Murder in Dogleg City (18 page)

“
Ain’t that what I just
said?” The bartender continued stacking glasses on the back bar in
a pyramid shape, keeping his back to the bounty hunter. The man’s
smartass mouth was going to get him in trouble, someday. Jake had a
sudden impulse to make today that day.

Jake drew his Colt and cocked it. He
snarled, and his eyes narrowed. Then he said, “Where did he go? And
if I hear any more of your lip, jackass, they’ll be stackin’ those
glasses on your coffin.”

The bartender got the picture quickly.
He finally turned to face his inquisitor.

“
I, uh, don’t know
exactly,” Parker said, “but he and that Offerman fella left in kind
of a hurry.”

That piece of unexpected information
hit Jake like a low punch. What connection could there possibly be
between a piece of scum like Offerman and Wolf Creek’s erstwhile
mayor? While Offerman was known to hang around The Lucky Break,
Jake had never heard anything to suggest Mayor Henry cavorted with
his customers on any kind of regular basis. Then he remembered that
Offerman was a whiskey drummer—Dab would hang out with a drummer
sure enough, there might be money in it somewhere.

Maybe he shouldn’t put off seeing the
marshal any longer. Could be there were answers in that unlikely
place that need following up on. The bartender hadn’t moved an
inch, as Jake seemed to take his sweet time chewing on what he’d
heard. There was an audible sigh coming from behind the bar as Jake
suddenly spun around and headed for the door.

The marshal’s office was at the corner
of Fourth and Second Streets, three blocks from The Lucky Break. A
short three minutes would have him pushing through Marshal Sam
Gardner’s office door. The second place he’d wanted to stop by
would just have to wait.

When he walked in, Marshal Gardner was
reading a newspaper, feet up on his desk. Quint Croy was nowhere to
be seen, nor was the other deputy. Gardner looked over the top of
his paper, eyeing Jake warily.

“
Good to see you could
tear yourself away from whatever shady scheme you were cooking up
in order to drop by, Jake,” Gardner said.

“
Yeah, well, your errand
boy made it clear you were pretty lathered up about somethin’. So,
let’s get to it.”

“
Don’t get all tangled up
in your spurs, Jake, this is complicated business. And I figure
you’re right in the middle of it.”

“
And just what business
might that be, Marshal?”

“
Murder, Jake. Plain and
simple.”

“
Who was
murdered?”

“
I figured you’d know,
since the evidence is pointed straight your way.” The marshal
pulled a cigar from his vest pocket, reached for a sulfur from a
tin box, pulled one out and dragged it across the desktop. He lit
the cigar, leaned back, and blew smoke across the room.

If the marshal was calling him a
murderer, why was the bastard taking his own sweet time getting on
with it? That’s what struck Jake as odd. He’d known Gardner for a
couple of years and he seemed to be a no-nonsense lawman, if a tad
tight with paying out bounties. But generally a decent sort. That’s
what made Jake willing to come to Gardner’s office of his own
accord. It seemed to him that if he were going to be dragged in,
accused of a crime for which there must be ample evidence he’d done
it, Quint Croy would’ve already tried to do the dragging, and
would’ve brought plenty of back-up. Since that hadn’t happened,
Jake figured the marshal was just pulling his line through the
water hoping to get a bite.

“
Just what evidence are
you yakkin’ about? Let’s get on with details, here, Gardner. I’ve
got things to attend to.”

“
Fair enough. You likely
heard about the body that was found down near the river, back of
Asa Pepper’s Saloon. A fellow named Laird Jenkins. Ever heard of
him?”

“
No. What makes you think
I might have?”

“
We found ourselves some
evidence nearby. And like I said, it points directly at
you.”

“
What evidence would that
be?”

“
Foot prints. The kind
those brogans of yours make. You been back of Pepper’s place
recently?”

“
Hell, no! I wouldn’t
frequent that joint if you paid me. Pepper’s the kind of slime I
steer clear of. And what makes you think I’m the only soul in town
that wears brogans?”

Gardner thought about that for a
minute, blowing the most inept smoke rings Jake had ever seen. He
was tempted to ask for a cigar of his own just to show the marshal
how it was done. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat quietly, studying
the lawman, and wondering who this Laird fellow was and why anyone
thought Jake would want to kill him.

Jake was shaken from his woolgathering
when Gardner said, “You’re not. But you are the only one who pounds
an S-shaped nail into his soles, to look like a snake. At least, so
far as I know, you are. But I had to be sure. So I went to the
cobbler and asked him. Know what I found out?”

“
No. But I’ll bet you’re
fixin’ to tell me.”

“
I am. He told me he sells
ten to twelve pairs every year to all sorts of folks. But
you
are
in fact
the only one who asks for that special mark. In fact, he told me to
tell you he’s anxious to order your next pair because he figures
the ones you’ve worn for two years are surely worn down to nothing.
So that got me to thinking.”

“
I like a man who thinks,
at least on occasion. Just what were you thinkin’ about?” Jake was
getting impatient with the circles this conversation was going
in.
If he’s figurin’ on puttin’ me in the
iron-bar hotel, why don’t he get on with it?

“
The prints we found
appeared to be from new clodhoppers. Not like those run-down, holey
wrecks you’re wearing. So we set to looking around for more
evidence. And guess what, we found some. You surprised?”

“
Marshal, nothin’ you
could say would surprise me. Now, how ’bout you get on with it.
I’ve got business elsewhere.”

“
All right, all right,
just hold your britches. We found a brand new shoe in some brush
near the river. Had mud on the sole. Now why would anyone throw
away a new piece of footwear like that? Brand spanking new, with
your mark on it—but not bought from our local cobbler?”

Jake narrowed his eyes and looked
intently at Marshal Gardner. His interest was now piqued. All the
dancing around the barn was beginning to make sense.

“
Settin’ someone up for a
crime he didn’t commit comes to mind,” Jake muttered. He started
chewing on his lip.

“
Do you have anyone around
here that’d like to get you strung up? You must have enemies by the
wagonload. Bounty hunters don’t usually have a score of friends
following them about, singing their praises.”

Jake didn’t say anything. His mind was
awhirl with possibilities, even though no one came to mind at that
moment.

“
You got anything else?”
Jake said, almost incoherently.

“
Nope. I’ll let you know
if we need to speak further on the subject.”

Jake left the marshal’s
office in a thoughtful daze.
Hell, I know
I’ve got enemies, but none of them ever tried to get me hung for
somethin’ I didn’t do. They’ve always come at me head-on. Of
course, none of ’em survived.
He turned
down the alleyway toward the corral to saddle his horse for a ride
out to the Munder spread.

* * *

When Jake rode up to the ranch house
where Teresa Munder lived like a queen, he was immediately struck
by the fact that nothing seemed out of place. No wind-blown trash
caught in the fence around the chicken coop, no gate needing
mended, no shingles needing replaced. The whole ranch looked like
it was pristine. Too pristine. That much neatness bothered him,
although he wasn’t sure why. As he dismounted, the front door flung
open and Teresa Munder stood like a China doll in its
place.

“
Well, Mister Rattlesnake,
since you’ve arrived without my husband in tow, I’d have to say
you’ve failed in your quest.”

“
No, ma’am. Rattlesnake
Jake doesn’t fail. At anything. This time is no different. I don’t
have your husband with me because I figure he’s a good hundred
miles from here, by now. But, I do need to ask you a couple
questions.”

“
Questions? Like
what?”

“
I’m wonderin’ if you’ve
ever heard of a man named Malchius Offerman.”

“
Yes, I believe that’s the
name he gave when he was out here asking about my husband just a
few days ago. Why do you ask? Does he have something to do with
whatever it is you’re not telling me?”

“
It’s possible. I’m just
tryin’ to piece it all together.”

“
So, did my dear husband
run off like a whimpering child at not getting his way? Where is
he?”

“
Like I said, a long way
off. Can’t say exactly where, but for certain, he’s in no shape to
return to your lovin’ arms.”

“
Just what are you
saying?”

“
Don’t know any way to say
it but to get right to the heart of things, ma’am. Your husband is
dead.”

Teresa’s hand shot to her mouth to
cover her shock. Tears began to flow and she seemed to be
struggling to remain standing. Her normally rigid stance had taken
on a decidedly shaky demeanor. Jake stepped forward to take her by
the arm and direct her to one of the rattan chairs in the porch.
Unsteadily, she eased onto the plush seat.

“
H-how’d he die?
Wh-where—?” Her mumbled words came haltingly.

“
You really don’t want to
know, ma’am. He’s dead and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have
to accept the facts as they are.”

“
No! I want to know why
he’s dead, where he was killed, and who did it! Do you understand
me, Mister Bounty Hunter?” she screamed. “You owe me the truth!
Five hundred dollars worth of truth.”

“
Ma’am, I’m just tryin’ to
spare—”

“
Now! All of it!” Her
beautiful green eyes were suddenly aflame with an anger that only a
grief-stricken woman completely out of control could summon
forth.

Teresa’s raging demand shoved Jake
over the edge to a violation of his own rule—to never burden a lady
with the seedy truth of a husband’s other life.

“
All right, but you ain’t
gonna like it. He was stabbed to death in a whorehouse in Dogleg
City. I’m sorry, but best I can figure out is that his body was
then thrown into the river, left to float to
who-the-hell-knows-where. If he hasn’t already sunk to the bottom,
I’d say he’s still on his little excursion. Excuse my bluntness,
ma’am, but you did ask—er, demand—the truth.”

Teresa sat stunned by what she’d just
heard. Unable to speak, she stared off into the distance. Jake
shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Having removed his hat
as he approached the porch, he now set it back on his head and
turned to leave.

“
No. Please don’t,” Teresa
said.

“
Ma’am? I got nothing more
to say.”

“
I’d like, uh, I mean,
would you care to come inside for, uh, a cup of coffee,
or—?”

“
I reckon I could do
that.”

“
Your honesty has been
like a breath of fresh air, Jake. Do you mind if I call you
Jake?”

“
No ma’am, you can call me
anything you’d like.”

“
Good. Please step inside,
out of the sight of any prying eyes of the ranch-hands.”

Jake again removed his hat and
followed the lady inside. He followed through the parlor, up the
stairway, and down a long hallway. She didn’t even hesitate as she
opened the door to a lavishly decorated bedroom. She walked to the
bed, stopped, and began fiddling with something on her dress. When
she turned around, he realized she’d unbuttoned the top of it,
letting the garment slide from her shoulders. She didn’t skip a
beat as she unsnapped a bodice, shrugging out of two petticoats,
and pulled loose the ribbon that held her long hair. She took one
step toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“
I know what people say
about me, that I’m a cold, frigid woman. That’s the impression my
husband had, too. But he never tried to find the truth behind the
façade. I’m not that way at all.” She pulled him down to kiss
her.

Jake, never a man to miss a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, began shucking his clothes like
they were full of fire ants. They tumbled onto the thickest,
softest mattress he’d ever laid on.

* * *

Late in the day, Jake mounted up for
the ride back to town. His confusion as to what had just happened
to him whirled around in his muddled, but deliriously happy, brain.
Teresa stood in the open door, clad only in a long, satin robe that
she held closed at the throat, and gazed after him demurely. He
waved and spurred his horse to a trot. He began playing back the
events of the day. First he’s accused of murder, then he was forced
to tell a widow of her husband’s grisly demise, and, if that
weren’t enough excitement for a simple, bounty hunting gunslinger,
he was summarily summoned to the greatest pleasure he’d ever known
in the arms of the widow herself.