“What snooping? He was lost and asking for directions, that’s all.”

He gave a snort and focused his attention on Pearl, who Laurel had been holding against her shoulder, rocking gently. She’d slept through their conversation.

“You say the baby’s sick?”

“She’s running a fever again. I want to take her back to the doctor.”

“I saw him tonight.”

She stopped her swaying motion and looked at Irv with surprise. “You went to see Dr. Driscoll?”

“Naw, naw. He was at the roadhouse, you know, the place where I pick up burgers on occasion?”

“You told me it isn’t a respectable place.”

“It ain’t. But Lefty fries a damn good burger, and he’s also a fountain of information. Knows everything happening in and around here. I went to inquire about our visitor today.”

“He didn’t know anything?”

“Said he didn’t. But he was dealing with a problem of his own. One of his, uh, girls got crosswise with a customer. He beat her up pretty bad.”

Understanding dawned. “It’s that kind of place?”

“It’s full service, all right.” Irv shook his finger at her. “Don’t you ever darken the door of it. It draws all sorts of lowlifes. The girls who work there… Well, let’s just say that most are experienced and tough enough to take care of theirselves. Lefty’s wife, Gert, is the meanest of them all. When she saw her girl there, beat up and bleeding, she went after Wally—the guy who hurt her—with a meat cleaver.

“Lefty had to literally peel Gert off him. He turned him over to his cousins—them Johnsons cavort in a pack—then tossed the whole sorry lot of them out. They called Doc Driscoll to come patch up the young lady. By the time he got there, Lefty had calmed Gert down. Some. It was quite a scene.”

Laurel listened with incredulity to Irv’s account of the brawl and marveled at the matter-of-fact way in which he’d related it. She marveled even more to think of Dr. Driscoll’s being in such a place.

During her one brief meeting with the doctor, she had thought him to be wholly professional, even a bit cool. Of course, she had been frantic with worry over Pearl, so, by comparison, anyone would have come across as composed and somewhat detached. She couldn’t imagine that man tending to a patient in a brothel.

She said, “Despite his late night, I hope he maintains office hours tomorrow. I can’t drive well enough yet to go into town. You’ll have to take us.”

“Sure, sure. Whenever you want to go.”

“First thing after breakfast.” She hesitated, then asked if he had any fix-it jobs lined up.

“A couple. Why?”

“I was thinking that as long as we’re in town, and if Pearl isn’t too fussy, we could look around, see what might be for rent.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “You’re not as smart as you think. I wasn’t lying about the old house. I knew of it, sought out the landlord and talked him into meeting me there after he finished his supper. It’s a big ol’ rambling place, but it’s stood empty for years on account of the back of it is built into a wall of limestone.”

“Built into the rock?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t take much to make it habitable. I could do the work myself. But if you don’t like it—”

“The least I can do is take a look. Thank you, Irv.”

“Don’t thank me till you’ve seen it.”

The house couldn’t be more of a nightmare than this shack she was living in. She appreciated that her father-in-law had listened to the concerns she’d raised with him this morning, and had taken her ultimatum seriously enough to act on it.

In gratitude, she smiled at him. “You look worn out. Try to get some rest.” She then retreated behind the partition with Pearl, who had become restless again and was mewling pitiably.

Eleven

Thatcher repeated the sheriff’s confounding words. “Tell you where Mrs. Driscoll is?” He looked over at the man who’d tried to attack him. “Are you Dr. Driscoll?”

“Yes, you son of a bitch. And I want to know what you’ve done with my wife.”

“Nothing but talked to her. Why? What’s happened?”

Sheriff Amos said, “She’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“It’s feared she was abducted from her home sometime between ten o’clock p.m. and one o’clock a.m.”

Thatcher glanced at the wall clock. It was going on five. He looked at each man in the room in turn, and the reason for their judgmental glowers took on meaning. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “That’s why I’m here? You think I know something about it?”

“You were seen talking with her today on her porch.”

“I said as much. I was looking for a room to rent. You can ask him.” He tipped his head toward the mayor.

“Mayor Croft told us that he gave you directions to their house.”

“A decision I regret,” the man boomed.

The sheriff, looking irritated, turned his head partially toward the mayor and said in an undertone, “Bernie, I’ll handle this.” Coming back around to Thatcher, he said, “Where’d you get the bruises, Mr. Hutton?”

“Your deputy Harold there poked me in the face with that pump-action.”

Harold, who was still rifling through his belongings, shot him a dirty look over his shoulder.

“Not the bruise on your cheek,” the sheriff said, “the one on your noggin.”

“Oh.” He reached up with his cuffed hands and touched the discolored goose egg at his temple. “I jumped off a freight train, had a hard landing, rolled down an incline.”

The sheriff tilted his head and eyed him speculatively. “When was that?”

“This morning. Early. Before dawn.”

“Where?”

“Eight, nine miles southeast of here. The middle of nowhere. I walked to town.”

“You were bumming a ride?”

Given the circumstances, he felt that admitting to one malfeasance would be to his advantage. “Yes.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Amarillo. Or as close to there as the railroad goes these days.”