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Gray shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
…
“Are you coming?” Mercy said, pushing the door of the store open.
“Naw.” Gray leaned against the post, his gaze focused on the street in front of him. “I’ll just wait out here.”
Mercy opened her mouth to argue but shut it again with a small shake of her head. She didn’t really need him inside. His presence in her company would be enough to get the gossips going, especially with Martha nearly lying on the counter, trying to get a good peek through the window.
When Mercy stepped inside, Martha stood back up and began wiping the candy jars as if she hadn’t just been spying on them.
“Good morning, Mercy,” Martha said. “What brings you in today?” Her voice was even, if a bit high-pitched, but she was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.
“Oh, I just need a few supplies,” Mercy said, pulling out a list and purposely taking her time about it. “Five pounds of flour, a sack of sugar, a new needle, a spool of thread—white, please—”
Martha hastily gathered supplies as Mercy listed them off, her long black braid swinging back and forth as she moved, but as soon as Mercy got to the end of her list, Martha leaned over the counter with a conspiratorial air.
“Did you notice the sheriff’s office looking a bit empty?” she asked.
“Come to think of it, I did. Has he gone somewhere?”
“No one knows. If he did, he didn’t tell anyone, and that seems rather odd, doesn’t it? Considering he’s the sheriff and all.”
“Odd indeed,” said Mercy, glancing out the door at Gray.
“Well, there was a great to-do the other night, I can tell you,” Martha said, her eyes shining. A good gossip session was what Martha lived and died for, and really nothing much went on in Desolation, so even the smallest change in routine was cause for excitement.
“The other day,” she continued, “the day of your father’s funeral… Oh!” She leaned forward to pat Mercy’s arm. “I am so very sorry for your loss. I have a little something I fresh-baked yesterday that I’ve been meaning to bring over to your place but haven’t had two spare seconds. So, it’s good fortune that brings you in today! I’ll be sure to fetch it before you leave.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“My pleasure,” Martha said, beaming. Then she leaned over the counter again, getting back into her tale. “Anyway, that day the sheriff rode out somewhere with that Josiah Banff and some of his men. I thought to myself they were definitely up to no good. And I must’ve been right, because less than an hour later they came riding back into town, the sheriff white as a sheet and more spooked than I’ve ever seen him.
“He and Josiah went into his office and must’ve been arguing fierce, because we could hear their raised voices from here clear down to Madam DuVere’s. Though none of us really got a good handle on what exactly they were saying. It sounded as though Josiah was nervous of somebody new coming to town and the sheriff didn’t want no part of it anymore.
“I don’t know what they were referring to,” Martha continued, casting a surreptitious glance out the window at Gray. “Josiah did not take kindly to the sheriff backing out of town, I can tell you that. But you know Josiah when he gets really angry—he doesn’t go around shouting. He gets that low voice that’s even more scary, so I couldn’t rightly hear what he was saying to the sheriff. But the sheriff wasn’t having none of it. Kept saying he was done, he was out.”
Mercy frowned. “I wonder what they were talking about?” she murmured, though she had a fairly good idea.
Martha’s eyes darted back to Gray, but she plowed on. “Then Josiah and his men rode off and I thought that was that, but later—must’ve been around midnight, I guess—I heard some horses kicking up a fuss and then the sheriff cursing fit to make the preacher’s hair stand on end, and I peeked out of my window, which, as you know, overlooks the sheriff’s station…”
Mercy nodded acknowledgment but kept her mouth shut, lest she interrupt the flow of information coming from Martha.
“So I peeked out my window, and the sheriff was strapping all kinds of boxes and bundles on that old mule that Mr. Calvert at the smithy keeps. Looked to be everything he owned, excepting furniture and the like.”
Mercy’s eyes widened. “Perhaps he’s just going on a trip?”
Martha shook her head again. “If he is, it’s a very long trip. Plus”—Martha leaned over even more and glanced around to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard—“this morning, before most folks are about, I snuck over and peeked through the windows and as far as I can tell the sheriff plum cleaned out. Just up and left without a word to anyone.”
“Really?”
Martha nodded slowly. “That’s what it looks like.”
“Well now, thatisinteresting.”
Mercy glanced out the door to where Gray still leaned against the post. Martha’s gaze followed hers.
“Now I know it’s none of my business,” she said, and Mercy bit her lip to keep from smiling. Martha had never met any business that she didn’t feel the need to make hers. “But it does seem to be a big coincidence that the sheriff gets spooked by a newcomer right about the same time that your gentleman friend there shows up.” She nodded in Gray’s direction.
