Free Weak Flesh by Jo Robertson Page B

hundred pounds each if they were an ounce, jittered restlessly on either side of Thompson as he sank onto the wooden chair in Gage's office, threatening to shatter it like Goldilocks on Baby Bear's seat.
    "I've come to help you out, Marshal," he said without preamble. "Sent down by Judge Carver up in New York."
    Ah, that explained it. Harold Carver had an older brother who was a judge of some notoriety and no little influence in upstate New York. "We're grateful for any help we can get," he said cautiously.
    "I'll set my dogs at the river after they've gotten a whiff of something belonging to the girl," Thompson explained. "You've heard of me and my dogs, of course."
    He paused, an expression of jovial modesty on his broad face. "We get good results. Wherever that gal's been, my bloods'll find her trail and lead you to her killer."
    Gage didn't expect much from Thompson or his bloodhounds since the river had long ago washed away any evidence, but he nodded judiciously. He wasn't so territorial that he'd refuse any assistance, however suspect.
    He'd known some Indian trackers during his military stint and the best ones were pretty damned accurate. With the body now found, he didn't see the point of Thompson's service, but he'd allow anything that might lead to answers about what really happened to Nell Carver.
    "Let's go then," Gage said. "The sooner you start the better."
    Thompson looked surprised. "You don't consider it interfering?"
    "Hell, no." Gage smiled gamely. "If you can help, that's not interference, now is it?"
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    Meghan couldn't wait to tell Gage about the dance card. Would he even know what a dance card was?
    Well, of course, he would. He'd been a cadet at West Point for three years. She'd heard of debutante balls and their smashing success if a cadre of cadets attended. Even at Watauga Academy where she'd studied to be a teacher and matriculated June before last, the girls knew of those stories.
    From the dry goods store where she'd picked up a few yards of muslin, she hurried along the boardwalk to the Station House. By the time she climbed the stairs to the second level where the police reception and jail were, she had to stop and catch her breath.
    Will Pruitt leaned against the counter, his back towards her. His attention was fully engaged on the conversation going on in Tucker Gage's office although he surely couldn't hear through the closed door.
    Will and Meghan were the same age, but the similarities between them stopped there. Will had tormented her mercilessly when they were in grammar school.
    She'd understood that was typical behavior for a second-grade male who had a crush on a girl. But she grew weary of it early on. Finally, in fourth grade before he'd gotten his height and she outweighed him a few pounds and towered over him an inch, she'd bloodied his nose so badly he'd never bothered her again.
    Now they were fast friends and though Will wasn't the brightest boy in the classroom, he was well suited to police work for he was industrious, conscientious, and dogged. She sneaked up behind him to give him a start, and when she poked a finger into his rib, he jumped and darted around as if stung by a bee.
    She laughed. "That maneuver still works on you, Will."
    "Dang it, Meg, quit that! You scared the tar out of me!" He glanced over his shoulder to meet the hard gray eyes of the Marshal through the glass window. "You're gonna get me in trouble," he warned.
    "Pooh! Sometimes Tucker Gage is too full of himself." She dismissed the complaint easily enough for she'd known Gage since she was an infant, even if he'd grown into a man and headed off to West Point when she was still a child.
    But he'd returned a cold, distant ex-soldier, she mused. Maybe she didn't know him at all.
    From the corner of her eye she saw Gage rise and usher his guest through the door. The other man was accompanied by two of the hugest dogs she'd ever seen. Gage wasn't inclined to make introductions,