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man’s money. She rattled around in his desk until she found a piece of paper and a short stubbed pencil. She calculated the charges for her lunch and supper last night, what breakfast would have cost, and what the hotel room was. Even if the township was paying her expenses—which she doubted—she would want to return the money to the town coffers once she secured a real job.
    With nothing else to do for however long it took the sheriff to return, she decided to give the jailhouse a good cleaning. Although she felt odd about doing it, she went behind the jail where she’d learned the sheriff’s house was. In her quest for a job yesterday, she’d received quite a bit of information on the man. The townspeople liked the sheriff and were pleased to relate information about him.
    She found a bucket, soap, and a couple of rags in his house. She quelled any desire to poke around in his home but did notice there were plenty of things that indicated a woman had lived there at one time.
    It was difficult, but she drew water from the well, and even though it was cold, she managed to get the soap to dissolve in the water and then went about her task. She scrubbed the floor, the walls, the file cabinet, his desk, even the three jail cells. It appeared no one had done that in years.
    Shortly after one o’clock, she found a key to the front door on a ring hanging from a hook by the door. She locked up the building and headed to the café where she had chicken and dumplings for dinner. Since she’d worked so hard, she indulged in a piece of boysenberry pie.
    No sooner had she returned to the jailhouse than an older woman entered. Her white hair had been pulled back into a knot at the top of her head. Her dark blue wool skirt and white shirtwaist were dotted with mud splatters. Her face and spectacles had splashes of mud also.
    “Where is the sheriff?” She huffed the words, her bosom heaving with apparent outrage at not finding the man there and waiting for her.
    “He was called away to Hamilton. I’m not sure when he will return. Can I help you with something?”
    The woman raised her chin and regarded her with flashing eyes. “And just who are you?”
    “I’m Miss Julia Benson, the sheriff’s assistant.”
    “His assistant!” Her screech could probably be heard down the street at the café.
    “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you in some way?”
    “Well, I never. I can assure you, young lady, the town council will hear about this. The sheriff cannot just go around hiring whomever he pleases. These things have to be decided, laws passed, positions created, hiring interviews conducted.”
    Oh, Lord. This woman sounded like someone who could make trouble for the sheriff. “Oh, ma’am, this isn’t a paid position. I’m just helping out until I find a real job. You don’t happen to know of any job openings in town, do you?”
    Somewhat appeased, she relaxed her stance. “No, I don’t. But as long as you’re here, you can take down a report for the sheriff when he returns.”
    Julia scurried around the newly cleaned desk and drew out another piece of paper and picked up the pencil stub she used before. She looked expectantly at the woman.
    The woman settled in the chair across from Julia, fluffing the row of ruffles down the front of her shirtwaist. Ruffles were definitely something the woman’s generous bosom didn’t need.
    “Go ahead, and write this down, Miss Benson.” She nodded at the paper. “I’m Mrs. Alfred Martin. My husband is very important in this town, you know.” When Julia nodded her acknowledgment, she continued. “Just now our little Daisy Susan got out of the yard. I asked a young boy walking by to fetch her for me.”
    She stood and waved at her skirt and shirtwaist. “This is from when he brought my baby back to me and dropped her in a mud puddle at my feet, instead of handing her to me!”
    Julia gasped “Oh, my goodness, is she all right?”
    “Very shaken, I can tell you.” She sat back