Page 37 of Love’s Silver Bullet

“Not r-really because it all happened so fast,” she said with a heave, fingers shaking as she swiped at her eyes. “He almost knocked me down running from the parlour out the front door, so I only s-saw the back of him.”

“Tell me exactly what happened, then, ma’am.”

Blowing her nose, she sagged back in the chair with a quiver. “I … l-locked the door as usual and turned out the l-lights, then went upstairs to help Sister Marguerite and Sister Berta read to the children. But then I heard something … almost like a crash downstairs. So, I went to check, and that’s when I screamed because a man bolted from my office and out the door like a blur, almost knocking me over. I hurried to lock it, of course, but not before I saw him jump on a horse and ride away.”

She peered up with red-rimmed eyes potent with fear. “It was d-dark, Jake, so I d-didn’t really see him, but he appeared to be a big man—tall with heavy girth. And when I rushed into my office to make sure everything was okay, I … I …” Tears pooled as her chin began to quiver.

Jake gently rubbed her arm. “Go on, Miss Cramer. That’s when you what?”

She nodded to a lower desk drawer with a lock that had been shimmied open, wood splintered at the top. “That’s when I saw that the desk drawer in which I lock the orphanage funds was … was … b-broken into, and the money was g-gone ....”

Her words trailed into a forlorn wail, and gathering her in his arms, Jake rubbed her back. “It’s all right, Miss Cramer. We’ll find him,” he whispered, “but first I need some information.”

She nodded against his chest and attempted to compose herself as she sat up straight.

“Did you see what he was wearing?”

“Like I said, it was dark and it happened so fast, but it appeared to be a light suitcoat—gray, maybe?—that came to his mid-thigh or so because I saw it flap open when he jumped on his horse.”

“Hat?”

Her head bobbed. “Yes, it appeared to be a common black derby, but I remember his hair was longer—just over his collar.”

“And his horse? Quarter horse? Morgan? Appaloosa? Paint?”

She squinted in thought. “Well, I don’t know much about breeds, Jake, but I do remember it was mostly white with what looked like two large markings of tan on the rear, one on either side of the tail, I think. And a mane that was white with black streaks.”

Jake nodded. “Mustang. What direction did he go?”

“Toward town, I believe.”

“Good. How much money did he take?”

More tears welled. “Fifty dollars—an entire month’s allowance.”

“In what denominations?”

Her chin trembled. “It was two twenty-dollar bills and one ten-dollar bill in an envelope marked with my name.”

“Do you have any idea how he got in?”

She motioned toward a front window that had been busted in. “It seems he broke in through the window.”

Jake expelled a heavy sigh as he glanced at the broken glass. “Mr. Murphy will have to replace that in the morning,” he said, referring to the handyman that worked for the orphanage, “but for now, I’ll move your bureau against the window.” He shot a glance into the hallway. “Sister Marguerite and Sister Berta are with the children?”

“Yes. The children were frightened when they heard my scream, so I didn’t want the sisters to leave them.”

Rising, he strode toward the bureau against the wall and shoved it against the window, grunting with every heave. “Lock the door behind me and the back one as well. I’ll return as soon as I can to check on you before I head back to the ranch.”

“What are you going to do, Jake?” She followed him to the front door, arms clutched to her waist.

He expelled another weary sigh, wishing Marshal Tanner wasn’t out on a posse. Deputy Wilcox was practically a kid without much clout and a poor aim to boot. “I plan to pay a visit to Deputy Wilcox, then a visit to the Bucket of Blood Saloon because I have a suspicion that’s where our thief just might be.” He opened the door and turned. “Just one last thing, Miss Cramer. Did you happen to notice any particular smell about the thief?”

She blinked several times, as if she couldn’t believe she’d failed to mention it. “Oh my goodness, yes! He smelled like …”—she peered up with a scrunch of her nose—“like licorice.”

“Sen-Sen,” he said with a wry twist of lips, pretty darn sure Slick Sikeston—a notorious gunslinger and gambler—was their man. “Only a few men I know that chew it instead of tobacco. Lock the door and go to bed, Miss Cramer, and I’ll check on the orphanage before I head home.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring grip. “We’ll get your money back, ma’am.”

“Oh, Jake, you’re a godsend!” Miss Cramer whispered, moisture gathering in her lashes once again. “And I can’t thank you enough.”