21. Pearl Buckle

TWENTY-ONE

Pearl Buckle

Rus was back in his room, his shoes off, the fire on, his gun on the coffee table, and the last of the bottle of Maker’s Mark in a glass in his hand.

Maid service had left what he hadn’t finished, but also replaced it with a new bottle.

He’d be sure to give them a big tip because he knew, by the time this was done, he’d be obliged they kept on top of his bourbon.

He’d left the Bohannans and driven across town.

This meant he’d just returned from the Better Times Motel after getting Brad’s written account of the man who questioned him about the killing.

He’d also given Brad a pep talk and shared the powers of meditation, melatonin, valerian, warm baths, aromatherapy, Zzzquil, no electronics or television an hour before sleeping and psychotherapy.

Barring all that, he shared, if he had the time, he’d be happy to sit down in the Double D with the guy, buy him a meal and have a chat so he could have someone he could talk to who understood where he was coming from.

Brad had seemed relieved by the simple fact someone gave a shit.

Rus didn’t know if that’d help him sleep, but at least it was something.

He sat in front of the fire with his bourbon, reading Brad’s account, noting it didn’t have much more than what Brad had told him and Moran.

Of note, Brad thought it was weird the guy didn’t stand too close. He entered the lobby, but he stood a good three, four feet away from the desk Brad was behind.

That and the fact he didn’t take off his sunglasses, even if it was night, were the two big things that struck Brad.

He also was knowledgeable about the crime and as confident as a cop.

All things that would fit CK.

Rus believed Bohannan’s take on the situation.

There were some who would argue, but not many, that the man was the best there was, possibly ever, at what he did.

But also, it all made sense.

He could see why CK didn’t take his sunglasses off for Brad.

He might be ready to say hello, but after four years in the shadows, Rus could understand he’d still hold something back.

He tossed the paper on the coffee table, and no other way to put it, began brooding as he sipped bourbon and stared into a fire.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a decision to be made.

It was a given that now, not only did he have to find Brittanie’s killer, he had to lay a trap for CK.

He just needed to figure out how the fuck to do that.

He also needed to report this to his superiors tomorrow.

Good news, he liked Misted Pines, because he was probably going to be there for a while.

On that thought, one of the reasons he liked Misted Pines so much vibrated on his phone.

He took the call.

“Hey, honey,” he greeted Lucinda, at the same time, in the back of his head, he began wondering if he should tell her why he was there.

Which meant CK might be there.

It would upset her, and maybe scare her.

But if he wasn’t wrong, they were starting something, and he didn’t want to start it by keeping anything from her.

Not something this big.

“Hey,” she replied. “You seemed okay I brought Madden tonight.”

“More than okay. You got a great kid.”

“I know. She likes you.”

“I like her.”

“Of course you do, she’s perfect.”

He chuckled.

She said, “You were good with Jace. He seemed better when you guys came back in.”

“I hope so.”

“It was incredibly attractive, you doing that.”

He smiled. “It’s good you think that.”

“Right, now that I’ve buttered you up, Britt’s funeral is set for Wednesday and Tuesday night, they’re calling a town council meeting.”

Fabulous.

“This happens, Lucinda,” he told her. “People get freaked about murder. It’s a natural response.”

“You can call me Cin, you know.”

That felt better than her telling him she found his being a decent human being attractive.

Even so.

“Baby,” he said softly, “everyone else gets Cin. I like that it’s me who gets Lucinda.”

“Mm,” she purred, and he felt that noise in his cock.

“The cunning queen,” he murmured.

“Sorry?”

“You remind me of the queen that’s a lot more interesting than the fairy princess.”

And that bought him the gift of her bursting into laughter.

He was unsurprised it was as beautiful as the rest of her.

When she stopped, he said, “Now, before I take us into a zone that’s too soon when I haven’t even bought you dinner, tell me about some of the bones at the bottom of the lake.”

“Ah, so he’s heard the lore,” she murmured.

“People have mentioned it.”

“That’s because it’s fascinating,” she declared. “I can start with the fact that the man my many-greats grandmother shot is down there. Sadly, her and all the girls dragging him to the lake after she shot him was witnessed by everyone in town. Alas, her shooting him was too. She apparently wasn’t in the mood to put too much effort in covering up her crime.”

That made Rus laugh.

“What do you want to hear next?” she asked. “The story of philandering Cornelius Ruck, who, shades of things to come, was killed, along with his mistress, by his wife. Or at least, that’s what people think since she was seen rowing into the mist in the middle of the night, and he and his mistress were never seen again? Both of them still haunt it, as the story goes.”

“This is entirely unsurprising.”

“Then there’s the lore of the Bohannans, and warning, you fit right in. Prosper Bohannan was the big muckety-muck who made his mark on this town, including running the competition for my granny’s whorehouse. But there’s both an Obadiah Bohannan and Lazarus Bohannan in that mix. Spoilers, the big daddy was all about making his fortune any way he could, including illegally. But Obadiah and Lazarus were both lawmen. So, apparently that’s more foreshadowing for Misted Pines.”

Rus chuckled.

“But my favorite is Pearl Buckle.”

The change in her tone made him get as serious as she sounded.

“What’s the story of Pearl Buckle?” he asked, his tone changing to match hers.

“Pearl trundled into town with a baby at her breast, two horses in front of her, a covered wagon at her back, a mule attached to it, and a husband who didn’t survive the journey. She staked her claim, pupped her tent, cleared her land, set her own foundation and built her one-room log cabin on top of it. It wasn’t big, but it had a fireplace and a roof, and she did all of it with her son strapped to her back.”

Jesus.

“She sounds like she was really something.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But the story says she was even more, because not only did she do all that, the tale tells she was also very beautiful. Every man in town wanted her, and most of them tried to woo her. But she loved her husband. She grieved him fiercely. And she’d vowed to herself she’d raise his son right and be faithful to her dead husband until the day she died.”

Rus wasn’t feeling this new bent to the story.

“Since we’re talking about bones at the bottom of the lake, I’m not sure I like where this is going,” he noted.

“Oh, honey, this is Misted Pines. Pearl built her own house out of logs with the help of only two horses and a mule. At first, she was this feminine beauty, this marvel of female strength, this prize to be won. And then men started avoiding her, because there were those who would get drunk in one of the saloons in town and talk big. Talk about how they were going to win Pearl, and if they didn’t, they’d just take her. They’d head out to Pearl’s log cabin. And they’d never head back to town, or anywhere, ever again. I might have forgotten to mention, Pearl had a shotgun, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.”

“I’m liking this story again now.”

He heard the smile in her voice when she said, “The story goes, even though Pearl was a good Christian woman, regardless of her proclivities with a shotgun, Granny and her were the best of friends.”

Rus was smiling too when he replied, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

Lucinda finished the story with, “Pearl built her house close to the lake. I have a feeling she added a few things to it in her time.”

As any good Christian woman whose virtue was threatened should do.

“Reckon so.”

They talked longer. Lucinda telling him stories, Rus listening, sipping bourbon, gazing at a fire.

When he let her go, he took the final finger he had in his glass and walked out onto the balcony for the first time.

The chill of the night was now deep, the lake covered in fog so thick you couldn’t see it, the mist creeping up the mountain and clinging to the pines like shrouds.

Pearl Buckle made it in those woods. As did Lucinda’s granny.

And after what she’d lost, Lana was still standing, buying coffees and frosting anyone who looked at her, hiding the loving and considerate woman she was inside.

Prosper and Obadiah and Lazarus and Cornelius might have made their marks on the town, but these woods were there for the women.

Rus tossed back the last of his drink, then returned into the room, checked the locks on the door, turned off the fire, undressed, brushed his teeth, got under the duvet and arranged his pillows behind his head.

He then took his cock in hand, closed his eyes and called up Lucinda’s sultry voice telling him stories.

It wasn’t her voice that made him come, it was other thoughts about her.

But they were good thoughts.

So when he came, he did it hard.