Under a Texas Star (11 page)

The men who spent their wages at The Haven were a rough lot. They had no need for the niceties The Oasis offered.

Jase recognized three basic types amongst them. There were the buddies. They lived, worked and fought together. All they needed was each other's company, a steady supply of liquor and maybe a pack of cards. There were the loners. All they needed was the liquor. Then there were the young bucks. The Haven had the right image fo
r them. It was the rough and ready place. The Oasis was too civilized―and too expensive.

The smell of smoke and stale beer eventually overwhelmed Jase, so he left to check in on Winters at the bank. Everything was under control. During his routine patrol,
he found that business was booming in Fortuna. For all the noise and bustle, everything remained relatively peaceful.

He was beginning to feel redundant when he was struck by inspiration. Stopping in at The Oasis, he checked on Marly, confiscated a pot of coffee, a couple of mugs and some of Fred's biscuits.

"Coffee, Mr. Riley?"

"Call me Mick," Riley Sr. said. "Troy's the 'Mister' of the family. Going to make something of himself, that boy."

For the past few days, Jase had avoided getting into lengthy conversation with the garrulous old man. But he realized he was ignoring an important source of information, and what Mick confirmed was something Jase had suspected.

Strothers was murdered within days of the last payday.

"Egan gives most of his men three days off when the pay comes in," Mick said, "and because he does, so do the other ranchers. Over those three days, just about everyone comes into town and most leave their money here
―gambling, boozing, paying off their tab at the general store, putting aside their savings. One way or another, the majority of money that left the bank on payday ends up back in the bank by Monday morning."

"And you sit here watchin' the money come and go
."

Mick gave a knowing wink.

Jase surveyed the street. From here, the bank had a clear view of every business from the general store to The Oasis.

"Reckon you could probably tell me the coming and goings of most folks on those days."

"Reckon so."

Jase refilled the man's cup and sat back.

Mick didn't disappoint. He gave a credible report of who was doing what in town on the day of Strothers' murder. What he hadn't observed directly, he could attribute to a reliable source. All Jase had to do was check up on those sources later.

"Who do you think did it?" Jase asked.

"Not for me to say. Didn't think much of Strothers myself, but I can't think of anyone who hated him enough to kill him. Not even Matt Egan."

Despite all denials, Jase got the impression that most people thought Egan was somehow responsible for Strothers' death. If he
was
responsible, they thought he must be in some way justified. Mick was the first who meant what he said. If his recollections were accurate, Egan had
not
personally murdered the marshal. Nor had any of the men he'd employed. They all had solid alibis.

"Not many men that Egan would have working for him would lay an ambush for a man," Mick said.

"Not even Tierny? For Egan's sake?"

Mick shook his head. "Tierny wouldn't do it and Egan wouldn't ask him. You don't ask your family to take care of business like that. Tierny's like a second father to Matt Egan."

"Someone had to do it. If not Egan or any of his men, who?"

Mick shrugged. "Young Matt's a good fella. Respected. Liked. Still, if he did hire someone to kill Strothers, it wouldn't be anyone close to him. He'd bring someone in. Maybe hire one of Baker's men. Gabe Baker ain't nearly as choosy about who he takes on."

Around six o'clock, Jase rescued Marly from The Oasis kitchen. She had been peeling potatoes and washing dishes for three hours and still hadn't eaten. Louis, under whose supervision Fred had left her, was chagrined. He assumed Marly had lunch before coming back to the kitchen. To make amends, he packed up a selection of cold meats, cheese and pickles, along with a half-dozen of Fred's biscuits.

Back at the office, Jase lit the stove and started a pot of coffee, while Marly washed up and changed her shirt. After supper, he left her to do the dishes, while he strolled into The Oasis to do a little eavesdropping and information gathering. He learned nothing new.

When he returned, Marly was fast asleep with last year's Colt Firearms Catalogue in her hands. Ever since he had given her the carbine, she started reading the back issues of the various firearms catalogues that Strothers collected. He removed the book from her grasp and dog-eared her page before setting it aside.

She stirred, causing a tendril of hair to escape her braid and fall over her brow. He crouched and tenderly smoothed the curl back. Making sure she was securely tucked in, he indulged in watching her for a few minutes.

Marly was beautiful in sleep. Peaceful. Innocent.

How innocent?

When he left to do rounds, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

Chapter 9

Marly woke early to find Jase in a dead sleep, fully dressed, on top of his covers. He'd taken off his boots and gun belt. That was all. She took the blanket off her bed and draped it over him. Of all the things she wished she could do for him, she settled for stoking the fire and setting beans and biscuits to warm for his breakfast.

Guessing that there would be no morning ride, nor likely one on Sunday, Marly went to the livery to make sure Trouble and Grandee were exercised.

"Wanna work?" Hank asked by way of greeting. "Seems everyone's been waiting for payday to get stuff taken care of. Mr. Sloan's out in the smithy and needs my help. That means somebody else has to do my job."

"How much?"

"Fifty cents for the day, plus tips."

"Done."

Working for money would be a nice change. At The Oasis, she had exchanged labor for groceries and laundry services. Handy as that was, it didn't help pay off Jase for the money he had spent on her behalf.

Jase wasn't quite as pleased when he found out.

"Look, brat, I told you before, you're workin' off that debt already. That's why you're an
unpaid
assistant. 'Sides, all those goodies you keep bringing back from The Oasis are worth somethin'. I haven't spent two bits on food since I stocked up the first time."

"We have enough for now," Marly assured him. "Miz Jezebel sent you that pound of her special coffee, we've got lots of fruit and vegetables and goat cheese and that sausage thing. And I'll bet you weren't even going to come home for dinner."

Jase sighed. "Fine. Don't expect me to accept the money you make today. Keep it. You earned it."

While Marly mucked stalls, forked hay and doled out oats, Jase checked out the information Riley Sr. had given him. Armed with knowledge, he was able to narrow the field of possible suspects.

Tierny was proficient with a knife. He was also well respected. By suggesting that he might have done the deed, Jase prompted others to put forth other less popular candidates. Many men could fight with a knife, but few were known as knife fighters. Of those few, Jase eliminated any that were also good shots. As Marly had pointed out, one well-placed bullet would have done the job with less risk.

By late afternoon, he had a short list of suspects. None of them, however, had any obvious motive to murder Strothers. The questions still remained. Did Egan instigate Strothers' death? And if he did, how could Jase prove it?

He mulled the problem over and engaged in the mindless task of cleaning his guns. He worked his way through two rifles, his Colt and Marly's Remington with only a few interruptions. Reassembling the Remington, he noticed it was past suppertime and Marly still hadn't returned. He was debating whether to go look for her or fix a meal for himself when she walked into the office.

He didn't immediately look up. The distinctive and familiar damp-smelling cocktail of sweat, manure and horse preceded her through the door and was enough to signal her presence.

Marly cleared her throat and he lifted his gaze.

Sure enough, she was damp, dirty and disheveled.
And
she sported the beginnings of a black eye.

Slamming the Remington on the desk, he jumped up so violently that he knocked his chair over. "What the hell happened to you?"

Marly winced. "You should see the other guy."

"What did you do, kill him?"

"No. But he'll be singing high for a couple of days."

It was Jase's turn to wince.

"And limping."

"Uh-huh."

"And I think I broke his friend's nose."

"What?"

Jase strode toward her. He examined her hands, which were scraped and starting the bruise. Roughly, he held her chin and checked her eye. She had a small cut on her lip.

"He tried to grab me from behind," she explained. "So I elbowed him in the gut and stomped on his foot with the heel of my boot. His friend got a punch in. I sort of blocked the second. Hank evened the odds and flattened them. They woke up in the manure pile."

"Hank?" He let go of her chin and leaned against the desk.

"You know, the guy who works at the livery. We've struck up a friendship. When he heard some of Egan's boys were looking for me, he came over from the smithy."

"Good for Hank. How many of Egan's boys were there?"

"Four all together. Only two jumped me. The other two disappeared when Hank showed up."

"Do you know who they were?"

She hesitated.

"Does Hank know them?"

"Yes," she said. "Hank knows them, but he suggested it might be better if I didn't mention any names to you."

Anger welled up in Jase's throat. "He did, did he?"

He wanted to punch something
―someone. Failing that, he wanted to pull Marly into his arms and remind her that she was a woman, not a boy. Instead, he crossed his arms and held back all the intemperate things he knew he'd regret saying.

Marly shut the office door. "Hank only pointed o
ut what I already knew. In the schoolyard, nobody likes a tattle-tail. If it can be handled without calling on the teacher, then you do so. This wasn't like the thing on the trail. This was schoolyard stuff and it has been handled."

"Pretty rough schoolyard, Marly Landers. Are you sure you wanna play with the big boys?"

"I figure I don't have much choice. I did okay though. I think I earned some respect. Best keep going."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "How do you feel?"

She gave a shaky laugh. "Well, my left eye hurts and I want to wash and change. Mostly, I'm just hungry. Do you mind cooking?"

Jase jabbed a thumb toward their quarters. "How 'bout you clean up and I'll take you out to dinner."

"Steak?"

"Sure." His mouth twisted in a wry grin. "One for the plate and one for your eye."

Fifteen minutes later they were seated at a table in a corner of The Oasis dining room. During the meal, Marly explained how she had been looking for scratch marks on the saddles at the livery. Problem was,
too
many saddles had scrapes. There were a couple of promising ones with scratch marks above the stirrup, where the leg would normally cover the leather.

"One of the scratched saddles belongs to Locke," she said. "And he smokes the right brand of cigar."

He stared at her, amazed. Damned if she wasn't turning into a fair investigator. That thought gave him the solution to his problem
―how to protect Marly without treating her like a girl.

After supper, he took her on patrol of the town. They walked up Main Street, looking in on the hotel as they passed by. At the church, they strolled over to the butcher shop, then cut back through the
alley.

"It's important to cover the back and front of the bank and stage office during rounds," he warned. "But we can't take the same route twice in a row. Or go on patrol at the same time each day."

"Too predictable," she said with a nod.

"We'll loop around the livery and stop in at The Haven. Later, we'll check out the back of the hotel and general store."

Everything was quiet at the front of the livery. Sloane and Hank were visible through the open doors. They were drinking beer with a few cronies on The Haven's back porch.

Sloane called them over, offering Marly a beer.

"I'd offer one to you, Marshal," he said, "but you're on duty."

"As it happens, so is Landers."

Marly's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Jase smiled. "Do you swear to uphold the law as laid down by the State of Texas and the Town of Fortuna?"

She blinked.

"The proper answer is 'I do'. It's a bit like a weddin'."

Marly blushed to the roots of her auburn braids. "I d-do."

He pinned a deputy's badge on her shirt.

Marly gave a small gasp of delight. "I'm a deputy?"

"As duly witnessed by Mr. Bill Sloane and Mr. Hank…"

"Bjornsen," Sloane said.

"Mr. Hank Bjornsen," Jase said. "You've practically been doin' the work of a deputy. Besides, now if anyone makes trouble, it's up to you whether or not to arrest 'em."

Sloane and Hank raised their glasses in celebration.

"Now, Deputy Landers," Jase said, "if you'll follow me."

They headed into the saloon.

It wasn't hard to pick out Marly's attackers. Apart from the lingering smell, they were the ones eying the new deputy with some concern. At a glance, Jase could tell that she had pegged them correctly. They were no more than teenagers, trail-hardened youths, with no particular malice aside from wanting to put a stranger in his place.

Marly gave them a nod. Jase didn't acknowledge them.

After they left The Haven, Marly wanted to show off her badge at The Oasis. Jase vetoed the plan.

"There's plenty of time for that. We don't wanna stir up too much trouble tonight."

Instead, he put her in charge of minding the office.

"This time there's no fallin' asleep."

Marly spent the next couple of hours sipping coffee and reading the available material on legal procedure, jurisdiction and jurisprudence in the state of Texas.

When Jase came back, she skipped the usual pleasantries and asked him if Locke was still at The Oasis.

"Yep. Why?"

"Because yesterday I tried to get one of his cigar stubs. Too bad he pulverized it. I thought if we could get one of his stubs, we could check the chew marks against the ones we found." She frowned. "I doubt I could get away with following him now and you stick out like a sore thumb. But Arnie might be able to do it without raising suspicions." She took a deep breath.

Jase smirked and pulled a rag out of his pocket, setting it on the desk. "Two cigar butts."

Marly gasped. "But…who…where?"

"Locke. At The Oasis."

Trembling with excitement, she rummaged through the desk and unwrapped the other butts they'd found earlier. Comparing them, she said, "The bite marks match."

"I figured they would."

"We've got the killer, don't we?"

"All we know for sure is Locke was there. Can't hang a man on the evidence of a few cigar stubs, especially when he has no compellin' motive for murder."

"Still," she said, "it looks like we got the weapon. Now we need to gather proof and find out who aimed Locke at Strothers."

The next morning, Marly decided to do the patrol on her own.

"Can I wear my gun belt now that I'm deputy?"

"Not around town," Jase replied. "Not yet. Keep the rifle with you when you're out and about. Oh, and as deputy, no stall muckin'."

"No stall muckin'," she drawled. "How 'bout workin' at The Oasis?"

"Part-time, only after the weekend. And only so Fred will stop you from talkin' with my drawl all the time."

She laughed, then pulled the brim of her hat down low. "I reckon Fred will oblige."

At the livery, Marly broke the news to Hank.

"I understand," he said, though he sounded disappointed.

Sloan, his boss, gave her a hearty slap across the shoulders. "I like you, boy. You're a hard worker. A bit scrawny, but a scrapper. There'll always be a job for you here if you want one."

"Thank you, sir."

As soon as Sloan and Hank were out of sight, she flexed her shoulders painfully. As big as Hank was, his employer dwarfed him. She was only thankful that the two behemoths counted amongst her friends, not her many enemies.

Jase's instructions had been minimal. He expected her to walk three circuits of the town, taking a different route each time. It was up to her how to space the patrols through the morning. Between patrols, he expected her to keep an eye on Main Street.

Unsure what else to do, she took a seat on the bench outside the general store. She had an excellent view of the bank across the street.

Mick Riley tipped his hat to her.

She tugged her brim in response.

Sitting and waiting didn't come naturally to Marly. To keep busy, she pulled out a knife and whetstone. There are few things more useful than a good knife. That was probably the only reason her Aunt Adele had let her keep this one memento of her time with Sarge. He had given it to her the first night he'd rescued her. To make her feel safe, he'd said.

"That's a Bowie knife, isn't it?"

Marly raised her head. "Miss Amabelle."

"So is it?"

"What?"

Amabelle gritted her teeth. "A Bowie knife?"

"Yup."

The laconic reply didn't daunt the young lady.

"How's the investigation coming along?"

"You should ask the marshal. He's in charge of the investigation."