Texas Bluff

CHAPTER 30

They each had a cup of tea and some cookies the woman said she had just made for herself. They found out that her name was Mary Cronin and she had lived there for a very long time.

“I remember when the Bloody Spur went up,” she said, “and then all them others followed. I remember when this wasn’t called Hell’s Half Acre, or the Bloody Third Ward. I remember when decent folks lived here. Now look what we got. Drunks and gamblers.” She peered at Butler. “Which one are you?”

He smiled.

“Ma’am, I believe I’ve been one or the other at certain times of my life.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m impressed. I do believe that was an honest answer.”

“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d like to ask you about the murder of Ed Cramer. Do you know who Mr. Cramer was?”

“’Course I do, young man. I’m old, I ain’t stupid.”

“I didn’t mean to say that you were, Ma’am—”

“Could you just call me Mary and stop with the Ma’am all the time?”

“I believe I can do that, Mary.”

She looked at Short.

“You ever been drunk?”

“I’ve turned a card and been drunk plenty of times, Mary,” Short admitted. “Too many from my wife’s point of view.”

“Another honest man,” Mary said. “I don’t know what to do with all this honesty.”

“I’ll give you some more, then, Mary,” Butler said. “My friend Luke, here, has been accused of murdering Ed Cramer. Now, he didn’t do it—”

“I know he didn’t do it,” she said, looking at Short. “You Luke Short?”

“Yes, Ma—Mary.”

“I thought so. You had cause to kill Cramer, didn’t ya?”

“I did.”

“But you didn’t do it.”

“No.”

“I ain’t askin’ ya,” she snapped, “I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Can you also tell us how you know Luke didn’t do it, Mary?”

“Of course I can.” She smiled, showing a few gaps where teeth used to be, but the ones she had left looked good and strong. “Because I know who did.”

More tea, more cookies, stories about her three husbands, only one of the no-good sonsofbitches gave her a son who was taking care of her.

“Only one son?” Butler asked. “Or only one worth mentioning?”

Short looked at him like he was mad. What did they care about these stories?

“That’s a good question, Mr. Butler.”

“Just Butler, Ma’am.”

“Ain’t that a good question, Mr. Short?”

Butler gave Short a look.

“It’s Luke, Mary,” he said. “Just call me Luke.”

“Don’t you think Butler’s question was a good one?” she pressed on.

“I think it was mighty fine, yes.”

She looked at Butler.

“I’ll tell ya, I got only one son, but he’s takin’ real good care of me.”

“That’s good,” he said. “It’s important to have a good son.”

“What about you?” she asked Butler.

“What about me?”

“Are you a good son to your Ma?”

“I like to think I was.”

“Was?”

“She’s dead, Mary,” he said, then added, “somebody killed her.”

“Who?” she asked. “Who killed her?”

“Same people that killed my Pa,” Butler said. “I don’t know who they are yet, though.”

“Yet? You gonna find them?”

“Someday,” he said. “Someday I’ll find them and kill them all.”

She stared at him, then smiled and said, “See that? You are a good son.”

She looked at Short, who was hoping she wouldn’t ask him about his mother.

“Who thinks you killed Cramer?”

“The sheriff.”

“That skunk Courtwright?” she asked,

“I see we agree on somethin’, Mary,” Short said.

“We agree on more than that, Luke,” she said. “We agree that you didn’t kill that sonofabitch Cramer.”

“But you know who did?” he asked.

“Ya darn tootin’ I do.”

“And you’re gonna tell us?”

She nodded sagely, and said, “I’m gonna tell ya.”