Undercover Sheriff. Barbara Phinney
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what would happen next? Many a soiled dove hid a knife or small revolver in their clothing.
The bartender tore around the counter and caught up with him, his new grip on Zane’s arm surprisingly hard for a man who poured drinks for a living. “No! Let Miss Smith figure it out. If you intervene, you’ll be making her mission a whole lot harder.”
“So you know about her mission?”
“Everyone does. Most don’t take it seriously, even this place’s owner.”
“Is he here tonight?”
The bartender shook his head. “No. He runs several establishments from Denver to Castle Rock.”
“If he disapproves, why is she allowed to continue?”
“What harm is she doing?” The man shrugged. “Most of those women aren’t going to drop everything they know no matter what some do-gooder tells them. And besides, Miss Smith’s father, rest his soul, owned the bank that holds the mortgage here. It’s always good to keep your banker happy.”
Zane’s jaw tightened. More politics to keep straight. When shouts continued, he looked back through the door, to Rachel’s hunched back. She struggled to pin the older woman down, most likely to render some aid to the woman, whose face he just now noticed was bleeding. Zane glanced back at the bartender. “Did that woman just accuse Rachel of theft?”
“Yes, but the theft Annie’s talking about didn’t happen recently.”
“How long ago?”
“Years. Five or so.”
It had to be the same theft he’d seen noted in one of the files he’d read. The timing was right. Except that the information on it was woefully thin and the trail long cold. Whoever had done the initial investigation had said only that Rachel was carrying a substantial amount of money that belonged to the soiled doves, and it had been stolen after she and her escort had been badly assaulted.
Zane grimaced. Why had Rachel taken the money in the first place? His gut ached at yet another warning of a crooked town.
Or was the ache because he didn’t like to consider Rachel a thief?
She is, he argued with himself. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. His gut twisted further. Just accept that fact.
But she’s a Christian. Look at what she’s doing for the Lord.
He peered outside again. By now, Rachel was pushing Annie down, refusing to be bested by the woman. Being stronger, Rachel would win this small battle. Zane closed the door somewhat as he turned to the bartender. “Tell me what you know about the theft.”
The man looked him up and down as if weighing his decision to speak. “Like I said, it happened about five years ago and it was more than just a simple theft. Miss Smith took some money that our soiled doves had saved up. Back then, rent on those cribs out there wasn’t too much and the women could save a bit. Miss Smith promised to invest it for them, but she was supposedly robbed that same night. After that, one of the women started to work extra so she could pay back the others. Annie here complained the loudest, so she got her share back first.”
“Then why is she still crying foul about it?”
The bartender looked grim. “Her memory has gone. She’s drunk it away and her mind went along with it.”
“Why would that other woman want to pay it back? Did she steal it?” Zane frowned. “For that matter, isn’t Rachel Smith wealthy? She certainly dresses well enough, and her father owned Proud Bend’s bank. Why didn’t she just reimburse them from her own account? Wouldn’t that be the Christian thing to do?”
“You’ll have to ask Miss Smith all those—” He narrowed his gaze. “Wait, I told you this story when you first came here.”
Zane swallowed. “I’d only just got here. You can’t expect a man to remember everything from his first day or so.”
The bartender shrugged as if accepting Zane’s answer. “Shortly after the money was stolen, the woman who’d worked extra was murdered. I feel bad for her daughter.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Rosa grew up around soiled doves, and once she was old enough she began doing the same thing her mother did. About a month ago, she decided it wasn’t the life she wanted. She’s got a child and all.”
The woman, Rosa, had grown up with prostitutes? Zane’s gut twisted. “So she decided she didn’t want to remain here and just left?” This was still sounding like a case of a woman moving on.
“Miss Smith doesn’t believe Rosa left on her own.” The bartender shook his head. “They’re a sad lot, aren’t they?” He then frowned. “When Rosa went missing, you promised to find her. I guess you haven’t been successful.”
Oh, yeah. He was acting as Alex. Zane drew in a long breath, remembering how he hated undercover work. When his deputy had found “proof” that Zane had stolen tax money, he suspected that his deputy had planted the evidence through some unsanctioned undercover work. Zane hadn’t been able to prove anything, though.
The bartender continued to study him. Zane kept his expression concerned and nothing more, hopefully allowing this man to believe he was Alex. But it still felt like lying. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about the background. Rosa is missing...”
“Yeah. She and her little boy disappeared almost two weeks ago. Too bad you can’t find them. Before she decided this wasn’t the life for her, Rosa was good for this business. I’d hate to think she’s been murdered.”
Zane stiffened. Who had said anything about murder? “Tell me about Rosa’s mother.” He paused. “Again.”
“Liza? She probably worked extra because she’d convinced those women to let Miss Smith invest their savings. Shame they never caught her killer.” He shrugged. “I’m not one to spend my money on them. I just work here.”
“Who do you think stole the money?” Zane held the man’s suddenly shifting gaze. “You must have heard something.”
The bartender lifted his eyebrows as he began to move back toward the bar. “That’s the big question you lawmen could never answer, isn’t it?” he asked, tossing the accusation over his shoulder as he glanced out the back door. “All we have is Miss Smith’s word that she can’t remember who attacked her. Her escort said the same thing. Sure, they’d been beaten up, but it couldn’t have been that bad. They both survived.”
What was this guy saying? Zane dug his fingernails into his palms, resisting the urge to grab the bartender and remind him that the attacks had been so brutal they’d been considered attempted murder. There was no statute of limitations on that crime. So, yes, they were that bad. And sometimes, memory loss followed. He’d seen it several times in the course of his work.
Only God had pulled some victims through their ordeals. Maybe not remembering was a good thing, considering all they’d gone through. Either way, blaming them for losing the memory of such a vicious attack seemed cruel.
When the bartender reached the long strip of faded and stained pine that served as a counter, he lifted his brows in a smug, knowing fashion. “The money had been stolen. Of course, with her status in town, no one would insist that she pay it back, even as rich as she is.”
Zane fought back the annoyance growing in him. He didn’t trust this bartender. At first glance, he seemed to support Rachel, but now, he was accusing her. These were tactics of the guilty. Glancing through the open door at Rachel as she continued to dab Alice’s eye, Zane countered in a low growl, “But if she is that rich, where was the motive to steal? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Thieves take advantage of opportunities. Even the wealthy want more money.”
Zane folded his arms, the stiff paper tract Rachel had thrust at him now poking into his chest, right through his coat