Durango by Gary Hart Page A

something. Why else would he not speak out and speak up?
    Had she known Daniel Sheridan better, she would have sought him out and simply, in her notoriously direct manner, asked him these questions. Give your side of the story, she would have told him. Don’t let your accusers dominate the matter. There has to be more to this than what was alleged about taking money from that investment bank to buy favor with the Ute tribal council and, in the process, pay off a blackmailer.
    When she thought about it, and she found herself doing so more often now, it frustrated her. She believed in fairness and justice. She and Murray had editorialized against community prejudgment and in favor of understanding all the facts before rendering opinions. Anyone who knew anything about Daniel Sheridan had to believe that this man was incapable of bribery and intimacy with a prominent woman in the community. But there it was, the allegations were there—though her review of the story caused her to be struck by how much of what was accepted as fact was actually rumor and hearsay—and the only one who knew what really happened would not speak.
    During the hell week when everything had come crashing down, Caroline Chandler had not been available. A Herald reporter had sought her out. She was not at home. She was not painting in the high country. She was not to be found. It was maddening to Sheridan’s friends and supporters that neither Sheridan nor Caroline would publicly deny an improper relationship. But, thinking back on it later, Mrs. Farnsworth understood from her years in journalism that a denial is cause for yet another round of stories based on the denial. To deny is to add grist to the rumor and journalism mills.
    She wanted to ask Sheridan so many things, and if she knew him better, she would do it. But he was a solitary man and certainly would not welcome a return to that painful era that had changed his life. She wanted to know whether he had urged Caroline to escape, to find refuge with friends on the East or West coast, until the furor abated. Though she was a professional newspaper publisher, she knew that was none of her business, even as many in her industry believed everything was their business.
    Mrs. Farnsworth pondered whether Caroline might someday open up to her about the whole matter. Most now assumed that Caroline and Sheridan had an intimate relationship, but no one knew for sure, and by now very few people in Durango and surroundings cared. Times had changed since those days more than twelve years ago, and it was all old news. For herself, Mrs. Farnsworth hoped that they did. She had grown enormously fond of Caroline and considered her almost one of her grown children.
    She doubted the opportunity would arise for her ever to know Daniel Sheridan that well. He was just not that kind of man.
    Her romantic streak wished them well. They both seemed to her to be high-caliber, quality human beings and, God knows, she thought, there are not enough of them around these days to waste any.
    The day finally came sometime later to explore the Sheridan mystery. She passed by Kroeger’s Hardware store on 9th Street one Saturday morning and encountered Dan Sheridan coming out carrying a tool box and a coiled length of lariat rope. Good morning, Mr. Sheridan, she said.
    How do you do, Mrs. Farnsworth? he responded.
    Very well, especially on a day like this. Which way are you headed?
    Sheridan nodded to the parking lot a block away. Got to throw this stuff in the pickup, he said.
    Mrs. Farnsworth said, I’m going that way and will walk along, unless you object.
    No ma’am, he said. No objection at all. A pleasure to see you out and about today. I’ve been meaning to say, since Murray passed away those months ago, if you ever need anything fixed around your place, I’d be pleased to help out. I’m an amateur repairman, but not a bad one at that.
    You’re very kind, Mr. Sheridan. My son drops into