Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  He returned to the file. A man named Robert Bale had been Rachel’s escort five years ago when she had been assaulted. Days after, according to Rachel, Liza had said she knew who had done it and had wanted to confront the man. But there was no record of who Liza had suspected.

  Even Zane, when he’d first read this file, had not thought much of it. Rachel had reported that she’d taken the money from Liza that night, after Liza had gathered it from all the soiled doves. It had been a Friday night and the saloon had been full.

  Zane flipped back a page. Robert Bale had moved to Texas. The report had marked his address when he was still in Proud Bend as in care of Mr. and Mrs. Turcot. The same Turcots whose son was to have been Rachel’s escort last Friday night?

  Perhaps. There didn’t appear to be other Turcots in town.

  Their address was near the church. It wasn’t uncommon to take in a boarder to help make ends meet. Perhaps they knew exactly where Bale had moved to, for surely they would need his new address to forward any mail. Perhaps they knew something about what had happened to him that night. Surely, Bale would have recuperated at their house. He could have said something. Zane noted as he scanned the thin file that the Turcots had not been interviewed.

  It was a long time ago, but they still might remember something. He needed to speak with them. He checked his watch. They should be done eating lunch by now.

  Zane found the house easily enough and, surprisingly, Rachel answered the door. “I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said with raised brows. “Another ministry?”

  She smiled with her own brows arched, obviously not wanting to be bothered by him. “No. Mrs. Turcot is ministering to me by means of lunch.” She stepped aside from the door. “Please come in. I’m assuming you want to speak to her or Mr. Turcot?”

  “Both.” He stepped inside and removed his hat. Immediately, he inhaled with the warm scent of chicken and vegetables, noting also the yeasty smell of fresh bread. His stomach growled out in protest that he’d decided to forego a meal.

  Rachel took his Stetson and his coat. “We’re ready to sit down to eat.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’d expected your lunch would be over and done with by now. I could come back later, if that would be better for the Turcots.”

  “Nonsense,” she answered briskly. “You look hungry. You should stay. I’ve been helping Mrs. Turcot in the kitchen and know for a fact that there is plenty to go around.”

  Zane looked down at her small, frilly apron, noting her hands set neatly in front of it. She noticed where his eyes had fallen, and immediately Rachel tucked her hands beneath the material. Several children’s screams of laughter filled the warm air. “There’s already a full house here,” he commented.

  “Victoria and Mitch and his brood are here. I brought Daniel so he’d have someone to play with. He’s feeling better and the other children are quite excited to have a new playmate.”

  Out from the kitchen came a short, heavyset woman, wiping her hands on her own apron. “Sheriff, what a pleasant surprise. It’s not bad news, I hope.”

  “Nothing of the sort, ma’am,” Zane answered. “I need to ask you some questions about an old case I’m working on.”

  “On a Sunday? Surely not!”

  “I was merely reading the files and knew you’d be home. I wanted to catch both you and your husband at the same time, and didn’t want to wait until later in the week. I’m sorry to disturb you on your day of rest.”

  The older woman’s laughter pealed throughout the short hallway. “A woman’s work is never done. I do honor our Lord’s day, of course, but people still need to be fed.” She looked him up and down. “And so do you. Come in and eat with us.”

  “Ma’am, it was not my intention to come looking for a meal. I thought you would have finished eating by now.”

  “Normally, we would, but with a full household, everything takes longer.” She beamed. “The children are happy to play while they wait. Besides, I have plenty and we should have had you over for a meal before now. I know Mrs. Shrankhof goes to Castle Rock on Sunday afternoons to visit her son and his family. You wouldn’t be fed at her house today.”

  “She always leaves plenty of leftovers for us.”

  A man who had to be Mr. Turcot appeared from the parlor, a pair of young boys gripping his calves and causing him to drag his feet. He grinned, obviously loving the attention. “You have come to save me, I hope, Sheriff, from these wild beasts.”

  Zane smiled back, deciding then to stay for the meal after all. Lunch was a chaotic affair, reminding Zane of his own childhood on Sunday afternoons. The meals on those days were always something warmed up from Saturday night, but with all four of them around the table, the time was meant for fellowship and fun, with Alex and him trying to capture and hold their parents’ attention. His mother had not been able to have any more children after delivering her twins, so their family had been small.

  He remembered how often he would be caught flinging a crumb at his brother or slipping an unwanted vegetable to the dog. His parents had the patience of Job, like the Turcots here, who clearly loved their house being filled with people.

  A pang of homesickness hit Zane, but he ignored it. There was no going back. His childhood had come and gone, and though it was generally a happier time, it was only for a season. His life was far different now. He was a disgrace, the pitiful end to a wild childhood. His parents were gone. Save Alex, there was no one left to help him recall his youth.

  Once he found Alex—and he would find him—Zane would leave. He didn’t want to hang around a town that so clearly admired his twin, where Alex was striving to do his best. The much-admired Sheriff Robinson didn’t need to have his black sheep of a brother marring his ideal life here.

  Zane stole a glance at Rachel. Her life was as mapped out before her as Alex’s was. Though Rachel’s choices were atypical, they filled her life with a strong purpose, while his was a wayward mess of questions and accusations. What Rachel thought of him shouldn’t matter. And what did it matter to him that she had purpose?

  Because he could not fit into her life?

  No, it’s not that. It was more that her purpose lay before her like a lush valley full of the promise of spring. Yes, it was a challenge, but the reward would more than make up for it.

  Clear was her vision of her ministry, while his had nothing but desert waste. With more vigor than he thought he should have, he dug into his chicken stew and put the whole train of thought out of his mind.

  A young man introduced as Jake came down to eat, but did so only sparingly, much to his mother’s consternation. He returned to his room shortly after. Mr. Turcot finally broached the subject of Zane’s visit.

  Zane’s demeanor turned formal. “I need to ask you some questions in private.”

  Victoria rose suddenly. “Mitchell, why don’t we take the children into the kitchen to clean up?”

  Mitch rose and, with the help of the children, they quickly cleared off the dining room table and departed. One of Mitch MacLeod’s older children scooped up Daniel.

  Soon Zane was alone with the Turcots and Rachel. “What are you able to tell me about the attack on Rachel and Robert Bale? He used to live here, did he not?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure how we can help you,” Mr. Turcot began slowly. “We weren’t there that night.”

  “But you did board Robert Bale, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he convalesce here after the assault?”

  “I took care of him,” Mrs. Turcot answered, her expression serious. “He was badly injured. It took him months to stand without getting dizzy.”

  “So he didn’t work during that time?”

  She shook her head swiftly. “Oh, no, he couldn’t. For the longest while, he could barely sit up in bed. Why do you ask? How can
his recovery help your investigation?”

  “I wondered if he could have spoken to someone about that night. If he took so long to recover, he must have spent quite a bit of time here in the house. It doesn’t sound as if he was able to leave to go to work. How did he pay his rent?”

  Mrs. Turcot’s eyes widened. “He didn’t pay anything. But we could hardly turn him out, could we? So we took care of him. Although, as soon as he was well, he left.”

  “My wife did most of the caring,” Mr. Turcot amended. “But I did help her move him.”

  “Did he ever speak of that night?”

  Mrs. Turcot wet her lips and glanced at her husband. “Not for a long time.” She blinked and swallowed. Rachel leaned over and rubbed her arm.

  Zane spoke. “Are you saying that he spoke to you eventually about that night? Why didn’t you tell the sheriff? The case file indicates that the sheriff never spoke to either of you about the attack.”

  “Robert didn’t really tell me anything directly.” Mrs. Turcot looked down at her hands. “But what I heard, I did tell the sheriff, although nothing came of it.”

  “What do you mean nothing directly? What did Robert say?”

  “He talked in his sleep. And one night, we heard a terrible crash, and found him on the floor.”

  Mr. Turcot spoke up. “I helped him back to bed. He was clearly not himself when he spoke. We told the sheriff, but he dismissed it, so I said we should, too.”

  “I stayed with him for a little while that night,” Mrs. Turcot explained. “He was in pain, and he kept calling out.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Some words I will not repeat,” Mrs. Turcot warned with a tone full of decision and her shoulders stiff. “They aren’t fit to be said in polite company. But he was angry at someone.”

  Zane leaned forward. “Did you ever question him, ask him later what he was saying?”

  “Oh, no!” she said, her words strong. “He was very upset that night. I was afraid he’d... I mean, he was just starting to mend.”

  Having stayed mostly quiet during the questioning, Rachel asked, “Did the sheriff come by to question him?”

  “Only one time shortly after the assault. Robert wasn’t well enough to leave his bed.”

  “Did you hear any of the questions?”

  Mrs. Turcot looked insulted. “I’m not an eavesdropper, Rachel. You know that.”

  “No, you’re not, but you might have heard something in passing that might help us now.” Rachel’s words were gentle. “Mrs. Turcot, the sheriff has passed away, and Robert is long gone to Texas. If there is something that might help close the case, you should tell Sheriff Robinson.”

  Mrs. Turcot glanced at her husband, who nodded. “I know you heard a few things, dear,” he said. “Perhaps you should get it off your chest.”

  “But what good will it do? It’s an old case and you’ll never find out who did it.” She patted Rachel’s arm. “We prayed so hard for your recovery, too, and when God blessed us with it, and with Robert’s return to health, we were just plain thankful. Digging back into it again feels like I’m being ungrateful to God for all He’s done.”

  “You’re not, Mrs. Turcot,” Zane said firmly. “Everything in its own time. If you help with this case, we may be able to find—um, Rosa.”

  Zane felt Rachel’s sharp look on him. Had she been afraid he was going to mention Alex?

  His heart pounding, Zane realized that he very nearly had. The Turcots were open and honest people, and generous to a fault. He didn’t want to hide the truth from them, but he needed them to focus on the questions he posed, not create more in their heads.

  “Do you think that soiled dove’s disappearance is related to the assault on you and Robert?” Mrs. Turcot asked Rachel.

  “The attack on Rachel came directly before Rosa’s mother was murdered, so one might assume those two cases are related,” Zane answered firmly. “And while Rosa and her mother had hazardous jobs, I think it’s too much of a coincidence that the one woman is murdered and the other, her daughter, disappears. I can’t ignore the possibility of a connection.”

  Zane held his breath. What he’d just told Mrs. Turcot made it seem as though he felt Rosa was an innocent victim in her disappearance. And to his shock, he realized he was actually considering the possibility. How could he think that? He’d seen her with his own eyes.

  Faith. Rachel had said you sometimes needed it when nothing made sense. But faith wasn’t his strong point, even though he firmly believed in God. He didn’t even have enough faith in God to believe that He could help Zane clear his name in Canaan.

  How had he become such a coward?

  “That makes the attack on me related to Rosa’s disappearance and Liza’s death,” Rachel summarized.

  “Liza Carrera has been dead for years,” Mr. Turcot warned.

  Rachel turned to him. “It’s the only thing we have to go on right now.”

  Mr. Turcot nodded to his wife. “Tell him what you told me, dear.”

  Mrs. Turcot dug from her pocket a small handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes. “Robert kept calling out Liza’s name, over and over. He also said, ‘Liza, stop him! Stop him!’”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rachel sat back, feeling her jaw fall open in shock. “Robert said that Liza was there?”

  Zane turned to her. “Do you remember her being there?”

  She shook her head, still reeling from Mrs. Turcot’s revelation. With a self-conscious clearing of her throat, she shut her mouth. “But my recollections are foggy at best, and I have never been able to fully recall what happened that night. No, I don’t remember Liza being there.”

  Zane turned back to Mrs. Turcot. “Is that what you told the sheriff?”

  “Yes!” Rachel had never heard Mrs. Turcot so adamant.

  “What did he say?”

  “Only that I must have been mistaken and that Robert had called out a different name. Or else that Robert knew Liza anyway, so calling out her name might not mean anything.”

  Zane shifted his gaze to Rachel. “Is that true? How well did he know her?”

  Rachel blinked. “Well enough, but it’s not what you think. Robert was one of my regular escorts. He’d been with me more than any of the others. He believed in my ministry. Both his father and uncle were missionaries overseas and Robert often spoke to Liza while I tended the others. Liza reminded him of some of the women his father and grandfather spoke of.”

  Zane looked skeptical. “Robert would actually minister to the women? How?”

  Rachel blew out a sigh and set her shaking and suddenly moist hands down on the lace tablecloth. It had yet to be removed, and the far end, where the children had eaten, was need of a good scrubbing. She rubbed her fingertips over her calluses, wondering if Mrs. Turcot had anything to help soften them.

  Suddenly hating them, she tucked her hands back under the table and straightened her shoulders. “Robert often just sat and talked to Liza, and any of the others who were willing to listen, and told them about his father and uncle’s work overseas. He would tell them about people from all over the world who gave their lives to the Lord. He would tell about their desperate living conditions. Africa, in particular.”

  “But when he said her name that night, was he recalling her being there at the assault or was he delirious?” Zane asked.

  “Both,” Mrs. Turcot whispered. “But the sheriff didn’t think he was believable, not in the same way I thought he was.”

  “So you believed him?”

  “I asked him about it later, but he claimed he didn’t remember. Except once, when his fever returned, he called out her name again. I think he didn’t want to remember, but his brain kept pushing the memory on him anyway.” She leaned forward and gripped Rachel’s arm. “I know I only ha
ve some muttered words, and they really don’t sound credible, but I believed him. I just couldn’t convince the sheriff, so I had to drop it. I didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “When did he start to call out her name?” Zane consulted his small notebook before looking back at Mrs. Turcot. “Do you remember how soon it was after the attack?”

  “Fairly soon, within a few days, I think.”

  Zane looked down at his notes as Rachel finished his thoughts. “But within two days, Liza was dead.” He frowned. “Did you tell Robert that Liza had died?”

  Mrs. Turcot shook her head. “He was in no shape to hear any bad news, Sheriff. I would never have said anything to upset him.”

  “Did she come to visit here like she did Rachel?”

  “That sort of woman keeps her distance from respectable folk.”

  “That’s not Christian, my dear,” her husband told her sharply.

  Rachel grimaced. She’d heard that some towns forbade their soiled doves from going wherever crowds gathered. They were shunned, refused service at stores except on certain days. Thankfully, Proud Bend wasn’t so harsh, but the prejudice lingered.

  Mrs. Turcot stiffened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course, I wouldn’t have turned the woman away if she’d come around to visit, but she didn’t.”

  “Surely you knew he would learn of her murder eventually?”

  “Of course.” She dabbed her eyes again. “When Robert was told, after he healed, he was upset with me for not telling him sooner. I think learning of her death added to him wanting to leave. I probably added to it, too. I hate myself for it, now, but what could I have done differently?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Turcot,” Rachel told her firmly.

  Zane looked up at her across the table. In the kitchen, the sounds of noisy cleanup told them the children were enjoying the time alone with Victoria and Mitch. “The money that was stolen that night was never found,” he said, locking his gaze to Rachel’s.