Undercover Sheriff. Barbara PhinneyЧитать онлайн книгу.
by a younger, equally squalid-looking woman. It was Rosa, Liza’s daughter—a young woman who knew nothing else but to follow her mother in the profession of prostitution.
Rachel shut her eyes, trying to banish the memory. It still hurt to think of Liza and the terrible part Rachel had played in her untimely death.
You should feel guilty.
Two women, two deaths. Another woman missing. You could have tried harder to help Bea. And Liza might still be alive today if you hadn’t convinced the other soiled doves to hand over their life savings for you to invest. You would never have been robbed and assaulted that night. And if that hadn’t happened, Liza wouldn’t have decided to confront the man she believed was the thief. Your arrogance—your belief that you could save those women—played a big part in Liza’s death.
Rachel pushed aside the painful memories before they gained a stronger foothold. Right now, she couldn’t afford to dwell on them. Finding Rosa and Alex must come before wallowing in guilt.
Had she done enough to help Alex with the investigation? Maybe if she’d spoken to him more, she would have known more about what he’d uncovered—and what had caused his own disappearance. But Rachel had deliberately kept all of her interactions with the sheriff as brief and discreet as possible, seeing him only in the early morning, when most of the women who worked in the cribs behind the saloon were sleeping. Rachel didn’t need to be known as someone who was close with the sheriff, considering the distrust and suspicion the soiled doves felt toward law enforcement. Prostitution wasn’t illegal, but those women were often arrested for vagrancy and theft, leading them to avoid the law as much as possible.
Rachel sighed. None of this answered why Proud Bend’s sheriff had written her name on a postcard from the neighboring town or even when he’d done so. Rachel stepped closer, indicating the postcard that Zane still held and determined to glean from it every ounce of information she could. “Are you sure it’s Alex’s handwriting?”
He tossed her a sharp look. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not.” She frowned at his defensive tone. “Are you absolutely certain that’s his handwriting?”
“We wrote—write—to each other regularly. When I received a telegram stating he was missing—”
“You received a telegram? When? From whom?”
Zane’s mouth thinned before he answered. “This past Sunday. I took that day’s train. In fact, I have only just arrived.”
“Who sent you that telegram?”
“Alex’s deputy,” Zane answered. “A man named Wilson. He informed me that Alex was missing and asked if I’d heard from him.”
Rachel swallowed. Instead of searching this room, the new deputy had contacted the brother who lived miles away? Why wasn’t the deputy doing more to search for answers here in Proud Bend? Instead, he’d sent a telegram and, as far as Rachel could tell, done little else.
Suspicion rose in her, but she crushed it. Not so long ago, the night her father had died, her father’s business partner, Clyde Abernathy, had tried to kill her and her mother in an attempt to gain control of the bank he shared with Rachel’s father. Now, Rachel felt mistrust at every turn.
No. Suspicion and doubt did not come from God, she told herself fiercely. Nor should she complain about Deputy Wilson’s choice at where he would start his investigation. She hadn’t considered this room either until late last night. Rachel wouldn’t condemn Deputy Wilson’s decisions, not when she was just as negligent, even if her own investigation could not be sanctioned by the law.
With deep concern, Rachel rubbed her arms to suppress a shiver. She couldn’t afford to give in to this worry.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Zane cut her off. “I would prefer to be the one who asks the questions,” he said. He glanced at the door. “How well do you know my brother?”
His words might have been suggestive, but Rachel heard nothing but concern in Zane’s tone. “That’s not important,” she answered. “How did you know where your brother lived? You said you came straight here from the train.”
“Alex had written me about his new home.” Zane narrowed his eyes. “Are you intimate enough with Alex that his landlady would let you in anytime you want?”
Now those words went beyond suggestive into insulting. Coloring, Rachel tugged on the pocket flaps of her outfit’s fine jacket. “Absolutely not!” It was only then that she noticed how Zane had left the door open. Although it was clear and bright this December morning, the cold draft barreling in had dissolved any heat created by the sunshine through the window. “I’m not intimate with Alex in any way, shape or form. Mrs. Shrankhof let me in because she is as concerned over his disappearance as I am and she trusts me.”
“How commendable of you.” He folded his arms. “Now, the real reason you took the card.”
Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m delighted you are so concerned for Alex that you would search his room for any leads as to where he’s gone, but I don’t believe that’s your main reason, Miss Smith.”
Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “W-why do you say that?”
“You were very focused. You went straight to this desk.”
“How do you know?”
Zane pointed briefly to the floor. “There is a skiff of snow outside and you have tracked it only to the desk, not to the wardrobe or the chest of drawers.”
Rachel glanced down at the small pools of melting snow that indicated where she’d walked. Zane Robinson was as eagle-eyed as Mrs. Shrankhof. Despite her pounding heart, she shrugged. “It was the logical place to start. I came, and the first thing I saw was the desk.”
She threw back her shoulders. “Since I first reported Rosa missing, I have gone to the sheriff’s office every day for an update, even after Alex disappeared. When I learned that Deputy Wilson had focused his investigation into Alex around the saloon only, I decided to start my own. I came here and found that postcard. As you have pointed out, that’s all I’ve done.”
“And you know for sure Wilson has not searched this room yet?”
“Mrs. Shrankhof confirmed that no one has been in here. It’s her job to clean once a week. She’d tidied his room the day he went missing and then locked it up. Believe me, she would notice anyone coming. Unless it was Alex, who has his own key, they would need to ask her to unlock the door. I don’t know why Deputy Wilson has not yet searched this room. Perhaps you can ask him that.”
Rachel paused. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that Deputy Wilson might have obtained Alex’s key and slipped in under the cover of darkness. What if Wilson had taken it after he’d kidnapped Alex?
No. Wilson wouldn’t risk incriminating himself in that way. However, what if he’d slipped in here in the middle of the night and planted that postcard, hoping to point the finger at Rachel?
She brushed away the wild conjecture. Such was the result of a stalled investigation and a too-suspicious nature after being exposed to her father’s and Abernathy’s sly corruption.
“I plan to question Wilson very thoroughly.” Zane tipped his head to one side. “So, Detective Smith, what’s your next move?”
Rachel blinked away all the suspicions and paranoia and focused on Zane, telling herself again not to be intimidated by this abrasive version of her town’s sheriff. “I was going to check out that postcard.”
He held it up. “The one that has your name on it? Logically, it seems to point to you, so interviewing you would be the next step, except you claim that