pulled to a stop in the alleyway. Trace swung down and fell in behind the two men hired by the undertaker to help remove the bodies. Reaching into the wagon, they grabbed the rope handles and pulled the pine box to them. Another set of boots came into view beside the wagon. He looked up to find the sheriff positioned at the other corner.
“This way, gentlemen.” Mr. Malone pushed the double doors wide so they could maneuver through. Working together, the four men carried the two caskets into the workroom one by one and placed them on the pine tables provided. Trace stared at the closed lids and paid his respects before stepping back.
Leaving the undertaker to do his work under the sheriff’s supervision, Trace headed for the open doors of the workroom, where the two workers stood, hats in hand. “Thank you, thank you both,” he murmured and shook both men’s hands. “Miss Thornton requested you be paid for your services.” He pressed a ten-dollar gold piece into each palm. “I would also like to remind you to keep what you saw to yourself.”
“Yes, sir, Marshal,” they both agreed.
“Thank you,” he replied again and watched the men walk off.
Just then Doc Martin came hurrying over to find Rand. They talked quietly for a moment before the doctor moved toward the boxes and Rand stepped away to await his findings. Holding his hat between his hands, Trace walked back to where the sheriff stood.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice. A nice thing to do,” Rand said.
Trace looked off out the doorway and pretended to be watching the street. “The least I could do.”
“Of course,” Rand replied. “The least you could do. I dare say you won’t even bother to tell her.”
Trace let the jab pass. They stood passively and waited until Mr. Malone looked over to them.
“Do you need to see the bodies any more, or can we close them up?”
Rand looked at Trace. He shook his head. In truth, he’d seen enough. Yesterday, when he found them, and then today when removing them from their temporary resting place to bring them back here. No, he wanted no further reminders.
“If the doc’s through, close them up.”
Behind him, he could hear the three men talking. He stared into the distance, thinking of Mary Rose, how she’d looked when he passed by. The agonized expression scrawled across her face. How could he find the words to question her about Daniel’s death?
The coarse words spilling from Rand’s mouth drew him back to the present. The sheriff stepped beside him and paused, his lips thin, his face a bit green. Even the strongest lawman felt his gut twist when he viewed a man who’d been so viciously mutilated. Trace understood and waited.
“I need a drink.”
With the sheriff in the lead, Trace fell into step behind him. Neither spoke as they moved to the porch surrounding the Tomahawk and pushed their way through the swinging doors. Inside, away from the sun, the shadows lay long and cool. Rand moved to the bar and motioned for the barkeep. “Two shots.”
Trace eased beside his friend and hooked the right heel of his boot against the brass rail. The whiskey gurgled from the bottle, and Rand shoved a shot glass with a neat two fingers’ worth towards him.
“To Daniel Thornton,” he mumbled and lifted his glass.
Following the sheriff’s lead, Trace did the same, repeating the words as their glasses clinked. Rand tossed back the drink and slammed the glass down on the bar, his eyes watering as he swallowed.
“I suppose I could blame it on the heat,” he gasped as he poured himself another shot. “I didn’t expect them to be so bad.”
Trace took a sip of his own drink. “We haven’t had a lot of time to discuss their condition.” He ran his tongue along his lips, tasting the rich woody flavor of the whiskey. “I told the undertaker to nail those lids closed.”
Rand stared at his drink. “Probably for the best.”
“I thought so,” he agreed and brushed the thoughts of Mary Rose’s objections from his mind.
The sheriff whirled, his face as fierce as anytime Trace had known him. “I want you to promise me you’ll never let her come near that undertaker. I want those bodies in the ground so fast she won’t have time to demand to see ’em.”
Finishing off his drink, Trace caught the tense expression in the mirror behind the bar, and his voice hardened. “You have my word. She will never see those