Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

“Of course.”

  “A little slander accusing Caro of stumbling across my gold and wanting it all for herself.”

  “Why not?”

  “And—let’s see—a touch of blackmail regarding my character. After all, the sheriff’s an elected position. Your version of my behavior might be frowned on by the voters.”

  “You did put a gun to my head and threaten to kill me.”

  “That’s the difference between us, Kimberly. I’ve never acted on my baser impulses.”

  “You’ve come awfully close, Wyatt. Why not just cross that line? I have. It’s easy. Much easier than resisting.”

  “No.” The sincerity of that simple answer was unmistakable.

  Kimberly’s eyes flashed a fire as burning as the sun. “You would have, if that plain-faced, straight-shooting forensics woman hadn’t come to town.”

  “I came close,” he admitted with shame. Then that changed to rock-hard certainty. “But it won’t happen again.”

  Kimberly sighed, the sound carrying easily. “Be reasonable, Wyatt. You have no idea how wealthy your gold has made me. Anyone with enough cash to hire a fancy lawyer can get away with murder. Besides, I have the perfect defense.” She smiled. “I was only trying to save my poor sick grandfather’s ranch.”

  “The same sick man you locked up in a cell! Caro told me all about it on the climb out. Please, Kimberly, if you care anything about your family and friends, if you care anything about yourself, give up!”

  Kimberly laughed, the melodious, bubbling laugh he’d heard all his life.

  “You know me better than that, Wyatt. You give up. There’s enough gold to buy everyone’s silence. Everyone’s!”

  A deep pain settled in his heart. “Not mine, Kimberly. Never mine.”

  “You don’t think you can spare any gold?” Confused, Kimberly tilted her head. “If you wanted it all for yourself, why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance? The new pump’s in place—it has the water drained and most of the vein exposed.”

  “It’s not about the gold. It’s about right and wrong!”

  “Oh, please! Wyatt Earp you’re not… Sheriff Bodine. You’re a black-hearted man wearing a white hat. And you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

  Wyatt glanced down below them into the ravine at what looked like a rising black cloud of smoke. “I can and I will. For starters, you’re a dead woman if you don’t get away from that ledge.”

  Kimberly swore, an ugly word that mocked the beauty of her perfect face. “My patience is wearing thin, Wyatt. How stupid do you think I am? You may have a gun, but you’d never use it on me.”

  “There are more ways to die than from bullets, and I want you alive, Kim. My brother loves you.” Your grandfather needs you. It’s not too late to start over. I’ll help you all I can. We all will!”

  “You liar! The only person you want to help is yourself—to the gold I slaved for! You’d never have known it was here if it wasn’t for that woman!”

  The cloud of black rose higher in the ravine. “Kimberly! You have to get down! The…”

  He finished his sentence, but Kimberly didn’t hear it. She started swearing, cursing him and all Bodines to suffer whatever torment there was for unfaithful friends and lovers. Wyatt tried again, but her tirade continued and she didn’t, couldn’t, hear a word; he was so far below, she so high above him.

  The expression on his face changed to one of panic, and he gestured frantically, pointing with the forefingers of both hands. “Below you, Kimberly!”

  The cloud of black smoke was thousands upon thousands of hungry bats making their way up and out of the caves. The rush of wind created by their wings grew louder, and the squeaks increased as the swarm began to maneuver around the strange object blocking their centuries-old path to freedom.

  “Get down, Kim! Get down!”

  It was too late. Kimberly jumped in surprise, moving herself into the path of a bat. It managed to avoid the unexpected obstacle with barely a whisper of air between wing and face. Nonetheless Kimberly panicked. Alarmed, she jerked this way and that, looking for a way to escape the cloud of bats, instead of standing still to let it avoid her.

  “They won’t hurt you—wait it out!” Wyatt yelled.

  She ignored him. Then the bulk of the black cloud reached her. Wyatt heard Kimberly’s scream, saw her feet move dangerously close to the ledge. Then thousands of bats obscured her from his view.

  “Kimmie? Kimmie!”

  When the dark swarm finally cleared, all that remained was silence.

  Wyatt didn’t bother to look deep below into the ravine. He knew what he would see. He closed his eyes for a solemn, tragic moment.

  Goodbye… my friend.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wednesday morning

  “ASHES TO ASHES, dust to dust…” The familiar words rang out over Boothill’s cemetery. “Remember, man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

  Caro listened to the old preacher read over Lem Bodine’s newly dug grave. Boothill rarely accepted the recent dead; it had been a full cemetery for many years. But in this case, an exception was made. Wyatt’s great-grandfather would rest with the others from his generation. It felt right to everyone.

  Four of the five adults present followed the solemn custom of a traditional town and wore black—the preacher, Catfish, Marta and Caro. Only Wyatt was dressed in beige, his jeans and short-sleeved shirt replaced by the complete, formal sheriff’s dress uniform. He held his hat in hand, wore his gun at his hip. Also tradition.

  The preacher murmured the familiar words of the Twenty-third Psalm. “… though I walk through the valley of…”

  At Wyatt’s side, Caro almost reached for the sheriff’s hand, then stopped herself. He had been cool, official, almost brusque ever since that day high above The Silver Dollar Mine. Of course, he had his reasons.

  For starters, Morgan’s health was on his mind. Morgan had been admitted to a Tucson hospital for orthopedic surgery to repair his shattered leg. It would take time, but he would eventually heal. Hugh Ellis had also been admitted to the Tucson hospital. His ordeal in the cell, coupled with the news of his granddaughter’s death, had hit him hard. But like Morgan, he would survive.

  That in itself was a miracle. Hugh had wanted to die, tried his best to die, but Wyatt had been there, comforting, forgiving, telling him that Morgan—the other person who had loved Kimberly—needed him most of all. The Bodines would take care of Hugh’s ranch if Hugh would take care of Morgan. Hugh agreed. As far as his ill health would permit, Hugh had rallied.

  Both Hugh and Morgan were to be discharged at the end of the week into the care of family and friends at The Silver Dollar Ranch, with follow-up visits planned at the local clinic.

  Caro herself had spent a couple of hours in Tombstone’s clinic. Her lip didn’t need stitches, although her hands had to be cleaned and her raw knees bandaged. Her eyes had bothered her the most and had to be treated for exposure to the dirty cave water. But there was no permanent damage. The doctor assured her she’d be as good as new and told her to have her eyes rechecked the next day if she experienced further problems. She hadn’t. Physically she was fine.

  The doctors could do nothing for Kimberly. With Jasentha’s help, Kimberly’s broken body had been recovered. She’d been buried in the old Ellis cemetery on the Bar E at Hugh’s request. Save for the invalids, the whole town had turned out for her funeral. The official obituary notice said accidental death; Kimberly had tragically fallen during a foolish sunset hike. That had been Wyatt’s doing.

  “Let her at least keep her good name,” he’d asked those few who knew the truth. “Maybe she didn’t deserve it, but let Morgan and Hugh mourn her without censure.”

  No one saw any reason to argue. And now the last piece of business—the laying to rest of Lem Bodine—was over.

  Well, the second-to-last piece, Caro thought. She and Wyatt hadn’t spoken privately during the
week since Kimberly’s accident. There was a lot to be settled between them. Or so she’d thought. Caro was relieved when the preacher finally finished, and all the men clapped on their everpresent hats.

  Her gaze moved from the grave site toward Wyatt. He was watching her, too, his face no longer solemn but questioning.

  “Now what?” he asked her.

  “I guess we both go home. You to your horses and the Silver Dollar—me to my crime sites in the city.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No, not at all!” Her voice rose, causing Catfish and Marta to glance at her curiously. She lowered her voice. “But I don’t see any other way. You can’t be a rancher if you aren’t on a ranch, and my services couldn’t possibly be required here in Tombstone. I’m not giving up my work. I doubt you’d ever give up your Arabians. Not that I’d ask you…”

  “True, horses are in my blood, but…” Wyatt’s attention was suddenly diverted by a raucous noise outside the cemetery proper.

  “What’s that?” Caro had to raise her voice again to be heard, cursing whatever had interrupted such an important conversation. It was impossible to ignore the racket.

  Wyatt peered off toward the parking lot, seeing a huge tour bus parked, its doors open, its interior empty. “I’d guess an impatient group of tourists is wanting in.”

  Caro glanced at her watch. “It is way past opening time.”

  “They can wait. Boothill is a cemetery first and foremost, period. They aren’t coming in until…” He gestured off to the side.

  Caro noted the grave diggers with the tools of their trade—a miniature bulldozer, two sturdy shovels, a canteen of water and a brand-new cross with “Lem Bodine” carefully lettered, black on white. She knew they were waiting to fill in the grave and set the tombstone as soon as the mourners left. Caro smiled politely and said, “I guess you’d better go to work, Sheriff.”

  “Yeah… Before that mob storms the entrance.” Wyatt was already on his way, his fingers touching his hat brim in both apology and farewell.

  Caro read more than a mere “farewell” in that gesture. She read a final “goodbye” as well.

  Caro watched Wyatt leave Boothill as she had seen him first arrive.

  Without her.

  She sighed and caught at her black skirt as the desert wind kicked up dust and blew clothing about. Marta held down her dress as she came over to Caro’s side.

  “Aren’t you going with him?” Marta asked.

  “I guess not. You know, he cared deeply for Kimberly. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be alive. Besides, we haven’t known each other all that long. I don’t know a thing about him, not how he likes his coffee or what his favorite color is or anything.”

  “You know how he acts during bad times.”

  “I sure do,” Caro said morosely. “Especially since I caused most of them. He hasn’t said two words to me since Kimberly’s death. I think he’s decided to back off—for good.”

  “Maybe you should stick around and find out.”

  Caro’s smile was sad. “Can’t. I have another job waiting. Someone back East is leaving a trail of bodies along

  Interstate 10. One at every rest stop. I’ve been called in to help investigate.”

  She glanced at her watch. She’d already packed and checked out of the motel, where she’d stayed since that day in the caves. “I’ll change into my jeans in the ladies’ room, then hit the road. It’s a long drive to Phoenix.”

  “You’re actually going home?” Marta asked incredulously.

  “Only for the night. I have to drop off my car, pay bills, call the insurance agent, borrow a backup set of forensic tools and catch the airport limo for tomorrow night’s redeye to Florida,” she listed, out of breath. “Which reminds me, I owe you some money.”

  “Forget it,” Marta said.

  “Sorry. Business is business.” Caro reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew the check she’d written earlier.

  Marta stared at the figure. “Wow. Isn’t this a bit high?”

  “Nope. It’s the standard amount, plus hazard pay. Take it.”

  Marta nodded and carefully placed the check into her purse. “Well, thanks, Doc. It’ll help me pay for a good divorce lawyer.”’

  “Marta, I’m so sorry—”

  “Hey, don’t be! I think that man over there—” Marta gestured with her chin toward Catfish, who stood patiently waiting, “—has possibilities.”

  That drew a genuine smile from Caro. “I’m happy for you, Marta.”

  “Well, nothing’s settled yet. I’m still legally a married woman. But I’ve got more news.” Marta drew herself up tall. “Guess who Tombstone’s new dispatcher is? I’m replacing you-know-who.”

  “Congratulations! I can’t say I’m surprised. I always knew you were one heck of an assistant.” Caro held out her hand for Marta to shake. “Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “No, thank you. “ Marta didn’t take Caro’s hand. She gave her a warm hug, instead. “I needed someone to believe in me, and there you were. Now I believe in myself. Others, too.” Marta’s tender smile toward Catfish made her seem years younger.

  Caro felt years older—not to mention a little jealous. “Best not keep a good man waiting,” she said, giving Marta a friendly shove. “Time waits for none of us, you know.”

  After one last goodbye, Marta headed for the exit through the rows of ancient graves, the stark white crosses broken only by a single piece of granite. Marta stopped abruptly at that gray tombstone, the final resting place of photographer Camillus Sidney Fly. “Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you!” Marta hurried back, rummaged through her oversize handbag and withdrew a small manila envelope.

  Caro stared at the offering. “What is it? More evidence?”

  “No, just a reproduction of an old photograph I found in one of Tombstone’s antique shops. It’s one of his, you know.”

  Caro followed Marta’s gesturing finger. “Fly’s?”

  “Yep. Thought you might get a kick out of it.” Marta gave Caro the envelope, then a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good men are hard to find, Caro, and your sheriff’s the pick of the litter. Don’t let him get away.”

  “We’ll see,” was Caro’s nebulous answer, but it was obviously good enough for Marta.

  “Great! Well, I’ve gotta go! I start training for my new job tomorrow, and I’ve got paperwork to fill out at City Hall. Catfish is giving me a ride in.”

  “Have a safe trip.”

  “You, too!”

  Another hug, then Marta hurried off, fluttering her hand in farewell. Catfish threw an arm around Marta’s shoulder, leaving Caro alone with the silver-and gold-laced mountains.

  No doubt about it, Tombstone was a beautiful place. She could see why C. S. Fly would spend more than twenty years photographing it. But there were other places for her, dangerous places where mysteries waited to be solved by someone with her skills.

  Tombstone wasn’t for her. Too bad a man from Tombstone was.

  “So much for the girl getting the guy and riding off into the sunset. All I get is some old photo, a paycheck and a few crazy memories.” Pensively, she slid the unopened photograph into her blazer pocket.

  “Crazy sounds about right,” a deep voice answered.

  Caro whirled around, embarrassed to be caught talking to herself.

  “As for memories, “ he continued, “I prefer to live in the present. We need to talk.”

  “You know, you keep saying that.”

  Wyatt offered her an arm and escorted her away from the past, with its griefs and its deaths. They left behind the old for the new—the front of the gift store and the view of a modern highway, telephone wires, tourists, laughing children.

  Wyatt fanned the dust off one of the outside benches with his Stetson. “Please, have a seat,” he said.

  She did, but Wyatt didn’t join her. Instead, he gazed out toward the desert valleys for a long moment. Then h
e turned slowly and studied her.

  “Are you in a hurry?” he finally asked. “This might take a bit.”

  “I have a few minutes to listen,” Caro said evenly, although her heart was racing. “Fire away.”

  He nodded, his face expressionless. “You know I used to work for the Tucson Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  She nodded.

  “You even implied I’d lost my edge.”

  “I should never have said that, Wyatt. I’m sorry. I know such intense work can cause burnout. Anyone in law enforcement knows that.”

  “True, but that wasn’t the case with me.” Wyatt gave her a tight smile. “I didn’t quit because of burnout. I quit because I was enjoying myself too much.”

  “Enjoying?”

  “Relishing. Savoring. Treasuring. I loved thinking better, scheming better than the real drug runners. I loved infiltrating their ranks. I was able to go undercover to trap them because, deep down, I was one of them. And they knew it.”

  Puzzled, Caro said, “What exactly are you saying?”

  “There’s a twisted part of me that makes me comfortable with these people! There’s a part of me that wishes I could join them!”

  “I’m glad,” Caro said calmly.

  “You’re glad?”

  “Of course I am! I’d rather have one of you on our side than a hundred naive, innocent, ineffective lawmen. Only you could’ve helped me and saved Morgan. I don’t care how you think. That’s your business. I only care how you act. And so far, I approve.”

  “My God, I nearly killed Kimberly in the caves! Can you condone that?”

  “No, but I can understand it. If it’d been my sister she’d hogtied and left to die in the desert sun—” Caro shrugged “—who knows what I might’ve done?”

  “But what I did—almost did—to Kimberly was wrong. A mistake.”

  “Welcome to the human race.” Caro stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “Is there a point to this self-recrimination?”

  Wyatt met her gaze straight on. “Yes. I’m in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—as my friend, my partner, my equal.” He lowered his voice. “My lover.”