“Good.”
“Incidentally, it was a good thing you made me get out there when you did. There were some kids in the cabin, just like before. They had the covers off her and were doing God knows what before I got there and scared them away. Probably having a circle jerk, the little bastards. Fortunately, I know who they are. I’ll tell their daddies, and I can pretty much promise you that those boys will be making some woodshed visits. And taking their meals off their mantels for a while.”
“You can’t blame them, I suppose,” Longarm allowed. “God knows I was a horny little shit my own self when I was young. But you can’t let it go on either. It isn’t right, never mind what Nancy did for a living.”
“Come on into the back if you like,” the barber offered. From the way he said it, with an exaggerated normalcy that suggested a shyness that the man would rather not admit to, Longarm suspected it was highly unusual for anyone to be invited to look in on that side of his livelihood. A professional courtesy perhaps, acknowledging Longarm’s livelihood, which also dealt with death? Naw, probably not. He was just reading stuff in where it didn’t belong. “Glad to,” was all he said, and the barber led the way.
The room was small and kept toasty warm with a coal-burning stove. Nancy’s slim, pale form was laid out on a broad, very heavy table.
“I built the fire high so she’ll thaw out,” the man said. “She has to be thawed completely or I can’t pump the embalming fluid through the arteries.”
“I thought you wouldn’t have to embalm her. I thought you’d just use a lead-sealed coffin and send her the way she was.”
The undertaker gave Longarm a sheepish look. “When I saw her like this … I don’t know that I can explain it. But … I didn’t want anything more to happen to her to … well, to take any more dignity away from her. If you know what I mean.”
“I know,” Longarm said in a small voice.
“She had … maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you think I’m a fool because of it, so be it … the thing is, when I was trying to pick her up and get her out to the sled, the light was slanting across her cheek and I saw … what I saw was a tear, frozen there on her flesh. It may sound silly, but when I saw that …”
“I saw it too, friend. That’s why I want so bad to find out who killed her.”
“You do understand what I mean then.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said. “I surely do.”
The undertaker cleared his throat. Then smiled. “You concentrate on doing your job, Marshal. I’ll do mine. I’ll embalm her the very best I know how and put her in the best coffin I have. Then I’ll let that stove go out and keep her safe here as long as need be. Whenever there’s a train ready to carry her … and once you decide where you want to take her … I’ll have her ready to travel.”
“Do whatever you think best, my friend, and give me the bill.”
The undertaker shook his head. “Not this time. No charge. I … just consider it a gift from me to a girl I kinda think of as a friend.”
“I tell you what, then,” Longarm said. “Let’s you and me split the bill.”
“I can go along with that.”
Longarm sighed and walked across the room. He stood over the dead girl, looking down on the undamaged and still quite lovely side of her young and pretty face.
She had been something, this child of sorrow and pain. And whatever she might have done in the past, she never deserved to end up here on a wooden slab far from her family and those who loved her.
The tear was still there, he saw. The tear that affected him and that likewise affected the Kittstown undertaker.
It was thawing now, that tear, the ice turning soft and commencing to sag lower on her cheek.
On an impulse Longarm collected the bit of moisture on the ball of his thumb and, before he consciously gave thought to it, tasted of its tart and salty flavor.
The gesture was a vow of sorts, a taking into himself of something of this dead and abused girl-child.
Whoever had done this to her had done it also to him.
And for that there could be no mercy.
“Reckon I’d best get to work now,” Longarm said, “and leave you to yours.”
“If there is anything I can do …”
“I’ll call on you. And thanks.” Longarm gave Nancy one last look, then spun on his heels and strode out to face the storm and whatever else might be hidden inside the white curtain of blowing snow.
Chapter 31
He wasn’t sure, but when he went outside he thought the wind had let up just a little. Maybe.
Still cold as a witch’s tit, though. Still blowing snow. But maybe just the least little bit less snow moving around in the air. Visibility seemed a tiny bit better. If there was anything they needed, it was a break in the weather. To get the trains moving again. To get some food stocks and other things coming in again. Those things were sorely needed.
On the other hand, once the railroad tracks were open Nancy’s killer, or killers, would be free to leave Kittstown. And if there was anything Custis Long did not want, it would be for him/them to get away. That was just plainly not acceptable.
He tugged his fur hat low and turned his coat collar high, and made his way almost comfortably back toward town.
The livery stable was gone, he saw. Charred beams and black rubble, not a stick of any of it standing more than waist high, were all that was left. The snow downwind from where the barn had stood was gray from windswept ash and soot, but he was pleased to see that the townspeople had been able to keep the adjacent buildings from catching fire. The only damage was to the livery. And that could be rebuilt if the owner wanted. The corrals were intact and the well would still be good. A couple of hayricks had burned down with the barn, and of course whatever tack and feeds were stored inside. For the sake of the innocent owner of the business, Longarm hoped he’d been well insured against fire loss.
Longarm hurried on by and turned down the main street toward the mayor’s general mercantile.
Perhaps because the excitement of the fire had forced so many people outdoors, the store was busy. Longarm couldn’t recall seeing anyone else in the place, on his previous visits, but now there were several ladies and three men browsing through the merchandise.
None of them seemed to be having much luck finding the things they wanted.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Corbett,” Parminter was saying to a buxom matron with a bun so tight the corners of her eyes were pulled back to make her look Chinese. “We don’t have any meats at all, not even bacon. No wheat flour, no tinned fruits, and no sugar left either. I still have some cornmeal and a good supply of rice. Still have some raisins and plenty of that awful pemmican I was foolish enough to buy off a passing Shoshone a while back. Oh, yes. I still have near a whole crock of sauerkraut. I keep forgetting about that. But then it smells so bad that I keep it in the storeroom and never think to mention it.”
“How much cornmeal did you say you have, Mr. Parminter?”
“About ten pounds or a little better, Mrs. Corbett.”
“I will take it all off your hands, sir. And raisins and some of that rice and-“
“Leandra!” the other lady gasped.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“You could share that cornmeal with me, you know.”
“How much do you want, dear?”
“Half.”
“I would give up two pounds. No more.”
“Half,” the other woman insisted. “And the rest of those raisins, Mr. Parminter. And …”
The list was impressive. Parminter jotted it all down, added up the ladies’ bills, and informed them of the totals. The Corbett woman sniffed and made an imperious little waggle of her finger advising Parminter to put the amount on her account. The other lady pulled out a coin purse and counted out the exact amount for her purchases.