Clara Belle PI

The stagecoach pulled up in a cloud of dust, the coachman reining in the steaming horses with an oath. He jumped down, spat, and opened the stagecoach door.

“Ma’am,” he said, his moustaches quivering appreciatively.

Clara Belle descended into the arid atmosphere of Gorey Creek, a dewy rose in a desert.

A lady of some twenty-five summers, her glossy chestnut hair was swept into a knot at the nape of her neck. She lifted her skirt slightly as she climbed down, to reveal starched petticoats and buttoned boots.

Clara waited as the driver swung down her trunk from the roof, her fine blue eyes surveying the town. .

Gorey Creek was an up-and-coming township in America’s mid-west. There were several dotted around the county, becoming prosperous by the region’s rich gold seams and enormous cattle ranches. Yes, Gorey Creek would suit her very well.

She left her trunk in situ, and crossed the road to a rowdy saloon bar. The noise was turned off, as if by a tap. Unperturbed, Clara walked to the bar.

“Good day. Can you tell me where Mr Walter Stoner lives, please?”

Cowboys, ranch-hands and saloon girls stared in astonishment, but it seemed the bartender was used to out-of-the-way questions.

“Edge of town,” he replied, laconically. He nodded the direction. “Name of Longhorn Ranch.”

“Thank you. May I rent a room here? My trunk is across the road.”

“Sure.” He brought out a register and key. “Name and address?”

“Miss Clara Belle, London, England.” There was a hum of excitement.

“Room 8. I’ll have your trunk brought up.”

Clara, smiling sweetly at a couple of cowboys who were regarding her with open mouths, ascended the stairs. She was followed by the bartender’s assistant carrying her trunk. After testing her bed, she set off to explore.

She located the Sheriff’s office. He was talking to his deputy, and both men jumped to their feet when they saw Clara.

She sized them up. The tall, good-looking one is the Sheriff. His deputy looks keen – might be after his job. She said,

“I am Clara Belle. I intend to set up business as a private investigator. I wanted to warn you – I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes!”

Both men looked like they would love to have their feet abused by Clara, but the Sheriff merely remarked,

“I’m Bill Ferron, Miss Belle, and this is my deputy, Dan Branner. There’s no call for a private detective here.”

“On the contrary, Sheriff. I’ve come to help my cousin. Walter Stoner, who’s having some trouble.”

“Say,” piped up the deputy. “I’ve heard about these PIs. Aren’t you like Sherlock Holmes of London?”

“Clever man, by all accounts,” said Bill.

Clara saw two pairs of wary eyes boring into her blue ones. She answered coolly.

“No, I model myself on Conan Doyle, who invented him. Now, there’s a clever man.”

“How can a lady in skirts chase criminals?” Dan scoffed.

“With her brain, of course, Deputy.”

 The Sheriff bowed slightly. “Allow me to show you around town, Miss Belle.”

“Clara, please. Thank you, Mr Ferron.”

“Bill.” He hid his embarrassment from his deputy. “Dan, finish that report.”

Dan moved quickly to open the door. There was a ping as something hit the floor. A glint of yellow rolled under the desk.

“You’ve dropped a bullet, Deputy,” said Clara.

Outside, Bill said,

“That’s the livery stable. You can hire a horse and carriage there.

“This here’s Jeb’s store. Sells provisions, household items, anything, I guess. Here’s the man himself.” A rotund man in a white apron was introduced.

“Hope the Sheriff will bring you to the dance tomorrow night.” He winked at Bill, who ignored him.

“Here’s the saloon. You don’t want to be going there, a lady like you.”

“On the contrary, Bill, I’m staying there.”

The sheriff was horrified. “It’s full of ruffians! There’s many a bad business conducted there, I wish I could stop it. There’s a clever brain behind it all.”

“Well, maybe you can be just as smart, Bill. I’ll help you.”

“You?”

“I told you. I’m a private investigator. Think Pinkerton’s. I’m a step better than the law. I ask questions where lawmen fear to tread.”

“Yeah, and get yourself killed! It ain’t all cosy here like leafy England. It’s rough and tough and there’s ruthless people who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want!”

It was a powerful message but Clara didn’t bat one of her lusciously-lashed eyelids.

“Sheriff, I can look after myself. And little old England can be just as dangerous.”

Bill jutted out his jaw, but realised he had met his match.

“Well, if you want to clean up this town, let’s start with this.” The saloon door burst open, and a man fell onto the street. As he pulled out his gun, cursing and pledging a bloody revenge, Bill grabbed his arm. “C’mon, Hal, go home before you get a cell for the night!”

Hal tottered off, still muttering, and Bill said, “There’s too many of these incidents.”

“He’s just drunk, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but Hal doesn’t drink. Someone is inciting trouble, though why, I can’t for the life of me guess.”

They walked on till they reached the church, where a parson stood chatting to someone. Bill turned, and gestured to the street behind them. There was dirt and dust everywhere, and people bustling back and forth, each intent on their own affairs. Overall was the wide, blue, western sky. “I suppose this is strange to you. Tell me, what is it like in England?”

“I live in a city. It’s bigger than your town, but most people are poor. I’ve inherited money from my father, and want to help people who can’t help themselves. But my country won’t give women that chance. I believe here, in the New World, I can realise my dream.”

“What is that?” Bill stared at this strange, strong, beautiful woman.

 “To be a female Sherlock Holmes. Will you be my John Watson?”

Bill looked into her eyes, and moved closer. The parson hailed them, and the moment was spoiled.

Next day, Clara set off early to Longhorn Ranch. Tying up her horse and carriage on the rail outside, she knocked on the door.

Walter opened it, and did a double-take when he saw his cousin. She introduced herself.

“You are a private detective?”

“That’s right.”

Clara opened her bag and took out a notebook and pencil. “Can you tell me about your problem?”

“Yeah, I can do that – though what the hell you can do, Clara, I can’t imagine – no offence.”

“None taken.” She aimed to prove him wrong – prove them all wrong. Walter was speaking. “It started about eight months ago. I had some cattle rustled. Then a barn burnt down. After that, I had a well and creek poisoned.”

“Know who did it?”

“It’s the Garroway gang. Bad bunch of outlaws – stop at nothing. Sheriff was hot on their trail one time and they were real mad. They warned him to back off but he wouldn’t – said it was all a coincidence.”

“The Sheriff said that?”

“Well, him or his deputy. Same thing”

“And what do you think?”

Walter scratched his head.

“Don’t rightly know. Seems like there’s a jinx on the place – or me.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Sure is. So, be careful now, won’t you?”

Clara squared her chin, gave herself a little shake, and began her tour of the ranch. She was determined to cover as much ground as possible, but it would be a daunting task to have to search every square inch. The land around the house and outbuildings stretched to several acres. Surely though, the answer must be found here, the nucleus of the ranch itself.

Clara walked round the back. Seemingly nothing unusual here, it was just a solid, wooden structure. There was a barn and several cattle sheds. She gazed across at the dusty fields, filled with steers. Why did those hoodlums want this ranch so badly?

It all seemed run-down and deserted. Cattle, herded into a corral, lowed and stamped their feet. In contrast, the morning air was sweet and clean. White puffs of cloud seemed fixed into a vast sky of cerulean blue. In the distance were the fantastically-shaped rocks exclusive to the county. It was a scene far removed from anything in England, but Clara thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. She was going to settle out here, she suddenly decided. She was going to be successful, marry, raise a family in this enthralling wide-open land. But first she had to solve this case!

She walked to the creek. According to Walter, this had been poisoned. Why? To drive Walter out, evidently. She was turning to go when her eye caught a flash of yellow. Now what did that remind her of? Suddenly her eyes lit up.

Later that evening, Clara arrived at Jeb’s house, a large farm to the south of the town. The dance was taking place in Jeb’s roomy barn.

Everyone, it seemed, was there. All the women had on their best dresses, mostly flower-sprigged cotton. Clara felt out of place in a sophisticated dark blue silk gown, which matched her eyes. She found herself the centre of attention as Bill performed the introductions.

A three-piece band stamped their feet and struck up a tune, and Bill claimed the first dance. As he put his arm around Clara’s waist she felt the spark of attraction. And by the look in the lawman’s eyes, he felt it too.

The evening progressed, with many of the men claiming dances, and Clara managed to amass a lot of information. But was any of it going to be useful? Time would tell.

Deputy Dan Branner was at her elbow. “May I have the next dance, Miss Belle?”

“Clara, please. Could you get me a drink first? This dancing is thirsty work.”

“Sure thing.”

Dan came back with two glasses of punch.

“Steady on with that, Clara! Jeb’s wife makes it keen and strong.”

“Just what I need.” Clara drank deeply. Dan said,

“Look, Clara. I happen to know the Sheriff really doesn’t want you around. You might be better in some other town.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but I like you. He told me he thinks you’re going to put him out of a job.”

“Clara’s sapphire eyes flashed fire. “That’s ridiculous. I only want to help him. Anyway, he seemed to accept me.”

“Yeah. That’s what you call male pride, I suppose. He doesn’t want to beg you to back off, or admit to being worried of being bettered by a...woman.” His eyes ran down Clara’s cleavage as he spoke.

“I see.” Clara’s mouth was a thin, tight line.

“If I were you, I’d go somewhere where your talents would really be appreciated. The sheriff is hidebound – he’s got no vision. I’ve known the guy years so I can tell you this. Actually, I think it stems from him losing his wife the way he did.”

“What happened – I suppose she died?”

“Died, nothing! She left him for a visiting Marshall from California. The Sheriff has been against women ever since.”

Later, Bill asked to accompany Clara back to her lodgings. She looked at him with cool eyes.

“Alright…thank you.”

At the saloon, a brash woman overloaded with paint and powder sashayed her way over to Bill.

“Howdy, Sheriff. This your new lady friend?”

The woman circled Clara like a starving vulture, her eyes missing nothing; from Clara’s coiffed hair down to her buttoned boots, she devoured every detail.

Clara, in her turn, saw a blowsy female of indeterminate years; the wrinkles on her face thickly covered in powder in a vain attempt to hide her advancing age. Her lips were heavily rouged, and the plunging neckline and raised skirt of her gown told their own story. Well, she hadn’t come over 3000 miles to let this madam intimidate her!

“I’m afraid the Sheriff is busy at the moment, Miss…?”

“Patty-Jo’s my name, I’ve got some information for him – about this.” She held out her hand, and Clara could just discern a yellow glint.

The woman skirted round to Bill, putting her face up close. Clara stepped between them.

Bill turned away to hide a smile and the saloon girl flounced off.

“Actually, I had better go and speak to her,” he whispered to Clara. “She may just have picked up something interesting. Think how many men she must mix with in a week.”

Clara closed her eyes briefly. Yes, ‘picked up something is right’! But she realised the truth of his words. Aloud she said, “Alright. Tomorrow I’m going back out to the ranch. I think I’ve missed something.”

Next day, Clara returned from the ranch and marched into the Sheriff’s office. The two men were seated at the desk as before. She faced Bill.

“The person responsible for terrorising Walter, and indeed for most of the villainy in this town, is here in this room – aren’t you, Dan?”

Bill jumped up but the deputy seemed unperturbed. He laughed and strolled over to where Clara stood with the sheriff.

“How d’you work that out, Miss Holmes?”

“You are jealous of the Sheriff and are always attempting to undermine his authority. You even tried to turn me against him, by saying he didn’t want me around. Not content with stirring up trouble in the town by paying the Garroway boys to incite fights and rowdiness, you wanted to drive poor Walter from his ranch, so you could then buy it cheaply.”

The deputy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You found gold on the land. When I was up there I saw it glinting in the river bed. Then I remembered the ‘bullet’ you dropped. The final nail in your coffin was Patty-Jo. You owed her money and paid her with a small gold nugget.”

“That old whore? Who’s gonna take her word?”

“I am.” Bill confronted Dan. 

“Bill, come on! D’you honestly think me capable of doing this?”

Doubt crept in to the Sheriff’s handsome face, and in an instant Dan snatched his gun. “get into that cell, both of you. I ain’t gonna tell you twice.”

Clara and Bill walked in to the small room. Dan locked it and leered in at them from the outside.

“Well now, don’t you make a pretty pair!”

“Dan, what the hell has come over you? How many years have we known each other? Please, don’t do this. ” Bill made a last ditch appeal to Dan – which failed.

“Yeah, known each other is right. But you never let me into your elite circle of friends, did you? It was always about you. You were made Sheriff, you knew the Marshall and his family, you bagged yourself the prettiest girl in the town for a wife, and now you’ve fallen for Miss Sherlock here.”

Bill looked embarrassed and Dan began pacing up and down the office. “You didn’t know that Casey had turned me down to walk out with you, did you? Yep, I helped on her Pa’s ranch when he had his accident on the horse. I would have done anything for that girl and that’s how she repaid me – by choosing you, Mr oh-so-perfect Ferron!” He pushed his face up to the bars, his anger crackling round the room. “Well, you got your dues alright, didn’t you?”

Bill Ferron leapt at Dan and managed to grab his coat through the space. Quick as a flash, Clara followed suit and she clawed the bunch of keys from the deputy’s pocket, while Bill snatched his gun.

Dan struggled free, alarm replacing the sneer on his face. Bill said, “Stay where you are, Dan,” as Clara hurriedly tried to unlock the cell. The deputy turned and ran as Bill fired off a shot. He missed, and didn’t know if he was sorry or glad. Quickly the pair ran outside, just in time to see Dan disappear inside the saloon.

“Hell knows what the fool thinks he’s doing by running in there,” muttered Bill. “He’s cornered.”

Clara looked at his set face and knew Dan wouldn’t get away.

“Bill, be careful.”

But Bill was almost at the saloon doors. He dashed them open, his gun up and revenge in his sights.

Bang! A shot was fired from the landing. “Everyone get down!” Bill yelled.

Clara took in the surprise on people’s faces as they watched the sheriff and his deputy apparently try to murder each other. There was a scream cut short. Upstairs, Dan appeared holding a frightened Patty-Jo by her white throat.

“Let me go, Bill,” he growled, “or she gets it. You know I’ll do it.”

Clara took advantage of the confusion and the crowded saloon to nip out under the swing doors. Quickly, she ran round the back of the building. Yes, there was the outside staircase. She ran lightly up and through an open window. A saloon girl and her client were cowering on the bed. Motioning silence to their astonished faces, Clara slipped out of the door onto the landing, directly behind Dan and his hostage. Creeping up, she put her pistol against his head.

“Give it up, Dan,” she said, and the deputy lowered his gun in disgust.

A few days later, Clara and Dan were the guests of honour at another large party in Jeb Stowe’s barn.

“How on earth did you know Dan was behind so much of the villainy in this town, Clara?

With you just over from England and new to everything here? I’ve known Dan all this time and I never guessed.”

Clara looked at him. His Stetson was tilted back on his handsome head and his grey eyes were alight with intelligence. Mmm, she could have a worse Watson, she supposed.

“You know my methods. Apply them!”

They both laughed as the sheriff whirled her round the floor.