All The Little Lies
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The train rattled over the track as if it were a snake. It was late in the day and the sun had already set behind the mountains. All around, there was nothing but the sound of the engine rumbling down the tracks. A few miles away from the city, the desert stretched on for miles with no signs of life to be seen.
It seemed like all that remained of humanity were those who lived along the railroad. In other words, they were the ones left alive after the plague struck. And even though I didn’t know much about what happened in New York or how the plague got started, it was obvious this wasn’t a good thing.
I’d never been so far west before, but I could see why people chose to live out here. There were no skyscrapers or crowded streets. The air was clean and fresh and free of pollution. If only I hadn’t heard rumors that the disease was spreading across the country, maybe I would have stayed longer.
As we rolled through the town, I looked at each building with curiosity. They appeared abandoned and deserted, not a single soul in sight. No one was working in any of them, either. Some houses were boarded up; others were empty shells with broken windows. Even though there weren’t many people living near the railroad, it still made me wonder how many died here when the plague hit.
“There’s our stop,” Mr. Gray said. “We’re almost in California.” He took his hat off and placed it inside his jacket pocket. Then he picked up the newspaper he bought earlier and began reading it again.
He read every word carefully and often turned the paper back and forth while he thought about what he read. As he did, I tried to get my thoughts together. My mind felt scattered and confused. How did this happen? Where was everyone else? What did I do wrong?
I sat alone in the corner seat of the dining car as if I was invisible. That way, nobody bothered me. But since Mr. Gray had taken up residence at the opposite end of the compartment, he wouldn’t notice if anyone came by and spoke to him. So I waited patiently until someone approached.
Mr. Gray raised his head and glanced toward me. I saw surprise register on his face as he recognized me. Then he stood up quickly and walked toward me. His eyes searched mine as if trying to determine whether I really belonged where I was sitting.
When he reached me, he leaned against the table next to me and folded his hands in front of him. He stared at me as if expecting some sort of explanation. I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. After a long silence, I finally said, “You asked me yesterday if you should believe anything I told you. Well, I can’t answer your question because I don’t understand it myself.”
For an instant, he looked relieved, then confusion crossed his features once more. For a moment, he seemed lost in deep thought, staring at the floor between us. Finally, he looked up at me with a puzzled expression. “Do you mean you’re a detective?”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. I knew he must have noticed my gun belt and revolver when I put my luggage in the trunk. Yet, he didn’t seem to think much of it. Or perhaps he didn’t care enough to ask questions. Maybe he figured it was just another woman trying to find work as a private investigator.
“Yes,” I replied.
His eyes narrowed. “Then why are you riding in a passenger train instead of taking the stagecoach?”
That brought me back to reality. Now that I’d come this far, I needed to make sure I understood everything before I returned home. “Because I’m going to San Francisco. Besides, I wanted to meet you first and hear your side of the story. You haven’t answered any of my letters or phone calls.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “And now I’ve met you, too. At last. Thank God! We might actually learn something.” He pulled the chair closer and sat down beside me. He placed both elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. “But first let me start from the beginning.”
I nodded and listened intently as he recounted his meeting with the man from Chicago. When he finished, I asked, “So you decided to go into business with this man and help him run the hotel.”
“Right.”
“How did you convince him to do such a thing? Did you offer him money or something else?”
“No.” He shook his head. “What I offered was a partnership. He owns the hotel and I’ll manage it for him. I’ll also hire a staff to run the place and provide guests with the best service possible.”
“That sounds like quite a job,” I commented.
“It is.” He smiled wryly. “But I’m used to hard work.”
The idea of hiring a staff excited me. I liked the idea of having someone else handle the cooking and cleaning for me. And I would be able to concentrate solely on finding clues and solving cases. In fact, I could already picture myself using my own office and all its amenities.
“Does that mean I can stay in your room?” I asked hopefully.
He frowned slightly. “Not yet. It’s still occupied.”
“Oh.” I sighed heavily. “Well, maybe someday we will get to know each other better.”
He laughed. “I hope so.”
I was happy to see a lightness return to his features but he soon became serious once again. “Now I need to know exactly how you got here, Mrs. Grey. The last time I heard from you was three months ago. Three whole months!”
“Yes, sir, three months,” I agreed. “And there’s no easy way to explain it.”
He studied my face as he took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Tell me about the letter.”
“All right. But I want you to promise you won’t laugh.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s stupid. I’m sure it’s ridiculous. But that’s the only way I could think of to get away.”
Mr. Gray raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Did you write it yourself?”
“Of course.” I hesitated, wondering what to say next. Then I blurted out, “It’s a little embarrassing.”
His frown grew deeper. “Is it about your husband?”
I shook my head. “No… No, nothing like that.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Then what?”
“It’s about my mother.”
***
“Your mother?” Mr. Gray repeated incredulously.
“Yes. My mother.”
“You never mentioned her before.”
I shrugged. “She died years ago. A car accident.”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Yes…”
“What happened?” His voice held concern.
“We were traveling along a country road. It was raining pretty badly, which made it difficult for us to stop. Suddenly, our buggy overturned.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Only Mother.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Montana. I was visiting relatives who live near Billings.”
“And where are they now?”
“Dead.” I swallowed. “They’re buried there.”
“Do you have family nearby?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Who?”
“Brothers. One lives in Seattle, the other in Montana.”
“Are they old friends of yours?”
“I suppose they are,” I replied cautiously. I hadn’t seen either of them since childhood.
“If you don’t mind, tell me about them,” Mr. Gray suggested. “Maybe I can help.”
“My older brother, Michael, has always been close to me. We grew up playing cowboys and Indians together.”
“Sounds like fun.” He chuckled. “I wish I had an older brother.”
I smiled at his joke. “Michael loves horses. That’s why we lived in Montana for most of our growing-up years. I remember when we were kids, we used to pretend we were real cowboys. I even gave him my pony for his birthday. But then Father lost his job and things got tough. So we moved back east. To Chicago.”
“When did your father lose his job?”
“Sixteen years ago. Just after Mother’s death. She passed away during childbirth.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. There wasn’t much we could do though. Not without jobs.” I paused and thought carefully over my words. “Father was very sick. He couldn’t hold down any sort of steady employment because he kept getting dizzy spells.
Our house fell into disrepair, which meant we had to move frequently. All this caused a lot of arguments between my parents. They fought often and I hated being around them.”
“So you left home.”
“After high school, I went west to Montana to look for a ranching job. I ended up working for a wealthy cattle baron named Boone Stone. He paid well and provided good living quarters and plenty of food.” I turned away to hide the tears that suddenly filled my eyes. “That’s also when I met my husband.”
“A rancher,” Mr. Gray mused. “How nice of you.”
“Very nice,” I agreed with a wistful smile. “But he was not happy about my work situation. He wanted me to quit and find another position.”
“Like what?”
“Anything! Anything would be fine by me. Except for something dangerous or illegal. If I didn’t feel comfortable doing something, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Which is probably why you haven’t married again,” Mr. Gray said quietly.
“Yes.” I sighed. “But if I ever did decide to marry again, I’d make sure I found someone just like my husband—a man who loved children and respected women. Someone honest.”
“Someone kind and caring,” Mr. Gray added.
“Yes.” I nodded slowly. “That’s exactly how I’d describe him.”
“Have you written him recently?”
“Not lately. The last time we wrote to each other was two months ago.”
“Why not? What’s keeping you apart?”
“Nothing.” I forced a laugh. “Just the distance. You see, he lives in Oregon.”
“Oregon!” Mr. Gray exclaimed. “Isn’t it hot there?”
I shrugged. “The weather varies depending on where you are.”
“Well, let’s hope he gets better soon,” Mr. Gray murmured.
“I’ll try to send him a letter soon.”
“Good.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
Mr. Gray hesitated. Then he shook his head. “No. Why?”
“Because I might need his assistance.”
He frowned. “There’s no reason for him to get involved in anything concerning me.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him quickly. “It won’t involve you. Only myself.”
His expression remained guarded as he asked, “What exactly do you want from him?”
“I need to hire a detective to investigate a murder case. I think I should ask one of his employees.”
“You mean the sheriff’s department?”
“Yes.”
“We have three deputies and one deputy marshal,” he explained. “One of them works part-time in the office and spends the rest of his time running a small farm outside town.”
“Then I guess I’ll talk to Marshal Jack.”
***
Marshal Jack greeted us warmly and invited us inside his office. It was smaller than I expected but still contained all the necessary equipment. His desk looked quite impressive, especially compared to mine.
As I sat across from the marshal, I felt a strange sensation wash over me. One I hadn’t experienced since meeting Mr. Gray. A feeling that made me forget everything else except my current surroundings. My heart thumped loudly against my chest. I knew it shouldn’t matter anymore but somehow it seemed so important.
“I understand you’re looking for a detective to help solve a murder case,” Marshal Jack began. “Is there anything more I can tell you about this case?”
“Only that a young woman died while riding her horse along the river trail,” I replied. “She apparently fell off the animal and drowned.”
“Did she leave behind a family?”
“None that I know of.”
“Do you mind telling me what happened to the horse?”
“Apparently, it wandered away.”
“And the body was discovered?”
“In a shallow grave.”
“Any evidence found at the scene?”
“Some bloodstains on the ground near the river bank. But I don’t think they were hers.”
“Where were these stains located?”
“Near the back of the horse’s hind legs.”
“Are you familiar with the terrain around your house?”
“Of course.”
“Were you able to identify any footprints in the mud nearby?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone enter your property without permission?”
“Anyone but the owner has to ask first.”
“Was there any sign of an intruder?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“A week before the incident occurred.”
“How many days had passed between the time you saw her and when she disappeared?”
“Three.”
“Could it be possible she got lost somewhere during that period?”
“It could be,” I admitted reluctantly.
“If you think of anything else, please call.”
“Will do.”
As I rode down the road toward home, I glanced up at the clear blue sky above. No clouds marred the bright sunlight. Just a perfect summer day. Yet something told me things weren’t going to remain calm for long.
I wasn’t sure why I thought so or even if such thoughts were true but I couldn’t shake them from my mind. So I decided to return to the ranch early and start reading those reports. Maybe then I would feel better knowing I had some answers.
***
Two hours later I stood beside a large wooden box that held a variety of medical supplies. All are neatly arranged according to size. There were bottles filled with different colored liquids; syringes that ranged in length and width; jars filled with various powders, bandages, cotton swabs, and other items.
Some of the contents were wrapped in brown paper packages tied with twine. Others were simply placed inside the box.
“This is quite an extensive collection,” Dr. Walker said. “I’m surprised you own all of this stuff.”
“They belonged to my grandfather,” I explained. “Before he retired, he traveled to many places in order to treat patients who needed special attention.”
“Doesn’t sound like much fun.” The doctor laughed lightly. “But then again, I never really liked traveling either.” He turned to me. “Now let me see if I can find what we need.”
I watched as he rummaged through the boxes and carefully lifted out several objects. He handed each one to me. First, he showed me a pair of tongs and then two pairs of forceps. Next came a needle holder with four needles attached to it. After that, he pulled out a metal scalpel with a black handle. Finally, he produced a small glass vial containing a clear liquid.
“What are these used for?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Never mind. We won’t be using any of this today.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t been trained properly to use these tools.”
“But—”
“The only reason I brought them here was that you asked me to teach you how to perform certain procedures.”
“Well, that’s good news.” I smiled. “So where should we begin?”
“With basic cleaning techniques. And then we’ll move onto sterilization methods.”
“Sounds great.”
Dr. Walker removed a piece of cloth from a bucket full of warm water and began wiping down the instruments with soap and hot water. As he did so, he talked me through the entire process. I watched closely as he worked over the various tools.
When he finished washing the implements, he took out another piece of cloth and wiped each item dry. Then he laid everything in its proper place until finally reaching the bottom of the box. He opened a drawer and extracted a bottle of alcohol-based surgical hand wash.
It contained a solution made by mixing alcohol with distilled water. The alcohol helped kill bacteria while the distilled water kept the hands moist and prevented blisters.
After spraying a generous amount of the antiseptic into both hands, I washed mine thoroughly. “There now,” I remarked. “That’s clean enough.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“And now for sterilizing.”
“Just pour some of this liquid on top of the instruments.”
“We’re supposed to soak them too?”
“Only if they have sharp edges or parts that require extra care.”
“Okay. What about this?”
“You want to sterilize the blades, yes? But don’t forget to disinfect the handles.”
“Right.” I picked up the scalpel and dipped it into the container. A moment later, I rubbed it across a sterile towel.
When I returned the knife to its proper spot, Dr. Walker handed me another instrument. “Here’s another scalpel,” he said. “Please hold this firmly against your palm and rub it briskly back and forth.”
I repeated his actions and then tossed the blade back into the box. “Next?”
“Hold this.” He handed me a glass vial with a tiny bit of liquid inside. “Rub it along the blade and then rinse it off before placing it back in the box.”
“Gotcha.”
While Dr. Walker continued explaining the steps required to make the instruments sanitary, I continued rinsing each tool. In addition to the scalpels and forceps, there were scissors and clamps, scalpels and saws, and more.
Each time I cleaned a new set of instruments, I found myself admiring the intricate craftsmanship of the men and women who created them. Most were finely crafted pieces of art.
By the time I reached the bottom of the box, my fingers felt raw. But it didn’t matter. I was learning valuable skills that would help keep others safe. Not just anyone could become a doctor, but I had the determination to do whatever was necessary to succeed in this profession. Even if it meant enduring physical pain.
The End