Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  She swallowed, indecision waffling through her. She honestly didn’t know what to say. Thief or not, he was their best chance to find Rosa and Alex.

  Zane stood, his expression staying firm as he walked back to the small stove. He donned his Stetson and gloves, strode over to the bundle that was Daniel’s clothes and scooped it up. After opening the door, he turned. “Good night, Miss Smith. Rachel. I will return before noon to see how the boy is.”

  Rachel stood. “What about that note pinned to Daniel? What does it say?”

  Zane battled the irritation rising in him. “It says it’s evidence.”

  * * *

  Outside, after bidding the footman a curt good-night as he strode out the front door, Zane tugged his collar up to battle back the cold wind. Should he have told Rachel his side of the story? He had not a single shred of evidence to prove his innocence except his word that he hadn’t taken the money he’d been accused of stealing. But the “evidence” against him was piled up like that solid rock structure called Castle Rock.

  He couldn’t prove his innocence, so he would say nothing, even to the mayor who would no doubt confront him in the morning. It was better that way. Rachel and the mayor would keep him at a distance and thus remind him that he couldn’t trust them, either. He already had his suspicions about Rachel and the missing money, and who knew how crooked the sheriff’s office was with the mayor’s son as deputy?

  Zane quickened his pace away from the Smith mansion. Was the missing money connected to Alex’s disappearance? Had Alex found out something incriminating about the Wilsons? Or the sheriff’s office? Or was it related to that missing woman, Rosa?

  Slipping his hand up to his coat’s breast pocket, Zane reassured himself that the note attached to Daniel was still there. He would read it as soon as he could, but out in the cold, dark night wasn’t the time, not while he was still stinging from the discovery of that telegram.

  Which left his thoughts to wander back to Rachel. For a woman with biting wit and suspicions of theft twirling around her, she certainly knew how to garner sympathy. She’d taken a ragamuffin child into her home, one filthy and sick with who knew what disease, and seemed prepared for him to stay as long as necessary. Remembering how she’d pulled Daniel in close to her at the suggestion that he be returned to his home, Zane could see she had a compassionate heart as easily as he could see that she had done this without forethought or devious planning on her part.

  But he’d caught her stealing.

  Although, he hated to admit, her reasons for doing so were logical. She didn’t want to be the sole target of the investigation, nor did she believe Deputy Wilson was a capable investigator.

  Zane had his doubts, too. He’d met the man. He was barely twenty and too inexperienced to do a proper investigation. Zane had managed quite easily to convince him that he was Alex, the boy not even noticing the whiteness of Zane’s jaw after so many months wearing a beard.

  Gripping Daniel’s clothes closer to him, Zane stomped across the barren street toward his brother’s rooming house. Within a few minutes, in Alex’s room, he’d set down the bundle and was stirring the barely glowing embers in the stove to coax out some warmth. Alex’s lantern needed fuel, but he’d risk running out of it in order to study the note Daniel had delivered.

  It was a postcard of Castle Rock, that ugly chimney-like rock that jutted above the town with the same name. The picture was a softly colored print in which the artist had made the town seem serene and idyllic. Zane had not been there, but with all the mines around, he doubted that a mountain like Castle Rock would look so romantic.

  Fingering the card, he frowned. Why that town and not a postcard of Proud Bend? Did that mean the kidnapper had kept them in Castle Rock? Surely the boy hadn’t been dragged for miles in the cold?

  Zane flipped the card over, smoothing it again and, with his fingernail, pressing out the puncture marks made by the pin. On an afterthought, he rose and pulled the pin from the coat pocket. It was a brass-and-steel safety pin, weathered and old. It offered no clues, being too common. Every household would have some.

  Returning to the card, Zane peered down at it. Thankfully, the words on the back held more promise. His heart pounded in his throat as he read the words.

  Mizz Smith,

  you want Rosa and sheriff back, you leave $2,000 at wite horse bluf. box at top. saturday nite at 10. you only. then I let them go.

  He sat back, rubbing his jaw. Rachel again, this time mentioned in a ransom note. Whoever had dropped Daniel off had known that Rachel would be at the cribs, but that didn’t seem to be a secret.

  Zane lifted his head and stared unseeingly out the window. What drove Rachel to this work? How could the town—how could Alex—allow her to walk into such a dangerous situation each and every night?

  He yawned. Tomorrow evening was the time of the drop-off and in the light of day, he’d see the case more clearly—and Miss Rachel Smith, as well.

  In the morning, he’d remember that he wasn’t going to be here long enough to form friendships. He was only here to find his brother. He couldn’t prove his innocence back in Canaan, but maybe he could do some good here, like finding Alex.

  Maybe? There was no maybe. He would find Alex and that was all there was to it.

  Suddenly, that burden felt like two bricks on his shoulders, and fatigue stole his concentration. He added only one small log to the fire and it caught immediately, tossing out enough light for Zane to prepare for bed.

  His sleep was surprisingly restful for being so short. It was early dawn, but this late in the year that meant around seven o’clock. Not one to sleep in, Zane threw off the blankets and, after stirring the fire to life again, he quickly prepared for the day. Mrs. Shrankhof would have breakfast ready for all the lodgers shortly. If Zane hurried, he’d have time to do a bit of work before she rang the bell to call them to the kitchen table.

  At the desk, he carefully spread out Daniel’s clothes, taking advantage of the new sunlight that streamed in the window. He sniffed them. They smelled of old grease, cheap perfume and something he couldn’t identify. Plus, they were stained beyond repair. Zane felt regret bite into him for suggesting that the child return to his home. It was clearly unsuitable for any toddler.

  The jacket appeared to carry the most clues. The front of it was soiled with the dust and dirt that one expected a small child to have after wearing the clothes for far too long. But the back was more interesting. An unusually shiny dust was smeared across the upper portion of it, where the shoulder blades might sit.

  Zane retrieved his razor and a sheet of writing paper. After slipping the paper under the jacket, he carefully shaved the dust from the material. When a small pile of it accumulated, he examined it at an angle, squinting in the morning sunshine that hit his face. The dust looked pale, almost a pinkish beige. It twinkled like those shiny rocks every child coveted. He folded the paper into a makeshift envelope, like those used for single doses of a pain powder.

  Zane tucked away the envelope into the back of the desk’s top drawer. He wasn’t sure what it might tell him, but it proved that Daniel had recently leaned against something dry and dusty enough to transfer to his jacket. Yet, the clothes were damp. A curious mix. Once Zane discovered the reasons, he’d know where to start looking for the child’s mother—and hopefully find his brother with her.

  He checked the pants next, finding the same material on the seat and a small metal cube in one pocket. Turning it over in his palm, he noticed it bore the letter A on one side. A dull metal, stained with black and scratched on the adjacent surfaces, it looked like a child’s building block. He doubted Daniel would ever be educated formally, but there were plenty of quality toys out there designed to teach children. Had someone cared enough to give Daniel an educational toy? Was it Rachel?

  After tucking the block in the drawer, Zane c
arefully bundled up the clothes again and set them to one side. He then retrieved the card that had been pinned to Daniel’s dirty jacket. At the desk, he smoothed it out.

  Interesting. Yes, he was sure this was identical to the card that had Rachel’s name scrawled on it, but that card was in his desk at the sheriff’s office.

  The breakfast bell rang, reminding Zane that none of his questions could be answered right now.

  He flipped over the note. The words were poorly written, but that wasn’t a surprise or even a clue, either. Most in town would have only the most rudimentary education. If it was someone who could read and write more proficiently, they could have altered their style on purpose.

  One thing was certain. Rachel would not be going to White Horse Bluff tonight, and no money would leave this town.

  He would go and confront the kidnapper. He would find Alex and then move on with his life, such as it was.

  Chapter Eight

  “That’s the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard,” Rachel announced a few hours later. It was nearly ten, the grandfather clock in the main hall having just struck the three-quarter hour. She’d arisen early, a rare thing considering how late she usually stayed out, but with both Daniel and Zane on her mind, she couldn’t stay abed.

  After seeing Daniel fed and changed into a set of clean clothes, Rachel had left him to rest in the nursery in the care of her maid. The boy was still lethargic and had promptly dropped back off to sleep after what was probably too big a breakfast for his size and habits.

  “You can’t simply make demands of a kidnapper. They have Alex and Rosa!” She stood in the morning room, several feet from Zane, holding the ransom note and gaping at him. “The logical thing is to pay the money. Don’t you want your brother returned safely?”

  “I didn’t come here to argue, Rachel. This was a courtesy call,” he gritted out, deliberately using her Christian name. “You will do as I say.”

  Rankled, Rachel reread the note. “Don’t you think they are going to notice that it’s you and not me delivering the money?”

  “There won’t be any money delivered tonight. As I just told you, I’m going to leave a note demanding that they prove that Alex and Rosa are still alive.”

  “How are they going to do that?” She swallowed, resisting the urge to bite her lip. Please, Lord, keep them alive. “Do you believe they aren’t?”

  “I don’t know one way or the other. On the one hand, the kidnapper—or kidnappers, as I suspect there must be more than one—would know they need us to believe that Alex and Rosa are alive if they want the money. On the other hand, they have already returned Daniel.”

  “All that tells you is that they needed me to receive the note, and they didn’t want to deal with a small, sick child.”

  Zane took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a gentle burr. “We have to face facts, Rachel. If Rosa is dead, the kidnappers wouldn’t want the burden of caring for her child. And if Rosa is dead, we can probably say that Alex is, also, since my brother would never stand by and let a woman be harmed without trying to interfere. If that’s the case, it would be logical to give Daniel up by having him deliver the ransom note, hoping we will think that Rosa and Alex are also alive. Whoever it is knows you will take the risk and pay.”

  Rachel blinked rapidly, feeling the swell of tears sting her eyes and cause her throat to close. “How can you think like that? Alex is your brother! Your twin!”

  “I’m not going to do him any good if I give in to fear, Rachel. I’ll deliver a note that states you want proof that both are alive, and that you need time to get the money.”

  “I only need an hour.”

  Zane’s lips tightened and Rachel could hear his sharp intake of breath. She cocked her head. Why would that bother him?

  Although the paperwork had yet to be finalized, Mother now owned the bank, fully and outright thanks to a clause that stated that should Clyde die without issue, his share would revert to her father or his heir. Mother was allowed to inherit her husband’s business. She didn’t have much of a business head on her shoulders, but the manager was competent and trustworthy, so since Father had passed, the manager had taken over the day-to-day running of the bank, reporting weekly and explaining everything patiently to Mother. Of course, Rachel would be able to access the money left specifically for her by her father, so why should Zane appear disapproving? Her inheritance was a tidy sum—and surprising considering her Father had cut her allowance off when she’d refused to marry Clyde.

  “I can get my hands on two thousand dollars quickly enough.” She had just over twice that in her private account.

  “You’re not to take out a single cent. You don’t need to ruin a perfectly good business by draining its revenue in one withdrawal.”

  Rachel frowned. She opened her mouth to correct him, but Zane held up his hand. “I’m the sheriff, not you. I know how to deal with criminals.”

  She arched her brows. “And I, after ministering to those women for years, having been assaulted and left for dead, don’t know anything about criminals?”

  Folding his arms, Zane’s expression turned cold. She’d struck a nerve, although how she wasn’t sure. “That’s an investigation that I plan to reopen,” he muttered. “Where is the women’s money, Rachel?”

  She stepped back. “How would I know? I was robbed and beaten.”

  “I gave this some thought on my way over. The man who was supposed to have been protecting you that night has disappeared.”

  “No, he left town. He moved on.”

  “Why?”

  “Our pastor said he wasn’t the same after the attack. The emotional toll on him was too great, so he moved south. He found work in Texas, I hear.”

  “Convenient.”

  She gasped. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

  “The money was never found, and I have learned that your father wasn’t the most generous man in town.”

  “That was no secret.”

  “And he had at one time expected you to marry Clyde Abernathy.”

  “Yes, but I refused. Who told you that?” Although Alex had known, he had assured Rachel it would remain in confidence. He wouldn’t have told anyone. Perhaps one of the servants had spoken out of turn. Regardless, Zane couldn’t have learned that tidbit from one of them so soon.

  She then nodded to herself. Mrs. Shrankhof. The woman was like a bloodhound with a good bit of gossip. Rachel’s shoulders sagged. She’d had a small inheritance from her grandparents, but the bulk of her spending money had always come from Father. When he’d withheld it as punishment for refusing Clyde’s proposal, he’d hoped that his daughter was as shallow as his wife and would give in. All this to keep the bank fully in the family.

  But Rachel had continued to refuse to marry Clyde and, over the subsequent years, she’d drained her savings to provide for her ministry.

  “Your father withheld your allowance, didn’t he?”

  “So you believe that I staged the assault to pad my own meager savings.”

  “Did you? You would have been around twenty. Old enough to marry and certainly old enough to plot out a theft.”

  She folded her arms. “Tell me, then. What do I spend the majority of the money on?”

  “Clothing?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Mother’s allowance has always been sufficient for that. She’s always insisted I look my best, and since I don’t care about clothes, she buys them for me.” She sighed. “If you must know, I spend my own money on my ministry. So why would I rob those women, only to give it back to them?”

  “I saw your basket, Rachel. It held supplies needed to provide for them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Would those women spend their money in such wise ways?”

  So he thought she might hav
e stolen from them to use the money to help them? That was a good point and Rachel couldn’t argue with it. Still, the accusation hung in the air between them. Even if she’d chosen to use the money virtuously, stealing it and lying to the women would still be wicked and cruel. Why on earth would he even consider that she’d robbed those women?

  Because that was where his own thoughts went? She recalled the telegram Mayor Wilson had sent over. Perhaps Zane’s thoughts went straight to thievery because he was a thief himself.

  The thought cut into her surprisingly deeply. She needed to talk to the mayor as soon as possible, if only to find out what he planned to do. Bristling, she straightened. “Well, since you have me figured out, I guess there is no reason for me to try to explain my actions.”

  At her words, he stilled. His only movement that Rachel could see was a slight bob of his Adam’s apple. Then he worked his jaw.

  She shrugged. “I can’t prove anything, anyway. The attack happened five years ago. The only other witness left town. No one’s searching for that money anymore, not even the women after half of them got their money back.”

  “Half?”

  “Liza had earned enough in one night to return Annie’s life savings, along with one other woman’s.”

  Zane’s brows shot up. “Are you telling me a soiled dove found it in her heart to pay back what was stolen?”

  “Just fifty percent.”

  “And you didn’t find that suspicious?”

  Rachel swallowed. She had. “Liza believed she knew who’d assaulted me and planned to seek him out to convince him to return the money.”

  “You didn’t try to stop her?”

  “Of course I did. I told her to go to the sheriff, but Liza didn’t trust him and I didn’t want her to start mistrusting me by going behind her back. Instead, I tried to convince her to reconsider her plan. The next night, Liza was dead, murdered, I believe, by the man she’d said she was meeting. Whoever killed her was also the one who’d assaulted me. I’m sure of it.