Texas Bluff

CHAPTER 29

Outside Short was surprised to find Butler approaching him.

“You’re followin’ a little too close, don’t you think?” he asked.

“I don’t think it matters,” Butler said. “There’s a window across the street with somebody in it. No gun,” he added, to keep Short from dropping to the ground. “Just nosy, I think.”

“And?”

“If they make a habit of watching this street, or this saloon, maybe they saw something.”

“That means if they’re nosy enough,” Short said, “they could see what goes on here mornin’, noon, and night.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“You know what floor? What door we knock on?”

“I can guess,” Butler said, “but I don’t want to make it too obvious that we’re going over there.”

“Okay,” Short said, “we’ll take a short walk down the block, and then double back across the street.”

Butler nodded.

Mary Cronin had lived on Rusk Street for the past twenty years. She’d seen saloons go up and come down and go up again. She’d seen men lie, cheat, steal and kill, and all from her window. Now she was seventy years old and she still prided herself on her eyesight. She lived on money she got from her son every month, cooked all her own food, never left her rooms, and spent most of her waking hours at her window.

As far as she was concerned, this block belonged to her.

When a knock came at her door she was surprised. Nobody ever came to see her but her son, and he had his own key.

She was loath to leave her window—something might happen that she’d miss—but her curiosity got the better of her. Now who could possibly be knocking at her door, and why?

She walked to it, and turned the knob.

Butler had guessed wrong with the first door they knocked on, and they’d interrupted a couple having sex, who acted like they’d been caught doing something wrong. When they realized that the woman’s husband had not sent Butler and Short, they cursed them out and slammed the door.

“I get the feeling those people are not married to each other,” Short commented.

Shaking his head, Butler led Short to the next door on that floor.

“I hope this is the right one.”

Butler knocked. He was about to knock again when the door was opened by an elderly woman.

“Yes?”

“Ma’am,” Butler said. “I believe your front window overlooks the street. Am I right?”

The woman frowned, narrowed her eyes.

“Who are you—wait. I know you. You’re the two fellas who were just across the street at the Bloody Spur, ain’tcha?”

“Yes, Ma’am, we are,” Butler said. “May we come in and talk to you?”

“Is this about the murder?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am, it is,” Luke Short said.

She looked at his silk hat—which was in his hand—and his walking stick and said, “You’re a bit of a dandy, ain’tcha?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I guess I am.”

“And you’re handsome,” she said to Butler.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Been a while since I had a handsome man or a dandy call on me,” she said. “Now I got one of each. Well, come on in, then. I reckon we got a lot to talk about.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Butler said, as he and Short entered.

Butler walked right to the front window and looked out. He could see the front of the Bloody Spur very clearly. He looked at Short and nodded.

“You young fellas will have tea with me, won’tcha?” the lady asked.

“Ma’am,” Luke Short said, “I don’t think we have the time—”

“If you wanna know what I know,” she said, “you’ll make the time.”

“And what do you know, Ma’am?” Butler asked.

“I know I ain’t had any company for tea in a month of Sundays,” she said.

“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d be delighted to join you for tea.”