Page 25 of Wyoming Promises
“Grace, this is U.S. marshal Jake Anderson.”
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am, although I’m sorry for the circumstances. From all I’ve gathered, few men lived up to the honor of the badge like Pete McKenna. You have my sincerest condolences.”
Grace nodded as the marshal took the offered seat. His large frame looked almost comical folded into the flowered chair with gilded edges.
“I beg your pardon for my appearance, ladies. Had I known I would be meeting with such fine company so soon, I would’ve taken greater pains to clean up before coming. I like to talk to the source of the initial complaint before I make my presence in town known, if possible, and I came off the trail just this morning.”
“No matter, Marshal. Would you care for some coffee?”
He waved her off. “No, thank you. I won’t stay long. I only need to get some preliminary information for my inquiry.”
Lola sat and leaned forward. “I hadn’t expected you so soon, sir. Law enforcement isn’t usually high priority in the little towns around here.”
He grimaced as he pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil from an inside coat pocket. “To tell you the truth, I was already headed this direction on another investigation. But my superiors passed your telegram along to me, so I wanted to start with your case.”
Lola swallowed the knot of unnamed fear in her throat. “Do you think they’re connected?”
The marshal’s smile calmed her. “That’s what I’m here to find out, ma’am. I’m sure hoping they aren’t.”
Lola studied Grace, rigid in her chair, teacup frozen at her lips. Did she also suspect something?
“From the telegram, I gather the body was discovered on the evening of April 17. Is that right?”
Lola nodded. “That’s when the—Pete—was brought to me. The man found him out on the trail late that afternoon, from my understanding.”
Marshal Anderson nodded, glancing at Grace. “Did you know the man who discovered the body?”
“No.” Lola shook her head.
“Not a local? Did you get his name?”
Lola scooted to the edge of her seat, pinching her fingers together. “Bridger Jamison.”
The man jotted some notes. “Can you describe him for me?”
“Dark...brown hair in need of a trim, brown eyes...a scar that cuts across his face. Slight to medium build, but strong—he carried Pete in over one shoulder without trouble.”
“Scar, you said?”
“Yes, old, but very distinct. Runs from his temple to his lip.” Lola traced the path on her own face to demonstrate. The memory of his stance in the dimly lit doorway brought a shiver.
Jake Anderson paused in his writing to stare at her. “Any chance you know where he went from here? It would be helpful to talk to him and learn the details of how and where he found the sheriff.”
“He’s still in town,” Grace said, finding her voice. “He’s working for Ike Tyler.”
“Tyler?” The marshal flipped farther back in his notebook and tapped his pencil against some notes. “He’s the saloonkeeper, right?”
Lola looked at Grace, her eyes reflecting the same curiosity she felt. She nodded slowly. “That’s right.”
Jake made further notes and then turned to Grace. “I know it’s not easy to answer questions like this when grief is so fresh, Mrs. McKenna. But do you know of anything in particular your husband was working on in regard to his position as sheriff? Did he mention any cases he had conducted, or particular trouble with anyone in town?”
Grace took a sip of tea, then settled the trembling cup in her other hand, as if trying to draw warmth. “No, he hadn’t. He rarely discussed his job with me. He thought I’d worry too much.” She glanced out the window. “He was right, but I worried anyway.” Her voice ended in a whisper-soft break.
“I reckon that would’ve been the case regardless of his job title, ma’am,” the marshal said kindly. He stood abruptly, tucking his notepad back into his coat. “I may have questions for you later on, as the investigation progresses. Again, my sympathies for your tragic loss.” The warmth in his eyes conveyed a depth of sincerity that seemed to bolster Grace.
Lola smiled at her and faced the lawman. “I may have been premature in bringing this matter to your attention, Marshal Anderson. Mr. Jamison’s sudden arrival late in the evening, along with his appearance at the time...”
“Never hurts to be cautious, ma’am. I have to testify for a case in Billings next week, but I plan to return and continue looking into other matters. It won’t hurt to have a talk with Mr. Jamison and have him take me to the place where he found Sheriff McKenna, make sure his story checks out.”