"Sheeeeeriff!"

It had been eight days since Cherry had paid a visit to the Tate place. In a strange twist of fate (a cruel one, if you were to ask him), he was posted in his office, pouring over documentation related to his duties. Stacks of papers signified months of unadressed casework. The mayor had given him an earful. Schim had given him an earful too, but Schim was always on his back. At the sound of his title, Cherry lifted his head and glanced to Schim.

"That sounds like Lindsey Pieth."

"It does," conceded the deputy from the corner stool.

No sooner had Schim spoken than the door was flung open. Lindsey Pieth, bookish looking and of well-connected stock, was dressed from head to toe in a shade of navy blue. His usual bright corduroy pants had been replaced with jeans and his collared shirt draped in an equally blue vest. He threw himself on the floor before Cherry's desk and howled uncontrollably.

Cherry took one look and returned to his overdue paperwork, unmoved.

Pieth continued his outburst for two minutes before he decided it had no affect on the lawman. With a loud sniff, he rose and repositioned himself before Cherry's desk. Slamming a palm on top of Cherry's form, he cried, "Oh, Sheriff! I need your help."

"Yeah?" Cherry shoved the tip of his pen into the back of the interfering hand. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood but it quite literally got the point across. Pieth shrieked in pain and withdrew the offending appendage.

"Sheriff!"

"That's me."

Rather than pursue the pricking, Pieth returned to his original purpose. "I'm terribly worried, Sheriff Cherry. I feel I'm being led on."

Cherry stared at the young man. "I don't see what you expect me to do."

Pieth hooked his thumbs in the arm holes of his vest and rocked on his feet. "It's a crime to steal, isn't it?"

"Ostensibly." Cherry ignored Schim's gaze as it bore into him. "Someone steal somethin' from you?"

"My heart," said Pieth before breaking into sobs. Cherry rolled his eyes and went back to his scribbling. Lindsey stuck his chin out and drew to his full height. "You know, most folks, when faced with a broken man, would want to know more."

"Yeah, but the difference between me and most folks is that I don't care," said Cherry matter-of-fact.

"Lacey Tate has stolen my heart and a family heirloom. I hope I can count on you to enforce one of those," huffed Pieth.

Schim raised an eyebrow. "Lacey Tate, you say?"

"She's been scarce these days," tactfully said Cherry. "Last I heard, she had a bad case of the runs."

The color drained from Pieth's face. "What a crude and awful thing to say about a lady!"

"You think?" said Cherry. "I could be more descriptive. Much more."

"No!" The young man covered his ears with his hands. "Enough! I didn't come here to listen to you talk...talk...talk filth about the woman I love!"

Once again, Cherry tried to resume his paperwork. "No, you came to report her as a criminal."

"It's a misunderstandin'," insisted Pieth, pushing his spectacles into their proper position. "I cannot believe my fiancée would treat me in such a manner."

"Fiancée?" tittered Schim, covering his mouth to stifle the laugh. That was something to picture. "Does she know?"

Cherry said nothing. He gave Pieth a look.

"W-well," admitted Pieth. "I gave her a ring. I asked her to marry me."

The sheriff gesticulated in the air. "That the heirloom you mentioned?"

Pieth nodded. "Yes. My grandmother brought it over from Switzerland. I thought if Lacey knew how crazy I am about her, surely she'd recognize our destiny together."

"Naturally, she did not," said Cherry.

Pieth frowned. "She tried to give it back. Like, immediately, which I don't think is fair to me in any way, shape, or form. I told her to keep it, try wearin' it for a couple weeks, and then see how she liked it. See if after that she didn't like how it felt to be Mrs. Lindsey Pieth."

"It sounds to me that Lacey Tate got herself some fancy new jewelry," said Cherry. He leaned back, twirling his pen in between his fingers. "It nice? Real stones and the like?"

Pieth responded hesitantly. "...yes, the stones were real. Rubies. Eight of them."

"Eight rubies?" Cherry's eyes went wide. Schim scowled.

Pieth took no notice of the outburst. "But, you see, Sheriff, if she isn't going to marry me, I want the ring back. It's mine by rights."

"You gave it to her," said Cherry.

"I expected her hand or the ring," said Pieth, continuing as though he hadn't heard. "I went to visit her at home first thing today. I was told I could not see her on account of her tuberculosis."

Cherry clicked his tongue. "How sad."

"Well! That maid of hers! When I explained the nature of my visit, she laughed in my face and informed me that Lacey has no intention of marryin' me. I said I'd take what was mine and be on my way. Do you know what that maid of hers said?"

"That you forfeited ownership of that ring as soon as you handed it over?"

"Yes!" Pieth put a hand to his head. "Can you believe her? The nerve! It's ridiculous and I don't believe it! What woman would choose to spend her days surrounded by sheep over being married to me?"

"Thank you, Lindsey," dismissed Cherry. He doodled a goofy-looking sheep on the edge of a deposition related to an axe murder from the last spring. "Have a good day."

Pieth did not move. He folded his arms. "Do you know why I'm dressed like this, Sheriff?"

"I don't and I didn't ask."

"I'm in mournin'."

Cherry snorted. "You wear black for mournin'."

Pieth echoed the snort with his own. "For mournin' the dead. Lacey ain't dead, Sheriff-- only her love for me."

"Actually," said Schim holding up a finger. He left it at that.

"I want my ring back," stated Pieth firmly.

Cherry folded his hands in front of him. "More than you want Miss Tate's hand?"

Pieth lowered his head. "Well... no. The latter is preferable."

"Then stop actin' like a child and let the lady suffer her consumption in peace." Shaking his head, Cherry added, "You keep comin' at her while she's hackin' up blood and I don't blame her for showin' you out."

"But I never got to speak with her," said Pieth.

"Look," said Cherry. "If you get out of here now, I'll go and have a word with the Tates. See what I can do for you."

Pieth's spirits brightened considerably. "Really? That's all I wanted, Sheriff. That's all I ever wanted. Will you go today? Soon?"

"Oh, yes," Cherry assured, putting pen to paper. "Just as soon as I finish this up."

"Thank you! I'll be at my grandfather's place if you want to find me!" Pieth didn't await a response. He turned and practically skipped out of the room. Cherry feigned concentration until he was convinced the man was gone. He turned to Schim.

"Jeff--"

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"...where is Lacey Tate's body?" replied the deputy dryly. "Probably in the exact same place it was last week."

Cherry stroked his chin. "You said you saw it? In a ditch or somethin'?"

"Yes." Then, knowingly, "You want the ring."

"I want the ring," Cherry confirmed.

"You didn't care one bit about her last week."

"Yeah," derided Cherry. "Because I didn't know about the ring."

Schim held up his hand and shook his head vigorously. "I'm not showin' you where she is. If you wouldn't do the proper, decent thing when I told you before--"

"Oh, come on, Jeff!" Cherry tossed his pen aside and rose from his seat. "What good would have come from gettin' her body and makin' a fuss about it? They've got a whole song and dance worked out at the house to explain away their missin' employers. Me showin' up with a body is just gonna lead to more headache than it's worth."

"Don't you wonder why they're going through that?" asked Schim. "Or where Herman is?"

"Not really."

"And you don't think, as sheriff, you should be lookin' into who murdered one of your townfolk?"

"Again," remarked Cherry. "Has anyone said she was murdered?"

"Nobody knows," said Schim. "If they did, they would very much say it!"

"Yeah, and then I'd have to hunt Herman down, which by now, he's probably made it to Canada."

Schim was devoid of pity. "This is why respectable lawmen do their investigations immediately followin' a crime."

"You listen to me," said Cherry. He did not get any further. They were interrupted by Zeke McReady, one of the workers from down at the railway. He burst in, out of breath and excited.

"Sheriff Cherry!" he gasped. "The two o'clock from El Paso was hit by bandits!"

A crowd had gathered at the station. It was a mix of the locals and the passengers. There was a din of voices. A dog barked and there was a child's bawling. Cherry cursed himself for being dragged along. While it was a means to escape Schim's haranguing, Cherry was convinced there was nothing he wanted to do for this situation. The murmurs died down as McReady jogged ahead

"I got the sheriff! I got the sheriff!"

"This is terrible," remarked the station master. Cherry took up post beside him,

"All right," he said, wiping his nose with his thumb. He addressed the crowd. "So, y'all got robbed?" Several people spoke at once. Cherry paid them no heed. "I see," he responded without listening, nodding as though he empathized. "Well, that's somethin'," and then, "No kiddin'?"

"What should we do about my wife's necklace?" moaned one man above the rest. "It's priceless!"

What is it with jewelry today? The sheriff mused.

"They were horrible," insisted a woman. "And they were shootin' off pistols!"

"I thought I was going to get shot!" commiserated a second woman.

"They hit the train far out?" inquired Cherry.

"Just beyond the ridge," said the station master. Cherry groaned loudly.

"Then that's my jurisdiction."

The station master side-eyed the sheriff. "I know. That's why I sent for you."

Cherry lifted his head and raised a hand. "Hey. Hey!" The rabble quieted. "Yeah, hey, don't suppose there's any bounty hunters or guns for hire among you folks?"

There was no response. A cough. Someone offered, "I sell premium quality boots, perfect for goin' after outlaws and--"

"Not good enough!" Cherry gritted his teeth and sighed. "I think I can offer a reward somewhere in the orders of... thirty dollars. That tempt any of you? Think of what thirty dollars buys. Anyone?"

There were no volunteers.

"Why don't you assemble a posse--" started the station master.

"Because I have better things to do," quipped Cherry.

"What exactly are you doin', Sheriff?" Here it went again.

"I don't have time to chase down every criminal that comes through Brody's Cross," said Cherry.

The station master pulled out his pocket watch. "There's hardly anyone else operating outside of the law, Sheriff. I don't think askin' you to help these folks is taxin' your time. It's not as if you have other crimes to look into."

Cherry ran a tongue over his teeth. "You're right about that."

"I want my wife's necklace back" the same man cried.

"Go get it yourself," said Cherry. There were a few loose sounds of offense. "It doesn't sound like anyone got shot so I figure y'all got out okay."

"That's not the point!" huffed a woman. "You're the sheriff!"

Another piped up, "Ridin' into Brody's Cross should be as safe as ridin' into anywhere else!"

"Fine," glared Cherry. "You know what? I'll 'look into it'." Shifting, he pointed a finger at the last woman to speak. "What did these fellers look like?"

"Oh, I didn't see them well--"

"That's a great help, ma'am."

"There were five of them!" called a man. "They wore kerchiefs over their mouths!"

"And since there's only one place to buy kerchiefs, I reckon I'll have them identified in no time," remarked Cherry. "Did they also ride horses?"

"They did!"

"Well, folks," dismissed Cherry. "I think that's more than enough to work with."

Disatisfied, the gathering thinned as Cherry made it clear he would do nothing more. Folks went about their business. Cherry intended to slink back to his office, or maybe Garrapy's, but found he was abruptly facing down a cherubian child with ringlets in her hair. She hugged a ragdoll close, whispering as if she had a secret. "Mr. Sheriff, I saw the bad men too."

"Did you." A statement, not a question.

"They smelled like wet dogs," elaborated the girl.

"Anything hairy and unwashed is gonna smell like that," said Cherry.

The girl hugged her doll tighter. "But one of them didn't have any hair."

"He can have hair in places other than his head," explained Cherry. "And when that hair isn't washed--"

"Dahlia! There you are." A prim looking woman with features similar to the child approached swiftly. She took the girl by her free hand. "Come now or we'll be late."

"His eyes were funny," said Dahlia. "One was blue and one was brown--"

"Come, Dahlia!" insisted her mother, giving her a tug. Without saying another word, the young girl allowed herself to be spirited away. She peered over her shoulder as she departed, perplexed by what she saw. The sheriff's face had lost its harshness and he seemed shaken, as if in a state of shock. No one else took notice, wrapped up in their own affairs and thoroughly done with the sheriff's antics. Dahlia didn't know the sheriff and she didn't think much of it. She returned her attention to the path ahead of her and began to sing a lullaby to her doll.