“Do you think it’s a bad time?”
“I guess I’m not sure. He might not even be there, but if he was excused from the jail, I’m sure he went back to his building. He’ll tell us if we need to come back later.”
“Thank you.”
Jake’s fake sheriff’s costume was cleaned, pressed, and put away until the summer tourist season, but in deference to the poets and their garb, he’d been trying to follow the same request he’d made to the actors and police officers. He’d been wearing mostly Western shirts, cowboy boots, and jeans. But today he was completely civilian in jeans and a nice blue pinstriped button-up shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows. He wasn’t a big man, but he was surely one of the most handsome guys in town—maybe in the whole county. He’d been my best friend since high school, and I hoped we’d be friends forever. He sat on a stool behind the raised podium that was in the front room of his building. During the summer, he’d stand behind the podium as he recited his original Western-themed poem with his deep baritone voice. At the moment, he was somber and seemed to be concentrating on something on the podium.
“Betts,” he said as he raised his head. When he noticed it wasn’t just me, he stood and tried to erase the sadness from his demeanor. He stepped toward us.
“Hey, Jake, this is Esther . . .”
“Oh,” she said. “Reagal. It’s Reagal.”
“Esther Reagal. She’s in town with the poets, but is looking for some information regarding her great-great-grandfather.”
“Okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” Esther said to Jake. “The timing is awful and probably rude and wrong, but I don’t know what might happen now and I don’t want to leave town without trying.”
“I understand,” Jake said. “It’s fine. What was his name?”
“Astin Reagal.”
“Hmmm, there’s something familiar about that, but maybe it’s just because it’s such a great name.” Jake smiled a friendly smile.
Ester smiled, too, and her cheeks blushed lightly. I was caught off guard for a moment. Jake wasn’t much of a flirt, but that had definitely been flirting. Should I stay or should I go?
“He was a Pony Express rider,” I interjected. I looked at Esther. “He disappeared on the trail. His body wasn’t found, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’ve heard that story, of course.” Jake looked at Esther and then at me. “I’m sure I have some information, though I’m not sure how much.” He hesitated. I realized he was silently debating whether or not to share the location of his secret room with an outsider. Ultimately, he probably concluded that Esther was harmless enough, or maybe just cute enough to want to spend more time with. “I have an archive room in the back. Would the two of you like to join me?”
I didn’t really want to. I would have rather left to go about my own business, but I was suddenly under the impression that I was being asked for the purpose of either witnessing or chaperoning. Jake had done as much for me a time or two.
“Sure,” I said.
“That’d be great,” Esther said.
Jake led us through the door on the back wall. I’d become used to the transformation from the front office to the back room. The front room was decorated with remnants from an Old West sheriff’s office, but the spacious back archive room had tall, packed shelves, a large worktable, and the old saloon chandelier that had been wired for our century. I was one of the lucky few who got to frequent the room. Jake didn’t like to share his archive space with lots of people.