Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  “Don’t be.”

  She couldn’t help it. She was sorry that he felt he was unredeemable, and she felt sorry for herself that she couldn’t help him. They were a fine pair.

  Still, a part of her wanted to help, needed to help. But there could be nothing more between her and Zane, not as long as her ministry defined her life, as it always would.

  That made her heart ache.

  By now, as they crossed town, they’d reached the bandstand. A skiff of snow lay hidden in its shadow, refusing to be melted away by any weak winter sunshine. Zane stopped her at the closest corner, one where wayward sagebrush had been allowed to grow. It was the backside of the bandstand, and since Proud Bend didn’t even have a band yet, no one had bothered to trim back the bush. She felt its branches brush her skirt and jacket as a breeze rose. When a few grains of snow stung her cheeks, Rachel said, “Zane, let me help you.”

  “It won’t work.”

  Frustration flared in her. Why on earth was she so interested in helping this difficult man? “You won’t let me try. You just want to run away to lick your wounds.” She grabbed his arms, ignoring the etiquette of not touching a man. Forget that. Zane needed to know he was important, too.

  “So what if I want to hide away? Am I not allowed to do that?”

  “No! It’s not right. You say you don’t have the strength to do anything but find Alex. Well, fine, then, I’ll accept that. I feel that way, too, sometimes. But think of Alex. He writes you often, you said. Would you say his opinions are worthless?”

  “No.”

  “He thinks you’re worth fighting for, right? He wouldn’t want you to run away from your life.”

  “My life right now is finding him. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  Her voice dropped. “You matter, too.” She swallowed. “To me, too.”

  Was it inappropriate to say that? Rachel was hardly one to follow convention and good deportment, but sudden shyness washed over her.

  Too late. You’ve said it. But it only means that you like to fix things. It means nothing more. It certainly doesn’t mean you want him to stay.

  Zane stood, his arms folded across his chest and his expression as stiff as his posture. He looked as tough a lawman as there could ever be. “You care only because I am your best chance to find Rosa and get to the bottom of this investigation. You feel guilty for all that has happened—to Bea, to Liza, to Daniel, to Alex, even. I could tell you to stop feeling guilty about them, just as you want to tell me to stop feeling guilty for my misspent youth and for the situation in Canaan. But let’s not fool ourselves. Neither of us is going to listen to the other.”

  How could she answer that truth?

  Abruptly, Zane unfolded his arms and took her hands to draw them close to his chest. She wore her best kid-leather gloves, but they were thin and she felt his warmth seep through to her fingers. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? Thrown together to find my brother and hopefully solve an assault, a kidnapping and a murder.”

  “How are they all connected? Besides through me.”

  “I don’t know. I’m going on instinct here.” He leaned closer. “But listen to me, Rachel. You have a good heart under that boldness. Don’t waste it on me.”

  “And under your abrasiveness, you don’t really want to run away. I believe you can fight for your innocence. You just think you shouldn’t because it’s some ridiculous payment for the sins in your past. Maybe you’re afraid you won’t win.”

  “I won’t.”

  “It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about justice being served. We don’t always win. Oh, believe me, I know that! But we keep up the good fight and trust in the Lord. He will guide us.”

  Zane’s expression clouded. “Pastor Wyseman said something similar.”

  She felt a smile twitch her lips. “Then it must be true.”

  He searched her face, his gaze finally settling on her lips. Rachel’s heart leaped. She really shouldn’t be standing so close to him, not in broad daylight beside the bandstand for all to see, not if she didn’t want her heart to wander so far from the safety of her ministry, where disappointment was tempered by new hope each day.

  But she couldn’t stop herself. She leaned closer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A horse’s loud neigh rent the cold air. Zane caught himself just in time. Was he really thinking he could just lean down and steal a kiss?

  Hardly stealing. Not if he was judging Rachel’s expression rightly. She wanted him to kiss her.

  He pulled away from her, and Rachel stumbled slightly back into the bushes behind her. This had to stop. She was married to her ministry, and even though she voiced a valid argument that he was important, too, he was the last person she should involve herself with. He would be moving on soon, no longer welcomed after Alex returned.

  He may or may not be strong enough to prove his innocence, but he knew one thing. If he showed his face back in Canaan again, he could easily find himself charged with theft. Rachel didn’t need that kind of man in her life. She had a strong personality, to quote Pastor Wyseman. She needed a strong man, too.

  Oh, yeah, she deserved way more than him.

  “We’d better get to the saloon before the men start to come in and that bartender can’t answer our questions.” His words sounded gruff even to his ears.

  Rachel brushed down her skirt. He caught a glimpse of her nervous expression before it was whisked off her features. “I hope you know what questions to ask.”

  “I do. Don’t worry.” He took her arm and they stepped onto the street. The ground was frozen and made for easier walking. That was one good thing about winter here. It wasn’t as messy as back in Illinois, where a winter’s storm could bring both snow and rain.

  The saloon, although open, was empty of patrons. The bartender was sweeping under a table and looked up with surprise as they entered. “Miss Smith, Sheriff Robinson, I didn’t expect either of you this time of day.”

  “Yes, Eddie, it’s quite early,” Rachel agreed.

  He propped the broom against the wall and walked behind the counter. “I only just opened. May I offer you some coffee?”

  Rachel and Zane glanced at each other. From what Alex had told him in his first letter, Eddie knew how to run the saloon, but he made terrible coffee. Alex had compared it to the tar served in train depots. From the look of alarm masked quickly by politeness on Rachel’s face, she agreed with that assessment. “No, thank you,” Zane answered.

  With an expectant look, Eddie asked, “How can I help you, then?”

  Rachel walked up to the counter, her posture stiff. Zane pulled from his breast pocket the two postcards. He laid them on the smooth wood of the counter, pictures face up. Zane was reluctant at this moment to reveal their messages. “These two postcards are the same.”

  Eddie nodded. “I can see that.”

  “I know that this one—” he pointed to the one he knew had Alex’s handwriting on it, even though the bartender could not see that “—came from here.” He hesitated a moment.

  “Because Sheriff Robinson here took it and wrote my name on it,” Rachel hurriedly added.

  “And he hasn’t yet paid for it,” Eddie reminded him with a sharp look to Zane.

  Zane pulled out a coin and, after examining it, slid it across the counter to the man. Eddie took it and slipped it into his pocket. He should have paid for it when Eddie had first reminded him, but he’d had other things on his mind.

  Why hadn’t Eddie put the coin in the cash box that had a small ledger slotted into its lid? The owner might not agree with that kind of bookkeeping.

  “Are you the only place in town that sells them?” Zane asked.

  “The general store has postcards,” Eddie hedged.

  “Not this type.” Something fel
t off. Zane didn’t want to, but he might need to say more than he should about the ransom note. “This one—” he indicated the card with the ransom demands on its back “—is a ransom note, addressed to Rachel.”

  “Really?” The bartender reached for the postcard, but Zane was quicker. He didn’t want the man to see the message that revealed Alex was being held hostage, also.

  He inwardly grimaced as he tucked away both cards, still not liking that he was playing Alex. It was turning out to be a hindrance because no one seemed to be concerned that “Alex” had returned after a disappearance of nearly a week. Did they expect such an undedicated lawman?

  “How many of these postcards did you get in?”

  “You saw the pile, Sheriff, when you wrote down Miss Smith’s name. That’s why I couldn’t understand why you came in here last Friday night and wanted me to repeat it all again.” He nodded to Rachel, his mouth turning up slyly. “Don’t you trust her, Sheriff?”

  Rachel’s brows were high when she looked questioningly at Zane. He refused to take the bait. Eddie was playing them off each other, much like Zane used to do with his parents when he’d found himself in trouble. He’d often hoped that if he could turn his parents’ attention away from him, the punishment would be forgotten.

  It had never worked, but in his immaturity, Zane had kept on trying. Eddie was going to be taught right now that it wasn’t going to work with him, either.

  He drilled the bartender with a hard glare. “How many postcards did you acquire, Eddie?”

  Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know. A big stack.”

  “How many were sold? And to whom?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Zane felt his patience thin. “Why sell postcards of Castle Rock?”

  “Why not? There isn’t anything as pretty as that mountain around here.”

  That was a lie. First up, Castle Rock wasn’t that pretty, and Proud Bend, with its crystal-clear river meandering around the town limits, set against a backdrop of Proud Mountain, was a far more pleasant image. The streets were wide and the buildings neat and tidy. The bandstand had a fresh coat of paint on it. Everything around here was prettier than Castle Rock.

  “You don’t have any town spirit, Eddie? Isn’t Proud Bend more attractive than Castle Rock?”

  Eddie looked away, busying himself with wiping down the counter. “Is that why you’re here, Sheriff? To check on my town spirit?”

  Rachel leaned forward, setting her gloved hand on a cleaned spot. Her expression looked plaintive and innocent. “We just want to find Rosa. Help us find her, please. We think that ransom note came from here, so it’s possible the kidnapper frequents this place. Do you remember who may have bought any of those cards?”

  “Most of them get stolen.” He tossed an accusatory glare at Zane. With a tightening jaw, Zane resisted the urge to arrest Eddie. Perhaps a few hours cooling his heels in a cell might improve his disposition.

  “Even telling us who you think may have stolen some might help,” Rachel added. “I know you care what happens to these women.”

  Eddie folded his arms. “I care that they do their jobs. You’re trying to get them out of that occupation. If that happens, I could lose my position.”

  “You’re the only bartender in the only saloon in town,” Zane growled.

  Rachel smiled sadly at Eddie. “Neither of us is going to be out of a job. There will always be men who want to spend their money foolishly and there will always be women willing to help those men spend it. Will you help me find Rosa? Allow me to save at least one of them?”

  Slowly, his mouth pulled to one side, Eddie waffled a moment. “You’re too good to them, Miss Smith.”

  Rachel looked away. “Thank you.” When she focused back on Eddie, she said, “Do you remember anyone who bought the cards, or who you think might have stolen them?”

  Eddie turned and wrung out the cleaning rag into a dry sink. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

  “Where did the cards come from, anyway?”

  He hung up the rag. “I get lots of peddlers in here, Miss Smith. I’m supposed to haggle with them and pour drinks, too. We don’t have the money for security like your bank or a manager who can decide what products to buy.”

  Her bank. Zane remembered how Eddie believed Rachel owned the bank. He was wrong. “Then who has been unusually interested in Rosa? More than the obvious interest?”

  “She has some men who like her, but nothing out of the ordinary. For people treating her special, there’s only Miss Smith. Rosa’s pa comes around once in a while, but he’s good for nothing except asking for money. And there’s you, Sheriff. Ever since that first day when you asked who looks after the women.”

  A pair of cowboys shuffled in right then, diverting Eddie’s attention a bit too quickly. Zane knew the conversation was over, especially considering how the patrons’ attention lingered on Rachel and him. He ended the questioning quickly and led her outside.

  * * *

  Out of earshot, Zane muttered, “He’s lying.”

  Rachel fell into step beside him, feeling as disappointed as Zane’s expression hinted. “That much is obvious. But why?”

  “It’s been my experience that either love or money motivates people.”

  “Love?”

  “People do stupid things when they’re in love.”

  She blinked, her expression curious. “Speaking from experience?”

  “No.”

  Well, that was short. “I don’t think that love is the issue here. So that leaves money.” She looked at Zane. “Was it love or money behind the plot to frame you?”

  “Money. The mayor’s son stole the taxes and the mayor arranged to frame me. He convinced my deputy to plant the evidence.”

  “By paying him?”

  “In a way. By promising him he would be the new sheriff.”

  “And that means more money for your deputy.”

  “And a position of authority he can use to pressure others, like your former sheriff who asked the soiled doves for bribes. With those two working together, the sheriff and mayor can help keep each other in power. Again, money—because the mayor will be well paid.”

  Of course Zane wouldn’t trust this town, with Mayor Wilson wanting to be reelected and his son as deputy. “So, here it’s about the money. Rosa getting some by ransoming Alex?”

  “No. I was thinking about Eddie and his pack of lies.”

  “Pack?”

  “More than one. The first being about you owning the bank.”

  “Well, he could have been mistaken.” Why was she trying to absolve Eddie from any deliberate lying?

  “Bartenders aren’t usually mistaken. They do hear a lot of tall tales, but they hear a lot of truths, too.”

  “From whom? I doubt my mother has spent her hours in the saloon bemoaning to others about how I own the bank.”

  “But one of the employees could have.”

  Rachel fell silent. One of her household staff, or did Zane mean the bank employees? She bit her lip and slowed her step.

  “What is it?” Zane asked.

  “Mr. Claymore from the bank prefers a hot cup of tea and an evening fire to going out. But I’ve seen the security guard in the saloon on some evenings. Still, you think the bartender is deliberately lying. What was the other thing?”

  “The postcards. I’m sure of it. Did you notice that he pocketed the coin I gave him instead of putting it in the till?”

  “I did notice that.”

  “It’s possible that he’s bought those postcards knowing they were stolen and is selling them on the side.”

  “Can’t be much of a market for postcards that would force a person to steal them.”

  “You wouldn’t think.”

  Rachel turn
ed to Zane to change the subject. “You asked the bartender about my honesty?”

  “I didn’t. Eddie is trying to turn us against each other. Didn’t you do that when you were a child?”

  “I’m an only child. Did you do that?”

  “More often than I care to remember. Sometimes I would include my brother, but mostly, I tried to turn my parents against each other so they would argue and forget that I was supposed to be in trouble. It’s a sign of immaturity and I was a good example of that.”

  “You must have been a delightful child to raise.”

  Zane nodded ruefully. “Alex was always the likable one.”

  “I look forward to hearing even more about that.” Rachel murmured. “Why don’t we check out Rosa’s crib again? I know that Alex searched it. I have, too, but perhaps we missed something. Your fresh eyes might help.”

  They hurried around back through the alley Rachel had used last Friday night. The area hadn’t changed since the night Zane had watched Rachel administer aid to Alice. A fresh dusting of snow from last night, not yet touched by the sun, seemed to brighten the yard. “Rosa’s crib is the second one from the end. We should be quiet. The women don’t appreciate being awakened.”

  Zane consulted his watch. “It’s nearly noon.”

  “And if we awaken them, we’re less likely to get any answers should we need to question them again.” Rachel hurried over to the crib. At the far end of the short stoop sat a battered flowerpot with the withered remains of a plant. As Zane stepped up to the door, Rachel slipped her hand free of her glove and dug into the dry, dusty soil. “I know that Rosa kept the key in here, but I can’t find it right now.”

  “Don’t bother,” Zane said, gripping the older-style door handle.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “Because the key is in the lock.” He turned the lock and the door opened an inch.

  Immediately, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something wasn’t right. Rosa never left her crib unlocked, and Rachel was sure she had been the last person to enter, having searched it after Alex had told her he’d done so. Rachel had returned the key to the flowerpot.