Wild Texas Rose (24 page)

People huddled together for private debate, their voices buzzing. Chadwick T. Nussbaumer banged a gavel on the pulpit. “Order, order!”

Mariah squared her shoulders. “Your Honor, America is a democratic society. Do the democratic thing, and put it to a vote.”

Nussbaumer nodded. “All in favor of Miss Mariah McGuire for Sheriff of Coleman County, say ‘aye.' ”

Chapter twenty-two

To administer the oath of office to Coleman County's sheriff-elect, T. Jeff McCracken, Judge of the District Court, was pulled from his thundering snores and a vivid dream recalling the day in 1836 when he and the others had whipped Ole Santy Annie at San Jacinto.

He was not pleased to be disturbed out of past glories. Upon hearing the interruption's purpose, he changed his mood. He rinsed his mouth with corn liquor, spat into the bedside spittoon, donned his judicial robe over his nightshirt, and strutted into his parlor for the swearing-in. T. Jeff took pride in his responsibilities.

That Goliath Big Dan Dodson was waiting for him, along with the pompous ass Nussbaumer and a couple of whippersnappers T. Jeff didn't recognize. Taking a gander at the new sheriff, he got the shock of his seventy years. The electorate had chosen a woman, a young pretty one at that.

“I declare,” he said, recovering. “Next thing you know, you gals will be asking for the vote.”

 

 

Ten minutes later, Mariah had a silver star pinned to her shirt. She wasn't going to ruminate over her decision, or the possible repercussions; she was going to act. Accompanied by the Ranger, along with Slim Culpepper and Andy Floyd, she lit out for Birdie's boarding establishment, where her first official duty awaited.

Pablo Martinez and his wife, having been discovered near the town of Brady, were seated at the round kitchen table. One of Dodson's men was standing guard over them. Conchita hadn't been found with her parents, which Mariah viewed as strange.

Birdie flitted around, clucking her tongue and filling cups. Slim and Andy settled into chairs by the pantry. The cooking room held the faint scent of boiled cabbage and the strong aroma of coffee. Four lanterns lighted the large scullery, and not a shadow crossed the cowed expression of Evita nor the brooding eyes of Pablo Martinez.

What do they have to fear or to resent? Mariah wondered. Forced return, for one, she supposed.

“Birdie,” she asked, “would you excuse us?”

“Reimschissel, take the men outside for some coffee,” the mustachioed Big Dan put in, and the guard followed the proprietress out of the kitchen. By prior agreement with Mariah, the Ranger captain kept mum and allowed the sheriff to question Pablo.

She tried to be cordial but was met with curtness from Pablo, and nothing from his wife. In the past Evita had been friendly to her, but Mariah realized she shouldn't expect too much. They were a very pious family, and Pablo
had
caught her in a compromising situation with Whit.

Standing across from the white-haired man, Mariah asked, “Pablo, where is Conchita?”

“I do not know,” he replied raggedly.

A devoted father's only child had disappeared, and Mariah's heart went out to him. “I'm so sorry, Pablo,” she said earnestly. “Is there anything any of us can do to help? I'm sure the Rangers will be happy to look for her.”

Pablo lifted his nose. “I know where Conchita is located, but I will not tell you, Señorita McGuire.”

“Shall I take over?” Big Dan offered.

“No, thank you.” She figured Pablo had remembered the time he had caught her in Whit's arms, but her past actions had no bearing on this situation. “Pablo, we know you were inconvenienced by being brought back to Trick'em, but we beg your indulgence. Something terrible has happened.” She hesitated. Pablo and his wife had been devoted to Joseph, and Mariah knew they would be crushed by the news of his demise. “Mr. Jaye is dead. Murdered. I'm afraid his death was gruesome.”

“I know nothing about it.”

Mariah found his answer highly odd. His eyes, not meeting her gaze, showed no shock, and no utterance of remorse passed his lips at the news that his former employer had met a vicious end. She knew for a fact that Pablo had not been told the particulars of
whose
murder he was being questioned.

Evita, a caring woman of high sensitivity, showed no surprise, either.

“His body was found on the morning of April 7, 1883,” Mariah stated. “Pablo, when exactly did you leave his employ? It will help us if you can be specific as to the date and time.”

Nervously Pablo wiped his forehead. “I don't recall.”

Mariah read his mannerisms and knew he was hiding something. “On Saturday, the sixth of April, I had planned to marry Mr. Jaye. Does that refresh your memory?”

“No.”

“But I know you were at the farm on that date. The next morning you and your family were gone.” She paused. “And Mr. Jaye was dead.”

Pablo's left hand started waving. “Leave us alone! We don't want to be involved!”

She created a ruse certain to get information. “You're under arrest for the murder of Joseph Jaye.”

“No!” Evita cried burying her face in her hands.

Blanching, Pablo surged upward, the chair toppling behind him. “I did not kill him! Señor Reagor did it!”

An invisible ax chopped into Mariah's chest to drive pain into every cell in her body. As if from far away, she heard Slim's gasp.
I love you enough to kill for you.
Whit's wretched words sliced through her heart. But it was only an expression! Her Whit wasn't physically brutal and wouldn't take another's life.

“Miz Mariah, are you okay?” Slim asked.

“Yes.” She eyed Whit's accuser. “Perhaps you'd care to explain,” she suggested.

“The two señors were arguing. The rancher threatened to kill him. My wife and I heard him, didn't we, Evita? They got into a terrible fight. Isn't that so, Evita?”

His wife nodded, keeping her eyes averted.

“Is that how it happened, Evita?”

The small woman chewed her lip before replying. “My husband speaks the truth.”

Mariah didn't believe either of them, though she had learned from her father and brothers that in most statements to the authorities, there were grains of truth.

Whatever the case, she took no joy in grilling the man who had been such a help at the farm. But Whit's freedom was at stake, and she had to get to the bottom of the truth.

“You actually saw Mr. Reagor in the act of killing Joseph Jaye?” she asked Pablo.

“I heard them arguing. And I saw Senor Jaye's dead body.”

“But you don't know for certain who was responsible.”

“There was no one else at the farm except for the rancher.”

“Plus you and your family, and you left Mr. Jaye for the ants,” she pointed out. Directing her next question to his wife, she asked, “Why did you run, Evita?”

Pablo answered for her. “We didn't run. We left.”

“Why didn't you go for the sheriff?” Mariah queried.

“I told you. We didn't want to get involved.”

“No, you told me you didn't want to be involved in tonight's questioning, not in the murder.”

“A mere slip of tongue.”

“Interesting. Do you make mistakes often?”

“I ... I . . . I . . .”

She had him pinned down. “Tell me, Pablo, is there any grudge you have against Mr. Reagor?”

His nostrils flared, and he reared his head in righteousness. Pablo's upper lip quivered. “Señor Reagor is an evil man! A rapist. How can you defend him when it was
you
he defiled?”

She should have been embarrassed by this smite on her reputation, but her relief at his bias overshadowed her loss. “Can you prove your
assumption
to be true?”

“Can you deny it?” Pablo returned.

“Mr. Reagor is not a rapist.”

Slim coughed behind his hand. Andy Floyd, whose face had turned beet red, made a hasty exit.

Big Dan poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and asked, “May I have a word with you, Sheriff?”

Disregarding the Ranger, she went on, “Pablo, could it be that you might be blind to some of the facts?”

“I am blind to nothing. Señor Jaye called you names, and the rancher Reagor said he would kill him.”

“I think you know something that you aren't telling us,” she said.

“Let it drop, Sheriff McGuire,” Big Dan boomed. He took Mariah's arm and steered her toward the door to the dining room. “Culpepper, keep an eye on these folks until Reimschissel gets back.”

The boards under his feet vibrated as the Ranger directed her through the dining room and into the privacy of the parlor.

She yanked her arm from the giant's grip. “That was uncalled for.”

“You were harassing Martinez.”

“Harassing? I was trying to get at the truth.”

“Your haranguing shows only that you defend your lover.”

“My relationship with Mr. Reagor has nothing to do with my questioning. I was trying to do my job. I
will
get at the truth.”

“You're new, so you're overzealous. As for the Martinezes, a finer couple you'll never meet. And I'm sending them over to Brownwood till the trial, for protection from your brow-beating.”

Seething, Mariah jacked up her chin. “You can't do that.”

“Yes, ma'am, I can. I'm pulling rank on you.”

“If Pablo didn't actually witness the murder, wouldn't you think he's jumping to a conclusion? Answer me that. Another thing, Captain Dodson. If this were indeed a crime of passion, why would Mr. Reagor resort to the cowardly and clumsy use of barbed wire? Why wouldn't he employ fisticuffs or a gun?”

“Perchance he wished it to appear the murder was committed by someone opposed to fencing the range.”

“Well, Captain, you don't know Whit Reagor.”

“But
I
do. I'll be honest with you, Sheriff. I doubt Whit is guilty, but until we have evidence to the contrary, he needs to be arrested.”

“He's no menace to society. We'll leave him be while I investigate Mr. Jaye's murder.”

Slim Culpepper presented himself. “That Martinez feller's story ... Well, I don't like the idea of goin' against Reagor, Miz Mariah, but I have to live with my conscience,” Slim said quietly. “I saw Reagor cozin' up to you in Lois Atherton's kitchen. The night of her daughter's weddin'.”

“Are you willing to testify to that?” asked Big Dan.

“Yes, sir.”

“Whit Reagor did not kill Joseph Jaye,” she exclaimed. “He is not a debaucher of women. Nor is he a murderer.”

The Ranger patted the air. “Calm down, Sheriff.”

Surely there was a way she could help Whit. If only Conchita were here, she might be able to shed new light on the case. Where was she? Once, Evita had mentioned family in San Antonio. It was highly probable the Martinezes had been on their way to that city when their horse had died. Could Conchita be there? Doubtful, since Brady lay over a hundred miles from San Antonio.

Where would a pious family, in dire straits, leave a daughter? Mariah asked herself. A church!

She stood. “Big Dan, will you send a couple of your men back to Brady?”

“For what reason?”

“To find Conchita Martinez. We'll need her to corroborate her parents' story.” Silently, Mariah prayed the girl would
refute
the story.

“Sounds reasonable,” the Ranger replied.

“Have them check the Catholic churches between here and there. All of them. And when she's brought back, make certain she doesn't make a detour by Brownwood to speak with her parents.”

Big Dan lumbered across the parlor to loom over Mariah. “Fine, we'll do our job, now you do yours. As sheriff of this county, it's your responsibility to arrest Whit Reagor for the murder of the Jaye fellow.”

“I ... I can't do that.”

“Then turn in your badge, and I'll do it.”

Dismayed at what she must do, Mariah swallowed hard. “I will do my job.”

She consoled herself. At least Whit was away from Trick'em. Maybe she'd break the case before he returned.

Over the next two days, though, she found it impossible to devote much time to her investigation. Taft put up a fuss over being evicted from his cozy quarters at the jail, and it took half a day to convince him that another county would need his “services.”

On top of this delay, a farmer was found butchering a rancher's cattle and had been incarcerated. Then a nester's dugout was burned. Luckily, the guilty parties in the blaze had left clues. Mariah, along with Dodson and his men, had her hands full rounding up the five troublemakers. One of the culprits made the confessions that Charlie Tullos was the force behind fence-cutting, though he'd had nothing to do with burning out the farmer. She couldn't arrest Tullos, not without a law against wire-snipping.

At the crack of dawn on the third day after she had become sheriff, Slim Culpepper appeared at the sheriffs office, where Mariah and Gus had taken residence. He tapped on the door leading from the jail to the living quarters.

Hat in hand, he entered the room. “I know you're prob'ly riled at me, Miz Mariah.”

“When you went against Mr. Reagor, you went against me. A kiss in the kitchen is not grounds for implicating him in murder.”

“I hated to do that, but I had to tell what I saw.” He turned his hat around in his hand. “I didn't come here to talk about what I done.”

“Why are you here?”

“You need a deputy, and I'm wanting the job.”

“To say the least, Slim, I'm perplexed by you.”

“I know that, but will you listen a minute? The day the Lamkins got killed, I said to myself then and there I wanted to be as courageous as you. I admire you.” He flushed. “I ain't very good with words, Miz Mariah.”