Baby

a last look around his office, then stepped out to Hilda’s desk.
    “Hilda, I need you to do me a favor. This needs to stay between us, do you understand?” Hilda looked blankly at the sheriff.
    “Of course, Hud, what do you need me to do?”
    “I want you to take this letter and give it to my wife.”
    “Your wife? Don’t you want to give it to Marne yourself?” Sheriff Hudson placed a shaky hand on Hilda’s shoulder.
    “Hilda, I am asking you for a favor that must stay between us. You must promise me. No one else can know.” Hilda frowned, looking searchingly into Hudson’s face. She apparently read something in his expression that said he meant business.
    “Sure, Hud, I will be happy to do this for you.” She took the envelope, placing it in her purse under her desk as Hudson watched. Turning back to his office, he slowly headed for his desk, closing the door behind him. He sat down in his worn desk chair, took a deep trembling breath, focused on the photo of his Marne, took out his service revolver, held it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 12
    Life moved on for all involved in the strange covert murders on Lily Pond Road. Robert’s men found their lives initially took a huge turn in prosperity, as he paid handsomely for the silence of his henchmen.
    The loss of Eli unexpectedly grieved Robert. The fact that Robert was his employer failed to diminish the rousing camaraderie and confidence they shared, executing Roberts’s despicable and illegal deeds for well over two decades.
    He refused to return to Lily Pond Road after his men reported the fire and Eli’s death. A simple telephone call to Sheriff Hudson directed the matter to his capable hands. Unfortunately, the disturbing results of Hudson’s report terrified him. Putting Netty behind him no longer appeared the effortless proposition he first anticipated.
    The sheriff’s death shocked the entire tri-county area. The day after Robert relayed directions to the drifter’s grave, Sheriff Hudson returned to his office and blew his brains out with a single shot from his service revolver. He left an adored wife, three adult children and two grandbabies. Robert heard unsubstantiated rumors that he left his wife a suicide letter with some sort of purported explanation that allowed her to carry on with her head held high, unlike the wife of a man that took the coward’s way out. He would have put a lot of money on the bet that Hudson did not have a cowardly bone in his body. So … why the suicide? And unaccountably, his entire family, including his adult children and their families, left town for parts unknown after the funeral. Why the rush? What were they running from?
    A public burial held at the local cemetery put Eli’s body to rest. Quelling the rise of local gossip, Robert concocted a simple cover story involving a fall and a fatal rattlesnake bite; hardly original, tediously routine. Not much different than the story circulated to explain Netty’s death. Accidents happen every day. People die every day; sad, but unremarkable.
    Robert sat in front of the fire in his library, contemplating his future. The emptiness in his life, exacerbated by the loss of Eli, continued to disturb him. The accumulation of wealth no longer interested him. Irrevocably securing his fortune and influence far beyond his dreams, he saluted the plan hatched fifteen years ago when he discovered Netty would become heir to half of the vast Woods’ fortune. He paused to consider how easily the gullible Woods swallowed Robert’s suddenly smitten sensibilities enough to marry a common country waif. Smiling, he remembered how he managed to find a few kicks to amuse himself with after the wedding, although her unfortunate broken nose and subsequent hair loss robbed him of his interest in forcing her to submit … time to move on. Let me see … what else? Ticking them off in his head he continued the auspicious list.
    His pursuits on the bench no longer interested him. The petty legal problems of the pedestrian public wore him down. Prohibition—soon down the tubes. (Not that he needed the money, but dabbling with thugs late at night gave him a worthwhile thrill.) He even found himself bored with his special evenings, the brutality of rape, no longer seen as powerful and exciting, now merely churlish and unrefined.
    Tapping his finger along the side of his imperial nose, a solution occurred to him; a concept that needed a little feedback. Rising from the