorful shawls that are scratchy? With fringe on the ends? Like the ones Zada and her mother wears?” She turned to Zada. “Has your mama finished making one for me?”
Zada stared at her friend like a deer caught in the light of a lantern. “Not yet.”
“You mean you saw Miss Rosia?”
“Maybe. It was hard to tell.” She cocked her head. “Anyway I heard a loud pop and Doc yelled out. Then the lady ran back outside and dashed into the woods.” Tawni frowned as she stilled in one of her pretzel positions. “But she ran in the opposite direction from where Zada’s home is.”
Strange. Who could it have been? She would definitely talk over the clues with Jack.
“Miss Uma?”
“Yes, Zada?”
“I don’t want to talk about Doc Elroy anymore. When you read us a story, can I come in and sit on your lap like I usually do?”
“That depends on Marshal Spivey.” She glanced toward the man, who had propped up his scuffed and worn booted feet on the desktop. His hat was still covering his face. Even though he appeared to be sleeping, she had a distinct feeling he was faking. “Marshal?”
“No,” he growled.
Zada began to sniff. Which made Tawni sniff. Which made Zada’s shoulders tremble as she cried. Pretty soon both little girls were crying in earnest, no matter what Uma said to try to soothe them.
“I want Miss Uma!” Zada cried out.
“So do I,” Tawni yelled.
“For Pete’s sake,” Spivey grumbled and then rose to his feet. Pulling out the ring of keys, he stomped over to Uma’s cell and unlocked it. Then he motioned to the girls. “Get in there.”
The little ones didn’t hesitate. They both scrambled to their feet and crawled up into the chair Uma sat on, and settled on her lap.
Spivey closed the door and inserted the key, turning it until there was a click of the locking mechanism. The other keys clanked together with the motion. Then he sauntered over to his desk again, sat on the chair and propped his feet up.
“You’re locking us in?” Tawni asked, her voice trembling.
“Does that mean you think we killed Doc Elroy?” Zada added, her voice high.
“Are we all gonna hang by the neck until we’re dead?” This from Tawni.
“I’m too young to die! Besides, Sheriff Jack said I didn’t do it.” Zada grabbed on tight to Tawni’s hand.
“Me, neither. And neither did Miss Uma.” Tawni latched onto Uma’s arm.
Both girls burst out in tears.
Marshal Spivey had already sprung from his seat and scrambled over to unlock the cell. “Get out, youngsters. You aren’t in trouble.”
The girls wiggled down from Uma’s lap and scurried through the cell doorway. When Spivey swung the barred door closed, the girls glanced at Uma and then each other and wailed again.
“What’s wrong now?” Spivey asked, his tone exasperated.
“We want to sit on Miss Uma’s lap while she reads to us.”
“Make up your minds,” Spivey snarled. He once again opened the door and motioned the girls inside.
Nelson had been watching the shenanigans with a thoughtful expression. He whispered something to Rush, Devlin and Hughie, who all nodded. Rush got up from his sitting position on his rug and ran outside and down the boardwalk toward Caravan Row. Nelson stood and so did Devlin and Hughie. “We want to go inside, too.”
“I think you’re too big to sit on Miss Uma’s lap,” Spivey retorted with a sneer.
Devlin puffed out his scrawny, youthful chest. “The girls will feel better, safer with us locked up with them.”
&nb
sp; “Then we can all enjoy The Adventures of Tom Sawyer without a bunch of cry babies,” Hughie added.
Uma watched the students trudge back into her cell. The girls climbed up on her lap again. But the boys leaned over their slates, whispering and then writing.
Uma didn’t know what they were up to, but she decided to be patient and see for herself. Clearing her throat, she started reading chapter one. “‘Once upon a bye, there was a mischievous boy named Tom Sawyer, who was always getting into trouble, getting off on danger. Like that time when he conned all the boys in town to paint aunt Polly’s fence, while making a sizable profit.’”
Before she could read more, in marched Rush, with Orchilo and Lala following his footsteps. Lala held the newest colloidal gelatin-heated camera. From where she’d obtained it, Uma didn’t know.
“Alright, students,” Orchilo said. “Hold up your slates. And hold them steady. Uma. Girls. Look at the camera, not behind you. And appear frightened.”
Uma looked up, not understanding Orchilo’s command to appear frightened. But the girls did it, widening their eyes and cringing. So did the boys. After the camera flashed, Uma glanced behind her and read the slates.
U. S. Marshal brutality, was what Nelson’s slate had written on it. Teacher & students, were the words written on Devlin’s. Hughie’s slate said, Wrongly jailed.
After the flash was when Spivey decided he’d better get up from his reclining position behind his desk and see what was happening. When he’d obviously read the slates, he growled, and then glared at Orchilo and Lala. “What are you going to do with that?”
Orchilo cackled. Yes, cackled like a witch. “We’re going to send the photo to The San Francisco Chronicle. Let’s just see what your boss thinks about how well you handled an honorable teacher and her students.”
“No, you’re not.” Suddenly, Spivey grabbed for the camera. But Lala dodged him.
“Tell us what you are going to do for Uma and her class. And make it good,” Orchilo growled.
His shoulders sagged. “I’m taking the students out of Mrs. MacKissick’s cell.”
“And?” Orchilo waved the film at him.
Marshal Spivey looked as if he could kill with his glare. “And Mrs. MacKissick can hold class outside of her cell, as long as I’m her to supervise.”
Orchilo glanced at Lala and smiled. “Our work here is done.”
“At least for today,” Lala added.
Fifteen
“Is this your derringer?” Jack asked Rosia after she’d opened her front door and had invited him inside.
“No,” she answered. “Mine has a black leather grip. Why? Where did you find it?”
Jack stood in the tiny parlor. The Cruz’s had fashioned together two abandoned caravans to make up their home. They had taken off the wheels to make their abode stationary and level with the ground. “Zada had it. She claims she shot Doc Elroy.”
Rosia tilted her head, her forehead scrunched in obvious confusion. “But I thought Doc died of poisoning from his own medicines.”
“He was shot, too.”
Frowning, Rosia shook her head. “Zada didn’t shoot him. Why would she say that?”
“Because she obviously thinks you did. Or her father did. She’s trying to protect you.”
“That’s ridiculous. Thank goodness my pistola is locked up in my dresser. Aye caramba! She is in trouble now.”
Jack held onto his patience. But just barely. “Can you show me your derringer, please?”
“Of course.” She led him to a small dresser and pulled out a tiny key that hung from a chain around her neck. Then she unlocked the drawer and pulled out the gun.
Jack studied the derringer. It was older, and not as fancy as the pearl grip derringer that Zada had. He lifted Rosia’s gun to his nose and sniffed. An acrid scent lingered on the barrel. “The thing is, your derringer has been recently fired.” He opened the chamber. “And one of the bullets is missing.”
“Of course it is. I shot the gun on the same day the Doc was murdered. But I didn’t shoot at the Doc. I wasn’t even close to the Doc’s caravans. I shot at Orlando,” she announced, as if that was acceptable. “Come. I’ll show you where my bullet landed.” With her hand, she motioned for Jack to follow her.
“You did?” he asked, as he pointed his feet in her direction. “You shot at your husband?” Curious, he caught up to her.
She led him to the edge of the Redwoods. “And I obviously missed.” She indicated a bullet hole in a trunk the size of four men standing together shoulder to shoulder. “Are you going to arrest me for shooting a tree?”
“No, but I might arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
Arms crossed, she gave a harrumph. “You didn’t even know I shot the derringer until Zada opened her big mouth.”
“Rosia,” Jack said quietly. “You can’t blame Zada.”
“No?”
“No,” he emphasized in a firm tone. “You and Orlando are too fiery. You must take your emotions down a notch. It isn’t good for Zada for your emotions to take over your actions. She feels like she’s in danger, that something bad will happen because of your tempers. It isn’t healthy for her or for the two of you. What if you’d really hit Orlando with that bullet? Or shot somebody else walking in the woods? Or even shot Zada?” He shook his head. “I have a notion to lock you up. Maybe that will knock some sense into you.”
Rosia’s back remained stiff, her expression unyielding. “You can’t lock me up. I didn’t hurt anybody.”
“Wrong. You’ve hurt Zada.”
“She worries too much.”
“That’s the first thing we both agree upon,” Jack replied with a nod. “Look at what your actions have caused Zada to do. She loves you, and she loves her father. She would sacrifice herself to save the two of you from yourselves.”
Rosia blinked and bit her lower lip as she seemed to consider.
“She’s only seven years old and she acts like she’s fifty. You have forced way too much responsibility on her. She should be carefree, using her imagination by creating stories for her dolls, playing hide and seek, jumping rope and hopscotching, kicking the soccer ball with the other kids, learning how to play baseball. What she shouldn’t be doing is worrying about you and Orlando hurting each other and the fights that are caused by your wild, unchecked emotions.”
Rosia’s shoulders slumped. “So. Are you going to arrest me?”
“I should.” He considered it and all the ramifications. “But I won’t, because doing so would only upset Zada further. But going forward I want you to learn the consequences of your actions. Think about Zada. Think about how your fights with Orlando is affecting her. She is way too serious for a child of seven years old. If you and Orlando must argue, don’t do it in front of your daughter.”
“We won’t.”
He tilted his head, considering the whole situation, wishing Uma was with him. She understood people and their relationships much better than he did, especially when the problems involved children. What would Uma say about this situation? He would have to consult her. But he had learned from Uma in the five or so months that she had been living in Cryptic Cove, being a teacher. Uma would look at the family dynamics. She would consider the family times together and apart, and how those times were spent.
Rosia and Orlando worked too hard. Rosia designed costumes for Cojocaru performers. She was a seamstress for Cryptic Cove, not only making new clothes but mending old ones. And, when sewing jobs slackened, she worked part-time at Thistle Do Nicely general store, even operating the telegraph. Orlando worked long hours at Kincaid’s Copper Foundry. The couple barely had time to themselves. Maybe that was the problem.
“What I suggest you to do is create some quality time with Orlando. Have Zada spend the night with her best friend, Tawni every once in a while so the two of you can be alone as a married couple. I’m sure Thora wouldn’t mind.” Thora being Tawni’s mother. “That way you can have one-on-one time with Orlando. Make
that time is romantic. Special. Too, have family time with Zada. Show her how much you love her and how much you love Orlando. She needs those assurances. I will talk to your husband, too, to make sure he understands what he’s doing to Zada by arguing with you.” He paused to give her a stern look. “And for all of Cryptic Cove’s sake, tone down your arguments a few notches, even once you hide your quarrels from Zada. No weapons. No threats. If you need a mediator, send for me. Or for Orchilo. Or Lala. Somebody who can help you with your anger toward Orlando.”
“Alright. Sí. You’re right,” Rosia replied, her shoulders slumping. “Orlando and I will work on our tempers. Protect Zada from our outbursts. We will do what you say.” She straightened her posture. “And thank you for not arresting me.”
“Make sure I don’t regret giving you a break.” Jack left the Cruz family home, anxious to get back to Uma. He would tell her about his interactions with Rosia and have her follow up with him, once she was exonerated of killing Doc Elroy.
The murder was a mystery. Who would want to kill him? Who would want to frame Uma? The shooting and the murder was done by two people. He was certain of it. Because otherwise the whole ordeal didn’t make sense. Who would shoot Doc, then force copious amounts of medicine down his throat? If the shooter knew what they were doing, they would have realized they’d missed the heart and shoot him again; not put Doc in a choke-hold and cram enough morphine and cyanide down his gullet to finally kill him. Too messy, for one. And too unplanned. The poisoning was a direct result of Uma’s threat. For the killer to do that made it premeditated. Planning. No, his gut told him the shooting and the poisoning was done by two different people. No collusion, either, he didn’t think.
He still wasn’t certain that he could cross off Orlando from the list of suspects. The fact that Orlando tried to hit Doc Elroy for giving Rosia a risqué treatment for so-called feminine hysteria did not look good for Orlando. And Jack often wondered if she purposely drove Orlando toward jealousy. As if she needed to test him to validate whether or not he still loved her. Jealousy did not imply love, at least, not in Jack’s mind. He thought of Uma. She was fiery but not in a manipulative way.