Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  Finally, Rachel nodded. “All right. Just for a few days.” Her words gripped her, but as she glanced out the window at the cold day that warned of more snow, something else clutched at her insides, something that chilled her more than the fear of discarding her life’s mission.

  What was it?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Puppy! Poppy!”

  “I should take him there now, before he gets too tired and cranky.” Rachel found Daniel’s small mittens on the floor under the desk. He must have grabbed them and tossed them down. Now, where was his hat?

  “Here.” Zane handed it to her as if reading her mind. She lifted her gaze to his face to thank him and got lost for a moment in his warm, dark eyes.

  Glancing away, she quickly bundled up Daniel, then tugged on her own gloves.

  “I’ll walk you over.”

  “There’s no need. Perhaps—”

  “It’s early. No one will be up, Rachel. No one will suspect that you are friends with the sheriff. We’ve already been seen together and have explained that we’re still looking for Rosa.”

  Biting her bottom lip, Rachel acquiesced with a slight nod. “I suppose. I didn’t go there last night, though.”

  “What did you tell your escort?”

  “Jake was supposed to be it. Tonight, also, but obviously, that’s not going to happen.” She offered him an aimless shrug. “I didn’t want to go out. Not after what happened at the crib.”

  She turned away, feeling her eyes prick with tears. She hadn’t taken a Monday evening off in five years, except shortly after Abernathy had tried to kill her. Last night, after toying with the idea of checking up on Zane, she’d chosen to spend her time with Daniel. Whatever had caused his fever had left him, and he’d played with Rachel until he began to whine and she realized he was tired.

  She’d loved the evening. She’d read to him, held him, brushed his curls until he’d fallen asleep, and even after that, she’d sat in the lamplight and watched him. At twenty-five, she wasn’t too old for children, but with no suitors waiting for her, her time to settle down and have a family was ticking away slowly. Yet, with each moment last night, she’d felt the desire for children swell and grow.

  A gentle finger lifted her chin and she glanced up to find Zane raising her head to face him. He searched her expression. “Does it bother you?”

  “Not going out? No. But knowing that fact bothers me.”

  “Why?”

  She swallowed. “I’ve been at this ministry for five years, and in that time more things have gone wrong than right. The only encouragement I received was from Rosa, and now she’s involved in Alex’s kidnapping. Now I can’t feel the same energy and purpose pushing me forward every night. I’m actually agreeing to stay away entirely for a few days. What have I done wrong?”

  “Sometimes you can do everything right and still not win.”

  She shut her eyes and sighed. It felt good to have him close and caring. His hand slid to cup her chin, his thumb to brush her cheek. Rachel wanted to lean into it, to gain strength from him.

  He needed strength, too. He needed to know he could go back and fight to redeem his honor. Except with her feeling her own strength sapping away, she wasn’t the one who could help him realize that.

  Her heart ached as she stepped away from him.

  “If we’re going to find that dog, we need to go now.”

  A slight frown marred his expression as he nodded briefly. A short while later, with Zane carrying Daniel, they found the mother dog. The puppies, more friendly than expected, welcomed them with short, wagging tails and sweet yips. The mother, used to people, especially Rachel, lounged nearby.

  “See, Daniel,” Rachel said. “Puppies.”

  He looked up at her, then looked around in bewilderment. “Poppy?”

  “No, puppies. More than one.” She pointed to all the little dogs. “Puppies.”

  Daniel made a face. For some reason, he clung to Rachel, all the while watching the dogs with confusion. When she encouraged him to step forward, he grabbed her skirt and held back. “I don’t understand,” she said to Zane. “He’s been asking to see them for days.”

  “Now that he has his wish, he doesn’t want it anymore,” Zane commented. “Maybe he was just telling you about the dogs.”

  “That must be it. But why keep telling me if he didn’t want to see them?” She shook her head. “Children. I guess I’m not meant to be a mother.”

  “Why do you say that? I think you’d make a good mother.”

  “You think so?” She felt herself beaming at his words.

  “No one really knows until they become one.” He paused. “Where is Daniel’s father?”

  “I don’t know anything about him and I’ve never asked. I think Rosa is ashamed of the fact she had a child out of wedlock.”

  “Does she see her own father much?”

  “Not often. I’ve been told that he comes by sometimes, asking for money, but we haven’t crossed paths in years.” Rachel felt a spark of something ignite inside of her and her gaze dashed over to Daniel. The child chose that moment to drop to the thin layer of snow and howl for some reason Rachel couldn’t fathom. “He’s getting tired,” she said. “I should take him home.”

  “I’ll walk you there. Rachel?”

  She scooped up Daniel. “Yes?”

  “Don’t think it’s too late for yourself.”

  Her heart jolted. “For children? I don’t even have a beau.” She tried to lighten the mood. “Are you volunteering?”

  His expression darkened. “You wouldn’t want me.” He took the toddler from her and began to walk out toward the street.

  Following him, Rachel watched his stiff back as the grouchy Daniel wriggled in his arms. Zane would make a wonderful father. A real papa. A pappy.

  Poppy? Was that what Daniel was trying to say?

  She slowed her pace. Her heart chilled.

  * * *

  The next morning, a Wednesday, Rachel weighed heavily on Zane’s mind as he alit from the train. To his left, the Castle Rock butte jutted up above the depot. He’d chosen the train over riding down here, thinking of his side. No need to constantly jar it.

  To his right was a large building, one that housed the local printer, the newspaper and a small store whose wares were of more interest to tradesmen than ladies.

  It was Rachel’s words on stone masonry that had brought him here. The fine dust on Daniel’s clothing was most likely rhyolite, mined within view of Castle Rock and the printer of the postcards, which he now had tucked in his coat’s breast pocket. That couldn’t be just a coincidence.

  He stopped in front of the printer’s shop. It was logical to start here, the origin of those postcards that were so intrinsically tied to the case. How they had ended up in Proud Bend was still unknown, but if they were printed here, Zane reasoned as he looked up at the sign above the door, the printer would have a record of whomever had bought them. Perhaps the answer to that question would also explain why Alex had kept one of the cards.

  Zane pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of metal and ink filled his nostrils. A rhythmic smack and grind told him one of the presses in the back was working. He walked up to the counter as a man wearing a well-stained leather apron approached. His sleeves were gartered and protected and atop his head was a snug cap. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  After introducing himself as the sheriff of Proud Bend, Zane pulled out the postcards and pressed them onto the wooden counter, keeping the pictures face up. “Do you recognize these?”

  The man gave them only a cursory glance. “Yes. If you turn around, you’ll see it’s the view from this very shop.”

  Taking back the cards, Zane walked to the window. He compared the view to the cards. They were almos
t identical.

  He turned back. “But these cards are obviously stylized.”

  “Who wants to see all that scaffolding junk the mine has up there?” the printer asked. “It’s a vicious circle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For years, we needed the mine to keep the town alive. The mine needed that awful scaffolding, which makes for an ugly sight that obscures the view that visitors and new arrivals alike would see when they first arrive. The mine as it looks now would never attract tourists.”

  “Tourists? Out here?”

  “The weather is good for the health, some say.” The printer shrugged. “So, I had an artist remove all that junk and give me a nice picture I could sell and show tourists what this town should look like.”

  “So you print these postcards and sell them from here?”

  “Yes, I print them here, but I sell them to local businesses.”

  “Any customers in Proud Bend?”

  The printer shook his head. “No. Wait a minute. Let me see those postcards again.”

  Zane returned to the counter. The printer dug out a magnifying glass and studied them. “I had a break-in a month ago and these postcards were among the items stolen.”

  “They’re an odd thing to steal.”

  “More a crime of opportunity, I’d say. I had some sitting on the counter above the cash box. These two were part of that stack.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I had smeared the artist’s signature, and felt they weren’t good enough to sell. That’s why that stack was separate.”

  “What else was stolen?”

  “Some ink and a few printing tools. But I believe the reason I had the break-in was because I’m usually paid that day by the newspaper and keep the money in my safe to pay my early workers the next morning. I used to keep the cash in the cash box. Maybe the thief didn’t know that I have a safe now, because the cash box was busted open.”

  “So, money wasn’t stolen?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t paid that day because the bank closed early, and the newspaper’s paymaster didn’t get to it in time. Seems the bank employees here wanted to attend the funeral of the bank owner in Proud Bend.”

  That fact would be easy to check. Rachel would know the date of her father’s funeral, and Zane had read in a file that Clyde Abernathy had had no funeral, having died in a prison in Denver awaiting trial.

  “Why do you wait for the newspaper’s paymaster?”

  “The newspaper is my main client. From that money, I can usually pay all my employees.”

  Zane nodded. “So that night, someone broke in, expecting to find cash?”

  “They tried to get into the safe, but couldn’t. Nor could they take the safe away with them. I recently had it attached to the floor.”

  “Who noticed the break-in?”

  “The night watchman reported it during his ten-o’clock rounds. Now, before you ask, the sheriff checked on my employees, but everyone had an alibi. It wasn’t a bank employee, either, because they all traveled back together from Proud Bend, and got back quite late. Besides, they would know there was no money that day.”

  “So who else knew the money was usually there?”

  “I’ve employed a few men now and again for extra help, just some miners whose mines have dried up. I get them to do the lifting because they’re used to hard work. But they come and go as their fortunes see fit. Although—” the printer looked reflective “—there is one who always seems to be looking for work more than others, so I hire him more often.”

  “Would he know when everyone gets paid?”

  “Oh, yes. Everyone is paid the same day, just at different times, depending on when his shift starts. He would know when the paymaster from the newspaper shows up. Come to think of it, the last time I hired him, I hadn’t bought the safe yet and only had the cash box.”

  Zane lifted one of the postcards. “Are you sure these are two of the stack stolen?”

  “Absolutely. I’d put them on the counter above the safe. I think whoever it was just grabbed whatever he could find, once he realized he wasn’t going to get any money. I lost a whole tray of metal printing blocks, too. I expect they’ll be melted down and sold as scrap.”

  Zane’s attention pricked. “Metal blocks? Like the ones with letters on them?”

  “Yes.” The printer dug through something behind his counter and produced a large block, twice the size of the one Zane had found in Daniel’s pocket. “Like this but smaller. They had a different typeface than this. This one is serif, which means it has little wings on the ends of each line that makes up a letter. It’s the most popular style. I wasn’t using the blocks that were stolen anymore, so I had put them in a tray beside the postcards. I suspect that was why they were taken. They were the easiest thing to grab.”

  “What could they end up doing with the blocks? Is there another printing press here in Castle Rock?”

  “No. The closest is Denver. Those blocks are in an old-fashioned typeface, so I can’t imagine anyone wanting to use them. The thief will have to melt them down and sell them as scrap metal. That’s what I had planned to do.”

  Zane had asked the blacksmith next door to the sheriff’s office to change the lock on Rosa’s crib door. He’d been willing, boasting that he could do just about anything. Making a mental note to speak with the man tomorrow about someone looking to melt down any blocks, Zane thanked the printer for his time and left.

  The postcards had been stolen and the bartender was selling them under the table for a bit of extra cash. That didn’t reflect well on the bartender, but it didn’t necessarily make him a suspect, because the postcard used as the ransom note could have been stolen from the saloon. Or even bought.

  What about the blocks? How would one go from the thief’s hands to a child’s pocket? Or to the bedding in a soiled dove’s crib? The whole tray was missing, the printer said. Zane noticed a tray of letter blocks sitting back near the press. It would be too heavy for a woman to cart away, assuming Rosa had been the thief.

  Zane adjusted the brim of his Stetson. The sun, being low in the sky as expected in December, already shone almost perpendicular to the south-facing wall. Which meant that the east wall glinted with oblique rays. Glinted almost pink.

  Rhyolite. Zane stooped and looked at the clumps of soil and dead grass that peppered the corner where the building met the ground. This soil was pale, but the stonework wasn’t dusty at all. He brushed his knee against it and then inspected it. No transfer of stone dust. But a mine would see much more.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Looking up, Zane found the printer standing near the open door. “Is this stone rhyolite?” he asked the man.

  “Yes. It’s common, but not cheap. We here in Castle Rock only use it for the best buildings.”

  Zane glanced up the height and breadth of the building. “Even this one?”

  The printer lifted his shoulders once. “This used to be a rhyolite mill, a place to carve the best stone for the best facades. It’s logical to use your own building as advertising, but the mill has been closed for years.”

  “Your shop is clean inside. You’ve removed all traces of stone dust.”

  “Of course. I can’t do a decent job printing otherwise.”

  Which meant that Daniel couldn’t have been in there.

  Just follow the facts, Zane told himself. He glanced around, stepping back enough to catch the top edge of White Horse Bluff. It wasn’t that far as a bird might fly. “Where can I find the rhyolite mine?”

  “There are a number of them.”

  “Which is the closest?” Zane was working on a hunch right now. Rachel had thought the hands that had grabbed the boots in Rosa’s crib were old. And an old miner wouldn’t want to travel too far to find work when
he had been laid off.

  “Well, Castle Rock has one, but was never the best source. The mine behind White Horse Bluff had the best rhyolite, though it’s been closed for a few years.”

  That was interesting. “Is there a road to it?”

  The printer nodded. “The trail to the bluff meets the road between Castle Rock and Proud Bend, about a mile north of here. There is a second trail sprouting from it not far in. It dips down so it’s not as easy to spot at White Horse Bluff’s trailhead, but if you look hard enough, you’ll see it. It wraps around the hillside, because the mine entrance is behind the hill. You can’t miss it, because you can still see the cart tracks. It’s less than half an hour’s walk around the hillside.”

  Encouraged, Zane thanked the man once again. Taken separately, each of these leads didn’t feel like anything important. A break-in a month ago, a stolen printing block that mysteriously ends up in Daniel’s possession, another in a soiled dove’s crib, and a suspected casual miner who might have worked near where the ransom was to be dropped off.

  Taken together, these leads were far more powerful.

  Rachel would like this.

  Zane had no intention of telling her. She had a curious ability to attract trouble.

  “One more question,” Zane said. “Can you give me a description of that one miner who you hired so many times?”

  “I can do better than that.” The printer retreated into his shop and returned a few minutes later with a photograph. “This is my staff on our one-year anniversary.” Slipping on a pair of spectacles, he peered down at the photo before pointing to an older man in the back row. “This is him.”

  It was all starting to make sense. “May I borrow this?”

  “Certainly. Turn it over. The man’s name is listed on the back with all the others.”

  Five minutes later and armed with a decent description, Zane was on his way to White Horse Bluff. There was plenty of light left, despite the short winter day, but Zane didn’t want to waste the time. Thankfully, the printer was able to arrange for him to borrow a horse. Pressing his elbow against his revolver, Zane also reminded himself to remove it from the holster as soon as he dismounted.