Home Sweet Home Hotel, Town of Wenn, 1861
Sheriff Roberta Shiloh sat in her room, studying the letter that Scott Manley brought with him when he took over the duties of marshal of the territory from Victor Crandall. Roberta received evidence not long ago that the late Victor Crandall was very much alive, and that the tricky Marshal Scott Manley was very much a liar. There was something strange about that signature. She asked Mr. Eldridge, a kindly old jack-of-all-trades who worked in various jobs in town, if she could see some other documents with Victor's signature. The final one, a book that Scott brought for Mr. Eldridge from Victor, gave the sheriff her answer.
A large group of people in the Town Square distracted Roberta from her work. She threw open the window and saw a crowd of people gathered around a fancy stagecoach. She heard a knock at the door and was less than delighted to find Scott Manley standing on her doorstep. "Hi, Robbie," he said with a smile. "Want to head downstairs with me and perform a little crowd control?"
"I'll perform that with you," she huffed, "but don't get ideas. I'm not performing anything else."
Scott just didn't understand her behavior. Ever since the night of the opening of the Marlowes' magic act, Robbie acted cold and distant to him. And she was just beginning to warm to me... he thought sorrowfully. There was no time to ruminate on the fickleness of women at that moment, however, because the crowd was starting to swell.
Scott and Roberta fought their way through the crowd. "What's going on?" Scott asked Jessamina and Miss Gertrude, who stood near the Home Sweet Home Hotel.
"Didn't anyone tell you?" Jessamina asked. "The owners of the Home Sweet Home Hotel and the Green Room Restaurant, Roland Pruitt and his assistant Pricilla Cosgrave, are arriving today! They want to buy more property in Wenn and they need to get a good look around before they make their final decision."
A tall, well-groomed man stepped off of the stagecoach, followed by a small, nervous woman in a simple dress and hat. He was large and round. His face was wrinkled, like a bulldog's, and his voice was as slick as the oil in his hair. His suit was the newest style and obviously cost some money.
Roberta suddenly noticed that Scott had paled. He gritted his teeth. "Roberta," he murmured, "there's something I don't like about Roland Pruitt. There's got to be more to this visit than his wanting to see the land." There was something very, very wrong with Pruitt, something evil and criminal, but Scott couldn't tell Robbie what he knew, and especially not how he knew what he knew.
Pruitt walked over to Roberta, kissed her hand, and smiled. Roberta did not like his smile at all. It chilled her to the bone. Cosgrave just nodded. "Hello, Sheriff Shiloh, Marshal Manley. Miss Cosgrave and I would like to have a few words with the both of you in our hotel."
Roberta tried to smile back, but she couldn't. She heard stories about this Roland Pruitt from many of the shopkeepers and small-time businessmen in town. He was the Scourge of Boston, the Satanic Santa, a man who wouldn't hesitate to sell his entire family and several friends if would make him a profit. His only great love was the all-mighty dollar. He strutted into the office of the Home Sweet Home Hotel like he owned the place and settled behind the desk. "Let's not beat around the bush. Miss Cosgrave and I have been going over the books for our enterprises and several others in this little...what do you call this little hamlet, anyway?"
"Wenn, sir," Roberta reminded him. "This town is called Wenn."
He ignored the sheriff. "We found that several thousand dollars were missing from some of the shops here." He smiled again. "Then my friend Seldon Sentry told me that you opened an account in his bank going toward a memorial for the late Victor Crandall." Roberta tried to keep herself from gasping at the mention of Victor's name. Pruitt went on. "Now, how did a man who came to this ungodly villiage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a suit and a pack of cards manage to drum up more than three thousand dollars in support of a man he barely knew?"
Scott shrugged. "I play Go Fish in between brawls and robberies. I got lucky a few times."
"No one gets that lucky, Manley," Pruitt snarled, "and it looks like your luck has just run out."
Scott knew that he was beaten, but he tried to fight it. "Yeah, but I..."
Pruitt eyed him. "Sheriff Shiloh, I demand that you arrest Scott Manley on the charge of embezzlement and indecent morals."
Scott looked into Roberta's unhappy eyes. "Robbie, you don't want to do this."
"No, I don't," she admitted, "but it's my job, and I'd like to keep my job for as long as possible." She took a set of handcuffs from her belt and remorsefully clapped them over Scott's wrists. Avoiding his downhearted expression and Pruitt's triumphant one, she recited, "Scott Manley, you are under arrest on charges of first-degree embezzlement, forgery, and general indecency. You have the right to remain silent...."
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Home Sweet Home Hotel, the next day
"Scott, you're lucky Pruitt decided to drop the charges," Roberta scolded him as she watched him pack his things to leave Wenn. "You could still be doing time in jail, and there's only one jail cell. You'd have to share it with all the rest of the robbers and what-not still stuck in there."
"I'd like to still be doing my job," he grumbled as he grabbed an alarm clock, a stuffed bass, and several pictures off the wall.
"Not that you ever really did it, anyway," Roberta complained. "Where were you during half the robberies that have occurred in the past year? Or when Holstrom had a gun on Hilary Marlowe and me? You're undependable and are never around when we need you. Pruitt might make a better marshal. At least I can count on his being there!"
"Robbie, what's wrong with you?" he asked. "You've treated me like the dirt in your fingernails ever since the night I stopped...went to Abalene."
Roberta noticed the change in his sentence, but decided to leave it unacknowledged for the moment. She had other chicken to fry. She took the book and his letter from her dresser drawer. "Scott, I found evidence that one of these signatures was forged from the other."
He shook his head sadly. "You're right, Robbie. I'm not a federal marshal or even a friend of Victor Crandall's. I'm just a gambler who briefly met Victor Crandall in a bar in Kansas City and heard him talk about a Roberta Shiloh who was beautiful and tough and smart enough to handle the law with little or no help." He smiled gently. "I've never lived in one place before. I wondered what it would be like to stay in a nice town with a nice woman named Roberta Shiloh."
Roberta slapped his face before he could wonder any further. "From the moment I first layed eyes on you in the Valiant Journey Saloon, I thought you were a strange lawman." She stepped back from him. "But you're not a lawman. You aren't even really Victor's friend. You're just a gambler. Just a no-good, card-playing scoundrel. You don't care about anyone or anything but yourself!"
They stood awkwardly for a moment as Scott strapped his suitcase and gathered his coat. He handed his badge and gun to Roberta. "Give these to Pruitt," he told her. "He's the marshal now." She nodded sadly. "Well, my stagecoach is here." He shook the girl's hand. "Good-bye, Roberta." He dropped his suitcase and took her in his arms. "What am I doing? Oh, what the hell." He kissed her and walked out of the hotel. Roberta watched him out the window as he got on the stagecoach. She settled on the now-bare bed and sobbed.
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Town of Wenn, a month later
Roberta Shiloh sat in the Green Room Restaurant and tried to figure out what, exactly, today's blue plate special was supposed to be. The sign on the front door said that it was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but the gray mass and fluffy white goop in front of her didn't resemble food, much less meat and vegetables.
Deputy Bloom, who was trying to keep the barbecued chicken from wandering off his plate, frowned at her. "Aw, shucks, Robbie, you look about as much fun as the Go Fish games over at the Valiant Journey Saloon since Scott took off." He gave up on the chicken and shook his head. "Admit it, Rob, you miss Manley. We all do. He may have been a gambler and a bad marshal, but at least you got the idea that he wanted to do this town good." Mackie made a face. "Pruitt just wants to do this town in. We outta do somethin' bout that son of a..." Roberta shot him a look before the curse came out. "...Son of a gun."
She shrugged. "There isn't much I can do. He's got his finger into half the businesses in town now, and he spends even less time here than Scott used to." She took a sip of her fresh milk. "Nobody wants to challenge him because they're afraid of losing his money."
Mr. Eldridge rushed into the Green Room Restaurant. "Sheriff, that terrible Jonathan Arnold person published another article in a national newspaper. It's all about how the Union should renounce itself and join the Confederacy! It's horrible."
Mackie grabbed the paper from Mr. Eldridge. "This stuff is filth," he complained. "Not a word of it is true!"
Mabel stormed into the Green Room Restaurant. "I just read it too, Deputy, and it makes my blood boil! They oughtta hang that little jerk!"
"No!" exclaimed Roberta. She took the paper from Mr. Eldridge. She was surprised that she was the only person who recognized Victor's florid writing style. This was all a part of his plan, but she was still forbidden to tell the others. "Maybe he has a good reason for acting that way."
"Who has a good reason for making the entire Union want to hate him?" Mabel asked.
"Well," Roberta started, "you never know...."
"Pardon me," a woman asked, "is this the place I'll find Miss Hilary Booth Marlowe?"
Roberta tucked the paper under her arm and regarded the speaker. She was a tall, beautiful young woman with an exotic look about her. Her golden hair hid under a straw hat and her silk crinoline gown was the latest fashion. Robbie noted her heavy deep-south accent and the books and letter she held in a fancy basket.
Mackie got up immediately and bowed. "Naw, ma'am, the Mayoress lives in Bedside Manor, the great big ol' brick mansion across the street. It's the biggest place in town. You can't miss it." He lowered his voice. "Though I'm gonna have to warn you that Mayoress Hilary hasn't been in her happiest mood since her husband went back to Kansas City to take over the debates from the late Victor Crandall. She got kinda upset about that, if you know what I mean."
"I can handle lil' ol Hilary Marlowe." She nodded curtly. "Thank you, Mr...
"Call me Deputy Bloom, ma'am," Mackie said. "And these gals are Sheriff Roberta Shiloh and Miss Mabel, the hostess of Wenn's finest and only saloon."
The woman walked over to Bedside Manor. "I wonder who she is?" Mabel asked. "She sounds like a Scarlett O'Hara reject."
Roberta nodded. There was something about the woman that bothered her, but she was hungry, so she went back to identifying her lunch. Mabel ordered a cup of coffee and joined them. Mackie ordered a baloney sandwich, as his chicken was now cackling with a group of hens down the street.
A half-hour later, a piercing scream woke Roberta from her reverie. She jumped out of her seat, forgetting the odd-colored lumps that was supposed to be her meal. "That scream came from Bedside Manor!" She whipped out her six shooters. "I knew that woman looked like she was no good. Come on, Mackie!"
The three of them hurried across the road and into the enormous reddish-brown mansion. Hilary Marlowe sat on her husband's favorite chair, her face drained of color. She read the letter that the woman held in her basket earlier. Her hand shook as she pointed to the woman. "Sheriff Shiloh, I demand that you arrest this woman!"
The woman laughed. "She is obviously hysterical, Sheriff." She took Roberta's hand. "I don't believe I introduced myself. My name is Mrs. Paulette Nelson Marlowe."
Roberta gasped. "Mrs. Marlowe? But Mayoress Hilary..."
"Was never really married at all," Paulette growled. "I met Jeffrey when I saw his debate in Kansas City. He is such an eloquent speaker. He just swept me off my feet and into the church."
Roberta shook her head. "Hilary, I'm afraid I need more evidence than this before I can convict Ms...Mrs. Marlowe of anything," she explained.
"Evidence!" shrieked Hilary. "What more do you want for evidence?"
"I have papers to prove my marriage!" Paulette protested. "Which is more than I can say for your mayoress."
Mr. Eldridge poked his head in and nodded at Roberta. "There's a strange man at the Hope Springs Eternal who wants to speak to you, Sheriff Shiloh. Says that he has a scheme that you might like to consider." Roberta excused herself and walked to the bubbling spring on the far edge of Wenn. She wasn't surprised to see a man dressed all in black kneeling on the banks of the spring. He leaned over it, washing his face. Roberta decided to use this advantage to try to figure out who this man was who kept appearing at the most opportune times. He saw her coming, though, and quickly bound his mask around his face, obscuring it once more.
"Why don't you want me to know who you are?" Roberta asked quietly. "You keep appearing and vanishing so quickly that I wonder if you're real, or just a story in the Wenn Daily Bugle, like everyone says."
"Roberta, it's for your own good, and mine too," he said. "I told you I'm a nobody, and in order to do my work and stay alive, I have to remain that way." He stood and took her by the shoulders. She leaned into his strong, safe arms. "But, enough of this mushy stuff," he said. "Roberta, I know about Paulette Nelson and the Mayor. I also know that she's lying. She cares nothing about Jeffrey Marlowe or his wife. I also happen to know that what she wants more than anything is to become a great actress. And that," he said with a roguish smile that was strangely familiar to the sheriff, "will be her downfall."
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Bedside Manor, later that day
Paulette Nelson stormed out of the main parlor of Bedside Manor in a fury. Roberta, C.J the telegrapher, and Hilary followed her. "How could you humiliate little ol' me like that?" she snapped. "I don't know why in the world I believed that little bartender was a great Broadway producer! What would a Broadway producer be doing out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway? And how did I let you talk me into an audition? " She grabbed C.J. "Get me a wire out. I'll explain to Jeffrey..."
"Save it, Paulette," snarled Hilary. "I do believe that the bells aren't tolling for this southern belle." Roberta pulled out her six shooters and backed up Hilary, who toted a rifle. She was surprised to see that the Masked Man also joined them, whip in hand.
"Now, get out of my town, you hussy, before I get really angry," snarled Hilary. She nodded at C.J. "Mr. McHugh, will you escort Miss Nelson to a stagecoach?"
C.J could see that she was in no mood to argue. "Yes, Mayor Hilary."
Hilary sighed. "Good work, Roberta, and you too, sir."
But "sir" was already gone. Roberta groaned. "He did it to me again!"
"Did what?" Hilary asked. "Was that the famous Masked Man, who plays Sir Galahad in black cotton to every distressed hell-hole in the Kansas Territory?"
Roberta nodded. "Especially ours." She looked down and saw that someone stuffed a note in her hand. She wondered who did it. No one was standing next to her recently but C.J and the Masked Man.
Sheriff Shiloh,
The Professor's Gang is planning to strike the Seldon Sentry Bank again, but I have reason to believe that Seldon Sentry himself may be a member, and that he and the bank could be the key to finding out who the ring leader is. The officials in Kansas City finally got Holstrom to confess. He is a higher-ranked member of their organization, but he's not the head. I will give you more information later after I figure out the codes in the Sentry Bank Advertisements.
The man known as "The Masked Man"
PS - Sheriff, stop trying to find out who I am. It's of no consequence. I'm just somebody who cares about the Union, about Wenn, and about you.
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