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walked out of the hotel, waiting on the boardwalk where he could breathe again. During the few minutes he’d been inside snow began to fall, already leaving a thin layer of white dusting on the boards and dirt. He might not be able to poke around and ask more questions if he wanted to be back in Weatherton tonight. And he did want to be back—he’d told Candace he would—and he would keep his word.
    When he heard the hotel’s door open behind him, he instinctively turned to see who exited.
    “Heard you’re looking for me.” Leroy Mullins mustache twitched. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
    Patrick grinned, seeing the older man. Leroy was a character, a tough-as-nails man unafraid to mince words, but loyal to a fault once someone came into his good graces. He’d bestowed that honor upon Patrick two years ago when he had stopped one of the hotel’s guests from taking advantage of one of Edna’s girls. Strange as it was, even gamblers, womanizers, and other unsavory characters had a code of honor they lived by that didn’t allow for unwanted, physical advances toward a woman, whether she was a society lady or soiled dove.
    He shook the hand Leroy extended. “You heard right. I’m here to collect Burl Tibbet’s personal belongings.”
    “What’s Burl to you?” Leroy’s reaction was similar to that of the sheriff.
    “He was my father-in-law. Maybe.”
    Leroy’s jaw dropped. “You’re joshing me.”
    “I wish.” He didn’t regret meeting Candace one bit, only the trouble the relationship had caused.
    “Come inside and have a drink. I think this story calls for some whiskey.” Turning around, Leroy gave a backward wave, motioning for Patrick to follow.
    The snow fell at a faster pace with each passing minute. Patrick’s gaze swept the panorama of Main Street, noting the precipitation was accumulating rapidly. His window of opportunity to leave today and safely make it to Weatherton tonight was narrowing. However, Leroy was sure to have some information on the fake Judge Thomas.
    He entered the hotel on the heels of Leroy. “I’ll tell you the story, but I’ll pass on the drink because I can’t stay too long.”
    “Fair enough.” Leroy led him to a small room behind the front desk, which was used as an office. The interior was surprisingly mundane compared to the gaudiness of other parts of the establishment. “Take a seat.”
    For the second time in an hour, Patrick recounted the now humiliating tale, shifting in the red velvet upholstered chair, the only object with bold color in the room, when he told how easily he’d been conned.
    “That so?” Leroy said when Patrick finished telling the story. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you conjured up one mad stallion of a story.”
    “I don’t suppose you know anything about the man who posed as the judge, do you?” Gripping his hat, which rested in his lap, Patrick willed himself not to sound as eager as he actually was to collect information.
    “Was he about this tall?” Leroy stretched his arm upward until it hovered six feet above the ground.
    “Yes.”
    “One blue eye and one gray eye?”
    “That’s him.” Excitement pounded through him and he scooted forward in the chair. Finally, he might get something to go on.
    “His name’s Roscoe Dalkin, a gambler who comes through twice a year. Struck it rich during the early day of gold fever in the black hills, but has squandered most of it away.” Leroy lit a cigar and took a puff.
    “Any idea how he joined up with Burl?” Patrick tried piecing together the puzzle, but nothing added up yet.
    “Far as I know, they were strangers until Burl moved here and they met playing cards.” Setting down the cigar, Leroy regarded him solemnly. “I wish I’d known about you and Candace. Not just so I could’ve warned you, but then I would have made it a point to know Burl and Roscoe’s business.”
    “Is there any possibility that Burl’s death could have been attributed to