Eleanor and I hustled outside beneath the overhang, finally spotting Andrew and Mr. Wilson. Andrew about knocked me out with his white western shirt and matching pants with metal rivets that were fastened to his shirt pocket and all along the sides of the legs of his trousers. He also had a gun belt around his waist with a pistol. “Let me guess. You must be the good guy,” I said as I walked up.
“He sure is, and I’m the bad guy,” Mr. Wilson said with a cracking voice. He wore all black with a long-sleeved shirt and pants, and as he walked toward us, spurs struck the clapboard porch with a jangle of metal. He also had a gun belt around his waist with a pearl-handled revolver. I sure bought into the idea that both of them were every inch western men.
Mr. Wilson let out a whistle, or his version of one with way too much wind and not enough whistle, but I got the idea.
I fanned my face in feigned embarrassment. “Was that for little ole us?” I asked.
Eleanor played along and took ahold of my arm. “Agnes, don’t talk to the likes of him. He’s an outlaw.”
“Yes, but he’s sort of cute, don’t you think,” I said, nudging Eleanor in the ribs. She then burst into laughter.
“I can’t believe it, Mr. Wilson. You look like a real outlaw from one of those Old Western movies,” Eleanor gushed.
“He’d better tow the line with you ladies, or I’ll put this six shooter to good use,” Andrew said as he tapped the silver sheriff’s badge he wore. “You sure look quite fetching today, Agnes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a skirt before—either of you, actually.”
“Thanks. I think. So what’s going on out here?”
“There’s supposed to be a parade,” Mrs. Barry said as she held her beer glass tightly in her right hand.
“We just love the Gold Rush Festival,” Mrs. Peacock said, fluttering her eyelashes at Mr. Wilson who sidled up next to Eleanor when her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I thought that didn’t start until tomorrow,” I said.
“The parade is always the day before,” Mrs. Peacock said.
I heard what sounded like a gun going off as two men raced their horses up the street, scarves tied around their faces, concealing their identities from everyone. One man was holding a woman who had been thrown over one of their horses. I bit a fist even though I figured it was just part of the show, but the woman kicked and screamed so much that it seemed very real. Sheriff Wilford appeared in the middle of the street, pointing his rifle at the outlaws, who shouted, “Move out of the way, Sheriff, or this gal’s life won’t be worth a plug nickel.”
“You let Miss Bertha Anne go, or else.”
“Ain’t gonna do that. We’re ransoming her to her father. Peyton will be forced to show us where he hid the gold bars for sure then.”
Peyton? As in Peyton Leister? This didn’t sound much like a legend if they’re using it as part of their reenactment.
“Please, take her out of town and never bring her back,” Redd whispered to me with a chuckle. “That way I’ll have some peace from her advances.”
I pursed my lips. What a stubborn man this Redd was. “I don’t think you mean that. She seems like a real nice lady.”
“If she were a lady, I might give her half a chance, but ladies don’t chase after men.”
“Perhaps not in your generation they didn’t, but times they have changed and Berta Anne has no other prospects.”
Redd’s brow furrowed, and instead of sticking around, he went back inside.
“What’s his deal?” Eleanor asked. “Most men would be happy to have a lovely lady like that pursuing him.”
“Not when it develops into stalking,” Andrew said. “Word is that she calls Redd like twenty times a day.”
That certainly wasn’t good. “Perhaps I should have a chat with the girl.”
Two more horses came up in full steam with men in white, surrounding the bad guys, who let Bertha Anne go. She ran into the sheriff’s arms as the men were apprehended and taken into the jailhouse across the street. Applause were heard at the reenactment and it took a few minutes for the sheriff to pry Bertha Anne’s fingers from his shirt.
“Yup, she’s definitely a stalker,” Eleanor said.
A band played a lively tune and passed us by, fully intent on playing their music while we all tapped our feet in time. Next was a wagon with clowns on it, tossing candy to children who lined the other side of the street.
Many more wagons passed by, some of which had gold rush era looking men who hooted and hollered that they just found the mother lode, holding huge rocks in their hands that were painted gold. Other wagons represented the many businesses in Silver, from the Tumbleweed Saloon that had a wooden keg of beer on their wagon, to one with provisions that a prospector might need from the Willington General Store, with Glenda O’Shay sitting on it. Next was the wagon carrying a banker counting money and weighing gold nuggets on a scale with magnifying glasses on his face.
All in all, it gave us a representation of what Silver might have been like back in the gold rush days. When the small parade was over, we all packed into the saloon of the hotel. In attendance was Badass Bart, who was telling everyone about how the merchants made more money than the prospectors did by overpricing their wares since most came to town with only the clothes on their backs.
“That’s just awful. No wonder the Willington General Store is still in business,” I said. “Can’t blame them, I suppose, since there wasn’t anyone stopping them. Folks have a right to make a living.”
“True, but not on the backs of prospectors or miners,” Eleanor said.
Bart massaged his beard. “Not to worry, dear lady. This was only a glimpse into Silver’s past. I sure wish the gold hadn’t run dry. Silver was such a booming town at one time.”
“Really?” I asked. “Like, how many people actually lived here?”
“About twenty thousand. You outta take a look at the cemetery on the other side of town and check it out. I think you might be surprised.”
I nodded, inhaling the scent of the beer that was handed to me. “Oh, Andrew. You should know that I can’t stand this stuff.”
“More for me,” Mrs. Barry said. “Be a dear and slide your glass this away.”
I smiled, doing as she asked. When I straightened my back, I caught sight of Sheriff Bradley over at the jailhouse and I nudged Eleanor. “Let’s head on over to the jailhouse. We have some investigating to do.”
We strolled across the street, sidestepping the horse poop that a man with a broom and trashcan was trying to clean up.
I stared up at the “Jail” sign and led the way into the jailhouse. I froze in my tracks at the group of men doing shots, and Eleanor plowed into me. “Really, Agnes?”
Sheriff Bradley wasn’t even here. Had he slipped out the back? “Sorry to disturb you fellas, but I was hoping to speak with the sheriff.” Sheriff Wilford stepped forward. “Oh, not you. I meant the real sheriff,” I said.
Wilford grabbed the phone and made a call, and said, “Oh, Cliff, there’s someone to see you.”
Heels scratched across the floor and a sigh was heard as a man’s heavy feet caused the floor to creak, making way to greet us, but he wasn’t the sheriff. This man needed a shave and burped—the smell of alcohol quite strong. Seemed to me that he should be in the jail cell, sleeping it off, not in what I suspected was the sheriff’s office.
I stared at the men who were part of the reenactment and not a one of them were smiling, but the fake sheriff had a smirk on his face.
“Aren’t you fellas supposed to be in jail for kidnapping?” Eleanor asked with a snicker.
“It’s darn uncomfortable in there. Would you like to see firsthand?” one of the men asked.
“Sure ain’t,” the drunk said, lowering himself into a chair. “When the sheriff isn’t around these men let me stretch my legs.”
“No need explaining yourself, Clarence. These ladies might just tell the sheriff,” one of the men said.
“Oh, Wil
d Bill, I’m sure they won’t do that. They look so nice, and the tall one reminds me of my mother.”
I straightened my back at that insult. Why, Clarence looked nearly my age.
“Oh, did you like your mother?” I asked stalling for time.
His lips wrinkled up. “Not really. She’s an evil bitch—pardon my French, ma’am.”
I gulped, taken completely aback with the words that flew out of Eleanor’s mouth as her eyes lit up. “Oh, can we really see the inside of the jail cell?”
“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eleanor.”
“Sure can,” Wild Bill said. “If you don’t mind the dust, that is.” We were led into a jail cell, and stood there as the iron-barred door slid open. “Step inside, and I’ll close the door so you can get a real feel for how it felt way back in the gold rush days.”
Eleanor took ahold of my hand and yanked me inside. I practically had a heart attack when the door was indeed slammed shut behind us. I gripped the bars. “Okay, enough fun now, boys. Let us back out. I’m claustrophobic,” I implored them.
Wild Bill glanced around the room. “Has anyone seen the key?”
“You know there’s no key,” Clarence said. “That’s why the sheriff never closes the door.”
The men laughed and I felt a wild panic start. “That’s not funny, boys.”
“Sure ain’t,” Clarence said.
The men moved to leave and I shouted, “Sheriff Wilford, you’re not going to leave us, are you?”
“Sorry, I’m not a real sheriff, remember? Name’s Jeff,” he said as he left with the rest of the men who were each slapping each other on the backs.
Clarence had a long face when he stared at us. “Why on earth would you willingly walk in a cell like that fer?”
I stared over to Eleanor who I just wanted to give a kick, but neither of us were the age that we could handle something like that. I scanned the room, sizing up the small bunk and bucket in the corner. “What’s that bucket for?” I asked Clarence.
“It’s the bathroom.”
I about hurled and moved to the bunk and sat down, jumping back up when something poked me where the sun don’t shine. “What on earth is that bunk made of?”
“Straw, I think. I told you it wasn’t comfortable in there.”
I hustled to the bars when I saw a rodent scurry past. “This isn’t funny now. Tell me there really is a key to this cell.”
Clarence’s hands moved in the air as he threw his hands up in the air. “Sure, there’s a key. I was just kidding when I said there wasn’t one. Sheriff Bradley has it with him at all times. You’ll just have to wait until he comes back.” He then got up and yawned. “I’ll go back in the sheriff’s office. It’s much more comfortable in there.”
When Clarence disappeared, I began to bang my head on the bars softly. “Some fix you got us into this time,” I said to Eleanor. “Not one of your brainier moments.”
“Sorry,” Eleanor said. “Boy, this cell sure is small. Do you think Clarence was just kidding about what they use the bucket for? I mean, it seems pretty inhuman to have a prisoner use a bucket to do their business in.”
“How about we don’t talk about having to use the bathroom, because I hafta pee.”
“Didn’t you realize you had to go before we came over here? I swear, it seems like you would have gone back at the hotel.”
I tried to get my mind off of my need to use the bathroom and quickly. “I didn’t have to go, then. I think I have a nervous bladder. Let’s talk about something else.”
“What do you want to talk about, then?”
“Francine, for one,” I began. “I can’t help but wonder if she’s hiding something. I also can’t shake the feeling that she knows more about the missing family than she’s letting on.”
“True, and suddenly she comes up with the name of another missing family, the Thompsons. Do you think she’s trying to make us think that the missing family is dead?”
“Seems that way, and she certainly doesn’t want us talking to the sheriff, either.”
“Of course, that Lois seems like she might be hiding something, too. She’s certainly unfriendly.”
“Well, being unfriendly hardly qualifies someone for guilt, but I don’t care all that much for how she’s treated us. Ever since she found out we weren’t married, it’s been all downhill.”
I checked the bars now, to see if any of them were loose at least, and when I found one that was, I worked it back and forth until it dropped to the door, clanging as it fell. I glanced around the small space of the room. There was a very worn desk with a matching chair that one would sit to watch over the jail cell. No computer in sight or anything modern, but there was a black, rotary-dial phone that Sheriff Jeff had used to call the real sheriff.
Out of boredom, I gazed at the walls. There were many holes with what looked like bullets lodged in the wood. I imagined a shootout occurring here as outlaws tried to free their gang. Just like what might occur in an old western movie.
Eleanor and I decided to rest on the bunk, being careful not to lean against the wall, and nodded off to sleep.
* * *
I woke with a start as the door slammed open and we heard a man’s throat clear. “Agnes Barton, what on earth are you doing in there? I’ve been worried that the ground had sucked you two up,” Andrew said with a frown. “It’s almost dinnertime now.”
The thought of food launched my stomach into growling. I nudged Eleanor awake. “Eleanor wanted to see the inside of the jail cell, and those men who were doing the reenactments locked us in here, telling us there wasn’t a key. That phony Sheriff Wilford—he’s an actor, you know. Anyway, he supposedly called the real sheriff to tell him we were waiting for him here, but he never showed. I have my doubts that he called him at all.”
“Perhaps I should go look for him myself.”
“Oh, geez. I have to pee so bad and there’s only a bucket in here to do that.”
Andrew’s nostrils flared at that. “We’ll see about that.” He spotted the bar that was on the floor. “How did that happen?”
“I managed to find a loose one and worked on it a bit, but neither Eleanor nor I can fit though a crack that size.”
Andrew checked the bars and took ahold of one, turning it back and forth until it, too, fell to the floor with a crash. The door behind Andrew swung open and Sheriff Bradley bellowed, “What are you doing, man?”
“Trying to get my fiancée and her friend out of this cell. Those reenactment men locked them in here, and they’ve been trapped in there for a good part of the day. I have half a mind to sue,” Andrew shouted at the sheriff.
“I had no idea.”
“Sheriff Wilford didn’t call and tell you that we came here to speak with you?”
“Call me how?”
“Well, that phone over there,” Eleanor said. “We heard him make the call.”
“For one, I haven’t been anywhere near a phone, and for two, cell phones don’t work in Silver because of the mountains in the area.” He then pulled out his keys and opened the cell, sliding the door open, staring angrily at the fallen bars. “I’ll speak with Jeff about keeping you locked up here. He knew full well where I was, but honestly, he usually doesn’t do things like this, I assure you.”
I danced from one leg to the other. “Do you happen to have a bathroom I could use? I’ve been holding it for hours now.”
He opened his office door, and shook his head at Clarence leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk, sporting holes in his socks, snoring away. He pointed out another door. “Right though there.”
I raced to the bathroom and came back five minutes later, feeling so much better. “Why isn’t there a toilet in the cell?”
“Because I let whoever I have locked up use my bathroom. As you can see, some of them take unfair advantage.” He yanked his chair back and Clarence threw out his arms to steady himself as the chair wobbled, nearly tossing him to the floor.
�
��What you doing that fer, Sheriff?”
“You know full well why. Your feet smell bad enough to kill a skunk, and you know that you’re not supposed to leave the cell.”
“I can’t help it that I like your chair better than that sorry bunk in the cell.”
“This ain’t the Goldberg Hotel, you know.”
“I-I know, but—”
“No buts about it. Go on home now, and I had better see you walk that way, too. And this time, stay away from the saloons.”
Clarence pouted and made for the door, and from the sheriff’s window, I could see him head toward the cemetery. “So I take it this is a weekly occurrence?”
The sheriff took out a can of air freshener and sprayed the office and chair, moving it aside and rolling out a leather one from a closet, easing himself into it. “That’s better. I always change chairs because more times than not, Clarence winds up in my office when I’m not here.”
“Is that normal? Seems like you wouldn’t want anyone snooping in your office.”
“Clarence doesn’t do anything like that. When I pick him up, he barely can walk. I really wish he’d find a hobby or a woman, but I can’t much see a woman putting up with his drinking.”
“So he’s not married, then?”
“He was once, but she left long ago. What can I help you ladies with? I suspect you had a good enough reason to stop by here, and I sure as heck know it didn’t have anything to do with taking up time in the jail cell.”
I took a seat near his desk and Eleanor took another. “Go along back to the hotel, Andrew,” I said. “Eleanor and I have a few questions for the sheriff.”
“We wouldn’t want to bore you with unnecessary details,” Eleanor added. “Just boring investigator questions.”
“I think I’ll stick around all the same.”
“Go ahead if you want, but what of Mr. Wilson? What if he’s in the saloon again playing cards? I’d hate to see him lose any more money,” Eleanor said. “And I don’t want Mrs. Barry or those strange bird sisters moving in on my man.”
Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 02 - Ghostly Hijinks Page 11