Sheriff Cherry kept his snakeskin boots on the table and his dark hat over his eyes. "Come again?"

Garrapy's Saloon didn't come to life until the evening crowd rolled in. Until then, it wasn't uncommon to find folks like Cherry slumped in a corner, passing the time. He would be gone by the time business picked up. Despite having a desk of his own back at the jail, Cherry prefered to kick back at Garrapy's. Some talk said it gave the wrong impression of the law in Brody's Cross, but Cherry didn't much care. He couldn't chew tobacco and spit on the floor at the office, for starters. It was a petty reason, but Cherry could be a petty man. There was some ordanance set up by the mayor or a previous lawman that made chewing on duty an offense. "Didn't look professional", they said. Garrapy's didn't care what went in or came out of his mouth and that's why Cherry roosted there.

"I said Miss Tate's in a ditch. She's in an awful state. Cut and tore up from top to bottom."

Cherry did not move. He left his feet up and his hands folded across his abdomen. "Ain't that somethin'."

"That's all you have to say?" exasperated the deputy, one Mr. Jeff Schim. He puffed his full cheeks fuller. "Sheriff, the news is gonna be gettin' around. Folks are goin' to start sayin' we got a murderer on our hands and want to know what you're goin' to do about it!"

If Cherry took the comment to heart, it didn't show. "Do we have a murderer, Jeff?"

Schim scowled. Every day was a new challenge when it came to working with a man like Cherry. "Yeah, well, I don't think she did it to herself."

"That's unfortunate." At last, the sheriff righted himself and pushed back his stetson. "I suppose that means I ought to do somethin'."

Sheriff Ewald Cherry had been in charge of the law in Brody's Cross for coming on seven years. It wasn't his competence that earned (or kept) him the position. Rather, it was his apathy and tendency to be unimpressed by the world around him. When Samuel Derby, the wanted killer with a five-hundred dollar bounty, rode into town and challenged the sheriff to a showdown, Cherry was indifferent. When the coals of Mrs. Tabitha's bakery were knocked loose and set half of Brody's Cross ablaze, Cherry had nothing to say. The fact that Lacey Tate had been sliced up didn't faze him in the slightest.

"What does her brother think of all this?" he yawned as he walked with Schim across the wooden walkway to the end of the connected town buildings.

Schim pouted his pale lips. "I don't know. I haven't seen him around much since he came back for his daddy's funeral. "

"Sounds like he did it," said Cherry, content to have the matter resolved.

"I think," said Schim through clenched teeth, "As sheriff, you best look into that first."

"It's straightforward, ain't it? She's dead, he's gone. That's enough for me."

Schim glowered. "Would you please, for once in your miserable life, do your job right?"

The lawmen made for an odd partnership. Schim did what he could to keep Cherry on task, a feat of which no one would ever appreciate the true scope. He wasn't short, but when he stood next to Cherry, he came off as a smaller man. Cherry's rugged blonde mane contrasted with Schim's well-kempt chestnut coif. Where Cherry's skin was a leathery bronze from the sun, Schim ballooned lividly. Schim's features, once as well-formed as the sheriff's, had bloated out after a time. This was something neither man had acknowledged in conversation though looks betrayed that each knew the other knew.

"I expect we better start at the obvious," said Cherry as he untied his stead, a large Palomino he'd named "Foal's Gold". Usually just "Goldie" these days, the stallion wasn't the brightest or the fastest horse on the range. It suited Sheriff Cherry just fine. He relished Goldie's dopey canter and if Cherry was late getting to the source of trouble, his chances of missing threats his survival were better. A sheriff had to try his damnedest to protect and serve and Cherry wasn't above attributing his inability to do so on a faulty mount. He would ride and die by that impaired animal.

And ride he did. Sheriff Cherry rode Goldie through main street and south of Brody's Cross. Not far from the town proper, jagged barbed wire fences denoted the Tate lands. Flocks of sheep wandered aimlessly, grazing upon the scrub, and paid the lawman little notice. Schim, on the other hand, made his thoughts known.

"This isn't the way to the body."

"Did I ask to see the body?" Cherry asked. "I mean, do you want to see what remains on Miss Lacey?"

Schim was succinct. "I already did. It's not pretty."

Cherry nodded. "Then I think it's best to preserve her memory untarnished in my mind."

The deputy inquired, "Why are we goin' towards the Tate place?"

"You said Lacey Tate was found in a ditch and you ain't seen Herman Tate around," said Cherry as if it was plain as day.

"You reckon there's somethin' to be found at the house?"

"No, I reckon the Tate house is probably pretty empty these days."

Schim stared. "And?"

"And I thought it's best to check that house out before unsavory sorts get the news. You said the news was gettin' around?"

"I did, but I fail to..." Schim trailed off, considering. "So you do think there's a clue there?"

"That," said Cherry, "Or some silver candlesticks. Maybe a decent piece of furniture." He grinned at his partner. "The Tates have some mighty nice stuff, Jeff."

Schim's anger was palpible. "You're goin' to rob 'em?!"

Cherry tipped his head back in a show of dramatics and rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that. I said I'm goin' to check it out."

"You're unbelievable!" sputtered the deputy. "You're the sheriff of Brody's Cross!"

"And I'm potentially about to be a sheriff who's better off," whistled Cherry. "We'll see what we find."

It wasn't a lengthy ride to the main house. With the way Schim nagged and lectured, Cherry equated the experience to a trip through perdition. Pointedly ignoring his partner, the sheriff dismounted and made his way to the front, pausing to admire the wrought iron trim on both the door and the nearby window. The Tate house wasn't as fancy as the Asper manor, but it was a handsome, two story affair with metalwork any artistic soul would envy. Cherry mused privately about what a guy like him would have to do to end up in a house like that.

His momentary reverie spared him the embarrassment of walking headlong into the ranch foreman as he appeared in the doorframe. The hulking figure was as surprised to see the sheriff as the sheriff was to see him.

"Gordon!" exclaimed Cherry, playing as though he'd never once had designs on the home's interior. "I didn't expect to see you today!"

Gordon's impassive expression melted into a nervous concern. He tried to smile in a disarming manner. "O-oh. Sheriff Cherry. Good morning."

Cherry craned his neck and examined the man's features. "You're lookin' beat up today. Did someone give you a workin' over?" He gestured to a series of bruises that lined the foreman's forearms. "That looks a bit like a rifle butt."

The foreman was quick to deny. "Uh, no. This is from the...sheep. You know how sheep can be."

"No kiddin'?" Cherry gave him another glance and let out an impressed whistle. "Boy howdy, it must have been a whole mess of 'em."

"Vicious things," confirmed Gordon, stepping around the lawman and quickly making an exit. "Absolute monsters. Every day, I put my life at risk."

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Someone has to do it," conceded Cherry. "I, for one, appreciate your dedication."

There was a long pause. "...thank you, Sheriff."

"You take care, Gordon," called Cherry at his back. Schim moved to join from where he'd stood. "Take care not to piss them sheep off anymore!"

Schim remarked, "You know as well as the next feller that wasn't from sheep."

"I don't know that for sure," said Cherry flippantly.

"Two black eyes? A broken nose?"

"The broken nose'd get you the two black eyes," observed Cherry. Case closed.

Far be it from Schim to let things lie. "You should go ask him where he really got all those contusions."

"Why?" scoffed Cherry, taking the door handle in hand.

Schim folded his arms. "Because it might be worth askin'."

"Eh," said Cherry. "He got 'em from the sheep."

Schim began anew on the lack of professionality found in his partner. Cherry, in turn, poked his head into the Tate foyer and, taking stock of the lights burning, put forth, "Anybody home?"

To his chagrin, the loyal family maid appeared from the parlor, gazing upon him with the same concern as the foreman before. "S-sheriff Cherry!" chirped Rosa, wiping her hands on her white apron and curtsying ever so slightly. "What are you doing here? What do you need?"

"That all depends what you can do for me. I'm lookin' for Herman. Is he in?"

"Who is it?" came from beyond. It wasn't long until Martine, the matriarchal family chef, appeared herself in the entryway. Inwardly, Cherry cursed his misfortune. Her mannerisms indicated that upon recognizing the lawman, she was overcome with tremendous unease. "Ah, Sheriff Cherry. What an... unexpected time for a visit."

"Okay," said Schim flatly from behind Cherry. "There's somethin' going on here."

Cherry chuckled. "Yeah, sorry to intrude, ladies. I didn't much want to come this way but you know how it is. I was seein' if Herman's at home."

The women exchanged glances. Martine said, "No, he's...out."

"Where is he?" asked Schim, mostly at Cherry as a means to goad the man to ask with his authority.

Cherry set his lips in a frown. "That's a shame." Looking from Rosa to the Martine, he narrowed his eyes. "He ain't skipped town or anythin' like that, I hope. Guilty conscience about somethin', maybe?"

The women each raised their hands to wave off the suspicion, speaking emphatically at the same time with the shared claim that Herman Tate was very much still in town and merely out.

"In that case," said Cherry, scratching his chin, "Might I be able to speak with Miss Lacey?"

Again, the women exchanged glances.

"What are you doin'?" Schim said in a hushed tone, cupping his mouth and leaning towards Cherry. "I told you, Lacey Tate is-"

"Miss Lacey is havin' a rest," insisted Rosa. "She's not feelin' well."

"Woman problems," cut in Martine.

Rosa nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes! Not the sort of thing she would want you, Sheriff, involved in."

The sheriff gestured towards the stairwell. "She upstairs? I won't be long. I got a quick question."

"It's best to let her rest," argued Martine weakly as he moved forward.

"I ain't bothered by 'woman problems," said Cherry. "I mean, it ain't like you said dysentery."

Rosa looked at Martine. Martine looked at Rosa and then to Cherry. "You know, funny you should mention that..."

"Oh, no way." Schim expressed his disbelief from the doorway. "There's no way. What the hell?"

"It's just awful, Sheriff Cherry," said Rosa, covering her mouth with her hands and turning away. "I think Miss Lacey would die if you were to come upon her in her current state."

"I'd stay down here," added Martine. She wave her hand before her in a fanning motion. "The stench up there is nothin' Miss Lacey would want you to know anythin' about. It's awful, just awful."

Cherry spun on his heels. "Yeah, I don't think I need to bother her none in that case."

"This is absurd," sputtered Schim, slinking towards the sheriff and bridging the space between him and servants. "Lacey Tate isn't here! She's dead!"

"Maybe I'll stop by later," suggested Cherry as the women carried on their unspoken ocular communication. Schim glared daggers, incised to be undermined by Cherry's command. The Sheriff countinued, "You think Herman will be back before sundown?"

"Mr. Herman said he might spend the night out," said Rosa, looking a bit too outwardly thoughtful.

"Yes," said Martine. "On account of Miss Lacey's condition, he's been sleepin' away from the house."

"In that case," said the lawman, tipping his hat to the women. "I'll be back another time. Tell Miss Lacey I hope she feels better soon."

As Cherry excused himself from the house, Schim followed along in silent ire. He kept his cool until they came to the hitching stump, at which he exploded, "What the hell was that?!"

"Yeah, I know," lamented the sheriff with overdone theatrics. "I really thought with both Tates gone, their goods would be up for grabs. Didn't reckon on the staff stickin' around." He chewed on his lip before shrugging. "Well, sometime or another, we'll see if there's anythin' to gain."

"You know they're all lyin'!" Schim exclaimed, stamping his foot. "Why don't you call 'em on it?!"

"Because that seems like a lot of work," said Cherry bluntly.

"You're the sheriff!" Schim pointed back at the house. "You need to go back there and arrest them for divertin' justice!"

"Or," suggested Cherry, hopping onto Goldie. "I wait 'til folks start talkin' 'bout this murder and force my hand."

"What?"

"The way I figure it," said Cherry, "There's no sense making this into a thing until we know for sure there's a murder on our hands. You said folks were goin' be talkin'. When they start talkin', I'll start workin' on it."

"Sheriff," gaped Schim. "I saw Miss Lacey's body. I promise you there's been a murder and a brutal one at that."

"Well," said Cherry. "I ain't seen it. Far as I've been told by others, she's taken ill and Herman's off givin' her space to recover. That seems good enough to me..."

"You can't be serious."

"...so, best I figure, I'll wait until someone says somethin' more. No reason to give the impression I think anything else."

Schim pinched the bridge of his nose. Sheriff Cherry was the most stubborn, questionably moral person he'd ever met. Why had he ever agreed to play deputy? "That's it? That's how you're gonna leave it?"

Cherry considered. "Yessir, I think I am." And he let it be for a week or so.