Free The Lady Doctor's Alibi by J. Roberts

her.
    “Will I be able to work for you?”
    “I—I don’t know,” Lissa said. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you much.”
    “That does not matter,” the girl said. “At least . . . I wouldn’t have to be . . . be home.”
    “I’m sure your husband wants you home, Marietta,” Clint said.
    “He is not my husband,” she said. “He was married to my mother.”
    “I see,” Clint said.
    “I do not want to go back there,” she said. “He is . . . cruel.”
    “Cruel,” Clint said, looking at Lissa. “Seems to be a lot of that going around.”
    Lissa went to Marietta and put her arms around the girl’s shoulders.
    “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll need you here for a while. You can stay here.”
    “But what will happen after she closes this place?” Marietta asked.
    “I don’t know,” Lissa said. “Why don’t we just take care of things here and we’ll deal with it later.”
    “Doctor?” Clint cut in. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
    “Of course.” Lissa patted Marietta’s shoulder. “Take care of the patients. I’ll be right back.”
    “Yes, Doctor.”
    They went back into the office.
    “Do you have a gun?” he asked.
    “I—I don’t, but the doctor may have had one around here someplace.”
    “Let’s take a look.”
    It didn’t take long for them to determine that there was no gun on the premises—or so they thought.
    “Señor Adams?”
    They turned and saw Marietta standing in the doorway.
    “Yes?” Clint said. “What is it, Marietta?”
    “I have this,” she said, and brought a Navy Colt out from beneath her skirts.
    “Jesus,” Clint said, “that might blow up in your hand.”
    He went to her and took the gun.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “I took it from . . . from home.”
    He checked it over, found that it was in good working order.
    “Will it work?” Lissa asked.
    “Oh yeah, it’ll work fine.” He turned to Lissa. “Can you shoot?”
    “I—I never have,” she said.
    Clint looked at Marietta.
    “I can shoot, señor,” she said.
    “Then I guess you better hold on to this.”
    He handed her the gun back. She took it into the other room with her.
    “Why do we need a gun?” Lissa asked Clint.
    “I think the doctor’s wife had him killed,” Clint said. “And I wouldn’t put it past her to try to kill you, too.”
    “Oh, my . . .”
    “Lissa, you could leave here if you wanted to,” he said. “Nobody would blame you.”
    “I can’t do that, Clint,” she said. “Who would take care of these people?”
    “All right, then,” he said. “There’s a man, a big, dark-haired man named Rufus. I think he and Mrs. Graham killed the doc. So if he comes walking through this door, you shoot him—or have Marietta shoot him. Understand?”
    “I understand.”
    He gave her a better, more accurate description of Rufus Holmes.
    “Got it?” he asked.
    “I’ve got it,” she said. “I only hope Marietta can shoot.”
    “I’ll bring another gun back with me later,” he said. “And I’ll show you how to use it.”
    “All right,” she said. “All right, that would be . . . better.”

TWENTY-THREE
    Clint went back to his hotel to retrieve his little Colt New Line. The .32-caliber revolver would be easier for Lissa Sugarman or Marietta to handle than that big Navy Colt. He tucked the gun into his belt, at the small of his back.
    He returned to the lobby and was about to leave when Sheriff Brown came walking in.
    “Just the man I’ve been lookin’ for,” Brown said.
    “Likewise, Sheriff.”
    “Yeah, Boone told me you were tryin’ to find me,” Brown said. “I had some trouble in one of the saloons I had to take care of.”
    “Boone tell you why I wanted you?”
    “He did,” Brown said. “I’m not sure I agree with you, Adams, but it’s somethin’ to look into. I figure to go and talk to Mrs. Graham, and to Rufus Holmes.”
    “You know Holmes?”
    “I’ve had him in my cells a time or two, but never for anythin’ big I