The sheriff spoke up. “My name is Sheriff Jack Walton, and that,” he pointed at the other lawman, “is Deputy Charlie. I’m guessing it wasn’t a coincidence that you were riding along on the day the stagecoach was carrying a gold shipment for our bank.”
“No, sir. We are Pinkerton agents,” Paden replied, ignoring the scoff that came out of the deputy’s lips. “The Barlow Dispatch & Grizzly’s Peak Express hired us after the third time the stagecoach was ambushed and the gold was taken.”
“You both are Pinkerton agents?” Sheriff Walton asked, his eyes shifting between them.
He nodded. “Yes.”
When the sheriff raised an eyebrow, he added, “We are married.”
“Married Pinkerton agents!” The Sheriff guffawed. “I never thought I would see the day.”
Glancing over at Rosalie, Paden expected her to be riled up by the lawman’s attitude, but her eyes were focused out the window as if she was bored with this conversation.
She brought her gaze back toward the lawmaker. “Did you have a good laugh at our expense?” she asked dryly. “I would be more concerned that Bill Garrett is killing people right under your nose. Frankly, if I were you, I wouldn’t insult the people that will fix your problem.”
The deputy straightened from the wall, his eyes narrowing at Rosalie. “Maybe we should kick you out of our town?” he asked in an annoyed drawl. “We don’t need to cooperate with the Pinks.”
Rosalie shrugged. “Fine. It won’t stop our investigation, and we will pass along the information to the press that the sheriff of Shelbrook doesn’t give a darn about protecting his town.”
“Then we will arrest…” the deputy started.
Sheriff Walton cut him off. “Charlie. Stop. She’s right,” he declared, earning a surprised look from his deputy. “We need all the help we can get, assuming the leader of this gang is Bill Garrett.”
“It is,” Rosalie assured him. “When I was riding atop the coach…”
“On top of the coach?” Sheriff Walton questioned, glancing over at Paden in disbelief. He shrugged in response.
Rosalie nodded. “Yes, I assure you that it was him. Bill Garrett looked directly at me, and I saw his cold, vacant eyes. Furthermore, I saw the tip of the scar that runs down from his left temple to his chin.”
Leaning back in his seat, the sheriff asked, “May I ask how you are so acquainted with Bill Garrett?”
“Garrett and his gang ambushed my father in the middle of town, killing innocent women and children in the process,” Rosalie responded without a hint of hesitation in her voice.
“May I ask who your father was?” Sheriff Walton’s expression was curious.
Tilting her chin up, she replied, “Sheriff Addis of Waterglen, Colorado.”
“Your father was Sherriff Addis?” the deputy asked with newfound respect in his voice.
Sheriff Walton leaned forward and started rifling through the papers on his desk. “I don’t suppose you are Rosalie Addis, the bounty hunter? The one that has been rounding up the now-disbanded members of Garrett’s gang.”
“I am,” she confirmed.
Picking up a piece of paper, the sheriff said, “I assume your marriage is recent, because I just got a report that listed the men you had rounded up last month.”
“We were married this morning,” Paden shared.
Sheriff Walton let out a huff in amusement. “You got married and then rode out to work a case. That is romantic.” He directed his next question to Rosalie. “When did you become a Lady Pinkerton?”
“This morning as well,” she replied.
Walking over to the edge of his desk, Deputy Charlie leaned back against it, and was now only a few feet from Rosalie. “How did you capture all those criminals?” he asked eagerly.
Clenching the balled-up skirt in her lap, Rosalie answered, “Criminals are predictable. They like women, alcohol, and cards. I would set a trap depending on their habits.”
“I heard you dressed up as a saloon girl, and you enchanted David Strong into turning himself in,” the deputy stated.
Rosalie laughed, a light, airy laugh that greatly bothered him. “I kept bringing him drinks until he passed out at the table.”
“Was it true that you worked in a brothel to capture some of the men?” Deputy Charlie pressed, appearing enamored by Rosalie.
“I did,” she confirmed.
Paden gave her a concerned look. “How far did you have to take your act?”
Rosalie’s eyes grew wide and fiery, and he immediately wished he could take back his words. “How dare you! I am a bounty hunter, not a woman of loose morals.”
“I wasn’t implying that…” he attempted.
“How could you even ask that?” she asked, her voice filled with hurt and disappointment.
Paden let out a loud, deep sigh. “Rosie… I didn’t mean it like that. I swear.”
With guarded eyes, she turned her attention back toward the sheriff. “Can we expect your cooperation on this case?”
Sheriff Walton nodded. “Yes. My deputy and I have interviewed everyone that was given knowledge of the gold shipments beforehand, but we haven’t been able to find a suspect.”
“Who knew about the shipments?” Paden asked.
“James Murray, the station keeper, Mr. Tuttle, the banker, and Mr. Holmes, his assistant,” Deputy Charlie listed. “We interviewed the drivers and guards of the stagecoach, but we have ruled them out as suspects, since they have started turning up dead.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Tuttle and Mr. Holmes?” Rosalie inquired, her posture still rigid.
Sheriff Walton ran a hand through his dark hair. “Mr. Tuttle has worked at the bank for almost ten years, and Mr. Holmes moved out here about three years ago. Both are fine, outstanding men in the community. It can’t be one of them.”
Paden refrained from commenting since he knew criminals often appeared as pillars of the community until
