Lassoing the thief
Dan Walker paced in front of a wall of empty display cases, his cowboy boots punctuating the hardwood floor of the office in his expansive log mansion.
“Fifteen pairs of antique spurs from the 1700s— gone!” he shouted, his face red with rage. “And I guarantee it’s that no-good ex-ranch manager Stan Trotter. Claimed to have a job offer that paid 30% more, and I called his bluff, of course. He’s packing up now. Arrest him before he leaves, Sheriff!”
Sheriff Leroy Hart held up a hand. “Whoa now. I’ll question Trotter, but let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet. I need the names of anyone else who knew where you kept the keys, Dan. There’s no sign of forced entry, so we’ll have to assume the theft was an inside job.”
The sheriff rubbed his lower back, trying to get comfortable on the furry cowhide chair where Walker had motioned for him to sit. A maid brought in coffee and a platter heaped with pastries, casting a quizzical gaze the sheriff ’s way before walking out of the room.
After she left, Walker lowered his voice. “Obviously, my maid, Helena, knows. As does just about everyone who works at the ranch! A working ranch has a lot of machinery with keys, so it’s handy to keep all of them in the one drawer.
“And, of course, there’s my ex-wife.” Walker practically spat the words. “Nancy dropped in and ruined my dinner last night with another fistful of bills she claims I owe. Everyone around here is trying to rob me blind!”
The sheriff merely nodded as Walker paced behind his desk. “I’ll go ahead and talk to Helena now,” he said.
The maid returned, and the sheriff indicated that she should sit and relax. He hoped the matching furry chair was more comfortable than the one he was presently occupying.
“As I told Mr. Walker,” Helena started in, “it was about 8:30 this morning when I noticed the empty cases. At first, I thought Mr. Walker had taken the spurs to the Western museum over in Buttermilk Springs for a display.”
Walker nodded in recognition. “I exhibited my barbed wire there and drew a record crowd. Should have charged the museum a fee.”
The sheriff sipped his coffee, giving Helena time to elaborate. Silence made people uneasy, and they often rushed to fill it with words… something the sheriff knew well enough.
And Helena did. “And I’m positive the spurs were there at 6 pm last night. My car wouldn’t start, and Trotter had me fetch the farm truck keys so we could jump the battery and get it going.”
The sheriff asked if she returned the truck key to the drawer, and Helena shook her head. “I assume that Trotter did.”
Walker smirked. “There you go! That’s exactly when Trotter stole the spurs! I’m telling you, Sheriff, he’s our guy.”
On his way to question Trotter, the sheriff bumped into Walker’s ex-wife, Nancy, who introduced herself with a smile.
“Sorry,” she blurted, holding out her free hand. “I just needed to give Dan a few papers…forms and such.”
Walker scoffed. “More bogus bills, you mean.”
Nancy smiled. “Actually, I’ve been thinking, Dan. My new apartment is bare, and I’d be willing to take these two cowhide chairs that cost half what you owe me and call it even.”
While Walker considered the swap, the sheriff stretched to get the kinks out of his back and saw a spring poking from beneath the chair cushion.
“Well, that explains it,” he murmured, leaning in to get a closer look.
Suddenly, a smile stole over his face. “Mr. Walker, your antique spur collection wasn’t stolen,” the sheriff said. “Not yet, anyway.”