The Bride's Prerogative by Susan Page Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Bitsy herself worked the room tonight. As Ethan entered, she stood next to a table where three men were seated. All were focused on Bitsy, who had changed her deep red funeral wear for a shimmering blue and silver dress with a plunging neckline. Other than that, the dress was quite modest, and Ethan tried to keep his attention on those other features. Even so, he nearly stepped on young Goldie, who carried a tray of drinks toward a table of card players in the corner.
    “Oh, excuse me, miss.” He jumped back out of Goldie’s path.
    “Don’t mind if I do, Sheriff.” Goldie gave him a saucy smile, and Ethan blushed to his hairline.
    Walker sat at the table Bitsy graced with her presence, so Ethan turned in that direction, being more careful where he stepped. The room held a dozen ranch hands and miners, in addition to a handful of the town pillars. One of the pillars beckoned to him.
    “Say, Sheriff, how are things in town this evening?” Cyrus Fennel called as he approached.
    “Quiet so far, Mr. Fennel.”
    “Glad to hear it.” Cyrus took a puff on his cigar and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
    “Mr. Walker, I’d like to talk to you, if you’ve got a minute,” Ethan said to the mayor, who sat on Fennel’s left.
    Bitsy smiled at the men. “Well, enjoy your drinks, gents. Bring you anything, Sheriff?”
    “No thanks, ma’am.”
    She nodded and moved away, greeting the cowhands at the next table as though they were long-lost relatives.
    “What is it, Chapman?” The mayor’s shrill voice almost made Ethan smile. How many times had he imitated that tone to make Hiram laugh? The realization that he now answered to the mayor, when this morning he’d answered to no man, made his stomach churn. That and the cigar smoke.
    “It’s about Bert Thalen.”
    “God rest his soul,” said Oscar Runnels, who ran a freight business consisting largely of several dozen pack mules.
    “What about him?” The mayor cradled his glass between his hands and smiled up at Ethan as though he hadn’t a care in this world, which he probably didn’t, this far from Mrs. Walker.
    “Well, I …” Ethan glanced at Cy Fennel and Oscar Runnels, suddenly wondering if he’d ought to spill all he knew in public. “Could I have a private word with you, sir?”
    “Official town business at this time of night?” The mayor’s voice escalated into a whine. “Just spit it out, Chapman. Is it about Bert’s personal property?”
    “No, sir. It’s about … about how he died.”
    “Hit his head,” said Fennel.
    “That’s right.” Walker nodded vigorously, almost slopping his drink. “And we gave him a right good sendoff this afternoon.”
    “Well, sir …” Ethan saw that the miners and poker players had begun to take an interest in their conversation. He pulled up a chair and sat down so he could lean close to Walker and drop his voice. “It’s true his head hit on something, all right, or rather, something hit his head. And I think I’ve found out what that something was.”
    The three men at the table stared at him. The others in the room had resumed their conversations, and Augie poured another round for two men leaning on the bar.
    “Not his bunk bed?” Cyrus asked.
    Ethan shifted his gaze to Fennel. The man’s steely eyes made his neck prickle. Best to bring in the fact that Hiram could corroborate what he’d found. “No, sir. Hiram Dooley and I set out to redd up the jailhouse after the funeral, and we found a stick of firewood with blood and hair on the end of it, like someone had been smacked hard with it.”
    Fennel took a quick drink from his glass. The mayor continued to stare, but Runnels asked, “Where’d you find this here stick of wood?”
    “Er, yes,” Walker added.
    “In the wood box beside the jailhouse stove.”
    The three sat in silence for a moment. Ethan waited for them to say something. He hadn’t ever thought about it much, but Cyrus often seemed to speak when the mayor