My Flaming Heart
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“You have to get up,” I said. “We’re going out.”
He rolled over, his eyes closed, and sighed as he turned onto his side. The sheet fell away from the lower half of his body, exposing his hairy chest. I swallowed hard when I saw him in all his glory, and my heart began to beat faster.
His face looked more relaxed than usual, which meant it was time for me to take advantage of this opportunity. He would be too tired tonight after the trip to make love to me again, but if we went out now, there might not be a chance tomorrow night.
That was what I told myself anyway. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go home with him—it was just that I wanted to know why he had brought me here.
I got dressed quickly while he lay on top of the covers, unmoving. My plan worked. By the time I finished getting ready, he was fully awake and looking at me expectantly. I stepped into the hall before he could say anything about how much money he thought I spent on clothes each month, and then I opened the front door.
I’d left the porch light on last night so I wouldn’t step on any snakes or scorpions coming down the stairs, and they were still there. The wind made them rustle as I walked past, making me shiver despite the heat outside. As soon as I reached the sidewalk, I felt better because the cool breeze cooled my sweaty skin.
A few clouds moved overhead, causing a dark shadow to form between us and the moon. When I looked back toward our house, I noticed the lights inside weren’t on. This meant I could sneak out without waking anyone else.
“What are you doing?” Chris asked, grabbing my hand as I started walking toward the saloon. We hadn’t gone anywhere since we arrived, and he seemed restless today, probably because we couldn’t do anything together except walk around town.
“Getting some air.”
“Where are you going? You can’t go by yourself.”
“Yes, I can.” I pulled free of his grasp and then headed toward the street where the saloons stood along the boardwalk. There were two buildings near the center of town, and one of them belonged to Jake’s brother, Roy. The other building was smaller and sat farther south, closer to the river.
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone in an unfamiliar place. Where will your gun be if someone attacks you?”
The way he spoke reminded me of a parent lecturing a child, and it irritated me. “That’s exactly why I’m taking precautions.” I held open the saloon door, letting the smell of beer waft out. Then I stopped next to him, trying to act casual, and glanced at the people sitting at the tables.
Most of the men were drinking, and one man was playing poker at a table. Several women watched from a distance, sipping their drinks. I looked at the bartender, who wore a white shirt tucked into his jeans and a bandana tied around his head like a cowboy should wear.
I nodded and smiled, and the bartender returned my smile. I wondered if I could trust him enough to let him hold my gun for a minute, but decided against it. Instead, I ordered a glass of water and then headed straight for the bar.
I took a seat next to an older woman whose long black hair was twisted into a bun. She was wearing a sleeveless dress with a short skirt showing off her legs. Her hands rested on the countertop, and she kept glancing over at me.
I knew Chris followed behind me, and I hoped he didn’t try to stop me. If he did, I would simply leave, and then I’d never find out what happened to Mr. Chase. I placed the glass of water on the bar and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the surface. “How is business?” I asked the bartender. “It’s been slow lately.”
“Business has been good,” he replied. “But it always picks up during rodeo season.”
Rodeo season… That explained why most of the cowboys in town had come from Texas or California. I’d heard that the state fairs attracted tourists, which would bring in extra money for the townsfolk. I guessed it was true.
Even though this small town was barely big enough to support its population, the fact that the rodeo would bring in extra income showed how important it was to everyone involved.
While the bartender poured the drink, I listened intently to see if anyone nearby spoke of the murders. Nothing came through, and then I lifted my chin, pretending to look at something beyond the bar. “You know what I hate about this town?”
A few heads turned in our direction. “Why don’t you tell me?” the bartender said. His eyes were brown and intense, and he looked nothing like the others. He was taller than average, standing well above six feet; his shoulders were wide and muscular and covered with a sprinkling of dark hair.
But most importantly, he wasn’t married and therefore not interested in gossiping about the murders.
“All these people here,” I muttered, pointing at the saloon, “and no one knows what happened to Mr. Chase.” I tossed back half of the water, wishing it were whiskey instead. “Someone killed him, and they’re still here, living their lives while I’m stuck waiting for someone to tell me what happened.”
Chris stepped up beside me. “Do you want to talk to Sheriff McBride? Maybe he can help you figure things out.”
“No, I’ll wait until tomorrow. It’s too late now.” I reached down and picked up my empty glass. When I set it on the counter again, I caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging from the wall. My face was flushed and sweaty, and I was sure I reeked of alcohol. I wiped my damp forehead with the sleeve of my jacket, hoping to cool off.
When the bartender handed me the bill, I waved it away. “I have plenty of cash.” I pulled out a gold dollar from my pocket and counted it out: ten dollars. Then I slid the bills across the counter. I tried to make the coins appear as though I’d only given him five dollars, but I doubted he noticed.
The bartender’s fingers moved swiftly, and soon the bills were replaced by two gold pieces. He slipped them into a drawer and then put my change on the bar top. I thanked him and walked past Chris before I changed my mind.
He waited outside while I made my way home. In addition to being drunk, I was also exhausted after spending so much time watching for signs of danger. I hadn’t slept more than three hours since leaving Denver, and now that I’d gotten some sleep, I wanted to get right back to work. After all, I couldn’t afford to waste any time.
As we neared the house, I spotted Chris sitting on the porch steps. A breeze blew between us, carrying with it the scent of lilacs, and I inhaled deeply. “What are you doing?” I whispered, stopping just inside the doorway.
“Waiting for you.”
“Are you sure I won’t wake Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes. Come out here and sit with me.”
The porch swing creaked as I eased onto the bench seat. For once I was glad that Chris had brought the horse along because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to rest. I rested my head against the cushion, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts drift toward the future.
Would I ever find the killer? And would I be able to do it alone without Chris’s assistance? I already had a few leads, but none of them panned out. All I could hope for now was that Chris would be patient and give me time to solve the case.
I opened my eyes and glanced at Chris. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Since I saw you walk away.” He grinned. “So, how did you get yourself talked into working for the railroad?”
My brow furrowed. “I didn’t say anything about the railroad.”
“Sure you did.”
I sighed and leaned forward to prop my elbows on my knees. “I told him I needed money.”
“That’s all?”
“Well, yeah.” I hesitated, wondering whether telling Chris the whole truth was such a good idea. Did I really need to share every detail? Couldn’t I keep my investigation to myself? I took another sip of my drink and decided I owed Chris an explanation.
“There’s a man named Jocko who works for the railroad. You know how when a train leaves the station, there are always people watching it? That’s where Jocko is. He stands next to the tracks and waits for trains to come and watch them go by.”
“And you think he has something to do with the murders?”
“Maybe, or maybe not.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. If I ask around, I should learn everything I need to know.”
“You mean besides finding out if anyone else knew the victims?”
I nodded. “If I can get information from Jocko, I’ll know exactly why the killings occurred, and I’ll finally have a lead.”
“But what will happen when the sheriff asks you questions about this Jocko character?”
“Depends on how fast I can find out enough information. I’ve got a few ideas, but I’m not sure which one might work best.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you worked with the sheriff instead?”
“Not yet. I still don’t trust him completely. I have to see firsthand if he’s willing to cooperate. Besides, he needs me more than I need him. If he keeps me busy, it may buy me time to figure things out.” I paused, considering his question.
“Actually, it would probably be better for both of us if I went straight to Jocko first. But if I do that, I might miss the opportunity to catch the killer in the act.” I looked down at my hands resting on my lap and realized they were shaking. “In other words, I might miss my chance.”
Chris stared off into space. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said softly. “I heard you.”
For the first time, I thought I detected fear in his voice. It surprised me to realize I’d never seen Chris afraid before. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t capable of feeling fear, even in the face of certain death. Now, however, I understood that he feared losing someone he cared about. The thought left me sad and uncomfortable, and I pushed aside the unwelcome emotion.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Chris asked quietly.
“No, I don’t think so. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Okay, then.” He reached over and placed his hand on mine. His fingers intertwined with mine, sending warmth through my body. “I guess we’d better get ready for bed. Tomorrow we’re going to have a very early start.”
“Yeah, but I don’t plan to sleep much.” My heart thumped faster as I remembered my conversation with the sheriff earlier today. What did he know about Jocko? How would I be able to prove to him that I had uncovered enough evidence to warrant arresting Jocko? Was he willing to take my word for it or would he try to force me to talk? “I’m worried about what’s going to happen after I leave town.”
He squeezed my hand and gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll manage somehow.”
***
The next morning, while I ate breakfast with Chris, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was waiting for me in Denver. No sooner had I finished eating, I jumped up and headed for my room. After changing clothes, I stuffed the rest of my belongings in my trunk and locked it.
As soon as Chris came downstairs, he walked over to the front door, opened it, and peered outside. “We’ll wait until the sun gets a little higher. Then we’ll head out.”
After putting on my hat, I followed Chris toward the street. At least he hadn’t questioned me about last night. I supposed he figured I wanted some privacy.
A half-hour later, we arrived at the outskirts of town. There was only one way to go—north. Once again, I wondered how long we were going to travel each day. I also wondered just how far north we were planning to ride. The road wound its way along the base of the mountains, so we wouldn’t get lost.
When Chris stopped in front of an inn called The Silver Spur, I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“Why shouldn’t I stay here? Don’t you want to eat dinner in a real saloon?”
“Sure, but why this place?”
“Because it’s a good stopping point halfway between here and Denver. Plus, I like the food.”
“Does the owner know anything about the killings?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “Jocko’s been coming here every night since last summer. And there’s no reason for him to change now.”
I glanced down at the ground and kicked at the dirt with my boot. “So, if I ask him any questions, he won’t say anything?”
“I doubt it. Why don’t we let Jocko come to us? Let’s go inside and order something to drink.”
I followed him across the wooden plank bridge and onto the porch. A sign hanging from the railing read, “Welcome! Come On In!” The name suited the saloon well; it welcomed visitors who came seeking fun. Inside, the walls were covered with colorful pictures of horses and cowboys, all framed by wood paneling.
Overhead, a chandelier illuminated the main floor, and the tables filled with men and women enjoying their evening meals.
Once Chris found the bartender, he ordered two drinks. While he waited, he turned to me. “You can sit anywhere you want.”
There weren’t many empty seats, and I chose a table near the back where I could watch the entrance. Just as Chris handed over our money, three cowhands entered the saloon, laughing loudly.
They took the vacant stools next to ours, making sure they sat close together. I glanced around the crowded bar, trying to find a place to hide. But, when I looked back, I saw Chris staring straight ahead, apparently oblivious to the cowhands’ presence.
One of them stood up and shouted over the crowd, “Hey, Jocko, is that your woman?”
Jocko didn’t bother to look around. Instead, he continued to sip his beer. “I’ve got more important things to do than answer stupid questions. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, yeah.” One of the others snorted. “Like whacking someone else off?”
My heart pounded harder. Would Chris notice that Jocko was acting strangely? If so, what should I do? Should I warn him or ignore the situation? Or should I even mention it to him at all?
While I considered these questions, another man yelled, “Tell her about it, Jocko. Tell her about the other time.”
At first, I thought the second man was talking about Jocko’s sexual escapades. Now I knew better. This was probably the third killing, and Jocko must have already confessed. It was too late for anyone to intervene. I bit my lip, afraid that Chris might hear my racing heartbeat.
Suddenly, the bartender rushed forward. He grabbed Jocko’s arm and pulled him away from the stool. “No need to be rude to guests, son. That’s no way to treat friends.”
“It’s okay, Tom. These guys are always causing trouble.”
Tom frowned. “If you’re asking me to kick them out—”
“They aren’t bothering anyone. Besides, I’m tired of people looking at me funny because of my accent. What kind of country would it be without a few cowboys?”
That made me smile. After all, I’d never met a cowboy before.
The three cowhands laughed and slapped each other on the shoulders. When Tom returned to his station behind the bar, I breathed easier. The other patrons had fallen silent. Even Jocko appeared relieved.
Chris finally asked, “Do you want to order anything?”
“Let me try that whiskey sour.”
He nodded and moved to the bar. As I sipped the whiskey sour, I couldn’t help wondering whether Jocko was really guilty or whether he was just being stubborn. I wasn’t certain which option I preferred. Either way, I felt sorry for the man. Not only did he face charges of murder, he also lost his job—and his reputation—because of it.
***
We stayed in Denver until noon. Then, after eating lunch, we rode into town again.
Our trip to the police station went smoothly. No one recognized me, and nobody asked to see my identification papers. I assumed they accepted my word that I was a private investigator hired by Mrs. Andrews.
When we reached the station, we walked through the front doors and approached the desk. We stepped aside while two uniformed officers checked their messages and then led us to an interrogation room.
Inside, a single chair faced a table littered with pencils, paper clips, and legal pads. Three men sat waiting for us. One was wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a gray tie. Another wore blue jeans, a denim vest, and a leather jacket. And the third man wore a black cowboy hat and a plaid flannel shirt. Each of them held a cigar between his fingers.
As soon as we closed the door, the man in the suit snapped, “So, who sent you here?”
I ignored his question. “Why don’t we start by telling me what happened this morning.”
“This morning?” He gave me a crooked grin. “How long ago was that?”
“A little less than six months ago.”
His eyebrows rose. “What makes you think it happened today?”
“Because you were drinking coffee, smoking cigars, and wearing suits. I assume those things wouldn’t happen if you were investigating something six months ago.”
“You mean there isn’t any truth to what she said?”
“I can assure you that nothing untoward occurred this morning,” Chris replied evenly.
After giving me a quick glance, the detective turned his attention to Chris. “Who hired you?”
“Mrs. Andrews.”
The detective sighed. “Well, then, I guess that means you’re wasting our time. She hired you to find out if Jocko was involved in the killings. Why do you think we should listen to your story now? Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the fact that you brought her to justice, but why tell us about it when you could have told her yourself?”
“Maybe she decided not to hire a private eye after all. Maybe she found someone else to do the work.”
“And maybe she was killed last night.”
“But—”
“She may have been murdered right under our noses and none of us noticed it. You say she came back home early this morning. Did she mention anything unusual?”
“Not that I heard.”
“Then let’s talk about Jocko.” He pointed a finger toward the third man. “You know him best.”
“Yeah, I know him pretty well.” The cowboy removed his hat and scratched his head. His hair fell over his forehead and across his eyes. He pushed it back with his hand. “Jocko is a good ol’ boy. Nothing bothers him.
He’s like a brother to me, and I’ve known him since he was ten years old. So I know how he looks at a woman, especially one who works at the ranch. He likes to look at them and make ’em feel uncomfortable.”
My mind raced. I knew exactly how Jocko looked at women. It didn’t take much effort on my part to imagine how he might have taken advantage of the situation. I wondered if he had already confessed. If so, maybe I hadn’t wasted my money hiring a private eye.
“Did he ask you to help him commit a crime?”
“No. But he’d do almost anything to keep from getting fired. That’s probably what made him angry enough to kill.”
The detective tapped his chin. “That doesn’t sound like a confession.”
“It would be hard for anyone to confess to killing a person who’s already dead,” I said.
“If Jocko did kill her, where are the body parts? Where did he hide her?”
“You don’t understand. Her death wasn’t accidental. She died because someone wanted her dead.”
“Was it the husband? Was he jealous of her?”
“Yes. Of course. There’s no doubt about that. I’m sure the first thing he thought about was whether or not she was cheating on him. He suspected her of seeing other men.”
He nodded. “Okay, that explains the jealousy. What about the murder weapon? Did she ever mention having an accident with a knife or gun?”
“Only once, but it was just before I left. When I mentioned the possibility of finding her in bed with another man, she said she couldn’t remember if she’d ever had an accident with a knife or gun.”
“We’ll need to check that out.” The detective paused. “What else does Mrs. Andrews want to know?”
“Everything. How many people worked at the ranch?”
“Four.”
“What kind of jobs did they do?”
“All kinds of things: farming, cutting wood, welding, driving trucks and tractors, and fixing equipment. We even hired a couple of cowboys to herd cattle during calving season.”
“Do you think Jocko could have done any of these tasks without being caught?”
“Probably, but I doubt it. The only way he could have gotten away with it would be to cut down trees and build fences in the middle of the night. No one would see him doing it. And if he did get caught, he could always claim he was trying to save the ranch from fire.”
“Any chance he could fix a truck or tractor?”
“I’m not sure.” The detective rubbed his jaw as though considering the question. “Let’s go outside. We can walk around the ranch while you answer more questions.”
While we walked through the barns, the detective asked several more questions about the ranch and its employees. He also quizzed me about the condition of the buildings, the layout of the grounds, and the number of guests staying at the inn.
I answered every question truthfully. While I was answering some of the questions, I kept glancing at Jocko. My mind replayed the conversation between the two of us when he told me about the time he’d accidentally shot himself with a rifle. Had he actually injured himself? Or was that something he’d concocted to avoid getting into trouble?
As we circled the barns, the detective stopped beside a row of stalls. One by one, he opened each stall door and peered inside. At the end of the line, he stepped up to the next open stall and peeked inside. Then he moved on to the next and the next until he reached the last one. Finally, he came back to me and motioned for me to follow him.
“What do you suppose this horse means?” The detective pointed at the animal standing near a fence post. The horse looked calm enough; it stood quietly chewing hay. Its coat gleamed black under the bright midday sun. “Doesn’t seem to have anything wrong with it.”
“This is Blackie.” I stroked the horse’s neck. “Blackie is very gentle and has never bucked me off.”
“Where’s Jocko? Can we talk to him?”
“Jocko isn’t here. He’s gone to town to pick up supplies.”
“Supplies? Like what?”
“Canned goods, flour, sugar, salt—that sort of thing.”
“How long ago did he leave?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I assumed since he was going to town, he wouldn’t need me along.”
“Well, now we’re short-handed. If you could give me a hand, that would help.”
“Of course, but why were you expecting him?”
“To ask him if he knew anything about the theft of the money box and jewelry.”
“Did he say if he knew anything?”
“No, but he might. It seems likely that whoever killed Mrs. Andrews would have been suspicious about how much cash there was in the box. So I figure Jocko must have noticed the missing items and wondered what happened to them. But so far he hasn’t given me a single clue.”
The detective put his hands on his hips. “Maybe he doesn’t know anything after all.”
“It’s possible. Maybe he simply forgot about it.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed, “but let’s try talking to him anyway. Let me make a call. You stay here. Don’t move.”
“Is there anyone else who knows where Jocko went?”
“Just his wife. She usually stays home. And she’s not due back anytime soon.”
He turned to me. “Can you watch over the horses for me while I’m making my call?”
“Yes, of course.”
The detective took out his phone and dialed. After a few rings, he hung up and spoke briefly to someone. A moment later, he handed me his cell phone. “Call your husband and tell him to come back here immediately.”
“But—”
“Please hurry.” His voice held no warmth whatsoever. “We’ll be waiting.”
The End