Page 19 of The Cobbler and His Elves

This shortcut behind the industrial district—a route learned during childhood escapades—cut through the old rail yard where locomotives once thundered past. The tannery’s sharp, chemical tang stung my nostrils as I drew near. Sheriff Dawson’s Model A rumbled in the distance, still winding along the main road that curved past the mill’s grain silos.

A flash of headlights caught me mid-stride, and I stumbled on loose track ballast. The Model A’s engine snarled closer as I crashed to my knees, stones biting through my trousers. Dawson’s headlights swept across my back, pinning me like a butterfly to cork. I wedged myself between stacks of rusted barrels, their chemical stench burning my throat. The Model A’s engine cut off at the tannery’s loading dock, and Sheriff Dawson’s boots crunched across gravel before the heavy door groaned shut behind him.

A faint light flickered in one of the tannery’s windows as I approached. Creeping around to the back of the building, I found a door slightly ajar and slipped inside. The acrid smell of chemicals and leather hit me in full force, assaulting my nose.

Voices drifted from the office upstairs. I climbed the steps carefully, wincing at every creak of the old wood.

“...can’t do this,” Martha Thompson’s voice, trembling with fear. “Please, Hank. We’ll leave town, never breathe a word to anyone.”

“It’s too late for that,” Dawson growled. “You’ve caused me enough trouble already.”

I peered through the crack in the door. Thompson sat slumped in a chair, his hands bound behind him. Martha stood beside her father with Deputy Smith’s hand clamped on her upper arm, holding her firmly in place… or upright. Her eyes, wide with a mix of fear and defiance, darted between Thompson and Dawson. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against her own bonds.

Dawson paced the room, a gun in his hand. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone. And now look where it’s got you.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Martha. “We had it all planned out. The leather, the money, our new life. But you couldn’t keep your trap shut, could you? Had to go crawling back to daddy. And then you tried to take back that scrap we planted?”

“Sloppy, Martha.” Dawson sneered.

Martha sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“We could’ve let the Hart boy take the fall, but now?” He shook his head, his tone cold and calculated. “Now it’s all gone to hell.”

I felt my heart racing, blood pounding in my ears. This was worse than I’d imagined. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was uglier than anything I could have dreamed up.

I had to do something. But what? I was unarmed, outmatched. If I burst in now, all three of us would end up dead.

A floorboard creaked beneath my foot. Dawson whirled around, his gun trained on the door.

“Who’s there?” he barked. “Show yourself!”

My mind raced. There was nowhere to hide, no way to escape. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I stepped into the room, hands raised. “It’s just me, Sheriff.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Hart? How the hell did you get out of your cell?”

I forced a sheepish grin. “You’d be surprised what a man can do with an awl needle and some ingenuity.”

“Milo, run!” Martha cried. “He’s going to kill us all!”

Dawson backhanded her, the crack of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. “Shut up!”

Rage boiled in my chest. I took a step forward, but Dawson’s gun swung back to me.

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” he sneered. “You’re in over your head.”

“I know about all of it,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I know you’ve been blackmailing Mr. Thompson. Using Martha to keep him in line.”

Dawson’s face twisted with fury. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough,” I countered. “Enough to bring you down. The state police are on their way, Sheriff. It’s over.”

It was a bluff, but I prayed he’d buy it. For a moment, uncertainty flickered in Dawson’s eyes. Then his face hardened.

“Nice try, kid. But you’re not talking your way out of this one.”

He raised the gun, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. A gunshot rang out, but the pain I expected never came.