W ith Charles Sinclair missing, Dorothy did not think much about her third gold delivery. Until Saturday morning dawned, and she wondered if she had made a mistake.
I could go into Apache Junction and see if one of the Sinclairs is there to meet me. Then, I suppose I could beg them for another week. Artie Sinclair might be willing to grant it to me.
She donned her new blue dress, fidgeted over her hair until she finally got the braids to stay, and pulled the new hat over her head. She couldn’t say what she thought of the new style. She neither loved it nor hated it.
A bird hopped onto the windowsill while she peered into her tiny mirror.
“I look like myself, but then again, I don’t.” She shrugged at the bird. “I’m not sure I even look more grownup.” She eyed the knife lying on her bed.
“I need that. My old belt will look silly with this dress though.”
The bird chirped, and Dorothy sat down on the bed.
“My old belt won’t fit around a dropped waist either. I could make one…” Her frown deepened. “Maybe I could use that old scarf of Mother’s to cover… something.”
She found the deep yellow scarf with little difficulty. In her search to find other materials to create a belt, she decided to tie the scarf by itself on a whim. With careful work tying the knot into the tie already on one side of the dress, she realized that she could easily carry her knife without an added belt. The old scarf contrasted well with the blue of the dress; far better than she even expected.
Her father didn’t seem to notice her attire—or if he did, he certainly did not say anything. Kat Gilbert on the other hand, rushed across the Pavilion to meet her when she reached Apache Junction, smiling broadly.
“You look smashing!”
Dorothy flushed. “Thanks to you.”
Kat laughed. “Oh, phonus balonus. I can’t take credit for your face!”
Dorothy felt the flush deepen. “Thank you all the same.”
The band began a new song and Kat turned their direction, tapping her foot to the music. “You’re not here to meet Artie, are you?”
Dorothy turned from searching the Pavilion. “I-I don’t know.”
Kat peered at Dorothy, snapping her fingers with the music now. “Did Artie tell you that he would meet you?”
Dorothy didn’t know why Kat’s tone made her flush again. “I-I was supposed to meet one of the Sinclairs—him, I think—but that was before—”
She didn’t get to finish.
“You’re Dorothy Hodges, aren’t you?”
Never had she heard her name spoken with such evident disgust. She did not know the young man who asked, though she recognized him from the Pavilion. “I-I am.”
He shook his head violently. “We don’t need any murderers around here, so you can just pack yourself on out!”
“Ted!” Kat put her hands to her hips, her voice filled with indignation.
“Everyone knows they found her knife with Mr. Sinclair’s things, Kat!” Ted waved his hands. “Theo and Artie Sinclair are my friends, and I don’t care to see their father’s murderer hanging around our set!”
“Holy mackerel, Ted! Dorothy didn’t knock off anyone!”
Dorothy began to quail under Ted’s glare.
“I’m not the only one who wants nothing to do with her and with good reason. I’m just willing to voice it. If you were as loyal to the Sinclairs as you claim, you wouldn’t defend her!”
Kat’s eyes flashed and she took a step toward the young man. “How dare you, Ted Wilkins! I am as loyal as they come! I’ve known them my entire life! Don’t you dare try to tell me that I’m not loyal!”
Dorothy decided she ought to intervene. “If he isn’t here, Kat, I can go home.”
“You don’t have to leave!”
“No, she should.” Ted had lost none of his glare or his disgust. “Go home and wait for Sheriff Wright to arrest you.”
“Ted!”
Dorothy shook her head. “I’ll go, Kat.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She took off at a quick pace, the sound of continued argument mixing with the music of the band.
I’m a suspect and by more than just Sheriff Wright. People think I’m a murderer.
As the sounds of Apache Junction faded into the distance, the sound of occasional footsteps other than her own became clear. She had thought someone followed her to the Pavilion, but the sounds had been farther apart and distant. These came clear and more frequent. Dorothy broke into a run.
She reached the shack, bolting inside before she realized that her father had left. Her heart pounding, she fell against the door, then dropped to her knees. She heard footsteps skid to a stop, then come close to the door.
Dorothy pulled her knife and waited. The steps didn’t come any closer. She didn’t dare to move.
Another moment or two, she heard them moving in the opposite direction. By the time Dorothy felt safe enough to look out the window, she could see no one in sight.
Father in Heaven, who follows me? There is someone out there… I haven’t simply lost control of my faculties, have I?