pot-bellied stove, and two gun racks on opposite walls. In one corner was a safe worthy of a bank.
“Very impressive,” Shaye said.
“Glad you think so,” Sheriff Riley Cotton said. He stood up behind his desk. “My deputy told me we had three strangers in town. That’d be you three?”
“That’s us,” Shaye said. He approached the desk. “Dan Shaye. These are my sons, Thomas and James.”
“The Epitaph bank job Shayes?” the lawman asked.
“That what they’re calling us?” Shaye asked.
“Sorry,” Cotton said. He was a tall man in his forties, bearded, wearing a clean shirt, tie, and trousers. He was dressed more like a schoolteacher than a lawman, but Shaye could tell more from the way the man stood than the way he was dressed. There was a gun belt hanging on a hook on the wall right behind him. The leather and the pistol itself were well cared for.
“Word gets around,” Cotton said. “I notice you’re not wearing badges.”
“That’s because we’re not lawmen anymore.”
Cotton raised his eyebrows.
“That by choice?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad. From what I heard, you were good at it.”
“How long have you been sheriff?” James asked.
“Been wearin’ a badge for fifteen or sixteen years. I’ve been sheriff here for the last five. You fellas wouldn’t be, uh, workin’ in some, um, related capacity, would you?”
“What?” Thomas asked.
“He wants to know if we’re bounty hunters,” Shaye said. “The answer is no.”
“So then what brings you to Pearl River Junction?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Shaye said.
“Who?”
“A girl named Belinda Davis.”
The sheriff didn’t react.
“Do you know her?”
“Why do you want this girl?”
“So you do know her?”
“Answer my question first, please.”
“She sent me a letter asking for my help.”
“Do you have that letter on you?”
Shaye hesitated, then shifted his saddlebags from his right shoulder to his left so he could dig into his shirt pocket and come out with the letter. He held it up, but did not offer it to the sheriff.
“Can I see it?” Cotton asked.
“Answer my question now,” Shaye said. “Do you know her?”
“Yes, I know her.”
“And you can tell us where to find her?”
“I can,” the lawman said. “The question is: Will I?”
Shaye hesitated, then handed the letter over.
“I tell you what,” the sheriff said. “You fellas wait around your hotel or one of the saloons and I’ll get back to you.”
15
After they left the sheriff’s office, they went across the street to a hotel Cotton recommended to them. They got two rooms, with Thomas and James sharing one. After they stowed their gear in their rooms, they met in the lobby to go and get something to eat. Again, the restaurant they went to was recommended by the sheriff.
Once they were seated and had ordered their food, James asked, “Why did you let him get away with that, Pa?”
“Get away with what?”
The diners surrounding them stared curiously at the strangers, but went back to their meals fairly quickly. The Shayes simply ignored the stares.
“He knows the girl, but he ain’t tellin’ us where she is.”
“He wants to check with her first,” Thomas said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“But he has the letter,” James said. “He knows she wrote to Pa askin’ for help.”
“Months ago,” Shaye said. “Maybe she’s changed her mind.”
“That would mean we came all this way for nothin’.”
“Not for nothing,” Shaye said. “Even if she doesn’t want our help anymore, I still want to find out if her child is Matthew’s.”
“So how long do we wait?” James asked.
“Don’t be in such a rush, James,” Shaye said. “We’re here and the sheriff knows we’re not going anywhere.”
The waiter came over carrying three plates laden with huge steaks and generous portions of vegetables.
“Eat your food,” Shaye told James. “When the sheriff knows what to tell us, we’ll hear from him.”
James hesitated, but when his father and brother bent to the task of consuming their meal, he followed.
Sheriff Riley Cotton lived in a small white house at the northern end of town. He could tell by the delicious smells filling the house that his wife was hard at work in the kitchen, baking and probably preparing supper. He found her there, wearing one of her many hand-made aprons.
“Smells great,” he said as he entered the kitchen, “but then everything you make smells great.”
She turned her head so he could kiss her and said, “Peach cobbler for dessert.”
He kissed his wife, who he loved dearly even after twenty years of marriage. Marion Cotton had always been supportive of his chosen career and had moved from town to town without complaint—until they’d arrived in Pearl River Junction five years ago. She told him after only a year of living there that she never wanted to move again.
“What brings you home two hours early?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting you until supper.”
“Dan Shaye and his sons rode into town today,” he told her.
She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Have you told Belinda?”
“That’s what I came home to do,” he said. “Is she around?”
“I think she’s out back with Little Matt.”
“I better talk to her and see if she still wants to see him—and his sons,” he said.
She grabbed his arm before he could leave the kitchen.
“Why did they come, Riley?”
“Well, they say they came to help her,” he answered, “that is, if she still needs help.”
“Will they take her away?” she asked. “And the baby?”
“I don’t know, Marion,” he said. “I guess we’ll all find that out at the same time.”
“I couldn’t bear it if—” she started, but then stopped abruptly and released his arm.
“I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know.”
16
By the time Dan Shaye and his sons reached Pearl River Junction, Jeb Collier and his men were still about a
