Barbara Phinney - Undercover Sheriff

He straightened and pulled down on the sleeves of Alex’s long, dark coat. Zane had hopped aboard the train to Proud Bend with only a small bag of essentials and his less-warm overcoat, and was glad he now had access to Alex’s wardrobe. The weather last week must have been warmer for Alex not to have chosen this coat to wear on the day he’d disappeared.

He rubbed his cold cheeks. Alex, where are you? Are you warm enough?

After Rachel and the mayor had left him, Zane had set about shaving his beard and changing into Alex’s clothes. Thirty minutes after that, Zane had successfully convinced his brother’s deputy he was Alex. Then, thankfully, he’d found his brother’s room key tucked in his desk drawer at the sheriff’s office and furtively slipped it into his pocket. Now he could lock his brother’s room.

When Rachel tried to rise, he pushed her back down. “Don’t move,” he barked. “If you do, I’ll arrest you.”

She was suitably outraged. “On what charge?”

“I’ll think of something. I’m the sheriff here, thanks to your crafty scheming. Perhaps I’ll arrest you for vagrancy?”

“I’m hardly a vagrant.”

“Then why would you possibly want to go to the saloon this late at night? And who is Jake?”

She’d called out Jake’s name a moment ago. “Jake Turcot was to be my escort tonight, but he’s sick.”

“So why are you out here by yourself?”

“That’s none of your business.” She rose, as if refusing to be delayed.

He moved to block her way. Would she back down? He doubted it. She wasn’t the type to give in easily, as he knew from the hours he’d spent going through the files connected to her in the sheriff’s office. He’d spent the day getting caught up on the various investigations, both opened and closed, including the one into her father’s death, and Clyde Abernathy’s attack on her and her mother. He’d even read the slim file that had been compiled on Alex’s disappearance. Then he’d read about Rosa and her son, the case that had probably precipitated Alex’s vanishing act, for he’d been searching for them at the time he went missing.

Curiously, added to the same file was an unsolved crime from five years ago, the murder of Rosa’s mother, another prostitute. A note, handwritten by a previous sheriff, told how the mother, Liza, had been beaten to death while working, but she had claimed to know who’d stolen some money the women had given Rachel to invest. Her killer had never been found.

Questions about that had led to yet another investigation. Rachel had been assaulted and robbed not long before Liza’s murder. According to the women who worked behind the saloon, Liza had felt responsible for that theft because she had encouraged the other women to hand over their money. She had visited Rachel the day after the assault, vowing that she was going to pay back the money stolen.

Even now, this late in the evening, Zane frowned at the curious events. The robbery connected Liza to Rachel. Liza was connected to Rosa, who was missing. Alex had disappeared searching for Rosa and her son. Did that tie Alex to those old cases? How did Rachel fit into the disappearances?

And just what reason did Rachel have for frequenting saloons late at night?

Zane rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, still unused to it and the chill on his face. The investigations’ files read like the plot of a bad Western novel. A murdered woman, another missing, still one, Rachel, tying all of them together.

Walter Smith and Clyde Abernathy, the two men who’d owned Proud Bend’s only bank, had both been as crooked as a scenic railway. According to the old adage, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Could he assume Rachel was as crooked as her father?

He needed to find out. “What do you plan to do this late at night?”

She sighed, blowing out her breath in an undignified manner. “I help the women who work at the Two Winks Cribs. The late evening is the best time to meet them because they are often in need then. And there’s always the hope that I’ll find that Rosa has returned.”

“Returned home, or returned to her profession?”

“I hope she has returned home, I fear she has returned to her profession.” Her shoulders slumped. “Rosa is a new Christian. I’m afraid she’ll get scared and return to the only thing she knows. But if it means that she’ll be back here, unharmed, I will accept it. Right now, I’ll take anything!”

“Who’s discounting the Holy Spirit this time?”

She stiffened. “That’s not fair. I’m only trying to save these women!”

Zane felt his jaw clench. Something drove Rachel to help these women, and he was pretty certain that it wasn’t good Christian charity.

“Is that why you were so adamant about me assuming Alex’s identity?”

“In a way. Having a good sheriff keeps Proud Bend happy. When they’re happy, they keep Mayor Wilson elected. He supports my ministry. The last thing these women need is to be run out of town. There’s no way to know what dangers they’d face in a new community, and I’d never be able to reach them for God. So, having you filling your brother’s shoes helps my cause.”

She made it sound so innocent. But was there more to it? He still believed he’d caught signs of guilt in her behavior. He wanted to know why.

“You care a lot about these women,” he observed. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Does a Christian need a reason to care about other people?” she countered.

It was a fair point, but that didn’t explain why Rachel’s cheeks were so bright red as she spoke.

* * *

Humiliation burned Rachel’s cheeks. Zane was eyeing her as if he suspected she was guilty of something...and in a way, he was right. Liza, Rosa’s mother, had gone to an early grave when she’d attempted to pay back the money that Rachel had convinced the women in the cribs to give her in order to invest. Money that had been stolen from her. She blinked back the memory of that horrible night.

She had been shoved to the ground and had been kicked so brutally the effects had lingered for months. Her escort had tried to fight back, but he had been knocked unconscious, his wounds even more cruel. Both of them had been left for dead. The sheriff back then had not caught the man, and her escort, feeling the strain of the attack, had moved away shortly after recuperating. Even Rachel had almost despaired for some time.

“I just want to help them,” Rachel muttered to herself. “I nearly gave up after I was attacked.”

The day after she’d been assaulted and left for dead, Liza had visited her to announce that she was going to pay back the stolen money. She’d even believed she knew who’d assaulted Rachel and planned to seek him out.

From her sickbed, Rachel had protested such a dangerous move, trying to insist that Liza go to the sheriff, but like so many in her profession, Liza mistrusted the law. Too many arrests for vagrancy, theft, disturbing the peace. Too much shunning. So, not wanting to destroy Liza’s trust in her, Rachel had not reported the plan to the sheriff.

Rachel had been such a fool—first for being so cocky, thinking she could just invest the money and thus solve all the women’s troubles, and then later for not doing more to stop Liza from confronting the thief. If she’d tried harder, perhaps Liza would still be alive.

Of course, there was no way to know for certain if Liza’s death had been the result of her going to talk to the thief. She had been working that night. Her killer could have been a customer. The sheriff at the time had said it was a common yet unfortunate end to some soiled doves’ lives, but Rachel’s heart still clenched at the memory, convinced Liza’s death had been at the hands of the man she’d confronted.