Dorian Blunt wasn’t your average mineworker, and Sheriff Jim Holton hardly knew what to say to the man.
Still, gold had been vanishing from the Branson mine for a month, and Jed Branson was threatening to pull his operation out of Dry Bluff .
Holton had interrogated every man in a five-mile radius except for Blunt, and his first glimpse of the man’s hostelry quarters made him anxious to get it over with.
Blunt had pulled his bed into the middle of the room and built shelves along the walls. These were stuffed with the fanciest books Holton had ever seen.
Blunt himself sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a lantern, reading a paper-covered tome -- “The Purloined Letter,” by Edgar Allan Poe.
Holton leaned against one wall and throttled Blunt with the same interrogation he’d rolled out a hundred times before.
There was nothing at all in Dorian’s answers that made Holton think the bookworm was a thief, but there was something about the man himself that felt just … not right.
“You’re an unusual sort around here, Blunt,” Holton said.
“Yep, I gathered that from talking to the other fellas at the mine. They don’t seem like big readers.”
In one motion, Blunt rose from the floor and thrust his book into Holton’s hands before the Sheriff could protest.
“But I’ll bet you’d like this one, Sheriff. And don’t worry …”
Dorian pulled another volume from a shelf. It was a second copy of “The Purloined Letter,” this one with gold-edged pages and golden lettering. Blunt opened the cover to reveal a shiny golden front plate.
“... I already have an upgrade!”
As Holton shuffled off into the night, he was convinced that something was off-kilter with Dorian Blunt.
He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what.
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