that goes out to the ranch, so he’s sending a man to track down Mr. Hobson. He said it’s a far piece out there, so it will take a while before we hear back.”
Thatcher nodded.
“In the meantime, Fred Barker backed up what you’d told us. So did several men at the boardinghouse. One had noted that you left the porch and went inside at around nine-thirty. He remembered because he used the bathroom right after you and saw you go into your room. No one saw or heard you sneaking out after that.”
Thatcher shifted his feet. “So I can go.”
“Well,” the sheriff sighed, “seeing as we—”
Suddenly the door flew open and Laurel Plummer burst in, clutching a baby to her chest. Wild-eyed, she scanned the room, drawing up short when she saw Thatcher. “You?”
The old man who followed her inside looked Thatcher over, noticed the handcuffs, and harrumphed, “Didn’t I tell you he was up to no good?”
Twelve
Considering the short amount of time that Thatcher had planned to be in Foley, he had doubted he would ever see Laurel Plummer again. He certainly never would have predicted their next encounter would be under these circumstances, him in handcuffs, her looking like a woman on the verge of hysteria.
The dress she had on was only a little better than the one she’d been wearing yesterday morning. One of her shoelaces had come untied. Her hat looked as though it might have been an afterthought, put on to conceal how untidy and insecure the bun on her nape was.
The baby was alternately crying and making strangling sounds.
Thatcher guessed the old man who’d followed her in was her father-in-law. Yesterday, all Thatcher had seen of him was his shotgun. He didn’t have it with him today, but he was squinting at Thatcher with malevolence. He asked the room at large, “Wha’d y’all get him for?”
The sheriff blinked with surprise. “You know Mr. Hutton?”
“Seen him.”
“Where?”
“He came up to our place yesterday morning. He—”
Laurel said, “Never mind that,” and rushed across the room to Dr. Driscoll. “Thank God you’re here.”
The Plummers’ sudden and disruptive entrance had roused the doctor from his stupor. He stood up unsteadily. “Mrs.…?”
“Plummer. My baby, Pearl. Remember? You treated her for croup a week and a half ago. I gave her the cough syrup, but it hasn’t helped. She’s worse. You’ve got to help her.”
He seemed at a loss. “I—”
“We went to your house,” she went on. “No one answered the door. An old lady who lives across the street saw us and came over. She told us that your wife disappeared last night. I’m sure she got that wrong, but she said that you would probably be here. You’ve got to examine Pearl.” She’d spoken so rapidly and breathlessly, she had to pause and inhale deeply before adding, “Please.”
The doctor didn’t react, only looked at her blankly, as though he hadn’t sensed her anxiety or understood a word she’d said.
The mayor interceded. “Mrs. Plummer, was it? I’m Mayor Croft. Dr. Driscoll is indisposed. He’s not seeing patients this morning. I could recommend several fine physicians who—”
“I tried that,” Irv said, interrupting. “She was bent on finding Doc Driscoll on account of he’d treated Pearl before. There was no sayin’ no to her. The baby’s in a bad way.”
“She can hardly draw breath.” Laurel looked pleadingly at the doctor, but, as before, he seemed to be in a trance. With a soft cry of desperation, she turned away from him and took in the scene as though just now grasping the significance of the situation she’d barged in on.
“His wife really has disappeared?” She addressed the question to Sheriff Amos.
“Last night. A search is underway, but currently Mrs. Driscoll’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“The neighbor lady said she’d been abducted.”
The mayor loudly cleared his throat. “We’re trying to ascertain that. From Mr. Hutton.”
When Laurel’s gaze moved to Thatcher, embarrassment bloomed hotly inside his chest. She focused on the handcuffs, then looked up into his eyes with misgiving. “I thought surely the old lady was senile, talking nonsense.”
Thatcher said quietly, “You told me where to look for the advertisement. I went to the address on the card.”
“It was Dr. Driscoll’s house?”
“I was seen talking to Mrs. Driscoll.”
Laurel’s father-in-law made a grunting sound, as though this news was confirmation of the low opinion of Thatcher that he’d already formed.
The sheriff said, “Mrs. Plummer?” She shifted her attention away from Thatcher and back to Bill Amos. “We met on the occasion of your husband’s demise. It