“Wife?” she asked finally. She was guessing.
Colin laughed once at the suggestion. Not quite, he thought. “No,” he told her instead. For reasons unfathomable to him, Mack looked almost relieved in the dim glow of the dusky light.
“Oh,” was all she said. They fell into a silence once more, though it was more uncomfortable than comfortable this time.
“We’ve been talking about Beth recently,” Mack suddenly said, out of the blue. It caught Colin off-guard – they rarely addressed the situation head-on. It was always danced around, carefully addressed without being addressed directly. So to bring it up so abruptly startled Colin, kicking his heartbeat up a notch.
“I didn’t kill her.” Those were the first words out of Colin’s mouth. He wasn’t certain of exactly why he said them – there were a multitude of reasons. Perhaps it was the incessantly persistent need to prove his innocence and free himself from this snarled mess. Perhaps it was his pride, his own conscience screaming against the fact that some people thought he was a murderer. Or perhaps it was because he was so desperate to prove to Mack that he wasn’t the killer.
Mack. Why would he be so persistent in proving it to Mack? Why not Sam? Colin shook his head. The important thing was he did not kill that girl. Even if the rest of the world didn’t believe him, he knew that he was innocent. And that, he supposed, would have to be enough.
“I never said you did,” Mack said evenly, though she regarded him with a fixed stare. “Sam and I were merely talking about the times we shared with her.”
Oh. Colin swallowed the dry lump in his throat and forced himself to remain calm. “Ah,” he said, directing his gaze to a small tuft of grass in front of him.
“Hmm.” Mack swung her legs back and forth on the post, palms firmly grasping the chipped wood she sat on. She was silent for a while after that, but just when Colin was about to ask her if anything was wrong, she opened her mouth and spoke.
“Sam thinks you did it.” Colin blinked, though he was far from surprised. If Sam’s behavior towards him was anything to judge by, Sam had been certain he was the killer since the very day they met.
“Why?” Colin managed to ask.
Mack was thoughtful in choosing her words and what to reveal to Colin.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “There are certain parts to the story that don’t add up.” Now she did turn to look at him, gray eyes forever solemn and sharp.
“I’m telling the truth!” Colin protested.
“I’m sure,” Mack nodded firmly as she brushed stray wood chips off her jeans. “Besides,” she added, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Even if you weren’t, I’d find out. And that would be so much worse.”
Colin didn’t know what to think.
***
The days dragged on to weeks and before Colin knew it, nearly a month had passed since the discovery of Beth’s body. Still no headway had been made in the case, though it seemed to him that they were going in circles.
Certain clues were piecing together in ways that made absolutely no sense. At one point, the sheriff himself had been a suspect. Everything added up to a new, mismatched puzzle, and it was one that was driving Mack crazy. She was never cross, never angry, but Colin could tell she was getting frustrated.
“I’ve never been on a case for so long before,” she told him once. And despite his persistent status as a suspect, Mack never once exonerated him, nor ever once declared him the perpetrator so as to wrap up the case quickly.
“There are certain things,” she was explaining to him, as they walked over to meet Sam where they had found the body, “that don’t make sense.”
She turned to Colin as they walked. “If your story is true, then Sam or the sheriff or someone close to Beth must be lying. But why would they lie? What would there be to gain? And Sam and Beth were going to get married next spring.”
“Sam and Beth were engaged?” This was new information to him, but he reasoned that as a suspect he did not have access to all the information. Mack nodded vigorously.
“Yup,” she said.
They were walking past the store now, warm sun tickling their noses and cheeks. Colin was mildly horrified at this revelation. Small wonder Sam had been so remarkably vicious towards him the last few weeks. Sam was about eight yards away now. “It must have been devastating for him.”
“Yeah,” Mack murmured absentmindedly. “But he’s been a little odd lately. I can’t tell exactly why – perhaps it’s the murder that’s set him off, but he’s been pretty jumpy as of late.”
“Understandable,” Colin pointed out, “particularly since he doesn’t yet know the killer of his fiancée.”
“Wait.” Mack frowned. She stared ahead, not at anything, and began speaking. “If Colin was telling the truth, it must not have been anyone from around here. It had to be someone very close to Beth.” She spun around, her brows furrowed as she faced Colin. Sam walked towards them.
Mack was speaking more rapidly now, the words tumbling out of her like water crashing down from great heights. Colin worried she might grow dizzy or lose her balance at the rate at which she was turning her head. Her eyes widened as she directed her attention first from Sam to Colin, then back to Sam.
And as Colin listened, an ugly, cold feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. He knew who the killer was. But it couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. He didn’t want to believe it. But indeed, if Mack’s reasoning and his truth and all the facts they had collected in the weeks leading up to now weren’t enough to point them in the direction of the killer, he didn’t know what was.
Mack, too, seemed to have figured it out. “Then the killer must be–” Her eyes widened as she made the realization and she whirled around to grab her gun. But she hadn’t gotten more than a few steps forward when Sam made his move.
Mack yelped, stumbling and bending over backwards, nearly losing her balance. Sam had caught hold of her braided hair and viciously yanked back. Mack moved quickly though, jamming her elbow back under his chin and kicking backwards.
He released her with a grunt of pain and she tripped away from him, blinking watery pain away from her eyes. She turned around to confront him, but froze. He’d pulled out his gun and now had it pointed directly at her.
“Sam.” She didn’t shout his name, didn’t curse it. But Colin could see the hurt and shock in her eyes. She kept her gaze fixed on the gun, though her fingers twitched, as if agonizing over the gun she had left in her saddle bag.
“Mack.” Sam spoke conversationally, and had there not been a gun, had they not been tussling mere moments ago, Colin would’ve believed they were simply talking. He walked forward slowly, gaining two steps for every one backwards Mack took.
Colin made to move, but a sharp glance from Sam stopped him. “Move and I’ll paint the ground a real nice red with your gal’s blood.” Terror stabbed daggers in Colin’s chest and panic anchored him firmly to where he stood. But he was still too far from Mack, he lamented.
“Why?” Mack shook her head, still not understanding. A wide range of emotions flitted across her face: surprise, hurt, anger, shock. “Why Beth? I thought you loved her!”
Sam didn’t reply, instead only shaking his head. He gave her a pitying look. “You ask too many questions, doll. But it’s a right shame we had to end it this way – I always did like your pretty face.”
Sam had pointed the end of the barrel directly at Mack.
***
The gun fired, sharper than a whip or the crack of shattering glass.
On instinct, Colin dived for Mack, probably crushing her in the process, but at the very least shielding her from the bullet, which instead buried itself in his right shoulder.
As they tumbled to the ground, Mack didn’t scream. Instead she drew her revolver and fast as a rattlesnake fired two shots Sam, who fell to the ground.
She then swore like a seasoned sailor and berated Colin. “Stupid boy,” she said. “Stupid, stupid boy.” Colin
could see the panic etched onto her face.
Very quickly, she got out from under Colin to check on Sam. Sam was not moving but he was groaning slightly. Colin was wounded and bleeding, but looking at Mack standing there, unhurt, he did not think of his gunshot. He just felt relief. She was okay, she wasn’t hurt.
Satisfied that Sam was no longer a threat, Mack turned back to Colin, bleeding on the ground from his shoulder. She knelt, and cursed quietly under her breath as she struggled with removing his shirt. Colin dared a peek to his right – her hands were shaking far too much to be of help with pulling his sleeve up.
“Are you okay?”
“Shh,” was the only reply he received from Mack as she steadfastly remained by his side, still attempting to tug the fabric off to use it as a tourniquet.
Several attempts and wiggles later, the shirt was removed and wrung into a tight, makeshift bandage, which Mack promptly tied around Colin’s upper forearm. He hissed as she touched the wound, drawing back in an alarmingly sudden movement.
Mack recoiled, worried that she might’ve hurt him further. She held the cloth in one hand, both hands stained with red.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked with wide eyes.
“I’m fine,” Colin managed. He could feel the sting of the bullet wound now, and it was only growing in intensity, slowly licking up his arm like a flame. “It–” He paused, looking down at his arm, almost entranced by the horrific way the red pooled and trickled down like a scarlet waterfall.
“It just burns,” he commented, almost casually as Mack followed his line of vision with visible discomfort. “Stung a little when you touched it, but it wasn’t anything serious,” he attempted to reassure her.
Mack still didn’t look convinced. “Here,” he prompted, moving his arm towards her. The movement elicited another painful bout, but he grit his teeth and kept silent, lest Mack be apprehensive about tying the tourniquet again.
She was still hesitant, even as he nodded to encourage her, and she moved relatively slowly, much more careful this time.
“I’m going to die of blood loss before you get that tourniquet properly tied, Mack,” Colin noted to her with mild amusement.
“I can’t believe you’re joking at a time like this,” Mack muttered. But she picked up the pace, working to tie the cloth firmly in place.
“I can’t believe you’re unfamiliar with treating gunshot wounds, particularly with your occupation,” Colin shot back. He had genuinely been surprised. As a sharpshooter, it wasn’t uncommon for her to be around bullets and guns and violent fights more frequently than he.
“Not unfamiliar with wounds, just treating them,” she quipped. “Not a nurse, just a scout.” She finished tying up the last bit of the awkwardly chunky tourniquet and leaned back to examine her work.
“It’ll hold,” she decided with an unhappy frown on her face. Colin looked down on it. It wasn’t particularly tight, but probably the best he could hope for. He brought a bloodied hand up to press down firmly on his wound, nearly seeing stars with the burning pain it brought him.
“It’ll be fine,” he repeated dazedly as he remained where he lay. Mack nodded blankly, looking around for anything more that might be of use.
“Just,” Colin struggled for the word, “leave it.”
“Oh my lord, what is going on here?” The voice was distinctly feminine and familiar to Colin.
“Mrs. Wright?” said Colin. She was his neighbor; the nicest lady on the block, in his opinion, if a little deaf. Always came over to buy her flour and soap. He refrained from the urge to turn around, knowing it would only agonize the wound more.
“Colin, dear, are you okay? Oh, where are your parents? And you, young lady, what is going on?”
Colin let his eyes slip shut as Mack relayed the story to Mrs. Wright. The pain was slowly getting worse and he grit his teeth, feeling his eyes start to smart with tears from the throbbing.
“Hold on, Colin.” It was Mack again, desperate pleading in her voice. “Hold on, okay?” She shook him slightly, and he wanted to push her away, wanted the pain to stop. But shaking him had brought him back from the lure of the darkness and he cracked his eyes open blearily to see Mack blurrily leaning over him.
“Hold on.”
**
A quiet knock brought his attention to the door. Mack’s short silhouette bled across the morning sunlight and Colin smiled, beckoning her from his bed.
“Come in,” he said. She obliged, carrying with her a tin of biscuits and some coffee.
“How are you feeling?”
“Could be worse.” Colin twisted his lips into a wry smile. To be completely truthful, he had been surprised at the relatively short-lived pain. It still burned, but not as badly as he had been anticipating.
A short trip to the local doctor had taken care of the bullet, and after dressing and cleaning it, he was instructed to stay on bed rest for the next few weeks. Mrs. Wright and his neighbors had been marvelously kind, keeping shop for him and even bringing him things to eat.
But no one fretted over him like Mack did, and it was something Colin found rather amusing. She had seemed so unlike the motherly, nursing type – and she really wasn’t. She struggled with cleaning his wounds and changing his dressing. She struggled with bringing him food and often simply stood by the bedside, wringing her hands in frustration as she attempted to help in any way she possibly could.
“Just sit, Mack,” he’d laugh at her. “It’ll get better on its own.” Time and patience, he quickly found out, were not Mack’s strong suits.
She came by daily, though, even if her visits were occasionally short. And she never failed to bring something. Often it was food, but sometimes it was a small trinket, or a useful item.
The days when she could stay over were the nicest. They were warm and comforting, days they could just sit and talk for hours on end and go off on nonsensical tangents.
Mack sat down at the end of his bed, setting down the tin of coffee powder and cookies. “Today was the last day of Sam’s trial,” she said.
Colin nodded mutely, waiting. “It was Sam.” Her voice was filled with sorrow. “He killed Beth.”
Colin shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the twist in the outcome of events. Sam seemed the guilty party more and more during the investigation, and now there had been a trial and a verdict. But still he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “It couldn’t have been. Sam?” He couldn’t picture the man with the sad eyes trying to frame an innocent man, much less kill his own fiancée.
“It was Sam,” Mack affirmed. “Beth, and he had a falling out right before she was killed.”
“So he killed her? Because they couldn’t reconcile?”
“She was his fiancée,” Mack said. “And a sweet gal she was, really. Seemed to be. Would stop by to say hi or drop off some homemade biscuits...”
She was silent for a while, simply stroking the coarse cloth blanketing Colin. “I didn’t think Sam was like that, though,” she said. She looked up at Colin with sad eyes, and for the first time he saw the impact the betrayal had on her.
“He was always the first one to go chasing after varmints like that, always the first one to clean up a messy fight.” She shook her head.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said.
At that, Mack looked directly at him and narrowed her eyes. “Would’ve been fine either way,” she said shortly. “But you just had to go and–”
“Shh,” Colin raised a finger to his lips. “We’re okay. That’s all that really matters now. We’re okay.”
***
The creak of the wooden floors and soft click of boots alerted Colin from the back of the store and he hurried to the front.
“We’re closed,” he said. Then he saw who it was who had walked in through the doors. It was Mack.
“Hey,” Colin greeted her as she walked towards him. She nodded a greeting at him. “You cut your hair,” he noted, appraising Mack’s short bob.
“Mm,” she nodded, lightly fingering the short, wavy strands that hung around her face. “Figured it was time for a change,” she said lightly. Colin nodded and wisely said nothing more about the subject.
“What brings you here?” Colin looked around at the empty trade post. It looked abandoned, dust swirling in soft clouds around the bare shelves. Gone were the tin pans and sluices and spoons and satchels that once filled the shelves.
His parents had all but packed up the shop within a week of his getting injured.
We are not staying in a location this dangerous – there’s absolutely no reason we ought to. There is always business elsewhere, his father had said firmly. His mother had resolutely agreed, nearly trembling at the thought of such violence within such close proximity to them.
Colin had argued. Colin had begged. Colin had resolutely put his foot down. And it was all to no avail. His parents were going back to Europe. Business had been reasonable, but not exceptional, they had said. Not enough to justify staying. Colin’s brush with death sealed it.
Mack scuffed her boot against the wooden floor, sending up another small cloud of sand and grit. She looked down at her toes briefly before looking back up again at Colin. She gave him a small, lopsided smile.
“To say goodbye,” she said. “Problem?” She trod lightly with her words, something Colin hadn’t really known her to do in the past.
“No, not at all,” he said with mild surprise. In light of recent events, he was surprised she had even remembered that he was leaving.
“Good,” she nodded. She looked around at the forlorn store. “Folks packed up well,” she said with mild amusement before laughing.
Colin laughed with her, nodding in agreement. “Well,” he shrugged. “Can’t really blame them, what with Beth’s body being found on our property and the law getting heavily involved.”
“Not to mention your being a suspect and eventually getting shot,” Mack piped up helpfully, quirking her familiar smirk at him.
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