Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

“That’s okay. Did you overhear anything that they talked about, or did Hank react in any way that seemed strange?”

“He shook his head a lot, like he was answering questions ‘no.’ ”

“Did he seem to be talking to more than one person?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

I nodded. This was about to get really uncomfortable for a whole lot of reasons, not least because I knew for certain her husband was dead and she apparently didn’t. “Peg, I hate to ask this, but have you and Hank been having any trouble lately? Money problems, or, ah… personal issues?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No. I swear to you. The stable was doing fine; we were doing fine. We’d even talked about having another…” Her lower lip trembled as she tried to get the word out. “… child.”

There was no sense in prolonging this. I stood, made sure both the outer and inner doors were closed, then knelt in front of her. I took her hands. “Peg, I have to tell you something. Right now only Liz, Gary Bunson and Angelina downstairs know about it.”

She looked up at me with a mix of hope and dread that could easily break a heart much harder than mine.

“Hank’s dead,” I said, sharp and clear. “He was in the barn when Gary and I went in. He was already dead when we found him. And the fire didn’t kill him; he’d been murdered.”

She showed absolutely no reaction for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was normal. “That large man, the one who works for the officer from the capital, said he checked the stable before the fire got so bad. He said no one was in there.”

“He told me the same thing. He’s either blind or a liar.”

She nodded. Again, it was as if I’d reported nothing more important than a new coat of paint. She said, “Then I’d like to hire you to find out who killed my husband, and why. And bring that person to justice.”

“So noted.” I stood and went back around my desk. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll help myself to a drink. My throat’s still sore from all the smoke.”

That was true, but it wasn’t why I wanted a drink. While I fished the bottle from its hiding place in the bottom drawer, Peg said, “And I suppose we should discuss your fee.”

When I looked up, she was naked to the waist and in the process of undoing her underskirt. Her hair fell loose past her shoulders and made her look young and wild. I jumped to my feet. “Whoa, Peg, what are you doing?”

In the same mechanical, normal-sounding voice she said, “I have no money, Mr. LaCrosse. I’ll pay with what I do have.”

I turned away and looked out the window, not before realizing that a less scrupulous sword jockey would’ve hit the jackpot. Peg was round in all the right places, and all those kids had left very few traces on her body. But there was no way, even if I’d been unattached, that I’d jump even a willing widow the very day after her husband died. “Put your clothes on, Peg. You should know me better than that. You don’t have to pay me; Hank was my friend.”

“Yes, I do. Hank always insisted we pay as we go. Except for his bar tab here, he didn’t owe anyone anything.”

“All right, you can pay me, but not that way.” She was silent and still behind me. “I’m serious, Peg. Put your clothes on.”

In a small voice she said, “I’d never tell Liz. No one would ever know.”

“I’d know. And so would you. I understand Hank’s rules, admire him for them actually, but they don’t apply here.”

Another silent moment passed. Then fabric rustled as she began dressing. When she’d had time to finish, I turned and faced her. She was lacing up the last bit of her dress front. I said, “Most of your livestock got out okay, right?”

“Yes. They’re a bit scattered, but except for one colt so badly burned we had to put him down this morning, they’re all safe.”

“Well, here’s how you can pay me, then. I need a new horse.”

I should’ve seen it coming. Anyone else would’ve.

Hank’s eldest son, Bruce, who now looked suddenly much older than his fifteen years, delivered the beast to me at the tavern an hour after I spoke to his mom. Somewhere he’d acquired a beat-up old saddle, as mine had also burned up in the stable. The creature regarded me with the same animosity I felt toward her.

“She’s a little contrary,” Bruce said. “But since you’ve borrowed her before, you already know that.” He held out a folded piece of vellum. “Here’s her papers.”

“Thanks,” I said with all the considerable cynicism I could muster. I had no one to blame but myself for not being specific. “Tell me, didn’t you have any other horses? Maybe a three-legged one with a missing eye or something?”

He looked at me with the same vaguely perplexed expression my sarcasm always elicited from his late father. “No, this is the only one left. Mom traded the rest for a farm outside of town. She says we’re never coming back to Neceda again.”

“Well, tell her thank you. And that I’ll be in touch.”

He started to turn away, then stopped and faced me again. He stood to his full height. “My daddy didn’t burn down the stable.”

“I know.”

“And once I get Mom settled, I’ll be finding out who did.”

He said it with a real attempt to sound like a grown man. I said, “Before you do, come see me.”

“Why?”

I had my sword out and at his throat before he’d finished exhaling the word. My free hand grabbed the back of his hair and held him firm against the blade. Nothing he could do, even kicking me in the balls, could stop me from slitting his throat, and he knew it. His eyes were wide with a child’s terror. In the same reasonable tone I said, “Because whoever killed your dad can do this, too. And your mom doesn’t deserve to lose anyone else.”

He nodded quickly. I released him and he jumped back out of what he assumed was blade’s reach. I put my sword away and said, “As the oldest son, you’ve got a lot on you. Let that occupy you for right now.”

He nodded again.

I offered my hand. He tried his best to give me a solid, man-to-man handshake, and it did hurt a little because my knuckles were still sore. Then he walked away as rapidly as he could without appearing to flee.

He nearly ran smack into Angelina, heading wearily toward the tavern. She caught him by the shoulders, smiled ruefully and mussed his hair. This seemed to completely realign his teenage priorities: he continued slowly now, surreptitiously following her with his eyes until he turned the corner.

When she reached me Angelina said without looking back, “Hank’s boy was checking out my ass, wasn’t he?”

I nodded. “You’ll be the standard all his girlfriends have to live up to.”

She chuckled. “I’ve got tattoos older than him.” Then she looked at the horse. “New ride?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“I have no idea.” I opened the horse’s ownership papers. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What?”

“Her name’s ‘Pansy.’ ”

Angelina smiled. “Pansy. Eddie and Pansy.” She made kissing noises.

“Stop it.”

“She doesn’t look as friendly as Lola.”

“Neither do you. Hey, would you do me a favor?” I handed her a wax-sealed note on which I’d detailed as much of my plans as I knew. It said I was going to find Gordon Marantz in Walpaca, the town commonly thought to be his home base, and hoped to be back in three days at the most. “Give this to Liz. I may be gone for a while.”

“Trying to find out what happened to Hank Pinster?”

“Where you from, Angel?” I shot back. It was my standard reply when she asked questions she knew I wouldn’t answer.