Scryer's Gulch

Episode 11: Moonrise

In Mamzelle's boudoir, the madam and the cat were still embroiled in their murderous heart-to-heart. "But I do not understand, chéri," she said. "Why would you not wish me to keel your master?"

"Two reasons," Misi answered loftily. "For one, I can't reciprocate. You'd have to maneuver your master into a situation where he became a direct threat to my master."

Mamzelle laughed. "You underestimate me."

"Oh, I doubt that. But for me the more important reason is the second. If anyone kills my master, it's going to be me," he growled. "I've been plotting it for eight years, and no one is going to deny me that pleasure."

"Only tell me who 'e is," she coaxed. "I weel take care of ze rest."

"In time, sweetheart, in time."

A loud voice sounded from down the hallway outside Mamzelle's boudoir. "That hanging tomorrow's gonna have the men riled up!" Bonham's voice floated in. "Be sure you got enough whiskey watered down in advance, and hire on some new muscle if you think it necessary. And shine up the brasswork! I want this place looking fine!"

""E's coming," said Mamzelle, dumping Misi unceremoniously off her lap and pressing a long-fingered hand to her throat. He fingernails shrank to human size, and her eyes changed from ruby to brown. "Sorry to say, 'e hate cats. You'd best go, chéri. Quickly, quickly! 'Ere 'e is!"

Misi bounded out the balcony door, Mamzelle herding him along with her skirts. She watched the little black form flicker over the rooftops toward the Bonham mansion. Was that where his master lived? She would discover him, and when she killed him, Misi would be free to kill Jed Bonham, and everyone else in Scryer's Gulch--even the Sheriff. The flames flickered in her mind's eye.

Her thoughts were so filled with her dreams of destruction that Jed's actual entrance caught her by surprise; she turned, in a tangle of white chiffon, at the sound of the door.

"You look guilty, darling," said Bonham in a dark, silky voice. "What are you looking at?" He strode to her side and surveyed the scene.

"Nossing!" she said, putting on a smile. "Nossing at all!"

"Mamzelle, I know when you're lying to me," he said, returning the smile.

You have no idea when I'm lying to you, you stupid bastard, she thought.

"I order you to tell me," he commanded.

"I was looking at un chat, a cat who stopped by my balcony," she replied.

"That's all?"

"That's all. I told you it was nossing."

"Hmf," he said, sitting down on the chaise lounge. He put his feet up. "Why were you so reluctant to tell me, then?"

Mamzelle gave a faux-Gallic shrug. "You hate cats."

"I surely do. Don't encourage it. I order you not to feed it. Change your hair and come rub my feet."

"As you wish," she said. She shook her hair out into the golden wheat color he preferred, and which, consequently, she'd come to hate. It won't be long until I find out who Misi's master is, she thought as she rubbed his gnarly feet. And then, you will die, Jed Bonham, as prolonged and as painfully as I can manage.

When Annabelle returned from the schoolhouse to the Hopewell, she went straight to her room, took off her dress and lay down in the cool of her bedroom. The noise of that schoolroom! I may not survive this assignment, she thought just before she drowsed off.