“I did, yes, but it was dark. I used a lantern, which didn’t help much.” The lawman shrugged. “I freely admit I’m terrible at it. I couldn’t track a cow down the middle of Main Street. In my defense, I’ve never hunted a day in my life so I’ve never really had to do much tracking.”
“What did you do before you pinned on that badge?”
Tibbit came and sat behind the desk. He propped his boots up and laced his fingers behind his head. “Promise not to laugh?” He didn’t wait for Fargo to answer. “I was a traveling salesman. I sold ladies’ corsets, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it,” Fargo said.
“I got tired of always being on the go and always scrabbling to make ends meet. About a year and a half ago I came to Haven. I only intended to stay a couple of days and sell as many corsets as I could and then catch the next stage out. But I liked it here so much that I asked a councilman’s wife if she knew of any jobs that were to be had, and as it happened, there was one.”
“You went from corset salesman to lawman?”
Tibbit laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. What did a seller of ladies’ corsets know about the law? I admit I knew little. But my enthusiasm impressed the town council. And as it so happens, I’m a fast reader. I’ve gone through every law book and statute there is.”
“There’s more to wearing a tin star than law books.”
“I grant you that, yes. But don’t you see?” Tibbit spread his hands in delight. “I have a job I love. I have a roof over my head and the roof is my own. No more endless travel. No more having to listen to customers carp about their corsets. I’m in heaven.” The gleam of happiness faded from his eyes and he put his boots on the floor. “Or I was until this whole missing women horror started. The first one, I thought for sure the Apaches were to blame. Everyone knows they take white women to their wigwams and have their way with them.”
Fargo smothered a laugh. Most Apaches regarded white women as weak and helpless and unable to endure the Apache way of life. Apache warriors would much rather have a woman of their own kind.
Tibbit had gone on. “Then three months later the second woman disappeared, and I wasn’t so sure anymore. By the time the third woman went missing after another three-month interval there was no longer any doubt. It had to be a white man.”
“Or men,” Fargo said.
“Eh? Oh, yes. Possibly.”
“Were the women always taken three months apart?”
“Give or take a week or two. Isn’t that strange? There must be a reason but it eludes me.”
Fargo could see where a lot might elude Marion Tibbit.
“The town council is demanding action and I don’t blame them. Those poor women, vanishing into thin air. I would like nothing better than to find them and restore them to their families. But I’m at my wit’s end.”
“So you clutch at a straw and ask a tracker for help,” Fargo said.
“It can’t hurt, you taking a look. You don’t mind, do you? You’d be doing this community, and me, a great favor. And I did save your life last night, if you’ll recall.”
“You must have been good at it,” Fargo said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Corset selling. You could talk rings around a tree.”
Marshal Tibbit laughed. “I guess I was, at that. I admit I am a talker. On the rare occasions a man gets drunk and rowdy in Haven, I don’t drag them here to the cell against their will. I talk them into spending the night of their own free will. I prefer to use my tongue, not my pistol.”
“I like to use my tongue, too.”
“You do? You could have fooled me. You’re rather the laconic type, I’ve noticed.”
“Laconic?”
“Yes. You don’t speak unless you have to and even then ...” Tibbit stopped. “You just did it again, didn’t you? Pulled my leg?” He got up and went to the stove and touched the coffeepot. “It shouldn’t be long.”
“Why haven’t you asked for help before this?” Fargo asked.
“From whom? The Rangers? They mainly deal with Indians, and they might disband soon, anyway, I hear. The army? Most of the troops have been recalled east because of the war. The county sheriff? There isn’t one because they haven’t gotten around to forming a county yet.” Tibbit shook his head, and sighed. “No, there’s just me.”
“And four missing girls.”
“And a missing man. Didn’t Helsa tell you about her husband?”
“She did.”
“That makes five that I know of. I also got a letter six months ago from a woman in Illinois wanting to know if I’d seen her brother, who was supposed to be in this area. I told her I never had.”
“The tally is climbing.”
“Yes. Worrisome, isn’t it? Makes me wonder exactly what I’m up against.”
The coffee was soon done. The lawman filled two cups and filled his with cream and enough sugar to gag a goat. Fargo took his black.
Outside, the street was alive with people moving to and fro. A buckboard clattered past. A man and his family of five were about to go into the general store across the street.
Tibbit had been unusually quiet but now he pointed and asked, “Do you recognize him?”
Fargo looked. “The farmer who cut me down last night.”
“Sam Worthington. As fine a gentleman as you’ll find anywhere. Notice anything about his family?”
“He has a girl about eighteen.”
“She’s all of twenty but not married yet. Her name is Melissa. A pretty thing, and smart. She came to me about a week ago, in secret. Said she thought someone was spying on her. I thought maybe whoever took the other girls would try to take her, so I was keeping watch on their farm. And wouldn’t you know? It was Myrtle Spencer who disappeared.” Tibbit took a sip of his coffee-flavored sugar water. “I’d like to take you out to the Worthington farm after we talk to the Spencers, if you’re willing. There’s something I’d like you to see.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Fargo said. “I’ll take a look-see but I can’t promise I’ll be of any help.”
“The fact that you are willing to lend a hand means more to me than you can imagine.” Tibbit sounded genuinely grateful. “If you don’t mind my asking, what prompted you to agree? Do you possess a strong sense of civic responsibility?”
“No.”
“Was it sympathy for the girls who have gone missing and for their families?”
“No.”
“You want to help because it’s the right thing to do?”
“No.”
Tibbit placed his elbows on the desk. “Then why, in heaven’s name?”
“Two reasons,” Fargo said.
“The first being ...?”
“The widow.”
Marshal Tibbit bobbed his head as if waiting for Fargo to go on, and when Fargo didn’t he said, “Does this have to do with seeing her—how did you put it?—bare-assed naked?”
Fargo nodded. “I need something to keep me busy until I bed her.”
Tibbit sat back and uttered a bark of a laugh that died in midbark. “Wait. My God. You’re serious. Why, that’s outrageous.”
“She’s a fine-looking female.”
“Yes, true, but still,” Tibbit sputtered. He opened his mouth to say more but apparently changed his mind and closed it again. He drank some coffee and cleared his throat. “All right. Let’s put that aside for the moment. Although I must say, your gall is remarkable. You’ve only known her one night. Do you honestly think you have a chance?”
“She’s a woman and I’m a man.”
“It takes more than that.”
“No,” Fargo said, “it doesn’t.”
