Undercover Sheriff. Barbara Phinney
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them. He also seemed a whole lot more canny than his easygoing twin. How did he know so much about biased witnesses, statements and such? Was he also in law enforcement?
“You have all but admitted that you have another motive rather than the noble one of finding three people,” Zane asked.
Rachel pulled herself together. “You know this because...”
“You call Alex by his first name.”
Normally, Rachel wouldn’t be so improper as to call the sheriff by his first name, but Alex had insisted on Christian names once he’d learned of her ministry, saying he valued her work. She’d appreciated the friendly personality, but had kept her encounters with him as brief and as few as possible, not wanting the women she helped to believe there was more between the sheriff and her than there really was.
Alex had understood that. He was easy to get along with, candid even, unlike this brother, who currently looked travel worn and testy, as suspicious as that postcard.
Despite knowing why she kept her distance, Alex had been quite companionable, often greeting her in the street. This twin appeared to be the exact opposite. Rachel folded her arms. “What of calling Alex by his Christian name? We had exchanged them.”
“Really? He’s not in your class.”
Rachel bristled but refused to answer. Although her mother had always tried to instill in her the importance of staying within one’s class, Rachel knew, even years ago when the Lord had changed her young life, that all were equal at heart. Wasn’t that a founding principle that made the United States? She remembered the celebration when Colorado had joined the union. Hadn’t the mayor commented on that? It didn’t matter. She knew enough not to argue with this man. Not today, anyway.
“As for another motive, it’s nearly noon,” Zane commented abruptly, “and judging by the freshness of the rouge on your cheeks and the powder under your eyes, I would say that you have only just completed your toilet.”
“How does that indicate another motive?”
The corners of Zane’s mouth rose slightly. “I can tell that you retired very late last night. What exactly were you doing until all hours? Whatever it was, I wonder if it’s making you feel guilty,” he speculated.
“Not in the least.” She threw back her shoulders and tugged on the sleeves of her jacket. “The hours I keep are none of your concern.”
He was being ridiculous, she told herself. Staying out late did not cause her to feel guilty. Was he goading her?
“And how do you explain these?” He lifted her left hand and indicated her rough knuckles before turning it over to expose the dry, hard calluses. “Are you a washerwoman by night?”
She yanked back her hand, regretting that she’d removed her gloves upon entering this room. “That’s none of your business.”
“I would say it is. You are full of contradictions, which imply that you’re hiding something. Something that I believe is making you feel guilty. I saw it on your face the moment I walked in here.”
Rachel felt her mouth thin. “Very observant of you.”
“Alex isn’t the only lawman in the family.”
She narrowed her gaze, knowing that if he was like most lawmen, he would not give up until she admitted that he was correct. They stared each other down as she fought the urge to blink. She fought every fiber in her body that screamed to tell Zane everything, to pour out all the guilt that ate at her.
That would be a very bad idea. Just because he looked like his twin didn’t mean he was as understanding as Alex.
His stare continued.
Finally, needing to say something, anything to end the accusatory silence, she blurted out, “Fine, then. I didn’t want anyone to think I had something to do with Alex’s disappearance. I came here for any clue to help find him, and hopefully Rosa and Daniel, but as soon as I saw this card, I was afraid that if Deputy Wilson discovered it, he would focus on me, to the exclusion of all other suspects. I want him to find Rosa and Daniel because their disappearance must be connected to Alex’s. But I’m not responsible for what has happened to any of them!”
Even as she blurted out her words, she knew Zane didn’t believe her. As his stare continued, a shiver ran through her.
* * *
Not for a minute did Zane believe Rachel’s words. He glanced down at the postcard in his hand. A painted picture of Castle Rock? Why would his brother have a postcard from another town? And why waste a good postcard by writing only Rachel Smith’s name on it?
In fact, when had he written Rachel’s name on it? Before or after Rosa’s disappearance?
There was also another on that list of hard questions. How was it that he could so easily see the lies on Rachel Smith’s face, yet he had not seen how his own staff back in the little town of Canaan had conspired against him?
It was hard to believe Rachel could deceive anyone with a face that open and expressive. It was clear the woman was nervous, an emotion so tangible he could nearly taste it in the air. But did that mean she was involved in his brother’s disappearance? Could she be telling the truth about that?
Maybe her nervousness was simply because he’d startled her. And just being an identical twin to a missing man might unnerve another person. Enough to make them look guilty?
Perhaps, but that didn’t explain the postcard. Neither he nor Alex had anyone to send postcards to, aside from each other. They had lost their grandparents to old age a few years back, and parents to a flu outbreak last winter. At their parents’ shared funeral, Zane and Alex had decided never to lose contact with each other. That was how Zane knew exactly where to go as soon as he’d stepped off the train. In his first letter from Proud Bend, Alex had given him detailed directions to his home and office. Zane would have preferred to go straight to the sheriff’s office for an update, but since this room was on the way, he’d stopped here first, just in case his brother had returned.
It was a good thing he’d chosen this detour. Now it looked like he might be taking Miss Rachel Smith in for questioning. He latched on to her elbow. Firmly.
She immediately stiffened. “Let me go! What’s the matter with you?”
Zane saw shock flare in Rachel’s eyes, but he had no intention of releasing her. Just because a woman was indignant, didn’t mean she wouldn’t knock him over and bolt the second he released her. This Miss Rachel Smith looked healthy enough to get a good head start on him while he was scrambling to stand. She was taller than most women and if she hiked up that fashionable skirt of hers, she could race out of this room at a fairly good clip.
“We’re going to the sheriff’s office,” Zane ground out. “I want to see if the deputy has heard from my brother.”
Rachel dug in her heels. “You don’t need to handle me like a wayward child!”
“I think I do.” His grip wasn’t hard, but firm enough to ensure her compliance. “I want to question you in a professional manner and that means at the sheriff’s office.”
“You have no authority here.”
He was about to reply when he was cut off by a deep, booming voice. “What’s going on here?”
Zane turned. Standing in the open doorway was a large, well-dressed man, middle-aged, with extra weight around the middle. An even older woman, wearing a worn cotton skirt and blouse, with a flour-dusted apron wrapped around her wide girth and a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders, stepped out from behind him. Some of her gray, wispy curls escaped her white maid’s cap. Her eyes were wide, taking in every action.
“Who are you?” Zane asked, hearing impatience pepper his tone. He was here to find his brother, that’s all, not to confront every townsperson.
The older man drilled him with his own harsh glare. “I