The Vicar of St. James

by J. R. Roberts

  She was stroking him while they talked. She certainly seemed to know what she was doing. Clint wondered how many of the men in town had been with her.

  “I’ve been very discreet,” she said as if she could read his mind. “Like I am now.”

  “You consider this discreet?”

  “Nobody saw me come in.”

  “The desk clerk?”

  She smiled. “He won’t say a word.”

  She brought her knees up so she could scoot closer to him. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out to take her breasts in his hands, tickle the nipples with his thumbs.

  “Mmm, yes,” she said. “See how much fun it is when we both play?”

  “Where does your mother think you are?”

  “Stop worrying about who knows what,” she told him, “and enjoy.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him, a kiss that started tentatively, but then went on and on. The tip of his hard cock broke the surface of the water, and she reacted with delight.

  “Oooh, yes,” she said, “I was impressed before, but now—”

  They kissed again, and he slid his hands along her inner thighs until he was probing her. Her heat was more intense than the heat of the bath as he inserted a couple of fingers into her. She closed her eyes and moaned, her nostril flaring.

  “Oh, yes,” she said as he moved his fingers, “yes, yes…”

  “Do you think we could dry off and make it to my room?” he asked her.

  “We can dry off, but there’s no need to go to your room,” she said. “We have all this floor space.”

  Clint got out of the tub first, then helped her out. He paused to take a look at all of her slippery, wet skin. She let him look, then got down on her knees and took his wet, hard cock into her mouth. This was further proof—rock-hard proof—that she was not the innocent her parents thought she was.

  She grabbed his buttocks and sucked him greedily, then pulled him down to the floor with her. It was cold, but neither of them noticed. She rolled him onto his back, then squatted over him and took his cock inside her. She began to ride him, her feet flat on the floor, her thigh muscles working as she slid up and down his slick cock.

  “Jesus,” he said after a while, “don’t you ever get tired?”

  “Not when it feels this good,” she said. “I could slide up and down on you all day.”

  “Well,” he said, “we don’t have all day, so…”

  He reached for her, grabbed beneath her arms, and lifted her off him, then turned her onto her back. He spread her legs, slid on beneath them, and rammed himself into her. With no give in the floor beneath her, each stroke took him good and deep, and she gasped each time.

  “Yeah, oh yeah,” she said between gasps.

  Well, she’d been pushing him since the day before, bumping him with her hip, touching him with her hands, so she was finally getting what she wanted.

  And he wasn’t exactly complaining either.

  When they were done, they dried off completely and got dressed.

  “We should go out separately,” he said.

  “Worried about my reputation?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s afternoon now,” he said. “We’re not going to walk out of here and go unseen.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Maybe your mother will,” he said. “Don’t argue with me. Just wait here for a few minutes and then leave.”

  “Okay,” she said, “but I’ll see you later tonight, won’t I?”

  “We’ll have to see,” he said. “I’ll be helping the sheriff try to find out who killed your father.”

  “Whoever it is,” she said, “when you find him, give him a medal for me, will ya?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Clint came out into the lobby as a man and woman were checking in. The man nodded to him, but the woman looked away. They were dressed like Easterners. Clint had the feeling she was afraid of him—and probably afraid of any man she saw in the West.

  He went to his room so that he wouldn’t be in the lobby when Adele came out.

  He left his washed shirts in the room, putting them on the windowsill to dry. When he thought he’d given Adele enough time to get out of the hotel, he went back downstairs. All the exercise he’d gotten with the girl had made him hungry. He decided to walk to Mrs. Colton’s and have a good meal.

  When he got there, she greeted him warmly and showed him to a table. There were other people eating at a few tables, but they didn’t look at him. He didn’t know if they were afraid of him because of who he was, or because he was friends with Father Joe.

  Mrs. Colton took his order herself and brought him a beautiful steak platter and a pot of coffee.

  “You let me know if there’s anything else you need, Mr. Adams.”

  “Well, Mrs. Colton,” he said, “I’ll need you to call me Clint, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine, sir,” she said. “Uh, Clint, that is. Please, enjoy.”

  He did. As he ate, he felt the energy he had expended with Adele returning to his body. By the time he got to a piece of pie and another pot of coffee, he was feeling completely renewed.

  People came and went around him, and he felt the weight of their stares on him. He did not, however, feel threatened in any way, which suited him. They could stare all they wanted, as long as they didn’t try to introduce bullets into his meal.

  By the time he was finished, the place had emptied out. He paid his bill and told Mrs. Colton, “I’m sorry if I scared off your customers.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “You didn’t. I usually have a lull about this time, and then they start coming in for supper.”

  “Still,” Clint said, “I noticed all the stares. I don’t know if it’s because of who I am, or because I’m friends with Father Joe.”

  “Well,” she said, “you wouldn’t catch me sayin’ anythin’ bad about Father Joe. He’s cleaned up this town and a lot of folks don’t like it.”

  “Cleaning up a town is usually the job of whoever’s wearing a badge.”

  “That may be, but Sheriff Bricker didn’t do much to accomplish that. Father Joe’s only been here a few months, but look at what he’s done.”

  “So you like Father Joe.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Let’s say I approve of what he’s done around here.”

  Clint studied the woman, and decided not to press the question. She obviously did not want to admit whether she did or did not like the vicar.

  “Okay, Mrs. Colton,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  She nodded and went back into her kitchen. Clint let himself out of the house.

  He walked to the sheriff’s office, found Bricker sitting on a wooden chair out front.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here,” Clint said.

  “Then why’d you come here?”

  “Good point,” Clint said. “You got another chair?”

  “Inside.”

  Clint opened the door, reached in, grabbed the other chair, and sat down next to Bricker.

  “What’ve you got?” Clint asked.

  “I’ve got nothin’,” Bricker said. “I’m sittin’ here feelin’ frustrated.”

  “Well, you know, you could send for some federal help.”

  “Like what?”

  “A federal marshal.”

  “Why would the feds send a marshal to this place?”

  “Hey,” Clint said, “murder is murder. Do you have a newspaper in town? I haven’t noticed.”

  “No newspaper,” Bricker said.

  “What’s the closest paper?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Clarksville?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “If these murders get into a newspaper, and then get picked up by other newspapers, the feds might get interested.”

  “That would take days.”

  “Probably.”

  “Are you gonna stay here that long?”

  “Well… I was kind of thinking you wouldn’t need
me if you had a marshal.”

  Bricker thought a moment then said, “I suppose we could start with a newspaper story.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint found Father Joe sweeping the floor of the church.

  “You don’t have somebody to do that for you?” he asked.

  Father Joe stopped, leaned on the broom, and asked, “Are you offerin’?”

  “No,” Clint said. “I’ve got enough to do. I’m trying to find a killer.”

  “Any luck?”

  “No,” Clint said. “I don’t think Debra or Adele did it, but I haven’t ruled anyone else out.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  Father Joe stared at him, then shrugged and continued sweeping.

  “Yeah, okay,” Clint said. “I don’t think you killed either one of them.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “I came over to tell you that I’m leaving town for about a day.”

  “To do what?”

  “I have to go to Clarksville and see that these murders get into the newspaper.” He explained about getting a federal marshal interested.

  “That’s sneaky,” Father Joe said. “You get a marshal in here and you can leave.”

  “Exactly.”

  “If Clarksville has a telegraph office, you could do a lot with that.”

  “I was thinking about that, too,” Clint said. “Send a telegram to the state capital.”

  “Well then,” the Vicar said, “one way or another, you’ll be getting help.”

  “One way or another.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “What for?”

  “Watch your back.”

  “With what? A Bible?”

  “It’s a mighty weapon.”

  “Not in this case,” Clint said. “You stay here and keep an eye on things, Vicar.”

  “That’s my job,” Father Joe said. “Keeping an eye on my flock.”

  “Well then, just keep doing your job,” Clint said. “For the time being, I seem to have mine.”

  Clint stopped by the Whittington house to talk to Debra and Adele.

  Adele opened the door to him and smiled.

  “You back for more already?” she whispered.

  “I just came to talk to you and your mother for a minute.”

  “Well, come in.”

  He entered, found Debra sitting in a chair, looking pale.

  “I just wanted to let you ladies know I’ll be leaving town briefly.”

  “Where are you goin’?” Adele asked.

  “Clarksville, for a start,” Clint said. “I’m going to see what I can do about getting some federal help in here to find out who killed your husband. Your father.”

  “In Clarksville?”

  “Maybe,” Clint said.

  “When will you be back?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Clint said. “I’ll check in when I come back.”

  Adele walked Clint to his horse.

  “Kiss me good-bye?” she asked.

  “Not here, Adele.”

  He mounted up and looked down at her. She put her hand on his leg.

  “Be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  He wheeled Eclipse around and rode away.

  The first shot came just as he reached the hanging tree. He cleared the saddle, hit the ground as the second shot sounded. He knew it was from a rifle, from a ways off.

  On the ground he scampered over to the tree, using the trunk for cover. He didn’t remove his gun from his holster. The shooter was too far away, using a rifle.

  He sat with his back against the tree trunk. Okay, he thought, who knew he was coming out here? The sheriff, the vicar, Debra and Adele Whittington. He couldn’t imagine either woman out there with a rifle. Joe Holloway could have made the shot with ease. If he was out there, he missed on purpose. Father Joe… well, he didn’t know about him. And he had no idea what kind of a hand Sheriff Bricker was with a rifle.

  But whoever the shooter was, he clearly didn’t want Clint leaving town.

  Clint decided to give him what he wanted.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Clint entered the sheriff’s office without knocking.

  “Hey!” Bricker said from his desk. “I thought you left town.”

  Clint didn’t reply. He walked to the gun rack on the wall, tried to remove one of the rifles, but it was locked.

  “You got the key for this?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Bricker said, “but do you care to tell me why you want it?”

  “I got as far as the hanging tree when somebody took some shots at me.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s why I’d like to find out.”

  “And you wanna check my guns first?”

  “Why not? You’re one of the people who knew I was going.”

  Bricker considered for a moment, then took a key from his pocket and tossed it to Clint. He caught it left-handed and used it to unlock the rack. There were three rifles and two shotguns. He left the shotgun where it was, removed each rifle in turn, and sniffed them.

  “Satisfied?” Bricker asked.

  Clint locked the rack and tossed the key back to the sheriff, who fumbled it, dropped it, and picked it up.

  “I’m satisfied that none of these rifles were used.”

  “So now what?”

  “I keep checking.”

  Clint walked to the door.

  “Does this mean you’re not leavin’ town?”

  “That’s what it means,” Clint said. “Never mind a federal marshal. I’ll find this killer myself.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?”

  “Just keep doing your job, Sheriff.”

  He opened the door and left.

  His next stop was the church. He got the same welcome there.

  “I thought you left town,” Father Joe said as Clint entered the church.

  “Somebody changed my mind,” Clint said.

  “How’d they do that?”

  “With a couple of shots,” Clint said. “From about three hundred yards away, with a rifle.”

  “Three hundred yards,” Father Joe said. “That’s a helluva shot.”

  “As you can see, they missed.”

  “And you’re back.”

  Clint shrugged.

  “The shooter wants me to stay so bad I thought I’d give him what he wants.”

  “He?”

  “Could be a she, I guess,” Clint said.

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “No.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  “I checked the sheriff’s ordnance,” Clint said. “None of it’s been fired recently.”

  “The sheriff?”

  “He knew I was leaving town.”

  “So did I.”

  “I know.”

  Father Joe stared at Clint.

  “You want to check my rifle?”

  “Just to be thorough.”

  “What makes you think I still have a rifle?”

  “Just thought I’d ask.”

  Father Joe stared at Clint some more.

  “Come with me.”

  He turned and led Clint to the office. He pointed to the chest in the corner.

  “Open it.”

  Clint walked to the chest and opened the lid. He saw the rolled-up holster lying on top.

  “Check it,” Father Joe said. “Hasn’t been fired in years.”

  Clint closed the lid.

  “Not gonna smell the barrel?”

  “The shooter used a rifle, not a pistol,” Clint pointed out.

  “Well… that’s the only gun I have.”

  “No rifle?”

  “No rifle.”

  Clint looked down at the closed chest.

  “Why keep this one?”

  “Old times’ sake?”

  “Vicar with a gun?” Clint asked.

  “I’ll get rid of it,” Father Joe said, “soon.”
<
br />   Clint shrugged.

  “That’s up to you. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “Hey,” Father Joe said, “anything I can do to help. I’m right here.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Clint said, and left.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Clint thought about riding out to the Whittington house, but if Debra or Adele had taken the shot at him, they’d be back by now, and the rifle they used would be hidden away. So, too, if they had used another man to do the shooting, he’d be hidden or long gone.

  He was sure that Adele could have gotten any man to do what she wanted him to do. What he would have liked to do was talk to Debra without her daughter around.

  Okay, yeah, that was it. She was the only one he hadn’t talked to yet, since the killings. Not alone anyway.

  He went to the livery and saddled Eclipse.

  As he rode up on the Whittington house, he saw that the buckboard was there, and the horses were in the stable. There was a saddle hanging on the side of a stall. He dismounted and left Eclipse behind the stable, out of sight of the house.

  He walked to the side of the house and looked in the window. Debra was sitting in a chair. It was as if she had never moved since the last time he was there.

  Adele was moving about the kitchen, talking to her mother the whole time. She was wearing a simple dress, but not the kind of thing a girl would wear around the house. He thought she was probably going to be leaving soon, so he decided to wait. Maybe she was going to go to town to look for him. That would keep her there for a while, since he wasn’t there to find. It would be a while before she gave up looking and went back home.

  He settled down to wait.

  It took over an hour, and he was about to give up, when she finally went to the front door and opened it.

  “I’m just gonna go to town to get a few things,” she said to her mother. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He was still watching through the window, but could hear her voice clearly from around the corner. Her mother never moved.

  “Bye, Mother.”

  He moved to the back of the house, hid there, and watched her walk to the stable. It took her a few moments, but she saddled one of the horses and came riding out, headed for town.

  He walked around to the front door and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he opened the door and went inside.