Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  Wyseman looked resigned. “I expect you did. Even from the parsonage, I could hear the saloon. They often wake me on Friday and Saturday nights. There wasn’t any trouble, I hope?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Zane paused, still waiting for the man to say something, anything about his true identity. Rachel had guessed he wasn’t Alex, and she hardly knew his brother, or so she claimed. Although, Zane had had a full beard then.

  Automatically, Zane’s hand lifted to his cheek, thankful he’d been up early enough, despite being late retiring, to give himself a close shave. Wyseman’s frown deepened.

  “Is there something wrong, sir?” he asked the pastor.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “I was about to ask you the same thing, but I’m not sure who I am addressing. You’re not Sheriff Robinson, are you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Alex Robinson is thinner, albeit only slightly, and you have deeper frown lines. Your cheeks are paler, which tells me you’ve recently shaved off a beard, one Sheriff Robinson did not have. His cheeks are ruddy. He likes the outdoors.”

  Zane lifted his brows. Impressive. Not too many people would have noticed minor details like that. “You’re quite observant. Have you considered a career in law enforcement, Pastor?”

  Wyseman smiled. “I have one. The law of God. So, who are you?”

  “I’m Zane Robinson, your sheriff’s twin brother.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you the older or the younger twin? You can’t both have been born at the same time.”

  “I’m the younger.”

  Wyseman looked surprised. Then again, people always did. Alex had been the easygoing one, pleasant in tone and temperament. Even after his wife passed away, Alex had managed to push aside his grief and keep the more genteel personality. Zane had become more serious, better suited to be the older son. No one but their parents knew it was Zane who’d misspent his youth by rebelling against authority, a trait often connected with younger sons.

  What did it matter? It had been only minutes that separated their births and could hardly define a personality. Zane pinned the minister with a hard look. “I need to talk to you, Pastor.”

  “Indeed.” Wyseman studied Zane, who waited with decreasing patience for the inspection to end. “When did this switch happen?”

  “Thursday morning, after I arrived by train. Alex was already missing. I was, shall we say, met by Miss Rachel Smith, as well as the mayor.”

  “Not at the train depot, I imagine. That would be too obvious. Did your brother’s disappearance bring you here?”

  “Deputy Wilson telegraphed me to ask if I had seen Alex after he went missing,” Zane said. “I left as soon as I received his telegram. Deputy Wilson does not know who I really am, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I went straight to my brother’s room, where I met Rachel and the mayor.”

  “A curious place to meet.”

  “It’s a long story that involves Mrs. Shrankhof.”

  Wyseman laughed. “There isn’t too much in Proud Bend that doesn’t involve her in some way. She runs the largest boardinghouse.”

  “Rachel and the mayor suggested I assume my brother’s identity so that I can continue the investigation into Rosa’s and Alex’s disappearances.”

  “Yes. I can see Mayor Wilson suggesting that,” Wyseman answered drily. “Next year is an election year and he wouldn’t want anyone to know the sheriff he endorsed has vanished. The mayor prides himself at being in full control of this town.”

  “While one soiled dove is murdered and her daughter, five years later, disappears? And what about the circumstances that led to Bea’s suicide?”

  “You’ve been doing your homework, Mr. Robinson. Or should I call you Sheriff? I expect I’m allowed to call you that since you’re undercover.” The smile returned, but was grimmer. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  “Sheriff is fine.” Zane paused, then continued. “I want to ask you something about Rachel Smith.”

  Wyseman glanced down at his feet, the small smile growing on his lined features. Zane caught a glimpse of his furtive look up at him. “Rachel has a strong personality.”

  “Yes,” Zane answered. “I have run afoul of that. But that’s not what I want to know.”

  “I expected you to have already realized it. She used to be much more comfortable to be around. Even quite charming.”

  “So you agree that now she seems tense? Wary and even guilty?”

  “Yes. Since Rosa disappeared, she’s been very concerned.”

  Zane folded his arms. “How can you allow her to continue her ministry?”

  Smiling even more broadly, Wyseman waved to a couple passing the front of the church in a small carriage. The smile dropped away as soon as they passed. “Have you told Rachel what to do yet?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “How did that work out?”

  Despite everything, Zane chuckled. “Not well.”

  With a slight smile, Wyseman nodded. “You can see my dilemma. I may be this town’s pastor, but I can’t force anyone, least of all her, to do anything. Nor should I. I should be leading by example, and guiding them to make the wisest decisions, with Christ as my example. In Rachel’s case, we struck a compromise. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against the work. Mission work can and should happen in one’s own town. But I was concerned for her safety.”

  “So what was the compromise?”

  “She never goes into the saloon or to the cribs behind it without a male escort. We arranged for the men of our congregation to rotate through that duty.”

  “That’s a big commitment.”

  “We’re a mission-minded church, Sheriff.”

  “It’s also not being followed. It wasn’t last Friday night, at least. She went to the cribs unescorted.”

  Wyseman frowned. “I’d heard that Jake Turcot was ill, but I would have thought that she’d postpone her visit.”

  “She didn’t. She was hoping that Rosa Carrera would return that night.”

  “That disappearance weighs heavily on her. I think she blames herself.” With a shake of his head, Wyseman added, “I’ll have to remind her again of our agreement.”

  Zane took a moment to glance around the small, silent church. Its scent of wood and candles offered a bit of comfort, but the dim stillness that might incite quiet prayers left him as empty as the pews. Three unsolved cases, one of them his brother’s disappearance—and Rachel at the center of it. “Why does she minister to them?”

  “As you may know, she had a childhood friend who slipped into that trade and then took her own life. Her parents never fully recovered from what they’d allowed their daughter to do. It’s a terrible burden they can’t unload. They think God isn’t big enough for their mistakes. I still try to convince them otherwise.”

  So Rachel’s story about Bea was true. Had he really thought it wouldn’t be? Zane felt his jaw tighten. “What happened? How did she get into that life in the first place?”

  “Her parents fell on hard times. Her father hurt himself in a mine accident shortly before she and Rachel turned sixteen. I remember it because their birthdays are close together and always around Easter. That year, Bea’s birthday fell on Easter Sunday, but she didn’t celebrate it because her father was at home recuperating.”

  “So the family forced her into that trade to help pay the bills?”

  “Bea was a beautiful woman, tall with long, red hair. Quite stunning and apt to catch a bachelor’s eye. It wasn’t hard to see how she could earn a lot of money. But that decision didn’t happen right away. Her family struggled along for a while, getting deeper into debt as her father’s
medical bills rose. In fact, none of us learned what they’d allowed Bea to do until it was too late.”

  “Didn’t anyone help?” He glanced around, looking for an alms box. “Don’t you have a benevolent fund here?”

  “Her father was too proud to accept any donations our church offered.”

  “Too proud to take charity, but not too proud to sacrifice his daughter?”

  Shrugging, the pastor walked deeper into the church and began to snuff out the candles. His long black robe swished as he moved past Zane. “I won’t profess to know what went on in his mind.”

  Zane followed, coming to stand in the center of the aisle to watch him. “Rachel didn’t force her friend to accept charity? You’ve just told me she has a strong personality.”

  “As bold and persuasive as she is, she wasn’t here at the time. Her father had sent her east to an academy for young ladies. By the time she’d returned, Bea was well into that trade and said she couldn’t force her family back into poverty again. She claimed that she had accepted her new position in life, and while Rachel still tried to change her mind, I don’t believe she realized how fragile Bea had become. Wyseman sighed as he walked back down toward the door. “Rachel still blames herself.”

  Another confirmation. “Rachel is a curious woman.”

  “She is that. But she’s a faithful parishioner and we are all God’s children.” After they walked outside again, Wyseman turned and closed the church door.

  “So Rachel’s mission has your blessing even though it’s dangerous?”

  Wyseman stiffened. “God will protect her.”

  Zane felt his jaw tighten. “God doesn’t bless foolish behavior.”

  The pastor said, “Apart from this last Friday, she’s always had an escort.”

  “She had an escort the night she was assaulted. God didn’t protect her then.”

  “True.” The pastor looked contrite. “But our ways are not God’s ways.”

  “Nor are your ways necessarily Rachel’s ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The sheriff back then never did find who assaulted her. He never recovered the money, either, but Rachel continued with her ministry.”

  “After she recuperated, yes.” Wyseman gave Zane a harsh look. “What are you suggesting, Sheriff?”

  There was no use beating around the bush. “My brother is missing, and I need to know if I can trust Rachel. She is the person closest to Rosa Carrera, who I believe is somehow involved in my brother’s disappearance.”

  “Of course you can trust her.” Understanding dawned on Wyseman. “You think she staged that assault to use the money for her ministry? Her ministry is to those women. Why take money from them?”

  “Because we both know how most of those women will spend their savings.”

  “They didn’t spend it, Sheriff.” His words were cool. “That’s why they called it savings.”

  Zane glanced around the ground. “Perhaps Rachel felt it would be better spent elsewhere. She didn’t have an allowance from her father because she’d refused to marry Clyde Abernathy.”

  “I don’t know who has told you she stole the money, Sheriff, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, she didn’t get an allowance, but there were donations. Like I said, we are a mission-minded church.” The older man laid a heavy hand on Zane’s shoulder. “Son, ‘trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.’”

  Zane swallowed. Proverbs three, verses five and six. They were his mother’s favorite verses, often quoted to his father when Zane, as the wayward youth he’d been, had acted out. Still, he held himself stiff.

  Wyseman lowered his hand. “Sometimes, we get hurt by people we trust and it’s hard to trust anyone again. But you can always trust God.” He led Zane down the steps of the church. Off to the right was a good, solid home with a middle-aged woman standing by the gate. Mrs. Wyseman, Zane assumed.

  He bade the pastor good day, and watched as the man donned his narrow-brimmed hat and walked toward the parsonage. The harsh wind that suddenly rose chilled his hot cheeks.

  Trust God? Not when there were men like Canaan’s mayor and his son walking the earth. Or that deputy. They didn’t care about the Lord, and, frankly, with men like that, there wasn’t much God could do. If Zane was to trust God, would that mean returning to Canaan to clear his name? That would be impossible. He had no proof he’d been framed. The mayor and deputy had been too careful in covering their tracks. Besides, Zane wasn’t sure there was enough fight left in him, and what little was left he wanted to be focused on finding Alex.

  His jaw ached as he ground his heel into the dirt and strode away from the church. If nothing else was gleaned today, it looked like he could trust Rachel.

  Heart leaping in his chest at the thought, Zane pushed his steps farther. Don’t bother looking forward to it. You’re not going to be here that long. Besides, begrudging trust isn’t the way to start a relationship that’s doomed to end too soon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachel swallowed and blinked back tears, telling herself they were from the biting wind and not because of the stiff, stubborn set of Zane’s shoulders as he strode away from the church. She smoothed her dark green coat and readjusted its matching bonnet, all the while hoping no one could see her apprehension.

  She wouldn’t have even noticed him talking to Pastor Wyseman if it hadn’t been for Jake Turcot’s mother stopping her at the street corner nearest the church to give Rachel an update on Jake’s illness. Normally, he lived at Mitch’s ranch, but since his illness, he’d been recuperating at his parents’ house. He was on the mend, but tired, as the flu often drained a person. Feeling a bit guilty for not asking about him earlier, Rachel squeezed the older woman’s arm and thanked her with a forced smile.

  As Mrs. Turcot had said her goodbye, Rachel had turned and noticed Zane. She was too far away to eavesdrop accidentally on the conversation, but it was clear from the expressions and the tight shoulders that Zane was hearing something he didn’t like. Why would he even tarry after church in the first place, unless it was to speak to Pastor Wyseman in private?

  She knew exactly what, or whom, was being discussed.

  His harsh words up at White Horse Bluff still stung her. He’d actually wondered if she was working with Rosa to steal from the bank he’d assumed she owned, and then keep the ransom money.

  That hurt. She’d tried to convince him, and had even thought she had had some success in that. Obviously, her protest needed to be confirmed by her pastor.

  Here she had been trying her best to instill trust in those like Rosa and Liza, and she couldn’t even convince Zane to believe in her. That painful realization sank onto her shoulders.

  Pastor Wyseman hadn’t looked happy during their conversation. Rachel spun away. She shouldn’t speculate. It was nearly as bad as eavesdropping. If Zane still couldn’t trust her after talking to her pastor, then she would have to move on with her own investigation.

  Yes, she’d do exactly that. It was better that way. She wasn’t going to be disappointed by Zane, for surely she was a terrible judge of character. Look at Rosa. She’d trusted her.

  Not sure what steps to take now, Rachel sent a short prayer upward. She had to find Alex. She had to confront Rosa, too, but Alex was the more pressing need. He couldn’t be dead. She refused to believe it.

  Fatigue weighed down on Rachel. Last night had been long and cold and disheartening and she would have loved to linger in bed this morning, but church often revitalized her. Besides, there was little Daniel to care for. He was feeling much better this morning, up and playing with the few toys they kept for Mitch’s children. Rachel had tried to ask him some simple questions, although she knew he could barely answer. She’d just bee
n hopeful that maybe he could say something that would give her a clue. But all he’d done, when she’d asked where his mama was, was talk about the puppies. One in particular. She would take him to see them, perhaps this afternoon if she could find where the mother dog was keeping them.

  “Oh, Rachel?”

  She turned to find Mrs. Turcot returning to her. “You must come for lunch. I have made a lovely chicken stew. Jake still isn’t eating as I would like him to, so now we have far too much of it. I’ve invited Mitch and Victoria, too, plus the children.”

  Rachel forced a smile. “That should take care of all the stew.”

  Mrs. Turcot laughed. “I made quite a lot of it. I always do.” She leaned forward to squeeze Rachel’s arm. “Please say you’ll come. You do so much for our community, and I hear that you have taken in that small boy. Bring him. Mitch’s boys can entertain him. It will do them all good.”

  Rachel relaxed. She’d known Mrs. Turcot all her life. The woman had only been blessed with one child, Jake, and Rachel knew for a fact that she loved all children. She’d run the Sunday-school program at the church for years, including teaching Rachel. In the small Sunday-school annex off to the side of the church was probably where Mrs. Turcot had learned about Daniel, for Rachel had brought him to church, only to have him taken from her by another helper so that Rachel might enjoy the service.

  Rachel nodded. “I’ll be there. I’ve sent Daniel home with my maid, but I’ll walk back and get him. It won’t take too long.”

  Mrs. Turcot’s smile broadened. “I’ll keep the stew and rolls warm until everyone comes.”

  * * *

  Zane set down the file he’d been reading. His room was quiet. In fact, the whole main house was deadly silent. Sunday was Mrs. Shrankhof’s day off, and she often spent it with her son and grandchildren, he’d learned. The only food available to her lodgers was either leftovers or bread and cheese. No doubt most of the other lodgers took advantage of the day of rest to sleep in. Not hungry, Zane decided to forgo lunch, then find a quick bite at suppertime.

  He’d wanted to review the files on Liza, Rosa and Alex one more time. And Rachel, also—the thin one about the assault. Now, setting down her file, Zane rubbed his face and peered out the window above the desk. Despite the hazy sun that had tried its best to break through the clouds, it had begun to snow lightly.