toddler. They disappeared a few days before Alex did. I reported it.”
“Perhaps they moved away?”
Rachel shook her head. “She’d spent the weeks before her disappearance helping me with my ministry, and she was committed to the cause. She wouldn’t have just left. Besides, none of their things are missing—nor did she say goodbye to anyone.”
“Just what is this ministry of yours?”
She hesitated. She’d hoped to avoid specifying, worried that Zane would lose interest in the disappearance if he discovered that it applied to the unfortunates that society usually considered beneath their notice.
“I minister to the soiled doves of Proud Bend, and attempt to bring them to God.”
He eyed her shrewdly. “And Rosa helped you in this ministry? Was she a soiled dove, as well?”
“She used to be,” Rachel admitted.
“Maybe she returned to her old habits?”
“No, she has given her life to God.” Rachel folded her arms. “Obviously you’re not a Christian, to be so willing to discount the work of the Holy Spirit.”
Zane raised his brows, looking insulted. “I assure you, Miss Smith, nothing could be further from the truth.”
Rachel studied him. Although she couldn’t say why, she believed his words. She had no proof, save the indignant look. She had no proof that Alex’s disappearance was related to Rosa’s, either, but like Zane’s answer, she knew it to be true.
His scowl returned. “So you reported her disappearance to Alex?”
“Yes, but as soon as he opened an investigation, he went missing, too.” Rachel bit her lip. Had Alex somehow given up on this town and abandoned his duties? Had the work here proved too much for Proud Bend’s new sheriff? Too much stress and anxiety?
Automatically, Rachel’s thoughts moved to her childhood friend, Bea. Hard times had hit Bea’s family and by the time Rachel and Bea were eighteen, Bea had turned to prostitution to help make ends meet. A year later, in a fit of remorse for her choices, Bea had taken her own life. That sad act had cemented Rachel’s desire to help the soiled doves of Proud Bend.
That same year, along came Liza, who’d approached Rachel one day on the street, asking for money and followed by a younger, equally squalid-looking woman. It was Rosa, Liza’s daughter—a young woman who knew nothing else but to follow her mother in the profession of prostitution.
Rachel shut her eyes, trying to banish the memory. It still hurt to think of Liza and the terrible part Rachel had played in her untimely death.
You should feel guilty.
Two women, two deaths. Another woman missing. You could have tried harder to help Bea. And Liza might still be alive today if you hadn’t convinced the other soiled doves to hand over their life savings for you to invest. You would never have been robbed and assaulted that night. And if that hadn’t happened, Liza wouldn’t have decided to confront the man she believed was the thief. Your arrogance—your belief that you could save those women—played a big part in Liza’s death.
Rachel pushed aside the painful memories before they gained a stronger foothold. Right now, she couldn’t afford to dwell on them. Finding Rosa and Alex must come before wallowing in guilt.
Had she done enough to help Alex with the investigation? Maybe if she’d spoken to him more, she would have known more about what he’d uncovered—and what had caused his own disappearance. But Rachel had deliberately kept all of her interactions with the sheriff as brief and discreet as possible, seeing him only in the early morning, when most of the women who worked in the cribs behind the saloon were sleeping. Rachel didn’t need to be known as someone who was close with the sheriff, considering the distrust and suspicion the soiled doves felt toward law enforcement. Prostitution wasn’t illegal, but those women were often arrested for vagrancy and theft, leading them to avoid the law as much as possible.
Rachel sighed. None of this answered why Proud Bend’s sheriff had written her name on a postcard from the neighboring town or even when he’d done so. Rachel stepped closer, indicating the postcard that Zane still held and determined to glean from it every ounce of information she could. “Are you sure it’s Alex’s handwriting?”
He tossed her a sharp look. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not.” She frowned at his defensive tone. “Are you absolutely certain that’s his handwriting?”
“We wrote—write—to each other regularly. When I received a telegram stating he was missing—”
“You received a telegram? When? From whom?”
Zane’s mouth thinned before he answered. “This past Sunday. I took that day’s train. In fact, I have only just arrived.”
“Who sent you that telegram?”
“Alex’s deputy,” Zane answered. “A man named Wilson. He informed me that Alex was missing and asked if I’d heard from him.”
Rachel swallowed. Instead of searching this room, the new deputy had contacted the brother who lived miles away? Why wasn’t the deputy doing more to search for answers here in Proud Bend? Instead, he’d sent a telegram and, as far as Rachel could tell, done little else.
Suspicion rose in her, but she crushed it. Not so long ago, the night her father had died, her father’s business partner, Clyde Abernathy, had tried to kill her and her mother in an attempt to gain control of the bank he shared with Rachel’s father. Now, Rachel felt mistrust at every turn.
No. Suspicion and doubt did not come from God, she told herself fiercely. Nor should she complain about Deputy Wilson’s choice at where he would start his investigation. She hadn’t considered this room either until late last night. Rachel wouldn’t condemn Deputy Wilson’s decisions, not when she was just as negligent, even if her own investigation could not be sanctioned by the law.
With deep concern, Rachel rubbed her arms to suppress a shiver. She couldn’t afford to give in to this worry.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Zane cut her off. “I would prefer to be the one who asks the questions,” he said. He glanced at the door. “How well do you know my brother?”
His words might have been suggestive, but Rachel heard nothing but concern in Zane’s tone. “That’s not important,” she answered. “How did you know where your brother lived? You said you came straight here from the train.”
“Alex had written me about his new home.” Zane narrowed his eyes. “Are you intimate enough with Alex that his landlady would let you in anytime you want?”
Now those words went beyond suggestive into insulting. Coloring, Rachel tugged on the pocket flaps of her outfit’s fine jacket. “Absolutely not!” It was only then that she noticed how Zane had left the door open. Although it was clear and bright this December morning, the cold draft barreling in had dissolved any heat created by the sunshine through the window. “I’m not intimate with Alex in any way, shape or form. Mrs. Shrankhof let me in because she is as concerned over his disappearance as I am and she trusts me.”
“How commendable
