D orothy debated going to church on Sunday, but she had never missed, except for illness. With a prayer for protection, she finally decided to brave her follower. Despite what she expected, she neither saw nor heard anyone. Until her walk home, when a man stood up from behind a cactus.
The dread Dorothy had been trying to ignore for days pushed itself forward when she recognized the man who gave her gold. She tried to remain cordial, but she wanted him to leave more than anything.
“A good afternoon, Miss Dorothy.”
“G-good afternoon.”
“I trust that the gold delivery went well.” His eyes swept the surrounding area. “You haven’t discovered Charles Sinclair alive anywhere, by chance?”
Dorothy toyed with the end of her scarf. “N-no, sir. He doesn’t seem to be alive.”
“As I gathered.” He rubbed his chin. “You know why I am here.”
“I-I believe that I do.” She didn’t like the undertone to his words.
He’s eager in a frightening sort of way. Or is my fear and dread making me imagine it?
He smiled grimly, but only for a brief second. “Tell young Arthur, Miss Dorothy, that I want an absolutely secret meeting with him this Saturday at Weaver’s Needle. As early as he can arrive. He must tell no one, but he’ll want to come as I have information regarding his father.”
Dorothy dropped the end of the scarf. “Shouldn’t you give your information to Sheriff Wright then?”
He looked at her with an imperturbably grim expression. “No. I need the son.”
Dorothy’s heart hammered against her chest and in her head.
“You did promise, Miss Dorothy.”
Her voice dropped low. “I did.” Why? Why did I make such a promise? Why am I so frightened?
“You will convey the message as you promised?”
Dorothy wondered if she looked pale. She felt certain that the blood had drained from her face. “I…” She swallowed and tried again. ‘I will fulfill my promise.”
His grim smile did nothing to reassure her. “Very good. The only way to fulfill your promise, of course, is to refrain from any attempts at dissuading Arthur Sinclair from attending the meeting.”
Dorothy’s chin went up. “I understand that.”
He nodded. “I see that you do.” The man crossed his arms. “Do not forget that your promise forbids you from mentioning the location or the meeting to anyone else. That is imperative.”
Dorothy nodded mutely.
“The information that I hold regarding Charles Sinclair…Let’s just say, no one else knows what I do. Remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
He uncrossed his arms, his height shrinking as he lowered his shoulders. “Good afternoon, Miss Dorothy.”
Taking the dismissal, Dorothy continued toward home, her dread growing. When she looked over her shoulder, the man had disappeared.
He just wants to give Artie information. Why then, do I wish I had never made that promise? Why do I feel like I have given my word to assist a criminal?