Royce left the Gunsmith Shop convinced he was correct about Miss Ferguson. She was somehow tied in with Frank Barlow and that was the reason she was being retained as Junction City’s schoolteacher.
Dusk came early during the fall and winter months. The sun was inching down the horizon when Royce crossed the watery road. He stopped and scraped mud off his boots before opening the door to the Sheriff’s Office. Walden was seated behind his desk.
“Come in,” Walden greeted. “I saw you go into Cobb’s a few minutes ago and thought you might want to see me next.” He pushed a cup of coffee across his desktop towards the vacant chair.
Royce felt comfortable inside the sheriff office. He hooked a boot around a chair leg pulling the chair away from the desk before settling onto the seat. “First off, since I’ve been in Junction City there hasn’t been any activity in the warehouse across the road from the school,” Royce said. “How does Mayor Pillsdale make a living?”
Walden tilted back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. He was certain he was looking at one of Marshal Tinsley’s lieutenants. Just as sure Hargadon would not admit as much. “When Pillsdale ran for Mayor the man decided he needed to be more accommodating. Citizens didn’t like his big freight wagons rumbling through town at all hours of the day and night. After it rains the loaded wagons cut deep ruts in the road making it nearly impossible to pass. Children and dogs alike played in the puddles left behind. More than one irate mother wagged her finger under Pillsdale’s nose threatening to boycott any goods he brought to town.” Walden settled in for a gabfest. “Pillsdale built new warehouses and moved his freight business to the west edge of town. His freight wagons use a private road that bypasses town. Subsequently, he was elected Mayor.”
“The large warehouses behind Job Randall’s Blacksmith Shop,” Royce asked.
“Pillsdale keeps Job busy shoeing mules. Looking after his teams and wagons in general,” Walden replied. “What else brings you my way?”
“You’re not young enough to have attended school under Miss Ferguson,” Royce said. It was more a statement than a question.
“I’ve heard about Miss Ferguson,” Walden said. “I wouldn’t send one of my children to her school. If I had any,” he added. “Why do you ask?”
“Curious,” Royce replied.
Disbelief crossed Walden’s face. “Cobb has voiced his complaints,” Walden said. “There is a difference between spanking a child and beating one.” Royce leaned forward in his chair. Walden had his full attention. “I take it that is not what started your speculation.” Royce’s reaction could not be feigned.
“No,” Royce admitted. “Remember, I teach her former students.” He settled back in his chair and picked up his coffee cup. “In my opinion, she is not much of a teacher. Which set me to wondering why she has been retained all these years.”
“So you are interested in learning about the School Board Members,” Walden guessed clearly puzzled by Royce’s line of enquiry.
“I came by to ask about Bob Hardin,” Royce replied.
“Hardin is a School Board Member,” Walden said. If the man was a Territorial Marshal as he suspected. Why was he concerning himself with School Board Members. “Jill Hardin is his daughter.” Walden stood to refill his coffee cup. The potbellied stove warmed the office. Opening the metal door he put two pieces of wood into the stove before lifting the coffee pot off the top. “His son left school last year. There is an older daughter also. I would say Hardin is in his late thirties. He runs a few hundred head of cattle on a ranch south of town. If you were to ask me I’d also say he appears more prosperous than his circumstances warrant. I’ve looked into the man but wasn’t able to find anything crooked in his dealings.”
“In other words there is smoke but you haven’t been able to locate the fire,” Royce replied.
“A nice way of putting it,” Walden admitted. He returned to his chair and tilted back on its hind legs. The chair groaned under his weight. Amos Walden was a big man. His lean muscular size would intimidate most men. “What does this have to do with Miss Ferguson,” Walden asked.
“Cobb said he tried to get the School Board not to renew Miss Ferguson’s contract. Hardin and Pillsdale disagreed while Doctor Thomas agreed with Cobb. I now see why. If Miss Ferguson is mistreating her students Doctor Thomas would know.”
“But there is more,” Walden retorted.
“I am not sure,” Royce replied suspecting he was tipping his hand. He believed he could trust Walden yet he hesitated to confide too much. Barlow was known for his craftiness. The fact that George Dean was murdered had a chilling effect on sharing too much information. He now knew Imogen Gaines was aware that Dean was a Marshal. Walden knew as well. Who else had found out and was this, the reason Dean was murdered.
“What does this have to do with George Dean’s death,” Walden asked. He stood and walked to the front window. A film of smoke and grease dimmed his view of the road in front.
“Murder,” Royce corrected. “Dean was murdered because he was on to something and Milton Ferguson is the cornerstone that holds everything up,” he confided hoping he was not making a huge mistake. “I know for a fact the man is neither the halfwit he pretends to be nor does he walk with a limp.”
“Are you sure,” Walden demanded. He had been sheriff of Junction City for five years and deputy two years before that. Seven years was a long time to know a man and be deceived.
“I saw him as plainly as I am seeing you,”
