“No, that will do me for the moment. But don’t bust the bottle quite yet. I expect I’ll be back for seconds later on.”
“Your money is welcome enough, Marshal. Just don’t ask me no more questions, all right?”
“You do overwhelm a fella with hospitality around here, don’t you,” Longarm offered.
“Just being honest, Marshal. Just being honest with you.”
“I guess I’m s’posed to appreciate that.” Longarm gave the barkeep a grin and a wink. “Or something.”
The barman shrugged and busied himself polishing an already spotless patch of brightwork along the edge of the long bar.
Longarm dropped a dime on the shiny surface and ambled out onto the street. He knew right good and well where he needed to go next.
“Mrs. Allard?” The woman he spoke to was pale and thin, with brown hair gathered in a sweat-moistened clump at the back of a long and rather elegant neck. Had she been dressed in something nicer than a shapeless house-dress she might have been fairly attractive. As it was, she looked worn-out and haggard from too much work, too many children, and too little money.
“What is it you want, mister?” Her voice was full of suspicion. Possibly with good reason, judging from the snide and catty things Longarm had heard about her husband.
“Are you Sylvie Allard?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
Longarm shrugged and produced his wallet, opening the fold to display his badge. He decided no good purpose would be served by giving Mrs. Allard a lecture on the niceties of legal jurisdiction.
“Oh.” She tugged at her dress where the waist should have been as if in a futile attempt to make herself a trifle more presentable in the face of duly constituted authority.
“Are you Mrs. Sylvie Allard, ma’am?” Longarm persisted.
“Yes. That is … I am. Sir.”
“I need to ask you a few questions, ma’am.”
“About what, officer?”
“Peter Nare.”
“I don’t … that is, I do know … I mean I did know Peter, I mean Mr. Nare. Of course. I’ve known Mr. Nare about all my life. As long as I can remember, you see. But I don’t know anything about him. Not really.”
Longarm stepped past Sylvie Allard, just inside the door to her home, and glanced around to see if anyone might be able to overhear. Satisfied that they were alone at least for the moment at the front of the house, he turned back to her and in a low voice said, “You and me can have a quiet talk now, Miz Allard, one that won’t go anywhere but between the two of us. Or I can leave now an’ get a warrant. Come back an’ search your home for clues. Ask your husband about the relationship you an’ Pete Nare had.”
“But I swear to you, Officer, I’ve never had any sort of rela-“
“Monday, Wednesday an’ Friday, Miz Allard. Noon to along about two, sometimes three in the afternoons. While your kids was in school or else playing with their cousins over on Water Oak Street when school wasn’t in session. You want me t’ talk with your husband about what was happening those times, Miz Allard?” It was a cheap shot and Longarm did not feel good about it. He told himself there was no real harm done because he would not say anything about the affair, not to George Allard or anyone else in Addington, Texas, no matter what Sylvie Allard said or did in response.
What the woman did was turn chalky white. He’d thought she was pale before. Shit, he hadn’t known then what pale could really look like. Now he did.
He reached out and took her by the elbow to steady her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I … yes, I suppose so. Not that you care, damn you.” She gave him a dark, darting glare. Which he conceded he fully deserved.
“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it sincerely. “I know this must be a difficult time for you. I mean … someone close to you has been murdered and you don’t even have the freedom to grieve. Please understand, ma’am. I am interested in finding the man who killed Peter Nare and bringing that man to justice.” He cleared his throat. “If that helps any.”
Mrs. Allard opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a rattle of small feet on the loose planks of the flooring in her rickety-rackety ramshackle house. A herd of small children came shrieking and galloping past, followed a moment later by a slightly younger and plumper version of Sylvie Allard. A sister, no doubt.
“I’m sorry, sir. I am simply not interested in buying your product,” Sylvie said in a slightly overloud voice. In a whisper she added, “I have to do my grocery shopping later this afternoon, officer. Can I meet you in the park? In half an hour? Near the teeter-totters beside the river. Please?”
Longarm nodded and tipped his hat, first to Mrs. Allard and then to the other barefoot young woman who had finished giving unheeded orders to the children and who now was drifting toward the pair in the open doorway, her curiosity blatant and unapologetic. “Sorry, ma’am. An’ to you too, Miss. You ladies have a fine day now, hear?”
He replaced the Stetson firmly on his head and backed politely off the porch before turning and striding purposefully away.
The question now was whether Sylvie Allard would keep her word and meet him in the park. But then considering the way he’d gone and blackmailed the poor woman, yeah, he figured he could count on seeing her there.
Chapter 21
She was late. Or not coming. Dammit! He angrily ground a cheroot butt out underfoot, then paced back and
