Ludwig turned to Maisie. “Thanks a lot. You saved me.”
“I always take care of you, Smit.” She winked and went back toward the carving station.
As Ludwig turned to follow, he noticed that a hush was falling over the room. All eyes had swiveled in the direction of the door. Instinctively, Ludwig followed suit. There, framed against the golden sky, was a figure in black.
Pendergast.
There was something distinctly creepy in the way the FBI agent paused in the doorway, the bright sunlight silhouetting his severe form, like some gunslinger entering a saloon. Then he strode coolly forward, eyes roving the crowd before locking on Ludwig himself. Pendergast changed course immediately, gliding through the crowd toward him.
“I’m relieved to see you, Mr. Ludwig,” he said. “I know no one here but you and the sheriff, and I can’t very well expect the busy sheriff to take time for introductions. Come, lead the way, if you please.”
“Lead the way?” Ludwig echoed.
“I need introductions, Mr. Ludwig. Where I come from, it’s a social error to introduce oneself rather than have a proper introduction from a third party. And as publisher, editor, and chief reporter for the
“I suppose I do.”
“Excellent. Shall we begin with Mrs. Melton Rasmussen? I understand she is one of the leading ladies.”
Ludwig paused in mid-breath. Klick Rasmussen, of all people, who he’d just gotten free of. A profound sinking feeling settled on Ludwig as he looked around the room. There was Klick at one of the turkey tables, holding forth with Gladys Cahill and the rest of the usual gang.
“Over there,” he said, leading the way with a heavy tread.
As they approached, the gaggle of ladies fell silent. Ludwig saw Klick glance at Pendergast, her features pinching with displeasure.
“I’d like to introduce—” began Ludwig.
“I know
She stopped abruptly as Pendergast bowed, took her hand, and lifted it to within an inch of his lips, in the French manner. “A great pleasure, Mrs. Rasmussen. My name is Pendergast.”
“My,” said Klick. Her hand went limp within his.
“I understand, Mrs. Rasmussen, that you are responsible for the decorations.”
Ludwig wondered where Pendergast had learned this little tidbit. The man’s southern accent seemed to have deepened to the consistency of molasses as he gazed at Klick intently with his strange eyes. To Ludwig’s private amusement, Klick Rasmussen blushed. “Yes, I am,” she said.
“They are enchanting.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pendergast.”
Pendergast bowed again, still holding her hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, and now I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Klick blushed again, even more deeply. As she did so, Melton Rasmussen, having seen the exchange from afar, abruptly arrived. “Well, well,” he said heartily, sticking his hand out and interposing himself between his plump, blushing wife and Pendergast, “welcome to Medicine Creek. I’m Mel. Melton Rasmussen. I realize the circumstances could be a little happier, but I think you’ll find the Kansas hospitality of Medicine Creek to be just as warm as it always was.”
“I have already found it so, Mr. Rasmussen,” said Pendergast, shaking his hand.
“Where’re you from, Pendergast? Can’t quite place the accent.”
“New Orleans.”
“Ah, the great city of New Orleans. Is it true they eat alligator? I hear it tastes like chicken.”
“In my view the taste is more like iguana or snake than chicken.”
“Right. Well, I’ll stick to turkey,” said Rasmussen with a laugh. “You come by my store sometime and have a look-see. You’re welcome anytime.”
“You’re very kind.”
“So,” said Rasmussen, moving a little closer, “what’s the news? Any more leads?”
“Justice never sleeps, Mr. Rasmussen.”
“Well, I’ve got a theory of my own. Would you like to hear it?”
“I’d be delighted.”
“It’s that fellow camped down by the creek. Gasparilla. He’s worth looking into. He’s a strange one, always has been.”
“Now, Mel,” scolded Klick. “You know he’s been coming around for years and he’s never been in any kind of trouble.”
“You never know when somebody’s gonna go queer on you. Why does he camp way out there on the creek? Isn’t the town good enough for him?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Klick was staring past her husband, her mouth forming a small,
