Free Under a Texas Star by Alison Bruce

young men sat on the porch, drinking beer or coffee and sharing a large plate of sandwiches.
    Marly estimated their ages to range between fifteen and twenty-one, the latter being her own age. Hank seemed to be the oldest. He made brief introductions and then stepped inside to fetch the coffee.
    Like everyone else in town, the murder was foremost on their minds. All it took was a few well-placed, casual questions to start them talking. The random violence theory held no water with these boys. They were sure that this was murder with a motive.
    "Egan's not a suspect because he'd kill a man face-to-face," Hank said, returning with two mugs of coffee.
    "That don't mean it ain't one of his men," the youngest boy said. "Too many people hated Strothers, that's the problem."
    Hank shrugged. "Duke sure did."
    "With reason. That sonuvabitch had a grudge against Duke and The Haven. Step one toe outta line on this side of the road and you earned yourself a night in the cells. Bet no one at The Oasis ever saw a night behind bars."
    "Quieter place."
    "Just noise," said an attractive blond boy. "No one ever caused any trouble that Duke couldn't sort out."
    "True enough," Hank said.
    Most of the young men present had spent a night in jail just for showing what they described as 'a little high spirits.'
    Was that enough to kill a man over?
    "Some men don't need much excuse," Hank said.
    But they couldn't imagine Duke being that kind of man.
    "I bet Strothers was being paid to keep his nose out of The Oasis," the blond suggested.
    "I don't know, Jed."
    "Maybe he wanted more money," the younger boy said. "Maybe Jezebel had him killed because he was getting greedy."
    "And maybe you better catch up with your uncle, Lloyd Penrod," Hank said. He handed the empty sandwich plate to Jed. "And you better see if Duke has any more work today."
    This was Marly's cue to find Jase.
    "Thanks for the coffee," she said with a nod to the boys.
    "You know," Hank said as they headed back through the stable, "these boys ain't gonna be too pleased when they find out you're with the Ranger."
    "I don't suppose so. Thanks for not saying anything."
    Hank shrugged. "Your business, not mine. Just don't take their rambling too seriously."
    Marly returned the shrug. "Ranger's business, not mine. I just like to hear people talk."
     
    Jase pulled out his watch and checked the time. The latest of his many visitors were tw o men claiming to be Strothers' deputies―a middle-aged man and his nephew. Neither inspired him to revise his opinion of Strothers' intelligence. He suspected that Strothers had chosen them for their compliancy, not brains.
    "Thank you, gentlemen," he said, cutting into the older man's diatribe against anyone who didn't welcome the law into Fortuna.
    Since neither had taken the initiative to keep the office open, nor had they looked into the murder of their employer, it was hard to take either of them seriously.
    "If I ever need your particular talents, I'll keep you in mind."
    Reluctantly, the pair was ushered out the door.
    Unfortunately, they weren't the last of Fortuna's citizens looking for an excuse to check out the interim marshal. Since no one wanted to c ommit to being friendly, his visitors had to find excuses to come to the office. Most were pretty flimsy. In an effort to maintain goodwill, he tried to deal with them all. After an hour of being interrogated―not too subtly most of the time―he was sick of it.
    Out of this group, a well-dressed man stepped to the fore. He removed his shallow crowned hat with a sweeping gesture and offered an immaculately clean and manicured hand.
    "Marshal Strachan, allow me to introduce myself. Chet Winters, banker. I have some urgent business to discuss, if you can spare the time."
    Jase took the outstretched hand and was surprised by the man's firm grip. Winters dressed like a dandy, but he pressed flesh like a working man. Jase ushered the man into his office and closed the door, assuming the banker would