Ironhorse

31

“No,” Virgil said.

“But you will.”

Virgil nodded.

“Yes, I will.”

“It was about Allie,” I said.

“It was.”

“Not from Allie, though.”

“Pony Flores,” Virgil said. “It was from Pony Flores.”

“About Allie,” I said.

“I already said it was about Allie.”

“What about Allie?”

“I ain’t said yet, Everett. You let me tell ya, I’ll tell ya.”

“Okay, go right ahead, but you already told me you think she’s fucking Chauncey Teagarden.”

Virgil just looked at me.

“My apologies, go right ahead.”

“The telegram was, as I previously said, from Pony. Pony wrote, Allie started working at the Boston House Saloon again.”

“Doing what?”

“Pony’s telegram said Widow Callico took up working at the Boston House first,” Virgil said, “and encouraged Allie to join her.”

“Sheriff Callico’s grave is still warm,” I said.

“Allie obliged Widow Callico, and they started up a duo.”

“A duo? What kind of duo?”

“Allie sings and plays the piano, and Widow Callico dances some and plays the fiddle,” Virgil said.

“I’ll be damn. A duo.”

“That’s what the telegram said.”

“That’s not that bad,” I said. “Not necessarily good for those listening, but there’s no reason for jumping to conclusions.”

“Pony’s telegram said they draw a lively crowd.”

“Maybe Widow Callico is a bit more musically inclined than Allie.”

“It’s a nightly mus-A-cal,” Virgil said.

“Well, how about that,” I said. “Maybe she’s found her calling; maybe this attention will do her some good.”

“Let’s have a nudge of your spirits, Everett.”

I pulled my flask from the inside breast pocket of my jacket and handed it to Virgil.

“Maybe she’s making some money,” I said. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Virgil uncapped the flask and took a nip.

“Seems after this nightly mus-A-cal, Widow Callico and Allie have both been spending time upstairs in Teagarden’s room,” Virgil said. “Allie told Pony’s wife they play cards, pinochle.”