A Wolf in the Fold

Gertrude stopped and faced me. “Haven’t you realized by now that I am accustomed to getting my own way? No one tells me how to live. Especially not my husband. I do what I want, when I want.”

The more I learned about her, the more formidable she became. “A lot of men wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Nonsense. Most men have the spines of jellyfish. Lloyd has no gumption at all. It’s why I married him.”

“You picked a puny man on purpose?”

“Weak men are easy to control. Strong men are not. I chose someone I could wrap around my finger and keep him wrapped from the ‘I do’ until I plant him. I haven’t ever told anyone this, and I trust you will keep it to yourself.”

It was with mixed feelings that I watched the Tanners leave. Lloyd had climbed up without a word, but the son had paused.

“Nice eulogy, Parson. Short and to the point. You’re not a windbag like some preachers I’ve come across.” Phil had winked at me. “Some people are never what you take them for, are they?”

That had me wondering. Had Gertrude confided in him about me? I hoped not. If she had broken her word, she was in for a nasty surprise when I was done with the Butchers.

Calista was waiting by the buckboard. I helped her up, mounted to the seat, and turned the buckboard around. Clouds of dust from those who preceded us caused her to cough and cover her nose and mouth with her hand. The LT was well behind us when she lowered it and commented, “All these years I thought Gerty was my friend.”

“She is upset about the killings.”

“That’s no excuse for severing our friendship.” Calista removed her hat and set it in her lap. The play of sun on her hair and face was quite appealing. “A true friend does not cast you aside like an old hat.”

“She will come to her senses in time and say she is sorry.” I did not believe that for a second, but I was such an accomplished liar by now, the lies spilled out without me having to think them up.

“You know better. Gerty never admits she is wrong. She never apologizes. Why should she, when in her eyes she never makes mistakes?”

“It must be nice to be perfect.”

Calista smiled and fluffed her hair. “She would say we judge her unfairly. But the truth is, she sees only what she wants to see when she looks in the mirror.”

“Don’t we all?” I rarely used mirrors. My reflection only reminded me of what I had become. Yet I had no hankering to change. Wasn’t that odd?

“True,” Calista said. “I just wish I knew what Gerty was up to. It might explain her attitude.”

“You’ve lost me,” I admitted.

“For months she has not been herself. Oh, she has always been a cold fish, and always looked down her nose at the rest of humanity. But something more is going on. She isn’t like she used to be.”

“You’ve still lost me.”

“How can I explain?” Calista asked herself aloud. “It’s little things you wouldn’t recognize because you haven’t known her as long as I have. She’s changed. Become more withdrawn. More secretive.”

“Maybe it is your imagination,” I suggested. It would not do to have her link Gertrude’s strange behavior to my arrival and the soon-to-be-departed Butchers.

“No. There can be no mistake. She changed about when Everett Butcher vanished. Although what those two could have in common is beyond me.”

I silently exhaled in relief. But I was also puzzled. Was I the one not seeing a link? What did Gertrude have to do with Everett? “Didn’t he disappear before the rustling commenced?”

“Long before,” Calista confirmed.

If Gerty was involved, her motive was a mystery. It was of no importance to me, anyhow. All that mattered was the job. Always, the job.

We made small talk and in due course I let her off in front of her place and took the buckboard to the livery. I checked on Brisco in his stall, then went to my room and sat on the edge of the bed to wait for the sun to set. Tonight was the night. At long last I could get to doing what I do best.

Chapter 9

I told the livery owner that Brisco had been cooped up too long. Not that I needed an excuse to ride my own horse, but it might seem a smidgen strange, me going for a ride at night. I allowed as how I would ride toward the Fair Sister and if I got back late, I’d tie Brisco to the hitch rail in front of Calista’s and bring him to the stable in the morning.

The livery owner thought I was mighty considerate. “Most folks bring in their nags any hour of the night they feel like it,” he complained. “It never occurs to them I need my rest the same as everybody else.”

Brisco champed at the bit. He really had been cooped up too long. I headed east at a walk, but once I was out of sight of Whiskey Flats I reined in a wide loop and soon was cantering west toward the Dark Sister.

I admit I felt a few twinges. My conscience came out of hibernation. For the first time since I strangled my wife, I felt guilt.