Viktor Daigle was dead.

His house keeper found him, stretched over his bed, same as his wife, and all of the other victims. Only, he was the first victim that I had no trouble believing someone would want to kill. Sympathy was too hard to feign for the putrid man, so I didn’t even try.

“Ain’t ya gonna, you know, check the windows and doors and such, Sheriff?” Tom asked.

We had walked into the room, I’d looked around, and turned to leave.

Why bother. I knew who’d done it.

“What do you think we’ll find, Tom?” I snapped.

Tom froze, and looked at me, hurt. “Sorry Sheriff. It’s just that. Ain’t you gonna at least shut his eyes or something?”

“Why Tom? Viktor Daigle was a bad man,” I spoke gently. “Why should I worry about who killed a bad man?”

Tom looked thoughtful for a moment then said, “Because you’re not bad.”

I sighed. I turned and walked back into the room and gently placed my hand over Viktor Daigle’s eyes, closing them for the last time.

Next to me, Tom stuck a large hand into the pocket of his leather duster and pulled out his trusty bag of chewing tobacco, and popped a disgusting ball into his mouth.

*** 

THE GOSSIP OF VIKTOR’S passing spread through the town like a disease, being handed from one neighbor to another.

People’s reactions ran the gamut from, If someone can kill Viktor Daigle and get away with it, then the rest of us don’t stand a chance! To, I’m glad that old bastard’s dead... He’s dead, his wife is dead- there ain’t anyone left to pay back my loan to- so I am in the clear!

One thing was for certain, no one was saddened by his passing. Worried. Scared. Confused. Sure. But not sad. I only worried that people’s fear would make them stupid. That they would grow brave and start thinking of Red Soot Mountain as a viable plan. If that happened, then they’d have to find themselves a new Sheriff. I knew the Sheriff had always been a Davis, but no way was I screwing with a witch—even if I hadn’t promised Jon. There wasn’t a reason on god’s green earth that I could imagine putting myself at the mercy of witches. Witches aren’t human. They aren’t held to our moral code. To a witch, the death of a mortal isn’t a sin. It isn’t wrong. They take a human like we’d swat a fly—without a second thought. Of course, they are always willing to bargain and trade. But they will always come out ahead. It is the one and only thing that all of the stories have in common. People visit the mountain and may be okay for a while, but eventually it all goes to hell.

“You find anything out about Gilbert McCroy?”  Me and Tom were at my office riding out the hub-bub.  We couldn’t walk outside without someone asking if there’d been any new information.

A grin spread across Tom’s face. “Sure did, Sheriff!”

People talked to Tom. Or rather, people talked in front of Tom. He could bring up a subject and just set back and listen. Even though he was my deputy—to most people he was still ‘Tom, the town idiot.’

The thing was—Tom’s a parrot. He might not be too bright, but he was great at bringing back information. And not being bright didn’t make him stupid, either. He understood more than people gave him credit for. Hell, I was beginning to believe he understood more than I myself gave him credit for.

“Well, what is it then?” I asked.

The glowing smile vanished from Tom’s face and his skin colored to the shade of a strawberry. “I uh. Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

“Come one Tom. Spit it out.”

“I will Sheriff. It’s just that, well, you’re the Sheriff, but you’re a, um. You’re a lady, too.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deep. It was my hot button and could set me off faster than anything. “Tom, the full weight of these murders is resting on my shoulders. My shoulders, Tom. I have permanently shut the eyes of too many of our citizens. Were they good people? Probably not. But who is? Now, I am going to give you one more chance to do your job. You tell me what you heard. Now.”

“Ok. Ok. It’s just that Gilbert. He. He uh. Well—you know he taught piano? He was kind of a big shot, just like he said he was. Only he had to leave because. Because he liked kids.”

I stared at my deputy. He stared at the floor.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he did stuff. To his students. That was the rumor going ‘round.”

“How did you find out?”

“Madame Jenny’s got a new girl from Richmond. Real pretty. I didn’t even have to snoop. She’d read Gilbert’s name in the obituary and asked me if he was really dead. When I told her indeed he was—she said good riddance.”

“Good idea checking out the brothel,” I said. “What made you think of that?”

Tom looked horrified. The red drained from his face, leaving him as pale as death.

“I didn’t Sheriff,” he mumbled, “but a man’s got needs after all.”

Me and my big mouth. I tried to shake away the image of Tom meeting with the town Madame’s “ladies”. It was too much. I wonder what this meant between he and Cheryl? Poor Tom, he thought he was going to make Cheryl love him enough to get married while he slept with the whores upstairs? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was an idiot.

***

THAT NIGHT, ON OUR ride home, Diana was extra finicky.  She stopped and jerked every so often as we sauntered along at a slow pace, flicking her ears and letting out deep whinnies.

I used the ride home to try and clear my head, enjoying the calm, rhythmic song of nighttime. Coyotes and crickets had always been my orchestra. They brought peace to a hectic life, and often brought back memories of napping on my mama’s front porch, back when she was alive and I was a child. Tonight, however, there was no peace. Information ran loops in my head. I felt as if I was missing something just beyond reach. That no matter how I grasped for it—I couldn’t quite get it.

After I’d left Tom at our office, I’d gone to do a little digging of my own.

Once I’d gotten over the shock of Tom visiting the brothel for non-work related reasons, I had to admit that it wasn’t a bad place to try and sniff out information.

I visited Madame Jenny’s myself, to ask about the victims, offering  to pay the girls well for their time, and expecting to hear more about Gilbert McCroy.

I was shocked when not one, but four of the long-time girls had something to say about Ronnie Robinson.

Ronnie was known around town as a clean cut, nice guy. He ran the mercantile, and was always generous, giving rock candy to kids even if they couldn’t pay.  I’d even been a little upset myself when he’d been killed.

But according to the ladies of the brothel, the dapper store owner had been a closeted sicko. The last girl he’d visited before his death, he’d burned so badly with a fire poker that she no longer was able to work at all. Ronnie had always given Jenny top dollar, so she told her girls that if they liked their jobs, then they would keep quiet.

If she knew about the fire poker—and I didn’t know how she could not know—and she still made her girls work for Ronnie, then I thought she herself deserved to be laid across her bed, eyes open, with one hand covering her mouth for eternity.

Now that Ronnie was dead, and wouldn’t be spending any more money in her establishment, the old Madame just shrugged and let her ladies spill the beans.

Jenny did take care of the girl he’d maimed. But it was too little too late.

Suddenly, Diana whinnied and reared onto her back legs, almost spilling me from my saddle.

“Woah!” I yelled, squeezing my horse with my thighs and hanging onto the reins for dear life.

“What the hell!” I cried. The horse calmed and the reason for her sudden upset was revealed.

The masked man was standing in the middle of the road.

Smiling at me.