by Tony Healey
“Do I indeed?”
Warren looked up at the darkened roof of the barn. There were several pigeons up there in the beams.
Ethan had been woken by their cooing in the night on a few occasions. He’d contemplated using them as target practice, but hadn’t relished the thought of cleaning up the mess that would result, all those feathers going everywhere.
“I remember the day Denton arrived here in Amity Creek. Him and his men riding into town in a cloud of dust. He bought his first piece of land and made a name for himself here among the townsfolk. I was a lot younger, and I remember thinking, ‘Now, Warren, that there is a man to cross the street for when you see him coming.’ Do you know what I mean by that?”
“I do.”
“I’ve lived here all my life, and when I think of the people in Amity you might have a score to settle with, Jack Denton is the one fella springs to mind.”
“Because he’s rich and powerful?” Ethan asked the blacksmith.
“Well, he is rich, and he is powerful. He has a lot of say in what gets done around here and seems to have a way of gettin’ what he wants, one way or another. But more than that, it goes back to what I saw in the man the first time I set eyes on him. He carried himself a lot like you, like a man who knew how to take a life. I think men like you have a way of warding folk off.”
“I guess we do.”
“Like those black and yellow stripes on a hornet. Only difference is the stripes men like you and Denton wear, they can’t be seen. But don’t mean they’re not there, no, sir.”
Ethan got up, strolled to the open door and leaned against the side of it, looking out on the town. He didn’t speak for a while and Warren just watched him. Then Ethan lit a cigarillo and stood there smoking, wordless and brooding. Presently he glanced back at Warren and said, “Jack Denton and I go way back. It’ll be a surprise to him when he finds out how. But his name weren’t Denton then. It was something else. That’s why it took me so long to find him. Man adopts another name, might as well be dead. Change your name you fall off the edge of the world, it seems. Which, I guess, was the point to him doing it.”
Still smoking, Ethan turned toward Warren. He held the cigarillo between his lips, and before Warren had an inkling of what Ethan was doing, he’d drawn both his pistols. He didn’t aim them at Warren, but lifted them to look at them. They caught the light, and for a split second, both weapons flashed in the sunlight cutting through the broken slats at the side of the barn.
“These shooters were my father’s. He was a badman himself back in the day. But he tried to turn a corner. Tried to walk away. Trouble is, some men object to you doing that. They don’t believe in you finding the light. My father tried, and he failed. The past caught up with him.” Ethan slipped both pistols back into their holsters with one swift, fluid movement of his hands. Now Warren understood why the man was so good at cards. “And now the past is catching up with Jack Denton. He just don’t know it yet. But he will soon enough.”
Warren stood. “So how do you know you can trust me not to run off to Denton and relay to him everything you just told me? Apart from the obvious reason that you’ll turn those guns on me, of course.”
It was an awful truth that Ethan made no attempt to dismiss. He preferred to make allies, not enemies, but sometimes the distinction between the two could not be helped and he had to act accordingly.
“Because I figure you for an honest man. You’re also sharp when it comes to being a part of a town like this. You don’t go around making enemies of people. I bet you’ve never had one run-in with Denton your entire life, have you?” Ethan asked him, returning to the crate he’d been sitting on previously. He bent down, picked up his coffee cup and sipped it. “I have a way of knowing about people. Probably the sole reason for my not ending up with a knife in my back is that I can usually tell what folk are about within a few minutes of talking to ’em.”
Warren accepted this. “So you’re not going to turn those guns on me when I beat you at cards.”
“Well, I never said that,” Ethan said with a grin. “I don’t give nobody an easy ride.”
“What was Myra Hart like yesterday? Since you’re in the business of figurin’ people out.”
Ethan chewed this over. “She’s a lot like you. A ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of woman. But there’s something more. Something she ain’t letting through. That woman’s got a side to her I think a man like Denton will make the grave error of misjudging, Warren. Mark my words.”
“How do you figure?”
“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say, and not very eloquently, is that Myra Hart is no pushover. If Denton thinks he can bend her to his will until she breaks, I think he’ll find she’s no brittle twig in that regard. She ain’t snapping for nobody.”
Warren shrugged. “Maybe he’ll see fit to leave her alone.”
“Nice sentiment, but I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Early hours of the morning, I heard riders approaching the property. I downplayed it to Miss Hart. Didn’t want to scare her. I let my presence be known, and they were gone soon as they came. But they were definitely there,” Ethan said, draining the last of his coffee. “I didn’t imagine them.”
“Could be anyone.”
“That is true,” Ethan said. “But we both know it’s most likely Denton’s people swinging by to see who is on the property.”
“I do not have grounds to disagree with you on that,” Warren said. “You think Denton’s behind those murders, then?”
“Yes,” Ethan said without hesitation.
Warren wiped at his brow with an old rag. “Damn if this ain’t looking worse and worse.”
“It can’t be helped.”
“I know. So you’re off to speak with the sheriff next?”
“I am,” Ethan said. “But I want to ask you something before I do. You see a lot of the comings and goings from town, am I right?”
Warren considered this. “Yessir. Guess this place is situated in just the right spot. I see a lot things.”
“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” Ethan said.
* * *
* * *
The morning sun was hot when Ethan found Sheriff Abernathy in front of the lawman’s office packing a pipe with tobacco. “Just the man,” Abernathy said without so much as looking up. “I was wondering if you’d been set upon by a pack of wolves or mauled by a bear. Or if you’d simply gotten yourself lost, which, I suppose, happens from time to time. Even to the best of us.”
Ethan leaned against the porch rail. “I got mixed up in something and didn’t get back to town until just after dawn.”
“This morning?”
“Correct.”
Abernathy nodded slowly. “Would this have to do with the Hart place?”
“It would, yes.”
“I see . . . ,” Abernathy said, his old watery eyes heavy and red around the edges. “How was she?”
“As you can expect.”
“Awful. Just awful. Did she ask you to stick around?”
“No, I offered. Least I could do for the woman.”
The sheriff studied him for a moment. “I do not have cause to doubt what you’re saying or the way you’re saying it. I worried about her staying out there, all the way out of town. I warned her as such, but she wasn’t having any of it.”
“She’s certainly strong-willed. I’ll give her that,” Ethan admitted. “So was there a reason you wished to talk to me, Sheriff?”
“There was. I just wanted to get a feelin’ for you, is all. You know, as a man.”
“As you like.”
“What’s your reason for stopping in Amity Creek?”
“Nothing in particular. Just passing through.”
“My deputy tells me you’re staying with the bl
acksmith?”
“Yes, Sheriff. Just temporarily.”
“You got the money to get yourself a room?” Abernathy asked.
Ethan nodded. “I do.”
“Then why not get one?”
“I do not wish to announce myself to the town, if that makes sense.”
Abernathy lit the pipe and studied Ethan for a second. “My other question was about those guns you’re partial to carrying around everywhere you go. Are they really necessary? You’ve seen this place. It’s hardly a hive of scum and villainy.”
“A man is entitled to defend himself, is he not?”
Abernathy tipped his head. “Of course. The Second Amendment gives you that right, and I do not intend on sitting here and debating it with you. But what I was getting at was you wearing them around town, where you might incite trouble for yourself. Maybe for others, too. People see a gunslinger, sir, well they see an opportunity to take a title and make a name for themselves. It can get messy.”
“I promise you that won’t happen.”
The sheriff smoked. “It seems to me, Ethan, that you’re here in Amity Creek with a purpose that, frankly, I do not have any real desire to know about so long as it doesn’t land trouble at my doorstep. At my time of life, I find myself more inclined to see how things play out, where I can, rather than poking my nose where it has no business in being.”
“I get what you’re saying, Sheriff.”
“However, my deputy is not of the same opinion. He’s young and full of spunk,” Abernathy said. “I won’t have much sway over the man if he takes it upon himself to intervene in any troublemaking or rabble-rousing on your part. And he’s a better shot than I am, my eyesight being what it is these days.”
“You speak in a very open manner, Sheriff,” Ethan said. “I appreciate it.”
“Glad to hear of it. But your platitudes—welcome as they are, son—will not prevent my deputy from plugging you full of lead if there’s trouble and you are the culprit. They won’t motivate me to call him off, either. Do you get my meaning?”
Ethan nodded.
“I’m not threatening you. Just laying it out as I see it and sayin’ it as it is.”
“I understand,” Ethan said.
“Now, if you feel the need to wear that gun belt in Amity Creek, I cannot stop you. It’s your given right to do so. But know well the trouble it might bring, and bear that in mind.”
“I will. Was there anything else?” Ethan asked.
Abernathy sat forward. “Matter of fact, there was. The murders at the Hart place. We already know your whereabouts on the night in question. Your alibi is solid on that account. But I do have to wonder at the coincidence of your arrival in town and the murder of that family. You are not a suspect, sir, insofar as the murders themselves are concerned. But you should know I find it peculiar as hell.”
Ethan looked down the street. People came and went. The town hummed with activity. The sun was hot, and the sky blue. He wondered how Myra was getting on. Out there on her own trying to get her brother’s affairs in order in a house filled with ghosts. “Sheriff, it’s purely coincidence,” Ethan said, meeting his gaze. “Look, I took Miss Hart to that house yesterday, and when I saw the way it affected her, I cleaned everything myself. I washed their blood from the walls, from the floors. I carried their spoiled belongings out into the courtyard and burned it all, just to save Miss Hart from dealing with it.”
“That’s mighty good of you.”
“It was a slaughterhouse in there, and you know that because you must’ve seen it. I’ve seen my fair share of things, Sheriff. I’m not going to say I haven’t. But that was one of the worst. Good don’t come into it. What I did was just bein’ decent, far as I’m concerned.”
“Okay,” the sheriff said, ruminating on Ethan’s words as he turned his attention back to the pipe in his hands. “Then with that settled, I guess I’ll bid you good day. Just think on what we talked about here. I like the fact Amity Creek is a decent place, and I like the fact the people here are generally well-behaved. I would appreciate keepin’ it that way.”
“I don’t see any reason for that to change,” Ethan said. “I have business here. Then I’ll be moving on.”
Abernathy tipped his head. “Fair enough.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Ethan said, walking away.
However amicable their conversation, he could still feel the focus of Abernathy’s gaze burning into his back all the way to the street corner. He knew the type, had encountered men like the sheriff in numerous towns up and down the country. The Ethans of the world were like catfish in a small pond, agitating all the docile fish into action, stirring a lot of things up those people preferred to turn a blind eye to. Sheriff Abernathy had wanted to speak with him because he feared change, and he knew the Ethans of the world rarely had business in a place like Amity Creek and left it how they found it.
CHAPTER SIX
The previous summer Glendon had written her and asked if she would like to stay with them a little while. The house was complete—had been for some time—and he was eager for her to see it in its finished state. “Besides,” he’d written, “Matthew and Maria are desperate to see their aunt Myra again.” If anything could have persuaded Myra to make the journey to Amity Creek, it was the opportunity to see her nephew and niece again. She’d missed them terribly since her last visit and had written them every month. “Celia is eager for another woman to talk to around here,” Glendon had added. “I cannot say I blame her. . . .”
He’d collected her from the station and regaled her with the details of everything he’d done to the house since her last visit. “I bet you won’t even recognize the place.”
By the time they arrived, Myra knew exactly what she was looking at. “You’ve done a fine job, Glendon. Our daddy would be very proud.”
“D’you think?” Glendon asked as he took the wagon into the courtyard. “I never got the impression he was much for appreciation if I’m honest.”
“Not outwardly. But from time to time, I did see evidence of his softer side. I do believe he would have looked at this house and felt something, at least,” Myra told him, her hand falling to Glendon’s shoulder. “Some measure of pride, perhaps.”
Glendon smiled. “Funny you say that. I do wonder sometimes if he would’ve been proud of me.”
“I believe that he would,” Myra said. “I am, for certain.”
Glendon brought the horses at the front of the wagon to a standstill. He helped Myra down. She refused his helping hand and climbed down on her own. “I am more than capable of doing that for myself.”
“I have no doubt, Myra. You always were a go-getter.”
“A go-getter? I don’t know whether I should feel complimented or insulted. I suspect a little of both,” Myra said sharply. The front door of the house opened and Celia appeared, wiping her floured hands on the front of her apron. “Ah, there she is. My favorite sister-in-law.”
“I think you’ll find she’s your only sister-in-law,” Glendon corrected her.
Myra shot him a look. “All the more reason to be my favorite.” She threw her arms around Celia. “So good to see you!”
“Has it been a year already?” Celia demanded to know, squeezing her tight before disengaging and stepping back to get a good look at her. “Far too long for my liking.”
Matthew and Maria appeared out of nowhere, running up to Myra and wrapping their arms around her legs. Myra gasped in delight at the sight of them. “They’ve certainly grown in a year. Good heavens, look at them.”
“I lost a tooth,” Matthew said, looking up at her with the gap evident in his grin.
“I see.”
Maria tugged at her skirts. “Aunt Myra, I haven’t lost any teeth yet.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you will soon,” Myra said, cupping her face. Maria looked like a little c
herub in her hand. “But let’s hope they grow back, eh?”
Glendon hauled Myra’s bags from the back of the wagon with considerable effort. “I’ll take these in,” he said with a grunt. “Damn, Myra, what the hell’s in them? Bodies?”
“Possibly, yes,” Myra said.
“You got these on to the train by yourself? I don’t believe it for a second.”
“I never claimed to. A man at the station helped me. I gave him a very generous tip, I can tell you. He had one of those patches over his eye.”
“You should travel lighter next time,” Glendon said, “and save my back.”
“I’ll try to remember that, brother. Although I do believe you are exaggerating a little when it comes to the weight of my belongings.”
“He is prone to do that,” Celia said.
Glendon frowned at his wife. “Thanks for the support.”
“You’re welcome.”
They followed Glendon into the house and Myra didn’t waste a minute revealing the reason for her bags weighing so much. One of them was completely full of gifts and treats for Matthew and Maria. Both were ecstatic with what she’d brought them, and while she sat on a chair at the table, they hugged her so tight, she had difficulty breathing. “You’re welcome, children,” she said, smiling as they returned to the open piece of luggage.
“You spoil them,” Celia said, watching them with obvious pleasure. “I do not think any other auntie would buy their nephews and nieces so many gifts.”
“That’s because no other auntie there ever was loves her nephew and niece the way I do,” Myra said.
Celia reached out, touched Myra’s arm.
Glendon shifted on his feet at the other end of the table. “Want the grand tour?”
Sitting with her back to her husband, Celia rolled her eyes.
Myra had to stifle a laugh. She smiled politely and said, “Sure.”
* * *
* * *
When he was done showing her around the house—there was a limit to the amount of times Myra could compliment her brother on his handiwork—Glendon asked her to walk with him outside.
