Mrs. Grey Read online

  He stood quickly although he wanted to ask her to sit and chat with him again. He had enjoyed the evening up to the point where he had ruined everything.

  “Mrs. Grey, I thought you might want to stay until the end.”

  “No, thank you, Sheriff. I am tired. Carmel has plenty of volunteers. I would like to go home now. If you wish to stay, be my guest.”

  “And let you go home alone? Not a chance.”

  He put on his hat and offered her his arm, but she was already heading for the door.

  He offered to borrow a wagon, but she said she preferred to walk.

  “If you don’t mind the walk back into town. Or you could bring your horse and ride back?”

  “I will but only as it means I can react faster if I am needed. Destiny likes company.”

  “Destiny?” she queried, a small smile on her face.

  He flushed a little but looked her straight in the eye. “Little Beaver named her. Said she was the perfect horse for me. Not sure I agree.”

  “Why? Little Beaver is excellent with animals. Nobody knows them better.”

  “True, but I think he might believe I am years younger than I am. Don’t tell him that though. I don’t want him putting me out to pasture just yet.”

  He laughed making her laugh too. He was a nice man who deserved better than her cold shoulder. “Braddon, I am sorry about before.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  She smiled gently to thank him before saying quietly “I think we both know that’s not true. I have some moments when the past comes back to haunt me.”

  “Don’t we all? Reckon you couldn’t get to our age without them. I heard a bit about what you did in the war. When your friend was in prison.”

  “Helped to get him killed. That’s what I did.”

  He pulled her gently around to face him, not letting go of his horse.

  “Lorena. You didn’t kill him. The War did that. By all accounts, you did everything you could to save his life.”

  She couldn’t look at him not wanting him to see how much his words meant to her.

  “I reckon you made him happy.”

  His tone made her think. “Were you a prisoner?”

  He nodded, his face grim. “I got injured at Gettysburg.”

  “I’d heard about your injury. Little Beaver told me after you rescued him from the Army.”

  “He doesn’t know the rest. Few do. It wasn’t something I was proud of,” he admitted.

  “You can’t help being taken prisoner. Especially if you were injured.”

  “No, I couldn’t help that. But I survived when most didn’t. People died because of me.”

  He kept walking while she stood watching him, unsure what to say. What did he mean? He couldn’t have killed any of his fellow prisoners. He was a lawman.

  But how well did she know him? She had seen him being quite ruthless but only when following his duty as a sheriff.

  She moved quickly to catch up with him.

  “I refuse to believe that, Sheriff. I don’t know the circumstances but if men died, it wasn’t your fault.”

  He turned to face her, his eyes bleak. “Wasn’t it?”

  Chapter 33

  Shouting intruded on their talk.

  “Sheriff, you’re needed. Big fight at the saloon. Someone’s been hurt. Real bad. They’ve taken him to the doctor’s office. Doc Erin’s on her way.”

  Mrs. Grey didn’t recognize the man who had ridden out, he turned and rode back to town leaving a trail of dust behind him.

  “Go,” she said as he lingered, obviously torn between being a gentleman and seeing her home and his duty. “I will make my way back to town. Erin might need me at the clinic, but you will get there faster if you ride.”

  “Thank you, Lorena.” He tipped his hat before mounting and riding off.

  She walked briskly back to town, her mind racing. How long had it been since someone was killed or badly injured in a fight at the saloon? There was the murder in the bank robbery when Emer’s past caught up with her, then the upset over Laura. But since then there had been nothing more serious than wounded pride and the odd black eye. The barkeep knew Sheriff Willis would close the saloon if its presence caused any major problems to the town. That decision had been made after the Red Feathers had been closed down and the poor girls who worked there saved from the lives they endured.

  She arrived at the clinic to find Erin washing her hands, the man’s corpse on the table. She couldn’t see a wound.

  “Mrs. Grey, what are you doing here?”

  “I heard there was trouble and I thought you might need my help. What was it, a gunshot?”

  “No, he hit his head when he fell—the back of his skull caved in. I tried but I couldn’t do anything.” The distraught look in Erin’s eyes told her everything.

  She moved toward her friend. “Erin, you are a great doctor. Sometimes you just can’t fix people. Has someone gone for Mr. Phelps?”

  Erin shook her head. She looked tired, no exhausted.

  “I will send someone, why don’t you get back to Mick. I can deal with this now,” she said, pushing aside her own tiredness. Erin’s need for rest was greater.

  “Oh, Mrs. Grey, look at him. He is barely out of short trousers.”

  “Erin, go home. You are overwrought. Sheriff Willis will find out what happened. Go on now, give Michelle and that handsome husband of yours a hug.”

  “You callin’ me handsome, Mrs. Grey?” Mick Quinn walked into the doctor’s office. Despite his teasing remark, she saw his eyes go to check on his wife. Reading his concern for Erin, she took charge.

  “Mick, take your wife home, and put her to bed. She needs to rest. I can manage from here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Grey. If I wasn’t already attached, I would be courting you.”

  “Go away with you, Mick Quinn,” she said, trying to make her voice sound stern. “Have some respect for the dead.”

  Mick looked guiltily at the body on the table.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Grey, I didn’t realize anyone died. I just came down here, chasing Erin to come home. We miss her.” He glanced at the body. “Don’t recognize him. How did it happen?”

  “Fight at the saloon.”

  “He doesn’t look old enough to be drinking. I should go to check if the sheriff needs my help.”

  “Off you go home, Mick Quinn, and take Erin with you. If Sheriff Willis needs you, he will send for you. You look almost as tired as Erin.”

  Mick rolled his eyes. “Too old for this baby lark, Mrs. Grey. Michelle is getting teeth. She sure does yell a lot for something so small.”

  Amused, despite the sad circumstances, she ushered both of her friends from the office. Then she took to washing the body. She knew the undertaker should do this, but Mr. Phelps was new to Clover Springs and hadn’t made a good impression on anyone with his slovenly ways. She hoped he wouldn’t stay.

  Chapter 34

  As she washed the young man, she wondered what had made him seek his fortune so young. Maybe he had family in the camp. but given the absence of mourning relatives, she doubted it. News like this traveled fast in a small town never mind in a close-knit community such as the Irish laborers.

  Two men arrived at the doctor’s office. They knocked and, seeing her open the door, they quickly swiped the hats off their heads. The whiskey fumes accompanying them made her eyes water, but it wasn’t that, that made her uncomfortable. It was the coldness of their eyes, particularly the one without the scar marking his face.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am but is the doc around? My friend got hurt and he was going to fix him up.”

  “Doc Erin went home. She was exhausted. I am sorry, but despite her best efforts, your friend didn’t survive. I am waiting for the undertaker to arrive.” Actually, she was waiting to find someone to fetch Mr. Phelps, but with strangers in the office, she thought it safer to suggest he was on his way.

  “Declan’s dead. Are you sure? Oh
Lord above, how am I goin’ to tell his mam? She trusted me with her boy. Could the doc have made a mistake?” the man with the scar asked.

  Her look of indignation was his answer.

  “Flinty, let’s go. We got to settle this.” The other man was halfway out the door, his fists clenched, obviously eager for a fight.

  “Go? Surely you want to fetch Father Molloy and give your friend a Christian burial. Isn’t that what you Irish do?” she asked.

  Flinty didn’t reply but his friend was loud enough for both of them. He took a threatening step toward her, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone.

  “What you sayin’ about us Irish? Wasn’t us started that fight.”

  She glared at him. “I neither know, nor care, how the fight started, mister. Your young friend deserves some respect. Go find Father Molloy and, while you are at it, pray for your friend’s soul.” She turned away from the men, struggling to conceal her disgust. A man, no a boy, was dead, and all they could think about was who to blame. She didn’t look back as the door banged after them.

  Sheriff Willis pushed his hat back further on his head. It was useless, nobody had seen anything. Not that he believed that for a second. He was almost certain not only had some of these men witnessed the fight, but they may have taken a more active role. Two of his main suspects arrived back at the saloon.

  “Dec’s dead. The doc couldn’t save him. Let’s get this sorted.”

  The group roared their approval, those not standing, jumping or, in some cases, swaying onto their feet.

  “Hold on a minute. Nobody is going anywhere until I say so.” His shout calmed the crowd for all of thirty seconds.

  The man called Seamus turned on him. “You sure about that lawman? I reckon my lads want to finish this, and I don’t see anyone taking your side.”

  He stood his ground despite being outnumbered. He had learned years ago, fear was the worst thing you could show. He was the law in Clover Springs. He quickly pulled his gun, thankful the town committee had insisted all who entered the saloon were unarmed. He hoped it had been enforced this evening, he didn’t fancy his chances against ten armed men.

  Seamus’ eyes widened as the sheriff pointed the gun at him.

  “I said, nobody leaves. The first man who tries will have a sore foot. The next will be dead. Do I make myself clear?”

  Seamus nodded but his men grouped closer around him.

  He wasn’t sure how long he could hold off the crowd. They were like a pack of wolves, snarling at the smell of fresh blood.

  The swing door to the saloon opened and relief filled his body as he spotted his deputy and other friendly faces.

  “You call, boss?” Little Beaver asked, his eyes surveying the room.

  “Yeah, took you long enough to get here,” he replied.

  “Sorry, boss, I was tracking something out back. The man you want isn’t here.”

  “See. I told you that. But when does a lawman ever use the brains he was born with?’ Seamus snarled.

  Chapter 35

  Sheriff Willis turned on the ringleader, the whiskey from his breath only just covering the smell of rotting teeth. He was just the type of Irishman Braddon hated. Despite his declarations of love for his country, he would sell his mother if it gave him money for booze. Seamus reminded him of one of the guards from the prisoner of war camp he had ended up in. That guy was just like Seamus, loud, obnoxious, a heavy drinker, and Irish. Not that he had a problem with Irish people in general, just the ones like the hard man in front of him.

  “Little Beaver, lock this one up,” he said, pointing to Seamus. Then he looked at the rest of the crowd and pointed two more out. “And put him and him in the cell so he doesn’t get lonely.”

  Robbie, Barrett, and a couple of other men stepped forward to help Little Beaver.

  “What you locking me up for? I ain’t done nothin’. I was on my way for the priest. Only right my friend gets a Christian burial,” Seamus insisted.

  “Father Molloy is rarely to be found in a saloon, Seamus Heaney, and well you know it. You are itchin’ to cause trouble, and I have had enough for one night. Take him away.”

  “Get your injun hands off me, you savage.” Seamus went to throw a fist at Little Beaver. He was on his back with Little Beavers foot on his chest before he knew what hit him.

  “You still want to fight? Or shall my deputy take you to the cell to cool off?” Braddon asked him.

  Seamus didn’t answer but he didn’t miss the hatred in the man’s eyes. It wasn’t all aimed at Little Beaver either. Seamus had an issue with the law, but it may go further than that. Talk had it he had fought for the south. Maybe he had yet to get over the war. Wouldn’t be the first, or last, confederate to despise a former union soldier.

  “Take them away.” He turned back towards his friends. “Robbie, can you hang around for a few minutes? We got a murder investigation on our hands now.”

  “The kid died? That’s rough. Seamus and his cronies are bad, but Declan was all right. His ma lives in New York and depends on his wages.” Robbie stared around him but the men who’d wanted trouble had backed down now their ringleader had gone.

  “Sorry to hear that. Has someone gone for Father Molloy and Phelps?” Braddon asked.

  The men looked back at him blankly. He tossed a coin at the youngest man in the group and sent him off to fetch the priest. Phelps may be at the doctor’s office already.

  “So, what do we do now, Sheriff?” Robbie asked.

  “I need to talk to Little Beaver to see what he knows. I also need to find out more from the barkeep. He’s new in town and isn’t too forthcoming.”

  “Barret gave him a job, so he could spend more time with Eleanor. I’ll get him to speak to him. Maybe the threat of losing his job will loosen his tongue?” Daniel Sullivan suggested.

  “Thanks, Daniel. I best go check with Doc Erin. I need to know the cause of death.” Sheriff Willis turned to leave. “Robbie, can you walk with me?”

  Robbie nodded.

  Chapter 36

  They slowly made their way down the street towards the Doc’s office. Despite Erin taking over as doctor, and the old doc retiring, nobody called it anything but Doc’s.

  “Robbie, how long do you think you can keep those two groups working together?”

  “Do you mean the Irish lads or are you lumping them into one group?” Robbie replied.

  “I meant two being the Irish and the blacks, but I guess it’s actually three isn’t it?”

  “Not sure what Dawson was doing when he mixed up the Irish group. The civil war may be over twenty years, but feelings run deep. Those men know who fought on what side and old loyalties die hard.”

  Braddon pulled at his whiskers wishing he had some tobacco. Robbie gave him a handful of mint leaves.

  “What do you want me to do with these?”

  “Erin told me to chew on them instead of tobacco. Something about it being better for my teeth.”

  “You read my mind?”

  “No, Sheriff, but you are twitchy, and I’ve been around long enough to know that means you need a drink or a smoke. You don’t do much of the former, so I am guessing you are missing your tobacco.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Robbie shrugged.

  “So, what do we do now? Do you think someone meant to kill Declan?” Robbie asked.

  He didn’t know the answer. They had arrived at the doctor’s office and, after knocking, pushed open the door. He was surprised to find Lorena there rather than Erin.

  “Lorena, Mrs. Grey,” he corrected himself quickly, “I thought you would have gone home by now.”

  “I am still waiting for Phelps to show up. I didn’t send anyone yet. I was waiting to see if you wanted to see the body.”

  “Thank you. I do. Did Erin say what killed him?”

  “He lost the back of his skull. It caved in. Nothing she could do.”

  He checked the body, trying not to s
ee the faces of his friends he had lost, some of a similar age to the boy who looked as if he was sleeping.

  “Only about sixteen, I reckon.”

  “Yes, Sheriff. I think so. Do you think it was murder or an accident?”

  He stared at the boy, wishing, not for the first time, the dead could talk. Then he looked up.

  “I am not sure, Mrs. Grey. Robbie and I will have to go speak to witnesses. I sent a couple to the jailhouse to cool off.”

  “Seamus and his friend?”

  He nodded.

  “They called in earlier. Seemed more concerned with getting revenge than for this poor boy. Someone will have to let his family know. I take it he has someone.”

  “He does indeed, Mrs. Grey. Sheriff. What a horrible business,” Father Molloy said as he walked in the door. “Declan Donohue came to mass every Sunday. Confession too. He was a nice boy, very close to his mam back in New York. Was just telling me yesterday how he was saving to buy her a proper coat for the winter.”

  The sheriff stepped back to allow the priest access to administer last rites. He touched Mrs. Grey gently on the arm and motioned with his head, he needed to speak to her outside. She followed him, her face grave.

  “Lorena, you should go home. The men are riled, and this could quickly escalate. I can’t drive you, but one of the others will if I ask.”

  “Thank you, Braddon, but I will stay here at the clinic.”

  He was about to argue but she stopped him.

  “I really am grateful for your consideration, but you might need someone with medical knowledge. Erin is dead on her feet. She needs to rest unless it is an emergency I can’t deal with.”

  “You are some woman, Lorena Grey.”

  She blushed but he thought it was charming. How he wished he could take her home and sit on her porch and share his thoughts about her, them, and the future. But now was not the time. Duty called.