The Lawman's Surrender: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 2 (9 page)

“Not unless I have to.” Jedidiah grinned, dark humor coloring his words. “Just to sober up Mr. Pruitt, maybe.”

The sheriff sighed. “All right then. Just take it easy over there. Pruitt can be something of a hothead, and he’s not real big on respecting law and order when he’s had a few too many.”

“He’ll respect me. Take care of that head, Sheriff.”

Jedidiah turned and left the cell, hand resting on his Colt.

Chapter Seven

“Mrs. Pruitt,” Susannah said, “why would you want to kill your husband?”

“That’s a private matter,” the woman answered, turning away to fuss with some jars of preserves on a nearby shelf. “You’ve killed three of your own husbands. What’s one more?”

“It’s just not that simple,” Susannah replied, stalling for time. “I mean, a woman has her reasons for doing these things.”

“Indeed she does,” murmured Mrs. Pruitt, though she seemed to be speaking to herself.

“Well, I simply can’t kill a man without a reason.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Susannah wanted to call them back. Where had that come from? She had no intention of killing anyone! But Molly Pruitt’s evident distress made her play the game until she could find out just what was going on.

Mrs. Pruitt spun around to face her, clutching her hands together in dismay. “Couldn’t you just trust me on this? The man needs killing, and I can’t do it myself.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to tell me why.”

Mrs. Pruitt bit her lip. “How about you tell me why you killed your husbands, and then I’ll tell you why I want you to kill mine?”

“All right.” Jedidiah was never going to hear the end of this, Susannah vowed, even as she searched her imagination for a likely tale.

“My first husband was Winston,” she began. Her gaze fell on the jars of preserves lining the shelves. “Winston Glass. He was a charming man, and I fell in love with him right away. Unfortunately, two months after our wedding, I found out that he was already married, so I kicked the low-down skunk out of our bed and locked him out of the house. Too bad it was winter, and he froze to death.”

“I would have done the same thing,” Mrs. Pruitt said with admiration. “What about your second husband?”

“My second husband? That would be Homer...ah...” She searched her mind for a name, then glanced down and noticed the flour sacks she rested upon. “Homer Flowers,” she said triumphantly. “He drank too much and caused me no amount of embarrassment. One night I locked the door against him. He drowned in the horse trough.”

“How awful,” Mrs. Pruitt gasped. “But it seems to me that your husbands’ deaths were more accidents than murder.”

“Well, I thought so, too,” Susannah agreed, getting into her tale. “And I have to admit, the townspeople let them both slide, seeing as how my only crime was to lock the door of my house. But then came...Jed. Jed Brown.”

“What happened with Jed?” Mrs. Pruitt asked breathlessly.

“Jed was a different breed altogether,” Susannah said with mischievous grin, imagining Jedidiah’s face in her mind. “He was a liar and a skunk. He had no manners at all—a complete and utter lout.”

“Then why did you ever marry him?”

“Because he was handsome,” Susannah replied truthfully. “He’s...I mean, he
was
a man of the world who was good with a gun and knew how to sweet talk a lady when he had a mind to.”

“He sounds wonderful to me,” Mrs. Pruitt sighed.

Susannah frowned, realizing her tone had softened from righteous to almost infatuated! “Well, uh...unfortunately, he had a mind to sweet talk a lot of ladies...none of whom were his wife.”

“My goodness!” Mrs. Pruitt exclaimed in horrified fascination. “What did you do to him?”

“I poisoned him,” Susannah replied with relish, imagining the scene. “I put poison in his supper one night. He died three days later—a long and lingering death with a lot of pain. Needless to say, that man never bothered me again.”

“I’m sure he deserved it.”

“Every second of it,” Susannah muttered. “The fast-talking weasel!”

“And that was when they decided to prosecute you for all three deaths?”

Susannah abandoned her mental image of Jedidiah writhing in pain and cleared her throat. “Well, three husbands in eighteen months is quite a lot.” She raised her eyebrows in expectation. “I’ve told you my story, Mrs. Pruitt. How about you tell me yours?”

“You’re such a strong woman,” Mrs. Pruitt said in admiration. “I wish I had your courage. And please, do call me Molly.”

“All right, Molly. Why do you want me to kill your husband?”

Molly ducked her head and stared at her hands. “It’s hard for me to talk about,” she whispered.

A suspicion slipped into Susannah’s mind, one that chased all humor from the situation. “Molly, does he hit you?”

Molly made a small whimpering sound and refused to meet Susannah’s gaze.

Susannah reached out and took hold of the woman’s arm. “Does he hurt you? Tell me, Molly.”

Biting her lip, Molly gave a small nod.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Just since we’ve been married.”

“And how long have you been married?”

Molly twisted her wedding band around on her finger. “Three years.”

Susannah stared at Molly, noting her fragile build, and wondered what kind of monster would deliberately harm such a clearly kind-hearted woman.

“He’s been beating you for three years?”

Molly nodded. “He doesn’t mean it most of the time,” she added quickly. “It’s usually the drink that brings it out in him. And he’s always sorry.”

“I’m sure he is,” Susannah muttered, anger simmering through her. She should have seen the signs sooner—the scared rabbit demeanor, the defensiveness, Molly’s lack of interest in her appearance. But she had been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t even noticed things that would normally set off warning bells. She had encountered beaten wives before in her travels, and it never ceased to infuriate her that men who claimed to love, honor and cherish could turn on their mates in such a brutal manner.

“It’s just that I found out I’m expecting,” Molly continued, resting a hand on her abdomen, “and I’m afraid if he keeps on with this, he’ll hurt the baby. I’ve asked him to quit the drinking, but he just gets even madder. The only way to make sure my baby is safe is if Hal is dead. And I can’t do it myself.”

“So you figured that I could.”

Molly shrugged. “Seems to me you’ve already killed so many husbands, what’s one more? Maybe we could poison him, like you did to Jed.”

“Have you gone to the sheriff, Molly?”

The smaller woman grew pale. “I couldn’t do that! Then everyone would know. Besides, Hal told me lots of times that no one would believe me.” She sniffled, her bony shoulders sagging. “You’re my only hope, Miss Black Widow. Or should that be Mrs. Black Widow?”

“For Heaven’s sake, my name is Susannah.”

“Susannah, then.” Molly’s voice trembled at Susannah’s terse tone. “I suppose we should be on a first name basis since you’re going to poison Hal for me and all.”

Susannah rubbed her temples. “Did it occur to you that there might be another way? You could just leave him, you know.”

“Leave my husband?” Molly exclaimed in shock. “I could never do that! It would be a sin against God!”

Susannah stared. “Leaving him because he beats you is a sin against God, but killing him wouldn’t be?”

“Well, we’re married only until death parts us. And besides, I wouldn’t be doing the actual killing. You would.”

Once again Susannah had to acknowledge the convoluted logic.

“What kind of poison did you use on Jed?” Molly asked, turning to rummage on a shelf full of cans and boxes. She pulled forth a brown bottle. “I managed to get some of this from the ore refinery. It’s arsenic.”

Susannah looked from the bottle of poison held out to her to the desperate hope shining in Molly’s big doe eyes, and wondered how the heck she was going to get out of this one.

The last rays of the setting sun still set the sky afire as Jedidiah walked into Pruitt’s Bed & Feed.

The place was bustling with supper hour traffic. The dining room on his right was packed to the brim with dusty miners starving from a hard day’s work. Waitresses ran back and forth from the kitchen, their arms filled with steaming platters that set Jedidiah’s stomach to rumbling.

He’d spent the whole day on a wild goose chase, and it had been a long time since lunch.

He turned to his left and entered the lobby of the boarding house. It looked more like a hotel, with a long front desk and a large staircase leading to the upper floor. A young man worked diligently behind the desk, his hair slicked back and his shirt buttoned up so tight it was amazing he could breathe. Jedidiah headed toward him, passing by the guests waiting in line to get their rooms. A few men took one look at Jedidiah and scurried away like mice sighting an owl. Some people—especially those who had once bent a law or two—had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when a man with a badge was in their vicinity.

Jedidiah stepped up to the desk, leaned an elbow on it, and rang the bell. The clerk looked at him in annoyance.

“May I help you, sir?” he said, his manner entirely too supercilious for a kid his age.

“You sure can,” Jedidiah replied with a smile that showed all his teeth. “You can find Mr. Hal Pruitt for me and you can do it darn quick, son.”

“Mr. Pruitt is a very busy man,” the young man said. “Who shall I say is inquiring?”

Jedidiah tugged open his duster so his badge caught the light. “You just tell him there’s a U.S. Marshal here to see him.”

The clerk’s mouth fell open. “Yes, sir!” he stammered. “If you’ll just wait here... Mr. Pruitt is busy in the dining room. Mrs. Pruitt usually manages the supper hour, but she went out somewhere and hasn’t come back yet.”

“Is that so?” It was looking more and more like Mrs. Pruitt had indeed been the one to break Susannah out of jail. Was she conspiring with her husband, or acting on her own? There was only one way to find out. “I wouldn’t want you to leave the desk unattended,” Jedidiah said with a less menacing grin. “Perhaps you could just point him out to me?”

The young clerk heaved a sigh of relief. “You can just ask for him in the dining room,” he said. “He’s a big man with a mustache, dressed in a very nice suit.”

“Thank you, son,” Jedidiah said. “I’ll be sure to tell him you were kind enough to point him out to me.”

The youngster paled and gasped out a stammering protest as Jedidiah turned and made his way to the dining room.

He spotted Hal Pruitt right away, a big, bellowing fellow in a fancy suit who stood near the doorway just inside the dining room. The man was shorter than Jedidiah but wider in the torso—plump if the truth be told—balding and red-faced with a large handlebar mustache. He alternately shouted at the waitresses and smiled at the patrons. In between, he furtively kept glancing at the door with a fierce frown on his face, as if watching for someone late for an appointment.

Or, Jedidiah thought, for an errant wife.

He approached Pruitt with a casual grin on his lips. “Evening, sir. Are you Mr. Pruitt?”

Pruitt returned an oily smile of his own. “That’s me,” he replied heartily. “Are you looking to dine this evening? The house special tonight is steak—from my special private stock of beef.”

“That sounds mighty good,” Jedidiah replied, “but I’m not here for supper.” He opened his duster so Pruitt could see the badge pinned to his vest.

Pruitt paled. “Goodness, imagine that! A U.S. Marshal here in my restaurant.”

Jedidiah raised his eyebrows at the reaction. Pruitt glanced around apprehensively, as if assuring himself there was nothing within sight that could get him in trouble, and his hand shook as he smoothed his mustache.

Indications of a guilty man, Jedidiah noted with interest. But guilty of what?

“You know, Mr. Pruitt, I do believe I will have some of that steak,” he decided on the spot. “We can discuss business after I eat.”

“Of course, Marshal.” Pruitt gestured to a nearby serving girl. “Show the marshal to our best table,” he said, “and fetch him the biggest steak in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Pruitt.”

Jedidiah gave Pruitt a curt nod. “Much obliged, Pruitt.”

“The honor is mine, Marshal,” the portly man returned with an insincere smile. “Only the finest for officers of the law.”

Definitely guilty, Jedidiah thought as he followed the waitress to his table. Things were getting mighty interesting.

He sat down and ordered some of Pruitt’s infamous private stock steak, which was priced so high that it ought to come on a gold plate. The man himself continued to monitor the activity in the dining room, occasionally pulling forth his pocket watch and scowling at it. Jedidiah kept his eye on him, and every time their gazes met, Pruitt gave him that same snake-oil salesman smile.

He didn’t trust the man an inch.

Susannah was with Pruitt’s wife, and obviously Pruitt was expecting her. So Jedidiah would fill his empty stomach and watch for Mrs. Pruitt to come back. If she wasn’t back by the time he’d finished his steak, he and Mr. Pruitt would just have to go fetch her. Together.