Girl Waits with Gun by Amy Stewart Page A

“Haven’t you anyone to look after the three of you?” Mr. Courter said with mock concern. “A father or an uncle? A brother, even?”
    It had grown very stifling and I decided I couldn’t stay in that room another minute. I spun around and left without another glance at either of them.
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    I WAS STANDING on the courthouse steps trying to catch my breath when I heard—or rather felt—Sheriff Heath behind me. I spun around to face him. He was a tall man, tall enough to look me squarely in the eye.
    â€œI take it this is your first visit to the prosecutor’s office,” he said.
    â€œIt is,” I said. “I won’t waste my time here again.”
    He smiled. The sun had been gaining strength all morning and now it struck his face, highlighting the composition of lines and angles around his eyes. There was a kindness about him and a sort of sober warmth and decency, which struck me as unusual for a man in public service in New Jersey.
    â€œI’ll speak to Mr. Kaufman. If he gives you any more trouble, come see me.”
    â€œI didn’t realize your duties extended beyond running the prison and chasing down poultry thieves.”
    â€œPoultry thieves do fall under my jurisdiction, Miss Kopp, but so do gangs throwing bricks through windows. Besides, I’ve had trouble with Kaufman before. May I see the note?”
    I offered it to him. “What kind of trouble?”
    â€œDuring the strikes. The silk men had their own ideas about how to keep order. He had his friends following my men around to make sure we didn’t go too easy on the strikers. I didn’t appreciate it.”
    He squinted at the letter and shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to go after that bunch. I suspect they’re up to more than just chasing you and your sisters around.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThe usual things. Smuggling liquor. Gambling. Blackmail. They’re all thugs and con men, that crowd. A note like this is just the kind of thing they do. Has he tried to shake you down for money?”
    â€œNo! Why would he? He’s the one who owes us money!”
    â€œYou must understand that this is just a game for them.”
    â€œWell, it’s a cruel game,” I said. “And why didn’t you say anything back there?”
    He shrugged. “You saw what Courter was like. He’s not going to take on that gang. The prosecutor’s office can be very friendly with the factory owners. But don’t worry. Mr. Kaufman doesn’t have any friends in the Sheriff’s Department.”
    â€œWell, that isn’t all he’s done. I talked to one of the girls who works for him—”
    â€œOne of the girls?” He gave me another one of those amused half-smiles. “When did you talk to the girls?”
    â€œIt was one particular girl. I just bumped into her. This girl got into some trouble, and it was Mr. Kaufman who . . .” I wasn’t sure how to say it, but Sheriff Heath seemed to catch my meaning.
    â€œI’m afraid that is outside my jurisdiction, Miss Kopp.”
    â€œBut now the child has gone missing, and she thinks Mr. Kaufman is behind it.”
    The sheriff frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Who’s the girl?”
    â€œWell . . .” I took a step back. “What are you going to do if I tell you? I don’t want to get her into any more trouble.”
    Just then a man in a deputy’s uniform came running around the corner from the jailhouse, calling the sheriff.
    â€œI can’t do anything unless I know who she is,” he said. “Have her come and talk to me herself if she wants help.”
    â€œBut I—”
    The deputy ran up to us, wheezing, and said, “They just brought him in.”
    Sheriff Heath looked at him in surprise. “Already? Well, Miss Kopp,” he said, extending his hand. I almost never shook hands with a