Thatcher shifted his stance and tilted his head to one side. “One thing that bothers me is for someone to beat around the bush.”
“All right.” Bill hiked up his gun belt and took a deep breath. “I officially called off the search for Mila Driscoll today. It’s been three weeks. Volunteers have petered out. I can’t spare the manpower to keep up the search.
“I informed Gabe in person. I promised to hop on any leads that turned up, but I’m not hopeful there’ll be any. The case remains open-ended.”
Thatcher was quick to catch on to the reason for this visit. “This leaves me the one and only suspect.”
The sheriff backed up to a butt-high boulder, propped himself against it, and folded his arms. “I don’t think you had anything to do with it, Thatcher. None at all. But people are funny.”
“It’ll be like a shadow of doubt following me around.”
“I hope not, but people—”
“Need somebody to blame.”
“It’s human nature.”
Thatcher knew Bill was right. An unsolved mystery was like a sore tooth. It couldn’t be
left alone. He was the logical solution to this mystery, and, no matter what he did, in the back of some folks’ minds, he would continue to be.
He supposed he could leave town as suddenly as he’d arrived, but that would look like running and only justify suspicion. And where would he go? He could probably be hired on at another ranch, but that would somehow seem disloyal to Mr. Hobson. City life held no allure for him.
Wildcatters were actively soliciting for roughnecks to work in the new oil patches, promising good pay. But he’d be living in a men-only camp and doing a dirty and dangerous job. If that lifestyle had held any appeal for him, he would have stayed in the army.
For the time being, staying in Foley was his best option. But he knew the prejudice he would come up against every day, and that rankled. “Damn. There’ll always be those who think I’m guilty, won’t there?”
“Until proven otherwise. What do you think happened to her?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Venture a guess.”
“What for?”
“Why not?”
Thatcher hesitated, then squatted down, picked up a rock, bounced it against his palm a few times before pitching it overhanded into the creek. The plop sounded loud in the still air.
He squinted up at the sheriff from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “My guess? I’d say the doc had her with him when he left the house that night.”
The sheriff assumed a contemplative expression. “She wasn’t with him at Lefty’s. Or with him when he made the stop to check on that breech delivery.”
“Breech delivery?”
“I haven’t mentioned that to you?” Bill explained Dr. Driscoll’s second stop that night. “All had gone well, but because of that additional delay he didn’t get back home until after one o’clock when he discovered that Mrs. Driscoll wasn’t in their bed where he’d left her.”
“Nobody can vouch for that.”
“Except for the old biddy across the street who put Mayor Croft on to you. She says she saw their bedroom light go off around nine-thirty. That’s consistent with what Gabe told me about their bedtime. The light came back on around ten, then went back off only a few minutes later. Eleanor Wise saw him collecting his medical bag from his office. That light went off. He backed his car out of the driveway a few minutes after that.”
“Is watching other people all that old lady does?”
“Apparently.”
Thatcher looked out across the creek to the opposite bank where a black-and-gray-striped cat was stalking something in the tall grass. “Did the old lady see the doctor walk from the house and get into his auto?”
“He keeps it parked around back.”