Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“Did Miss Wise describe this stranger? Was he young, old, what?”

“Young. No more’n thirty, she said. Tall, on the slender side, dressed in a dark suit. He had dark hair. He was wearing a fedora, but he took it off while talking to Mrs. Driscoll. He was carrying a bag that looked heavy.”

“Salesman’s wares?”

“Miss Wise didn’t think so. She said it looked like the kind of bag a soldier would have.”

“Soldier?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Yeah, but she’s more than half batty,” Bill muttered. “Anything else?”

“She said he was cocky.”

“How’d she get that? Did she talk to him?”

“No, but he tipped his hat to her.”

Bill hooked his thumb in his gun belt. “Maybe he was just being polite.”

“She was watching from behind the curtain in her side parlor.”

“Out of sight?”

“She thought so, but apparently not.”

So, aware of being watched by a nosy neighbor, the young man had mockingly tipped his hat, making himself certain to be remembered. If he’d brought harm to Mrs. Driscoll, he was either incredibly stupid, or he was cocky just like the old maid had said. Bill had rather him be stupid. Someone that cocky usually didn’t give a damn, and that was dangerous.

“You boys have scouted the neighborhood?” he asked his men at large.

Scotty answered for the group. “Questioned all the nearby neighbors, searched every outbuilding for blocks around. Mrs. Driscoll was well known. If anybody had seen her, it would’ve been noted.”

“Nobody heard anything suspicious? Shouting? Barking dogs, nothing like that?”

“Nothin’ out of the ordinary, no, sir.”

“What about Mrs. Driscoll’s friends? Have you checked with them?”

“The doc knew of only two people she might visit. One’s the preacher of the Lutheran church. He hasn’t seen her since last Sunday’s service.”

The other was the local librarian, who’d told the deputy she hadn’t seen Mila Driscoll in a while, but had reassured him that none of the books she’d checked out were overdue.

“What about her family?” Bill asked.

“None closer than down around New Braunfels. Stands to reason.”

Stood to reason because it was a predominantly German town. “Have you checked with them?”

“Her parents are deceased. Doc said her uncle is the designated head of the family. We’re waiting on a long distance call to go through.”

Bill nodded absently and turned back to the doctor, who was still holding his head between his hands and moaning disconsolately. “Gabe.” He waited until the distraught man looked up at him. “Do you have any idea who this man was?”

“No.”

“Based on the description of him—”

“It could fit a dozen men, Bill. A hundred.”

He was right, so Bill didn’t press him. “Mrs. Driscoll didn’t mention having a visitor today?”

“He came asking about lodging. We used to rent out a room.”

“Did she appear afraid, apprehensive, upset?”

Even before he finished the question, the doctor was saying, “No, no. She was her usual self. Maybe a little more subdued than usual, but I think she was sensitive to my mood.”

“You were in a mood?”

“Distracted. I ran a rural route today. One of my patients had gone into labor. The baby was breech. Her sister was with her. She told me she’d assisted in breech births before, that she could handle it. I had several other people to see, so I left them.

“But I was worried about the danger to both the mother and child that a difficult delivery like that could be. It wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with Mila, not with her being in her condition. As it is, she’s nervous, this being her first.”

“When’s the baby due?”

“Two more months.”

Bill took a deep breath. “So she read your mood and was a bit subdued. Anything else out of the ordinary?”

“No. We had supper. I went into my office and did some paperwork. She was crocheting.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Around ten o’clock. We were getting ready for bed. I got an emergency call.”

“The breech birth?”

“No.” He cast a nervous look around the room. “Lefty’s. One of the, uh, waitresses got worked over by a customer.”

Bill took a visual survey of his deputies, who gave him various versions of a shrug. One said, “First we’ve heard of it.”

“Gert wanted it kept quiet,” Gabe said.

Lefty’s was a roadhouse that had the best burgers within fifty miles. Also the best whores. Sheriff Amos couldn’t vouch for that personally, but that was the general consensus known by everybody.

Lefty flipped burgers while his wife, Gert, oversaw the more lucrative side of the business. A ruckus of one sort or another was frequently incited by one of the “waitresses.” Inevitably those incidents resulted in somebody bleeding.

Bill reasoned that Gert wanted this incident kept quiet so not to draw the law’s attention to the place. Bill was well aware of the copious amount of bootleg liquor now being served in Lefty’s back room. He would need to get out there and deal with that, but it took a back burner to Mrs. Driscoll’s disappearance.