The Lawman's Surrender: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 2

by Debra Mullins

  “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 conspi
ring 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.

  The young waitress brought his steak, and he dug in with gusto. He hated working on an empty stomach.

  He did away with the steak in short order. Pleasantly surprised at the high quality of the food, he started to butter a biscuit when he noticed three men enter the dining room. Cowpokes from the looks of them, their lack of mining gear was enough to make them stand out in this crowd, at least for Jedidiah. No one else paid them any mind.

  No one except Hal Pruitt.

  One of them caught Pruitt’s eye and jerked his head in an indication to leave the room. Jedidiah kept his head bent over his meal. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pruitt glance at him uncertainly; then the leader if the three cowhands jerked his head again, this time more imperiously. Pruitt slipped out of the dining room.

  Pruitt walked through the lobby of the boarding house, the trio trailing him in such a way that the casual observer would not make any connection between them. Then the portly businessman climbed the stairs, his cohorts following a few moments behind.

  Jedidiah was out of his seat by the time the last man cleared the top of the staircase. No one paid him any mind as he tossed money on the table, then crossed the lobby and crept up the stairs after Pruitt and his cronies.

  His hand on his Colt, he caught a glimpse of the last of the three cowpokes disappearing into a room. The door shut firmly behind him.

  Looked like things were about to get exciting, Jedidiah thought. Darned good thing he’d had supper.

  Molly Pruitt dragged Susannah into the dining room, still panting from their mad run from the cellar.

  “I can’t believe how late I am. Hal must be so angry!” She glanced nervously around the dining room, smoothing her hair with both hands.

  “Molly, why don’t I just wait here while you find your husband?”

  Molly shook her head. “I want you to stay with me,” she said. “After I let Hal know I’m here, we’ll go into the kitchen to make his dinner...and you can do what you need to do.”

  Susannah glanced down at the bottle of arsenic she still held. How was she going to get out of this one?

  “Mrs. Pruitt, there you are!” A well-dressed young clerk hurried over, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his agitation. “Mr. Pruitt’s been looking for you, ma’am. He’s mighty angry.”

  Molly paled. “Where is he?” she whispered.

  “Upstairs in his office.”

  Molly sighed and smoothed down her skirts. “I’d best let him know that I’m here. This way, Susannah.”

  The young man’s mouth fell open in awe as Susannah passed him. And he wasn’t the only one. Several of the diners stared at her as well. Jedidiah was right—she was too conspicuous. She might as well just sit out in the middle of Main Street and wait for Wayne Caldwell and his lynch mob to come fetch her!

  Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself, she hurried after Molly as the smaller woman darted through the crowded lobby and headed up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, Molly stopped outside a closed door and took a deep breath before timidly knocking. The rumble of male voices on the other side of the door ceased abruptly.

  “Who is it?” a man thundered, his tone short with impatience.

  “It’s Molly, Hal. I just wanted to let you know I’m back—”

  The door jerked open, and Hal Pruitt glared down at his wife. “Where the hell have you been, woman?”

  “I—”

  “Get in here!” Pruitt grabbed Molly by the arm and dragged her into the room. Molly caught Susannah’s hand, pulling her along as Pruitt slammed the door shut.

  Susannah glanced uneasily around the room. Two disreputable looking cow hands sprawled in the only two chairs in the room, and a third man, with dark eyes as mean as she had ever seen, leaned his hip against Pruitt’s desk. He looked her up and down, then grinned lewdly.

  Susannah stared back coldly. She recognized bandits when she saw them, and in her travels, she had long ago learned that fear often encouraged such men rather than discouraged them.

  “Who the hell is this?” Pruitt demanded, bringing Susannah’s attention back to him.

  “This is my friend, Susannah,” Molly said, her voice quavering. “I—I brought her to help in the dining room.”

  “Who said you could make decisions like that?” Pruitt snarled. Molly ducked her head. “I run this business, woman, and I am the only one who can hire anyone!”

  “Yes, Hal,” Molly whispered.

  “But since she’s here, let’s see if she’s fit to work at Pruitt’s.” His gaze slid over Susannah’s body, lingering on her bosom before coming to rest on her face. He frowned. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “I doubt it,”
Susannah replied, this time not bothering to hide her aversion.

  “Don’t you talk back to me,” Pruitt warned. “If you want this job, you keep a civil tongue in your head!”

  “Or somewhere else,” the leader of the bandits said. The other two desperados laughed.

  “She’d make a hell of a whore,” one of them suggested.

  Pruitt drew himself up. “This is a respectable boarding house, gentlemen, not a brothel.”

  The three ruffians burst into laughter. “If you say so, Pruitt,” the leader said. “Sure is a damn shame, though.”

  Susannah glanced at Molly. The woman’s face was beet red, but she kept her gaze obediently downcast. Pruitt was a loud-mouthed braggart and outweighed Molly by at least a hundred pounds. The idea of him using his greater strength to hurt the sweet woman was enough to tempt Susannah to use the arsenic she still held concealed within her skirts.

  “I could swear I’ve seen you someplace before,” Pruitt said, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

  Susannah shrugged. “Maybe I look like someone you know.”

  “I’d remember someone who looks like you.” Pruitt glanced once more at her bosom and licked his lips. “If you want the job, it’s yours. Maybe that pretty face of yours will bring in extra business.”

  Before Susannah could respond, he turned to his wife. “Now, where the hell were you, woman? You’re over an hour late!”

  “I’m sorry, Hal,” Molly whispered.

  “I don’t care how sorry you are! I want to know where the hell you were!”

  Molly swallowed hard and glanced up at her husband. “I brought the supper over to the jail like I always do and—”

  “The jail!” Pruitt spun back to Susannah. “That’s where I’ve seen you! You’re that whore husband-killer!”

  “I’m no whore,” Susannah snapped back.

  Pruitt took a step toward her, rage contorting his features. “What the hell are you doing out of jail?”

  “I escaped,” Susannah returned defiantly, holding up the bottle of arsenic. “I heard there were some husbands hereabouts that needed killing.”

  Pruitt’s eyes widened, and he glanced from Susannah to the poison in her hand, to his wife. “You ungrateful slut!” he shouted, grabbing Molly by the arm and glaring into her face. “You brought her here? You think she can kill me? I’ll teach you to think!” He slapped Molly hard in the face with a loud crack. She crumpled at his feet, curling into a ball and sobbing softly.