He headed to town and walked into the marshal’s office. It was empty, so he returned to the saloon. Florence saw him enter the double doors and hustled over. It was rare for Flo to appear upset by anything. She managed the girls fairly but pragmatically, and no one dared cross her. Sometimes a girl would come to Jesse with a request, hoping to circumvent the madam, but Jesse had learned very quickly that becoming involved in women’s issues never led to anything good. He would admonish the complaining woman to mind the chain of command, and after a few times, the girls learned it was useless to approach him about anything but their safety. In that, it was up to Jesse to manage anything that went awry.
It angered him that one of the girls had been injured at his place of business. He felt a sense of failure, though he knew it wasn’t his or anyone else’s but the preacher’s fault. Jesse was well acquainted with most of the men who frequented the women’s chambers, and he made a point of nipping any unwanted rough sex in the bud. Those men who liked it rough, he steered to the right women—those who enjoyed a bit of pain with pleasure. Maria, however, wasn’t one of them. Not that any of the ladies of the line would welcome a knife to her face.
Florence looked more distressed than Jesse had ever seen her. She wrung her hands and then nervously smoothed the skirt of her red dress. “Jesse, we reported the attack to the marshal, and he’s out looking for the preacher. Maria’s told half the town what happened, and I reckon the other half will know by sundown. It’s going to cause quite a stir.”
“Yes, I imagine it will,” Jesse agreed. “People don’t expect such behavior from a preacher. Most everyone I know thought he was a decent fellow, including me until recently.”
Florence sank into a chair at the poker table, and Jesse took a seat next to her. “How’s Maria doing?” he asked.
“She’s shook up, as you might imagine. But she got through the stitching all right.”
Jesse nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles tense and aching.
“This will affect business,” Florence said. “Since most of the townsfolk like the young preacher, they might side with him.”
Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I doubt it. We’re the only saloon in town. Those who like to bend their elbow and bed a bawdy broad won’t suddenly stop liking those activities.”
“I hope you’re right.”
That evening, it seemed Jesse was very correct in his prediction. The saloon was packed with people, most gossiping and speculating about the preacher. The regulars made a point of seeking Jesse out to let him know how angry they felt about one of the girls being harmed and to offer their support. He was grateful that the majority of his male patrons felt some sense of duty to protect the women there.
After playing several songs on the piano, Jesse asked Daniel to take his place. He walked the few blocks to the jailhouse and entered to find the marshal at his desk writing something with a look of concern on his face.
“Howdy, marshal,” Jesse said.
Marshal Davis looked up, his brows scrunched together. “Hi, Jesse. Thanks for coming. We need to talk. Please sit down.”
Jesse sat across from the marshal’s desk and waited for him to finish whatever he was writing. He looked around the office, which was furnished with little more than a clock and rubbish bin. The three cells in back were empty, which puzzled Jesse. He thought surely the marshal would have found the preacher by then.
Finally, the marshal laid his pencil down. “Florence said that you saw Elijah Jones running out the back of the saloon after Maria Clark was attacked. Is that what you think you saw?”
Jesse was confused by the way the marshal asked the question. “I don’t think I saw it. I know I did.”
The marshal rubbed the beard on his chin and picked up his pencil. “Tell me what you witnessed exactly.”
Jesse related the details of the brief event while the marshal scribbled out his notes. When Jesse finished talking, the marshal said, “So, you only saw one side of Elijah’s face while he was running. Is it correct to say you didn’t get a real good look at him?”
Jesse scowled. “I’m not sure I like what you’re implying, marshal. I know who I saw. It was the preacher, I’m sure as a gun.”
“Here’s the problem, Jesse,” the marshal said, lowering his pencil once again. He folded his hands in front of him. “I took Maria’s report this morning. She said it was the preacher just like you’re telling me. However, between then and now, four other people stopped by and provided an alibi for Elijah, saying he was leading a small Bible study at the time Maria was attacked.”
“Balderdash!” Jesse exclaimed. “That’s impossible.”
“Well, that’s what people are saying. Furthermore, I questioned Elijah this afternoon and informed him that you saw him running out of the saloon. He said that you have an ulterior motive in accusing him. He believes you are sweet on his fiancée and therefore inclined to be rid of him. If that’s the truth, I won’t be able to put much weight on your testimony, and neither would a jury. A defense lawyer wouldn’t have to work too hard to discredit you. As for Maria, she works for you, and it’s not too much of a stretch to believe she would lie on your behalf.”