“See these marks? My first judgment would be that she was strangled.” He picked up a magnifying glass from his bag and waved it over her neck. “No finger bruises though. The abrasion scar doesn’t look like a rope either. The skin seems cut and prickled in a very specific pattern. Perhaps some kind of barbed wire?”
Tiberius borrowed the doctor’s magnifying glass and analyzed the red trace on Lucy’s skin: five similar marks, followed by a longer one with sharper edges, followed by three dots.
Tiberius felt his guts twisting. “Or the chain of a pocket watch.”
“If it was sturdy enough, sure. Why?”
Tiberius clapped Doc Tucker’s back. “Thanks, Doc. I’ve got to go.”
“Go where? What’s going on, Tiberius?”
“Later. Can you take care of the rest?”
“I’ll ask Jesse to help me move her to my practice. I can do further studies there.”
“Thank you. And please—”
“Don’t worry, Tiberius. No one will find out about Lucy just yet.” Doc Tucker sighed. “But let me tell you, I don’t fully understand your obsession with secrecy.”
“This town’s already on the verge of falling apart. I’m afraid anything could tip the scales.”
Doc Tucker looked Tiberius in the eye. “Souls Well isn’t on the verge of anything, Tiberius. It fell to pieces months ago.”
Tiberius saw a couple of stray snowflakes floating outside Lucy’s window. He felt a sudden chill.
“Doc… About Jonathan… We’ll find him,” Tiberius said, both as a promise and as an apology.
Doc Tucker stood up and patted Tiberius’ hand. His eyes showed so much pain that it was hard to hold his gaze.
“I know.” Doc Tucker smiled faintly.
Tiberius walked down the creaky staircase, Obadiah Whitlock’s face stuck in his mind. He wouldn’t be the first or last gentleman to get rid of his mistress to stay out of trouble. Tiberius needed to get Obadiah’s pocket watch back. If its chain matched the marks on Lucy’s neck, the silver mogul would have a lot of explaining to do.
Downstairs, someone was banging on the saloon’s locked double doors, demanding to get in. Jesse Valentine’s eyes moved from Tiberius to the entrance, confused, helpless.
“Listen, Jesse. No one gets in or out until Lucy is at Doc Tucker’s. He’ll need your help to move her there.”
Jesse shuddered, then nodded.
Tiberius put his hand on the doorknob. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll take care of whoever’s outside.”
The young man on the street stopped his loud knocking and shouting as soon as he saw Tiberius coming out of the building. It was Clinton Eadds.
“What the hell’s this racket about? Are you an animal?” Tiberius asked harshly.
“I need to deliver a letter,” Clinton replied.
“Come back in a couple of hours.”
“Please, Sheriff. It’s very important.”
Tiberius noticed Clinton’s left leg twisted in a strange angle. He also leaned on one of his crutches.
“What happened? Weren’t you bouncing like a monkey just last night?”
Clinton looked down, then past Tiberius. “Special delivery! Open up, please!” he shouted.
“Special delivery for whom?”
Clinton glanced at Tiberius nervously, then away.
“You can give it to me, kid.” Tiberius said in a friendlier tone.
Clinton placed his hand on the flap of his satchel, as if protecting it from prying eyes.
“Sorry, Sheriff. I can’t. I promised.”
“What do you mean, Eadds?”
Clinton stared at Tiberius with pleading eyes. “Please Sheriff, I need to deliver this letter.”
Tiberius crossed his arms and stood in front of the door. “Either give it to me now, or come back later.”
Clinton opened his satchel, then took a letter out. He looked at it, then at Tiberius, unsure. Finally, Clinton put the letter in his pocket and limped down the street without saying goodbye. His steps were insecure and weak, like his legs couldn’t support his weight. Two crutches, then none, now back to one. What kind of tincture had Maxwell Donahue given him?
“This whole town’s going insane,” Tiberius said to the empty street.
XII
Tiberius would’ve happily traded places with anyone in town that morning. If Obadiah Whitlock had murdered Lucy, Sarah Anne would be devastated and she’d carry her father’s sins in the eyes of her unforgiving neighbors. How would he protect her from that? How could she ever love the man who sent her father to the gallows? Sarah Anne could always leave Souls Well, move to a bigger town where nobody knew who she or her father were, but Tiberius would lose her forever. That would be the price of justice.
Tiberius carried this somber thought as he bumped into a long line of people that crossed the town square all the way from its southern edge to the little wooden gazebo that decorated its center.
Miss Susannah Chipman and her ancient mother Ethel were last in line. Tiberius greeted them with a polite tap on his hat.
“Mornin’, ladies. What’s going on here?”
“Why Sheriff! Haven’t you heard?” Miss Chipman always acted shocked when someone was unaware of the latest news.
“Afraid not.”
“The miracle, of course!”
Of course.
“Miracle, huh?”
“Yes, yes. Clinton Eadds was at the saloon last night. Dancing, no less! His legs were cured! Can you believe it? I certainly couldn’t the first time I heard about it. I wouldn’t have bet a nickel on that new salesman, but he proved us all wrong.” Miss Chipman’s pitch grew squeakier as she got more excited about her story.
Tiberius scratched his chin. “I saw the kid dancing with my own two eyes. I’m not sure about the miracle part, though. See, this morning—”
The line moved slightly forward and Miss Chipman promptly helped her mother walk a bit farther. Old Mrs. Chipman should be resting in a rocking chair close to the fireplace, not standing out in the morning cold.
Tiberius looked past the line and saw Maxwell Donahue. He sold his goods from the gazebo, triumphant. Maxwell smiled and shook hands as he handed his tonics.
“You see, Sheriff,” Miss Chipman continued. “I’m healthy as a bull—I inherited my father’s strong constitution–but my poor mother… Her bones are always aching. It was so lucky Mr. Donahue passed by our town.”
As lucky as a bullet straight between the eyes.
Tiberius bid the Chipman ladies good day and approached the gazebo where Donahue had set up his improvised store.
Tiberius rested his arms on the balustrade. “Do you have anything for memory, Donahue?”
“I certainly do. But you’ll have to wait for your turn. No line cutting, Sheriff.”
“Not for me, for you. Didn’t I send you packing yesterday?”
“I’m just responding to the people’s needs.”
Tiberius chuckled, then looked Maxwell straight in the eye. “Get out.”
No witty remark from Maxwell followed, and the salesman put his little bottles and vials away.
“What’s going on, Doctor?” shouted a man from farther down the line.
Doctor? Tiberius clenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry, my good people. Sheriff Tibbetts doesn’t approve of my tradesmanship. Sale’s over.”
The crowd grumbled and complained. Tiberius stepped onto the gazebo and pushed Donahue aside.
“Listen. All of this—" Tiberius kicked one of Donahue’s boxes and the bottles inside clinked, “—is balderdash. Be smart and save your scuds.”
Some people walked away, but the majority stood right where they were.
“I know it’s been rough out here since the mine collapsed, for all of us. But miracle tonics are not the answer. If you’re feeling sick, remember we already have a caring doctor in town.”
“Tucker’s a drunk!” a frowzy, bearded man shouted. “I trust Mister Donahue a hund
red times more!”
Tiberius had seen that same man the night before, drinking at Donahue’s table.
“How many drinks did that one cost you?” Tiberius whispered to Maxwell.
Maxwell smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tiberius addressed the crowd in a last attempt to appeal to their better judgment. “I’m here to make sure Souls Well is a safe place, and that no one takes advantage of us.”
Tiberius emphasized the words safe and take advantage. That caused some restlessness among the crowd, but it still didn’t disperse.
“But Sheriff, what about Clinton Eadds?” Tiberius recognized Ms. Chipman’s pitchy voice. “Many people saw him dancing yesterday. Even yourself, isn’t that right? We all saw him drink the tonic. And, hours later, he was cured.”
Murmuring. Nods of approval.
“I saw Clinton yesterday, yes. And this morning. Let me tell you, he wasn’t as jolly today. Go find him if you want to see for yourselves.”
The murmurs continued.
“Are you done, Sheriff?” Maxwell asked, curtly. “I need to attend to my costumers.
“Don’t be difficult, Donahue. Just pack your boxes and leave.”
Miss Chipman walked all the way to the front and crossed her arms under her broad chest. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I must protest. I understand you mean well, but I trust this man.” She looked at Maxwell with dreamy eyes. Donahue bowed his head and she blushed. “It’snot a crime to buy whatever we want if the transaction is honest, is it?”
The remaining people went back to their places in line. Tiberius read the determination on his neighbors’ faces. They weren’t going anywhere until all of them possessed a bottle of Maxwell Donahue’s miracle cure. They’d all regret it later and would claim Tiberius did nothing to warn them. But right now, the battle was lost.
“Alright then. Knock yourselves out.” Tiberius jumped down off the gazebo.
He crossed the square towards Whitlock Manor. He resented Miss Chipman and the rest of the people who had so willingly ignored his advice. But he couldn’t blame them. Everyone in Souls Well was tired of so much death and pain. Maxwell Donahue had brought them something they could believe in: hope in a bottle.
Tiberius knocked politely on the manor’s door. When no answer came, he gave the door two furious blows, convinced that Obadiah Whitlock was hiding from him. Finally, Sarah Anne appeared at the doorstep.
“Do you want to knock the whole house down?” she asked, her hazel eyes wide=.
“I need to see your father, Sarah Anne.”
“He’s not home.”
She let Tiberius in. He waited until she closed the door.
“Don’t lie to me, Sarah,” he said.
“Lie to you? What do you mean? I haven’t seen my father since last night.”
Tiberius crossed the hallway and followed the corridor to Obadiah’s study. He entered without knocking first. The room looked even gloomier with no people and no fire burning in the hearth.
Tiberius rummaged through the papers on Whitlock’s desk and opened its drawers.
“Have you lost your mind?” Sarah Anne pushed him into a corner of the room.
“Where’s your father watch?”
“What do you want his watch for? What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to him. That’s all.”
“About the mine?”
Sarah Anne’s reply caught Tiberius by surprise. “What about it?” he asked.
“You know, what happened at the miners’ vigil.” Her voice broke a little.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re in no danger. I bet everyone’s already forgotten all about it.”
Sarah Anne became suddenly grim. “So, why are you here?”
Tiberius paced around the room. He stared at Obadiah Whitlock’s stern portrait above the ashy fireplace.
“Lucy Mills is dead.”
Sarah Anne stumbled to a small chair, her face grave and waxy.
“You know why I want to see your father, don’t you Sarah?”
“Of course, I do. This is a small town. People talk and I’m not deaf.”
“Rumors or not, having a mistress isn’t a crime. Murder on the other hand—”
“My father would never.”
“Maybe so, but he might be the last person who saw Lucy alive.”
Sarah Anne took a pristine handkerchief from the neckline of her flowery dress and dried her teary eyes.
“He’s not here, Tiberius. I don’t know where he is.”
“What about your mother?”
“You can ask her yourself.”
Sarah Anne dried her eyes once more, stood and straightened her dress. She took Tiberius back to the hallway, then down a narrower corridor , its walls full of yellowed watercolors. She knocked softly on an ajar door.
“Mother? Sheriff Tibbetts is here to see you.”
“Come in, Sheriff,” Mrs. Whitlock answered after a few seconds.
“Tiberius,” Sarah whispered without turning her head. “Please don’t tell my mother anything about Lucy.”
Sarah Anne’s scent stayed in the corridor after she left: fresh apples, cinnamon and an innocent, seductive femininity.
XIII
Tiberius entered Mrs. Whitlock’s chamber and instantly noticed the extravagant furnishings. Everywhere he looked he saw polished wood, velvet pillows, or heavy drapes. Every surface was decorated with a porcelain figurine, an ornate table clock, or some other trinket. The room looked like an exotic bazaar.
Mrs. Whitlock was sitting in front of her mirrored vanity, pampering herself with all sorts of cosmetics that were neatly displayed on the marble surface. She was too distracted with her reflection to notice Tiberius waiting by the door.
“Mrs. Whitlock?”
She didn’t turn but moved her eyes to Tiberius’ duplicate in the corner of her big mirror. “Good day, Sheriff Tibbetts. Please, have a seat.”
Tiberius tried to sit on a long chair, but the ridiculous number of pillows on top made it impossible. Mrs. Whitlock hummed a happy tune and smiled to her mirror image, no trace of the woefulness Tiberius had seen just one day before.
“How can I help you, Sheriff?”
“May I ask you—”
Tiberius glimpsed a familiar glass vial on Mrs. Whitlock’s hand. It had a beautiful, twirling shape. Its content glimmered and changed from a dark crimson to a bright red, like a blazing fire. There was a whole collection of shining bottles of different colors and sizes on Mrs. Whitlock’s vanity.
“Were you at the square this morning, Mrs. Whitlock?”
“I haven’t left the house. You know, my nerves.” She giggled. “Why do you ask, Sheriff?”
“Your tonics. They look like Maxwell Donahue’s.”
“Who? I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with such a gentleman. I got these from a young squaw.”
Tiberius frowned. “Mountain Iris?”
“Is that her name? How enchanting! She paid us a visit yesterday evening. I’m always skeptical about traveling salesmen, but she was different, engaging. Look at me! I bought half of her stock.”
Mrs. Whitlock’s breathy titter made Tiberius uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t have trusted her.”
“Oh, you sound just like Obadiah!”
It seemed Mountain Iris had left Maxwell hunting for rabbits in the streets, while she aimed straight for the deer. If she had the same sweet tongue as her partner—and considering how easy it had been to appeal to Mrs. Whitlock’s hypochondria, knocking on the wealthy family’s door could’ve easily doubled their profits. Tiberius had assumed Mountain Iris was just Donahue’s beautiful bait, eye candy to sweeten his deals, but she could be more trouble than he’d anticipated.
Mrs. Whitlock turned her face to Tiberius. She looked so young, full of life and determination. The meek, gray creature Tiberius had always met behind her husband’s shadow had vanished.
“Don’t I look pretty?” she asked coquettishly.
“Very much like your daughter.”
Mrs. Whitlock left her vanity and swayed around the room in her silk dress. Tiberius found himself admiring her figure and looked away.
“Sarah Anne’s very beautiful. You have an exquisite taste, Sheriff.”
Tiberius froze. Mrs. Whitlock laughed again.
“Sarah didn’t say a word but she didn’t have to. A mother always knows. I’ll keep your little secret. I understand young love.” Mrs. Whitlock stopped her humming and swaying and reclined on her long chair in a dramatic pose.
“When I met Obadiah I was so young, so spirited. We both were. And what a dashing man he was. Intelligent and strong willed too. You might not believe it, but I had many suitors back in my day. Most of them richer and with better prospects than Obadiah, but my heart settled on him. That was that.”
Tiberius had no interest in the Whitlock’s family history, but Mrs. Whitlock was lost in her reverie.
“My family never liked him. They thought he wasn’t good enough. But Obadiah was ambitious and entered the mining business. He traveled to places nobody else would, looking for gold. When that didn’t work out, he searched for silver instead. That’s how we ended up here. It all seems an eternity away, now. Time doesn’t move as fast in Souls Well, does it?”
“Now that you mention the mine—”
“Oh, that silly mine!” exclaimed Mrs. Whitlock in a sudden outburst. “That’s the only thing people care about around this house. Well, the mine’s gone. So, what now? Are we all going to sit still and die?”
Mrs. Whitlock walked back to her vanity, ignoring Tiberius’ puzzled face, and busied herself with re-arranging her bottles.
“Do you know where your husband is, Mrs. Whitlock?”
“Isn’t he downstairs?”
“No, and Sarah Anne told me she hasn’t seen him since yesterday evening.”
“Well, then I guess he’s doing business somewhere.”
“You haven’t noticed his absence at all?”
Mrs. Whitlock gave the mirror a sad smile. “Obadiah has never been around much, Sheriff. After all these years, one grows accustomed to respecting his privacy.”
“Maybe he went to the old silver mine?”
Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1) Page 6