Death by Grit Page 3
“Well, Mr. Larson, did you follow up on any of those hints? Did the sheriff here?”
“Sheriff Whitaker? You know, I’m not sure. He’s been awfully busy with that land dispute this week, so he might not of got to it.”
Jacob could not believe what he was hearing. He tried to start over again at the beginning.
“Alright, well. I suppose that’s understandable.” He tried to stay calm. “But seeing as the marshal sent me here to do what I could to capture this murderer, any information you or anyone else in Haven can give me would be useful. I’d appreciate it if you could tell me everything you know.”
Deputy Larson spent the next thirty minutes talking in circles, giving vague allusions and theories as he reported what had happened in Haven over the previous forty-eight hours. Mrs. Larson finished up her cooking and served the two men as Jacob was losing the last bit of his patience. So far this trip had yielded almost nothing useful, other than the fact that Maloney was probably seen in town that morning.
As they began to eat the sausage and fried potatoes that Mrs. Larson had prepared, Jacob decided to change the subject. He would try again in the morning with there sources.
“This meal is just perfection,” he said to his hostess. “I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me into your home and helping me out the way you have.”
Mrs. Larson smiled at him and offered him another biscuit. “It’s nothing, Mr. Payne.”
“There is one other thing you can help me with, if you don’t mind?”
“What’s that?” Larson said through a mouthful of food.
“Could you point me in the direction of a hotel or boarding house where I might stay tonight?”
The Larsons looked at each other, communicating wordlessly in the way only married couples can.
“Oh, Mr. Payne,” she began, “I’m so sorry. Haven doesn’t have a hotel. This isn’t the kind of town people visit.”
That surprised Jacob. The town was big enough for a school, but maybe she was right that families come here to live, not to pass through.
“What about a boarding house or … ? Is there any free bed I could acquire?”
“Well … There is one place,” Larson said hesitatingly.
“I’d be grateful.”
“You won’t like it.”
Jacob bit back an angry reply. “That may be, sir, but I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“Well … as far as I know the cell in the jail is empty. There’s a cot there and we can set you up with an extra blanket.”
Jacob stared at the deputy, unsure he had heard him correctly. “You want to lock me up?”
“No, sir. No no no absolutely not. No, I’d leave the cell unlocked for you, of course. You’d just be using it as a place to sleep.”
Jacob took another bite of his potatoes so he could think and avoid answering right away. He wasn’t sure he had any other options, and it was better than sleeping outside.
He nodded. “That sounds like a solution.”
“Wonderful,” Larson exclaimed. “I’ll take you over after supper.”
“That’d be perfect,” Jacob said, already eager to leave. The Larsons had fulfilled all of their use to him.
Chapter Five
Jacob had had a long day of riding. He couldn’t believe that just that morning he had been knocking on Bonnie’s door. So much had happened since then. Though he had never before had to sleep in a jail cell, he found that he was tired enough that the awkwardness of the situation didn’t bother him. The extra quilt from the Larsons proved necessary, but he quickly fell asleep on the narrow cot in the tiny cell.
After a few hours of solid sleep, though, Jacob slept fitfully. The uncertainty of what his next step was weighed on him, distracted him. He couldn’t feel secure in his duty as he didn’t feel secure in his information. As the night wore on, Jacob’s mind spun with all the things he would need to remember to do the following day. He had so many loose threads to attend to. Eventually, not long before dawn, Jacob finally drifted off to sleep. He would just have to make do with a few hours, and once Seamus Maloney was taken into custody he could sleep again.
But even those brief, restless hours were cut short when Jacob was brought rudely to consciousness with the muzzle of a gun jabbed into his neck.
“Who the hell are you?” an angry male voice asked.
Jacob’s eyes flew open but he didn’t dare move. It took him a moment for him to remember where he was and what he was doing there. Evidently whoever had come across him didn’t have the same information.
“Who are you, I said!”
“Jacob Payne. Bounty hunter. Deputy Larson offered me this bed to sleep in while I’m in town.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
The questioning man backed up a step, but kept his gun trained on Jacob. He was older than Jacob by several decades, fully gray on top and as overweight as Larson. The bounty hunter sat up in the jail cot slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves or spook the man in anyway. Now that he was fully awake, he realized two things. First, that he had taken off his holster and weapon, and the other man now held it clenched tightly in his grip. And second, that the other man wore a sheriff’s badge proudly on his chest.
“Are you Sheriff Whitaker by chance?”
“Course I am. Who else would find you in the jail at seven o’clock in the morning?”
“And,” Jacob sighed, “am I correct in assuming that your deputy didn’t send word or leave a note at all about my presence here?”
“No, he didn’t. He’ll probably come in and process your arrest warrant later today, though. Might as well tell me what you’ve done to land yourself in here before then.”
Jacob shook his head. “Sorry, sir, I haven’t committed any crime. I told you. The deputy offered me a place to sleep.”
“Sure.” The sheriff laughed derisively. “Sure he did. So you were probably drunk out of your gourd, then, huh? Don’t remember being brought in here?”
“I remember perfectly well,” Jacob said. He was trying to remain calm, and kept his hands flat on his knees where the sheriff could see them at all times. “This was in lieu of Haven having a hotel of any kind.”
“Alright, buddy. Fine then. Don’t tell me.”
“Sheriff. Please. What can I tell you to ge you to believe me? I don’t have all day to sit in here.”
The sheriff outright guffawed. “I don’t know where you think you’re going instead,” he said as he walked out of Jacob’s cell.
Jacob stood, but saw immediately it was pointless. The sheriff closed the cell door, locked it and stowed the key.
“If you’re not going to talk, we’ll just wait til Deputy Larson reports in,” he said with a shrug. “No skin off my back.”
“Is there nothing I can say?” Jacob protested. “Didn’t you see for yourself that my weapon was still in here with me? Would the deputy have allowed that if I was arrested for some crime?”
“Between you and me, yes. He might have.”
Jacob groaned in frustration.
“Don’t worry, Payne,” the sheriff said as he walked away. “You’ll get your meals same as any other prisoner, even if you are getting on my last nerve.”
The hallway from the cell was short, and Jacob watched the sheriff the whole way back to the front office. He turned the corner at the last moment to go to his desk, and out of Jacob’s sight, but he knew he would still hear him.
“Sheriff Whitaker, please. Telegraph the marshal in Tucson. I swear I have done nothing wrong and wasn’t even arrested. Please!”
“Shut it!” was the disembodied answer.
“Can you at least send word to the deputy so we can get this cleared up sooner rather than later?”
“Shut it!”
“If Seamus Maloney murders more innocents, it will be on your conscience.”
No response.
“Sheriff?”
Still nothing.
Jacob sighed deeply and backed away
from the cell door. He sat dejected back on the cot. What else could he do? He racked his brain, trying to think of some option. The only thing that came to mind was to lure the sheriff back here and somehow trick and overpower him. But Jacob always—always—wanted to stay on the right side of the law and couldn’t imagine himself ruining that streak just for this.
No, he would just have to be patient and—
Jacob heard something. Footsteps. He hurried to the cell door again and tried to peer down the hallway. Was the sheriff coming back already? Maybe he had found a note. Maybe he had—
Jacob heard the door to the office open, the sheriff exit and the door close again.
Through the closed door, he could also hear the sheriff’s footsteps continue on down the wooden boardwalk.
“Damn it,” Jacob whispered to himself. Now he was alone, locked up and at the mercy of whenever the sheriff or the deputy felt like showing up again. The only smidgen of hope he had was that Sheriff Whitaker had promised him meals. It was still morning, so maybe he’d come back with breakfast soon and Jacob could try reasoning with him again.
Several hours later, Jacob was still hoping the same thing. His stomach was beginning to growl and he wondered whether or not the sheriff had deliberately lied to him when he claimed to be providing meals to what he thought was a prisoner. Where had he gone? And where was the deputy?
Jacob had been pacing his cell while he waited. His adrenaline was up.
He hated being stuck. It was one of his worst fears and a big part of the reason he had left Virginia, after all. It wasn’t claustrophobia; it was more that he liked to have options. And this being his first time ever locked in a cell only confirmed that preference.
It wasn’t even just that he was physically stuck. Jacob hadn’t made any progress on his manhunt at all the day before and now this new day was flying away too. If neither of the lawmen of this town could help him in his pursuit, who could Jacob turn to next? He bagan making mental lists of all the shops he remembered passing. He would interview every single citizen of this town if need be. Someone must have seen something.
The more time that passed, the more Jacob just wanted to yell and scream, to draw attention from someone walking by. Anyone.
He was trying to talk himself out of that impulse when the door to the jail finally opened again and Jacob heard two sets of footsteps enter.
“Hello? Sheriff, is that you? Can we talk?” Jacob yelled desperately.
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut it?” a familiar voice responded.
The footsteps continued toward Jacob, echoing through the hallway. He held his breath waiting to see the sheriff standing in front of him, hopefully with a key. Hopefully with Deputy Larson there to vouch for him.
Jacob couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face when both men appeared in his view at the end of the hallway.
“Deputy!” he called. “Thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve told the sheriff about your kind hospitality last night, I trust?”
“I sure have. Sorry about this, Mr. Payne. I didn’t think.” He mirrored Jacob’s grin, shrugged and scratched his head. “Oh well. No harm done.”
“I… but … “ Jacob began to protest, but thought better of it. He was still stuck. Either man could still change their mind and then who knew when he would get out of here.
But as soon as the sheriff had unlocked and opened the jail cell, as soon as the deputy had handed him back his holster and weapon, and as soon as Jacob had safely and definitively stepped out into the hallway, he had to say something.
“Actually, Deputy, sorry but there could be harm done.” He tried to keep the bite out of his tone, but it was difficult. “As you may recall, I am still trying to hunt down the multiple murderer Seamus Maloney. My, uh, detention sacrificed important hours that I could have spent—”
“Yes, yes,” Sheriff Whitaker said with a dismissive wave as he led the way back down the hallway. “We get the idea. You should be grateful you got out at all, young man.”
“Thank you,” Jacob said through clenched teeth. “If I could bother you for another favor … Do either of you have any more leads on Seamus Maloney’s whereabouts? Other than your wife, deputy, who else has given you reason to believe they have seen this man in Haven?”
Jacob stood alert in front of the desk. Sheriff Whitaker had sat down, leaned back and rested his feet on the desk. Deputy Larson leaned casually against the wall behind him. As Jacob waited, his stomach growling broke through the silence. He would have to get some kind of sustenance in him if he was going to have energy for this manhunt.
“I think maybe Rufus?” the sheriff said in between picking at his teeth with a piece of paper he had picked up from his desk and folded into quarters. The man must have gone out for a meal while he had left Jacob here locked up. “What do you think, Grover?”
Deputy Larson nodded. “Yeah, I think Rufus is probably the best place to start.”
“Who is Rufus?” Jacob asked.
“Runs the post office and general store here. A few buildings west of us,” Deputy Larson said, gesturing with a point. “Marlowe’s Goods is about the only place around here to get any kind of anything, so if Maloney has needed anything from bullets to flour, he’s had to see Rufus.”
“Great,” said Jacob, immensely relieved. “That’s perfect. I’ll go see Rufus.”
With that, he turned and abruptly exited the jail, before either man could detain him any further.
Chapter Six
Once outside the jail, Jacob turned his steps toward the direction Deputy Larson had indicated, toward the general store, and hopefully toward some answers. He was still starving—it was just about lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten anything all day. But he needed to get answers first. Once Jacob knew better where he was going and what he needed to do he could plan in a meal. This wasn’t the first time he had done the hard work while hungry. He had been a soldier, after all. He could handle this.
Larson had given him accurate directions, at least. Jacob found Marlowe’s Goods four doors down from the jail. At this time of day, late morning, there were several women already there shopping. Jacob strolled casually around the aisles, trying not to interrupt, but still catch the eye of the short, scrawny man helping a customer at the counter. There was another shop assistant, a young man no older than seventeen, and several women waiting to be helped, but Jacob needed to speak to Mr. Marlowe himself as soon as possible.
Jacob would have to be patient. Again.
He wandered to the front window and watched the action in the street. There were just as many people walking and going about there day as he would expect in a town this size. Either Maloney wasn’t here, or the word of his presence hadn’t spread very far, or … Jacob sighed.
Maybe the people of Haven just weren’t taking this outlaw very seriously. He had murdered seven people, and yet no one seemed to be showing any fear whatsoever. There was no indication a single person had altered their activities, other than Mrs. Larson bringing the school children inside. Jacob was furious at the cavalier way the law of this town was handling the situation and he was more determined than ever to bring this despicable man to justice.
He walked back to the counter, where the scrawny man was weighing out dried beans for his customer, and leaned on his elbow next to her.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said when she eyed him doubtfully. “I’m here on business for the U.S. Marshal’s office in Tucson. I hate to interrupt, but this is a matter of utmost importance.”
The look of shock on the man’s face was enough to sink Jacob’s spirits. Was he going to have trouble getting this man to talk?
“Are you Mr. Marlowe?” he asked, extending his hand.
The man took his time sealing up the package of beans, giving his customer the total and completing the transaction before answering him.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Brown,” He said to the next woman waiting. “I’ll be just a moment.”
“Yes, I’m Rufus Marlowe,” he said to Jacob. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“As I said, I’m here from Tucson. Jacob Payne. I understand that you may have interacted with a man the marshal’s office is after.”
Rufas paled visibly. “A wanted man? Have I? Oh, heavens. Oh, dear.”
Jacob was concerned by the man’s evident panic, but again he had to wonder how the law of this town was even functioning if a man of this stature didn’t know there was an outlaw about.
“Possibly, Mr. Marlowe. I’m sorry to alarm you. It’s possible I’m wrong.” He pulled out the wanted poster Santos had given him with Maloney’s likeness on it, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the counter top. Then he shifted his position, trying to casually block the view of the poster from the other customers in the shop. He didn’t want to be the cause of a panic.
“Is…” Marlowe cleared his throat. “Is that him then?”
Jacob nodded. “Does he look familiar?”
Marlowe had not taken his eyes off of the likeness, the gray-blond hair and sweeping mustache and goatee, the glaring eyes. He nodded.
“Has he come in here?” Jacob prompted.
Marlowe nodded again. He swallowed.
“You’re not in any danger, Mr. Marlowe,” Jacob said. “But if there’s any info you can give me that might indicate where he has gone, or where he might be now, I’d surely appreciate it. The sooner I can get my hands on him, the sooner you and the people of Haven will be safe.”
“He, um … He …”
Marlowe still had not taken his eyes off the wanted poster. Jacob needed him to focus; he gently lifted the storekeeper’s hand off of the edge of the paper, folded it up and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Mr. Marlowe?”
Finally the smaller man looked up at Jacob.
“Do you want to get some air?”
He nodded. “Jack, I’ll just be a moment. I need to help this gentleman with something.”