Heart Ripped Out Of Chest
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The first thing to do was get out of the house. The second thing would be to find a place where she could hide until they left, then follow them at a safe distance and watch for clues about their destination.
She didn’t want to leave her horse behind; it was too valuable to risk leaving in an unknown location, even if there were people nearby who might steal it. If she had to leave it, she’d take along only one saddlebag that contained everything she needed—money, food, water, pistol, knife, hatchet, rope, blankets, extra clothes, toiletries, soap, and matches.
Everything else could wait here. But how could she ever catch up with these men?
She went downstairs, found the key under a loose floorboard near the back door, and opened it. It led into the backyard, but when she looked around she saw no other way out except through the front gate or over the fence. When she returned to the kitchen, she asked Mrs. Smith, “Do you know of any way I can escape from this house without going outside?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Smith said. “That’s why I keep my doors locked.”
Lydia thought for another minute before saying, “If we have a window in the attic, I might be able to climb down using that as a ladder.”
Mrs. Smith smiled. “It won’t work. Our windows are boarded up so no one can see inside. We also don’t allow anyone to go up there unless it’s someone we trust.”
“But if I could climb down to the ground somehow…” Lydia tried to think of some solution.
A short while later, Lydia climbed onto the table and looked out the window. There was nothing unusual to see; no sign of either man. They hadn’t yet come out of the house, which meant they must still be in there.
As much as she wanted to stay close by in case they came out, she couldn’t let herself become trapped on the third floor. Instead, she ran upstairs to check her room again. This time the bed was neatly made and all signs of the fight seemed gone.
Maybe it was better than the sheriff never came looking for his missing deputy. If he did, she would certainly lose whatever chance she had to prove her innocence.
When she got downstairs, she took off her shoes and socks, put on a pair of sturdy boots, slipped into her coat, and tied her hair into a knot on top of her head. Then she headed for the back yard.
Just before she reached the back door, she heard the front door open, followed by the sound of a car pulling away. Her heart sank. That explained how they could drive away so quickly.
She hurried toward the back gate, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t run into either man coming out of the house, but when she finally stepped out into the yard, she found the two men standing right next to the fence. One man held the reins of his horse while the other removed his hat and scratched his head.
They both turned when she entered the yard, giving her a clear view of their faces.
Neither of them looked familiar, but the older man wore a mustache like the one she’d seen at the ranch. So she knew immediately who they were. She felt sick to her stomach. How could they possibly look so calm after what happened? Had they forgotten all about her? Or perhaps they had just decided not to worry about her anymore because she was dead.
One of the men whistled, and soon the horses began trotting toward him. As the horses neared the gate, the man with the mustache waved a hand, signaling Lydia to hurry and enter the enclosure. He spoke to her as she walked past, saying something in a low voice.
What could it mean? Did he say goodbye or maybe “wait”? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now. She wasn’t going anywhere. She watched as the horses passed through the gate and disappeared.
“Come on, Miss Lydie,” the man with the mustache called out. “You’re supposed to be with us. You’re our prisoner!”
Forcing her feet to move forward, Lydia moved slowly toward the gate. “I’ve already told you—”
Suddenly she stopped. The man with the mustache had taken hold of the reins of the horse. Now he grabbed the bridle, jerking it sharply until the animal reared up, causing Lydia to stumble backward.
The man with the mustache yelled at the other man, then gave the reins a sharp tug. The horse galloped toward the gate, throwing the man with the mustache against the fence. His hat flew off, and Lydia saw blood running from an ugly cut on the side of his face.
The other man caught his hat and knelt down to pick up the reins. A few seconds later, the horse left the yard. Both men stood up and stared at each other for several moments before turning and walking toward the house.
After watching them leave, Lydia sat down on the ground beside the fence. What was happening? Why did the men suddenly seem so eager to get rid of her?
***
Three days later, Lydia rode alongside the men during the first half of their ride to Dodge City. After the noon meal, she stayed behind while they continued westward. When they returned to the ranch, the older man told Mrs. Smith that she should start packing.
By the time dinner arrived, the entire family had gathered around the table. No one talked very much, although Mrs. Smith managed to ask everyone if they needed anything.
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning,” the sheriff said.
“Why?” Mrs. Smith asked.
“Because I need to take care of business,” Sheriff Johnson answered.
“Business?” Mrs. Smith repeated.
Johnson nodded. “It’s been bothering me since we started this investigation. We know that you killed your husband, and I think it only fair that we find out why.”
Mrs. Smith looked pale, and her hands shook as she tried to eat the last of her food.
“There are too many unanswered questions,” Johnson added. “Didn’t you tell me once that you were planning to kill Frank anyway? It seems to me that the only reason you waited is because of the baby. But what about the other women?”
Lydia didn’t hear any of their conversations, but she could see that Mrs. Smith was crying. With great effort, she pushed herself up from her chair. “Excuse me,” she mumbled as she went upstairs. She pulled her suitcase out of the closet, packed a few items, and hid the rest in a dresser drawer.
She also filled the pockets of her dress with some of her favorite things—the letter opener, her pen knife, and even the book.
Then she hurried back downstairs and knocked on the office door. The sheriff opened it without waiting for permission, and when he spotted her, he smiled broadly.
“So you’re finally ready to talk?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
He motioned to a wooden rocking chair by the window. “Have a seat. Maybe we can help you remember how everything happened.”
When the sheriff left the room, Mrs. Smith came over to stand next to Lydia. She touched Lydia’s arm gently and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with us tonight? You’ve been gone all day long, and you look tired.”
Lydia took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her lips. “No, ma’am, thank you. I’m fine. I just wanted to do my own investigating before you got to town.”
As Mrs. Smith walked away, Lydia heard the sheriff speak to her. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Smith. Everything will work out for the best. Just wait and see.”
She followed the sheriff into the room where he’d met with her earlier. He closed the door, turned to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Now, let’s begin again.”
Taking another deep breath, Lydia said, “Sheriff Johnson, I want to go ahead and answer your questions. If I’ve done something wrong, then please correct me. Otherwise, I would appreciate it if you’d let me go home.”
The sheriff hesitated for several seconds, and Lydia wondered whether he was going to call her bluff. Then he removed his hand from her shoulder and sat down across from her. “You have nothing to fear,” he said quietly. “I won’t arrest you or send you to jail unless you refuse to cooperate. Now, tell me about the night Frank died.”
***
For the next two hours, Lydia recounted every detail of that fateful night, beginning with the argument over the missing money. As she spoke, her voice grew stronger, and soon she seemed to forget about the pain in her chest and the ache in her head. Even though there was no doubt in her mind that she had killed Frank, it was still difficult to admit that she was capable of such an act.
At the end of her story, the sheriff stared at her with wide eyes. “How did you manage to cut yourself like that?”
Lydia pointed to the bandage on her wrist. “That was after I stabbed him. I used my pen knife to open his shirt.”
“But why did you attack him? What made you decide to kill Frank?”
Lydia shrugged. “Frank wouldn’t stop talking about killing himself. And I thought that if he kept on, I might lose control of myself.”
“And you believe that now?”
“Not really. But I think it would have happened eventually.”
“What made you decide to leave Kansas City?”
Lydia explained that she and Frank had been working in the same mine for years, but they hadn’t saved much money. When he lost his job, she couldn’t afford to keep paying for the apartment and the furniture.
After that, Frank spent most of their savings gambling and drinking. Finally, when Lydia found out she was pregnant, Frank became so drunk one night that she decided to pack up and move to Denver.
“Why did you choose Colorado instead of Texas?” the sheriff asked. “Or California or New Mexico or Arizona?”
“We didn’t know anything about those places yet. Besides, Denver has a good hospital. I figured Frank could get better care there than in Kansas City. That way, maybe we could save enough money to return someday and buy a house.”
“Do you remember the name of the doctor who delivered your baby?”
“Dr. Lyle, sir.”
Johnson frowned. “Was that his real name?”
Lydia nodded. “It was. Dr. Lyle was kind and gentle with me. We were both surprised to learn that we were having twins.”
“Did anyone else ever come to visit you while you lived here?”
“Only Mr. and Mrs. Davis once. They brought a cake with them as a congratulatory gift.”
The sheriff leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Who are these people?”
Lydia hesitated. The truth was, she didn’t even know the names of the couple. It was only because Mrs. Smith had told her they were friends of Frank’s that she’d agreed to meet with them. Still, she knew it would be impossible for any outsider to find the woman’s boardinghouse. So far, none of her neighbors had reported seeing strangers hanging around.
After thinking for several moments, Lydia said, “Mr. and Mrs. Davis owned the land where the boardinghouse stands.”
“Where is that land located?”
“Over by the old cemetery. It belonged to Frank’s family.” She paused, wondering how much more information she should give. “Actually, it belonged to all the families living near the railroad tracks back then.”
He studied her closely. “Are you saying that Frank was trying to build a new town right where his family’s graves lay?”
Lydia nodded slowly. “Yes. At least that’s what I think.”
“So, this man named Jett owns the land now.”
“Yes. He bought it last year. We don’t know why, but Frank started digging holes there one day.”
“Were you aware that Frank had built a house on top of a grave?”
“No! No, I wasn’t!”
“When was the first time you learned of the building project?”
“A week before the accident. One morning, Frank came into work with a bloody nose. When I asked him what happened, he acted as though I didn’t exist. Then, he grabbed my arm and tried to drag me outside.”
“I see. Did you ask Frank why he was doing this?”
She shook her head. “No. All I wanted to do was escape. I ran away from him and hid under a wagon. There was no one else around. I waited until he went inside the bank.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“Nothing. Just ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ I got scared and called out to the others standing nearby. A few minutes later, he returned and drove off.”
“Have you seen Frank since the day of the accident?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “Every single day since I left the hospital.”
“Is he still angry with you?”
Lydia sat back in the chair. “If he is, he never shows it. On the contrary, Frank always seems happy whenever I see him.”
“Doesn’t seem very healthy. For either one of you. What makes you think you can stay here without Frank? If you leave him again, will he go after you?”
“I won’t let him. I’m staying here.”
The sheriff rose abruptly. “That’s all I need to know for now.”
***
By the end of the next week, Johnson felt satisfied that the case had gone nowhere. Even his wife seemed convinced that there was nothing suspicious about Frank’s death. As usual, she insisted on bringing him lunch every day. Her constant concern made him feel guilty at times. Why couldn’t she understand that he needed to be alone for a little while each day just to collect himself?
While driving home from the train station yesterday afternoon, he glanced across the street toward the bank. His gaze lingered on the front window, which looked down on the sidewalk. It took several seconds before he realized that something unusual was happening inside.
At first, he thought someone might have broken into the bank, but soon discovered that the door leading to the basement was wide open. The light coming through the doorway revealed that the place was filled with shadows. Something was moving among the darkness; a figure that moved stealthily.
He parked his car in a nearby alleyway and hurried over. Once inside, he found two men lying unconscious on the floor. Both wore dark suits, white shirts and ties. He could hear the faint sound of their labored breathing.
As Johnson knelt beside one of the men, the other suddenly awoke. With a loud moan, he struggled to sit up.
“Easy, sir. You’ve been drugged.” Johnson placed his hand on the man’s chest. “It’s okay. Your heart is beating fast. That means you must have taken some kind of sleeping powder. But you’ll be fine once we get you upstairs.”
The second man sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Thank God! We almost lost our lives.”
Johnson stood up and motioned to the first man. “Your name?”
“Jett.”
“And your friend’s name?”
“Smith.”
“Okay, Jett, Smith. Can you tell me how you ended up in this cellar?”
They both shrugged.
“Well, you were both involved in the construction of the house that collapsed last month. Am I correct?”
Both men nodded. “Yes, but we weren’t responsible for anything like this. Nothing happened to us!”
“Did you ever meet Frank? Or anyone working at the bank?”
“We never saw any of them except for Jett, who works here part-time.”
“Do you remember seeing anything strange happen in the building during the past couple of months?”
“Strange? Yes, I guess so. At least, odd things kept happening to us. Like the windows breaking or the lights flickering on and off.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Not really.”
“But you heard about the incident where the building fell apart. Do you know anything about that?”
Again they shrugged.
“Why would you think such an event was related to the bank?”
“Because we worked here. And because of the way people talked afterward. They said it was an act of sabotage.”
“An act of sabotage against whom?”
“Frank. Everyone knows Frank’s been trying to take over the entire town.”
“Are you sure you didn’t do anything to provoke Frank? Was there anyone who disliked you enough to try to hurt you?”
Neither man spoke.
“Now look. Let’s forget what happened here today. In fact, I want you to forget everything I told you. I don’t want to have to come back here again.”
“What if we say something?” asked Jett. “Will you send us somewhere far away?”
“Maybe. Depends on what you say.”
“Just tell us,” said Smith.
“Tell you what? What did you guys do wrong? Tell me. Now, or I’ll start looking around for more information.”
With obvious reluctance, they finally began talking. First, they described the events surrounding Frank’s death. Then, when they learned that the sheriff knew of Frank’s suicide, they added details about the explosion.
When Johnson questioned them closely about the time of day the blast occurred, neither man hesitated. Finally, after being pressed by Johnson, they confessed that they had been out in the woods near the mine shafts.
After listening to their story, Johnson was left with only one question. Why would they lie? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine why these men would fabricate a tale like this unless they’d done something terrible.
In spite of his efforts, Johnson’s thoughts continued to return to the mysterious murder investigation. There was something strange about that case; something very strange indeed.
The End