Tin Man Heart
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“How did the tin man come to be so ugly?”
The question startled her. “You don’t know how he came to be so ugly? I thought everyone knew that story.” Her voice dropped, and she whispered as though someone might overhear them from somewhere in the room. She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice still further. “That was a fairy tale,” she said, sounding sad.
She didn’t seem angry about his lack of knowledge. The sadness in her words almost made her sound…like herself again. Almost. But he doubted it would last long because he had no doubt she’d return to being guarded and defensive around him.
“A fairy tale?” His eyes narrowed, and he tried not to grin at the look on her face. He suspected she hadn’t heard that term since childhood. “No, ma’am. There’s more truth than fiction in this one.” It was a good thing they weren’t talking about her father and brother or there could have been blood spilled in here.
He watched her reaction carefully before continuing. “I’ll tell you why he became so ugly—it wasn’t just one thing but many things that happened to him. One of those things is because people were mean to him when he was young and he couldn’t defend himself against their attacks.”
She flinched slightly, and he paused for a moment before speaking again. “But even if he could have defended himself, I’m sure he wouldn’t have.”
He watched for her response but nothing happened except for her frowning deeply.
His gaze traveled over her face and down to the hand that rested lightly on his chest. Then he reached up with his right hand and gently stroked her cheek with his fingers. “It happens sometimes that people become cruel to others for no reason other than that person isn’t popular with the majority of society,” he told her softly, and then he lowered his head to kiss her forehead.
“What are you doing?” She gasped out as he moved away from her and sat back on his heels.
He shrugged. “Giving you something new to think about while we wait for your friend to return.” If she thought too much, she might realize that he hadn’t answered any of her questions.
Her lips pressed together tightly. She didn’t speak until after a couple of minutes passed and she was certain her friend had gone far enough ahead to not hear what they were saying. When he spoke again, his words seemed forced as though he wasn’t used to telling anyone anything personal.
“Why did my parents leave me alone all day when they could have come into town where people could see them if they wanted to?” Her voice sounded so low, so soft; it made him wish he had another glass of whiskey to calm his nerves so he could ask her to repeat what she’d asked earlier.
He frowned when he realized he should have seen the signs and done something about it. He never should have taken the job, especially because he’d been so certain his employer was dead.
“They had no choice. The bank foreclosed on my father’s business,” he explained gently. He knew it had broken her heart when her mother took off, leaving her and her father behind. But he didn’t want to remind her of it now.
She looked down at the floor between them. “Did they ever come back?” Her voice sounded small, like an echo in some cavernous space rather than the living room of her own home.
He shook his head. “Nope. They’ve been gone so long that there’s no way to find them.”
There was something wrong with the way she was looking at him. Not exactly cold and hard like before. But something close to it. Something he couldn’t put into words.
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” he finally managed to say.
“Just my little sister who is four years younger than me,” she said, answering his first question. He nodded, wondering why he felt as though this was taking a lot longer than he anticipated. But he didn’t dare interrupt this time.
Finally, she looked up at him. “And you? You left your family and friends to join your father’s business?”
He nodded slowly. “My father wanted a bigger and better future for us.” And that meant moving west of the Mississippi River, far away from the East Coast and its dangers. He’d known what was coming when he was ten years old. That was when he realized his mother and father were not like most people.
“But what happened to him? Why did he leave you behind?”
Her voice cracked with emotion. “He died when I was fourteen.”
“How?”
She hesitated before answering. “It doesn’t matter.”
The silence lengthened between them, and he could almost feel her pain through the connection they shared. The only thing he could do was give her more information so she understood his life. “That’s when we left Philadelphia and went west to Montana, where there were no banks or financial institutions to take our money.
My father’s business was gone but he didn’t want us to struggle without him so we started over.”
When she didn’t answer, he waited patiently. “Are you going to ask me about my childhood?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he told her simply. “Let’s concentrate on how we can catch the murderer.”
***
Susan looked up at the sound of footsteps coming toward the house. It was too late, he was already inside her house. What could she do?
As the door closed behind him, she saw that the stranger hadn’t changed since his arrival on her porch. His blue eyes were still dark and piercing, and his hair was just as disheveled as he stepped forward to look around her small kitchen.
He wore a gray suit with a black tie and white shirt, along with a brown belt. The jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, indicating it was two sizes too large for him.
“Is someone supposed to meet us here?” The man’s voice held a slight edge, as though he was impatient and irritated by waiting. She didn’t know whether she should be flattered that he was interested enough to follow her instructions.
“No one.” She kept her voice low to avoid being overheard. He’d probably heard what she’d told the marshal. “I’m meeting with the owner of the ranch outside of town.”
He walked farther into the room, glancing around as though he expected to find a hidden passageway or an elaborate secret escape route. “Who owns this place anyway?”
He didn’t sound particularly curious about her or anything else that would help them catch the killer. Instead, it appeared as though he cared more about himself and his own needs.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you learn who I am, you might change your mind and decide you’re not ready to hire a private detective. So let’s not waste each other’s time. I have things to do and you need to find another place to stay.”
“We have plenty of time.” He glanced up at the ceiling, then turned to look around again, examining every corner of the room. Susan wondered if he’d ever met anyone like her before. Or perhaps this was all new to him because he was different from most men. More dangerous even.
The man moved closer to her and leaned against the counter near the sink. “What did you expect me to see when you invited me to this place? A shack?”
His comment seemed to irritate her and she crossed her arms over her chest. “This is home to me.”
“And what do you live on besides this house?”
“A small amount of money. Enough to keep my daughter fed and clothed.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Well, you won’t be needing that anymore. I’m paying you well enough to afford the finer things in life.”
“I haven’t had anything fancy to eat and drink in months. I’ve never been able to buy anything except for food and clothes.”
He shrugged casually. “Your daughter is beautiful. Surely there are young men around here who would pay good money for her company.”
“Young men? There aren’t many around here. Most of them have gone off to fight in the war.”
“Then it sounds like it’ll be up to me.”
“Don’t think so.”
He grinned as he studied her face. “You really think you can outsmart me, don’t you?”
“Do I know you?”
“We’re acquainted.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Susan stared at him, wondering if he knew something about the killer, then remembered the man’s odd reaction when she mentioned the dead woman. Was it possible that he’d witnessed the murder? But why hadn’t he said anything? “I hope you didn’t come here to threaten me, because I’m very capable of defending myself.”
“You’re right. I came to give you some advice.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Get rid of that girl.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Her mother is dead, so she has to go back home. You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble and expense.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant by “that girl” — her daughter. “That’s ridiculous. I intend to keep her with me.”
“Maybe she belongs in a better environment than this,” he suggested lightly. “A place where she won’t get hurt.”
“Like you?” Susan asked sarcastically.
The man frowned, obviously taken aback by the remark. He cleared his throat and began to walk away from her down the hallway. “You’re going to be sorry you hired me,” he called back over his shoulder.
Susan waited until the man disappeared around the corner to the stairs. Then she rushed around the counter and grabbed the knife from her bag. With her free hand, she opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She poured two shots, dropped a few ice cubes into each glass, then filled them with whiskey.
When she reached the front door, she paused, holding up a finger to indicate that she wanted him to wait, and closed the door behind her. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”
She watched him for several minutes, watching him closely, wondering how best to approach the situation. The man could still be dangerous, but he seemed more cautious than he’d been earlier. Perhaps he realized they were onto him now. He’d left the shotgun leaning against the wall and carried it only in case she tried to escape.
After studying his profile, Susan stepped closer to him, putting the gun in his line of sight. Her body tensed, preparing herself for an attack or worse yet, another ambush. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected someone to rush out and surprise him.
When that didn’t happen, Susan moved closer to him and lowered the weapon until it touched his shoulder. He didn’t move as she put her other hand on top of both guns and cocked one, pointing it straight up into the air while keeping his gaze focused on a spot between their feet.
“Now, we can discuss this like civilized people,” she said.
“Yes.” It came out as a low murmur, barely heard over the hum of insects and frogs coming from outside. “But first, you might want to answer a question for me.”
“Why not?”
“What happened to your face?”
“A gunshot.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“No. It’s just what I was doing when I got shot.”
She studied his features again. He had a rugged look about him, with thick eyebrows that gave him a slightly unbalanced appearance, as though his head didn’t quite sit square on his shoulders. The lines above his nose were deeper than those of most men.
A scar ran across his forehead, disappearing beneath the rim of his hat, but it didn’t seem to have slowed him down. He had brown hair, cut short enough to show all its bristly texture, which added to his appearance, and dark eyes that seemed to peer directly through her defenses.
“So what’s your real name?” he asked.
“Susan.” She smiled as she said it, hoping that he wouldn’t find it too strange. After all, there were plenty of women named Susan. “And yours?”
“I prefer that you call me Jack.”
“Jack? That doesn’t sound like a real name. Are you trying to hide your identity? Because if so—”
“You mean because my last name isn’t Smith?” He laughed softly as he looked over her shoulder. “Not much of a secret, is it?”
“I suppose not.”
He lifted his hat to study her. “How did you get that scar?”
“Someone hit me with a rock.”
“Who?”
“Just a stranger walking past.”
“You don’t look like a woman who gets hit with rocks,” he commented, glancing at the bruise around her eye.
“That’s why I’m so surprised that you didn’t kill me.”
“We’ve already established that I didn’t. But maybe you didn’t know that.”
His words caused her to stiffen with unease. Did he really have no intention of killing her? Or was he merely being polite?
Susan felt herself beginning to relax. “If you’re not planning to kill me,” she went on, “then you should be able to answer some questions I have.”
He stared at her suspiciously. “Questions?”
“About what you did to the boy.”
He hesitated, seeming to weigh her words. “You saw the bruises on his neck?”
“Yes.” She nodded slowly, wondering if he intended to tell her anything. “Are you going to let me explain myself?”
“Why not?”
“Then you’ll probably want to go upstairs to talk. It’s cooler in my room.”
“Okay, lead on.”
Susan led him up to her bedroom and turned to close the door behind him. As soon as the lock clicked, she pulled a chair away from the table beside the bed and sat down facing him. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“You’re trying to catch me for murder?” He leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her. “Or maybe you need someone killed?”
“Neither.” She glanced toward the door as she spoke, hoping that she’d locked it, then she turned to the window, making sure the shutters were closed before returning her gaze to him. “My job is to protect you from people who might try to harm you.”
“Protect me?”
“From criminals such as yourself.”
“You think I’m a criminal?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m used to people thinking otherwise.”
Susan eyed him warily, not knowing what else to say or do. If he wasn’t a murderer, what could she charge him with? Kidnapping? Maybe he deserved to be arrested—maybe even imprisoned. But what good would that do him, and how well could she protect him while he was inside prison walls?
The door opened suddenly, startling both of them. “Did you lock this?” a man’s voice shouted. “If it weren’t locked, we’d have found ourselves on the street looking for someone to steal our money!”
“Yes, I locked it. Now, come in so you can see what we’ve found,” Jack replied calmly as he stood. His manner was far removed from the nervous one he’d shown before. She wondered if she’d been wrong about him after all.
“It won’t hold us for long!”
Susan moved quickly, closing the door and locking it behind them before stepping to the window. “How many men are there?” she asked quietly, peering through the glass as she tried to determine their numbers.
“Only four,” came the answer.
“Four? Not very impressive,” she muttered under her breath, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting over the windowsill in search of any weapons. The window looked sturdy enough, but she had to admit that it offered little protection.
She turned to face Jack. “There’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped.”
“Now, why would I be hiding?” He studied the windowsills as if they held something more threatening than knives and guns.
“Because you don’t like strangers in your house.”
“I never said that,” he countered, but neither of them heard him because of the shouting outside.
“What did you do to the boy?” the man shouted again.
“Nothing!” Jack yelled back as he stepped over to stand next to the desk. “Let’s just take our share and be gone.” He paused as the shouts began to die down. “Now, where are my tools?”
The man who’d answered first laughed harshly. “Where are my tools? That’s funny. Where did you hide mine?”
A sudden sense of dread washed over Susan as she watched the two men argue. What were they talking about? She couldn’t hear them clearly, but it seemed evident that Jack was denying their claim that he’d stolen their tools.
Suddenly a gunshot rang out. Then another.
Jack screamed as pain ripped across his shoulder and arm. Blood soaked his shirt and ran down his arm onto the floor.
“Don’t shoot!” she shouted as she jumped to her feet. “Stop! He’s hurt!”
But the shots kept coming. She ducked as another bullet ricocheted off the wall near her head, causing plaster dust to explode everywhere. A cry escaped her lips as she grabbed the edge of the desk with shaking hands. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears as she tried to decide what to do.
The End