Free Longarm and the Sins of Laughing Lyle (9781101612101) by Tabor Evans Page A

haltingly, “The Widow sent me to fetch you, Marshal. She’s havin’ trouble gettin’ the baby down to sleep and she says she’s just fit to be tied!”
    Butter’s face turned the rose of a summer sunset as he glanced sheepishly at Longarm. He ran his tongue around over his teeth, apparently pondering the situation, before he slid his chair back, tossed his napkin onto the table, and grabbed his hat.
    â€œLongarm, I do apologize, but there’s a personal matter I must tend to.”
    Longarm shrugged—curious but keeping it to himself. “Nothing to apologize for Roscoe. If you gotta go, you gotta go. Shame to leave half a plate of food, though. Perhaps Benji could finish it for you.” Why not take the opportunity to have a little sit-down chat with the oddly behaving deputy?
    Benji was staring eagerly at the town marshal’s food. But as Butter rose from his chair, donned his hat, and made his way around the table, he tugged gently on the big man’s arm. “Benji’s shift is gonna have to start an hour early, I’m afraid,” Butter said. “Come on, Benji. You’d better start makin’ the rounds.”
    Benji wore a pained expression as he dragged his eyes away from Butter’s half-finished plate of elk roast, mashed potatoes, and gravy, but he dutifully turned to follow his boss on out of the dining room. Longarm watched them go, then glanced at Butter’s plate, twiddling his fork over his own plate, even more puzzled than he’d been a few minutes ago.
    Who was “the Widow” and why was she calling Butter away from his supper to tend a child? Was it his own child? Roscoe looked too old to be raising babies.
    And what was it that Butter didn’t want Longarm possibly finding out from Benji?
    Damn, Longarm thought, I’m pret’ near gonna have to sit this whole town down and whip them to get any information out of them. But then he remembered his intention of paying a visit to the Reverend Todd’s residence, and he resumed shoveling food into his mouth. A clock on the far well read seven-thirty. He didn’t want to get over there too late, as the clergy were known for retiring early to say their prayers and read their Bibles.
    Or, in this case, possibly to count their money . . . ?
    Just as Longarm had scooped the last forkful of potatoes and meat into his mouth and was swabbing the remaining gravy from his plate with a biscuit, the birdlike proprietor strolled over to his table and picked up Marshal Butler’s half-empty plate.
    â€œThe marshal was called away again?” she said in her leathery rasp.
    â€œI reckon he was. That a habit of his?”
    â€œOh, I wouldn’t know,” she said quickly.
    The old woman, whom the serving girl had called Ma, set the marshal’s beer schooner and whiskey glass atop the plate and began to turn away.
    â€œOh, I think you might, Mrs. . . .”
    She turned back to the federal lawman, pinching her thin lips together beneath a very slight mustache, just visible in the shadows shunted by the room’s oil lamps. “Marcus. Margaret Marcus, but most folks call me Ma on account o’ I’m so old. Funny thing is I don’t have any kids of my own.”
    She started to walk away again, and Longarm quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin and held her back with “Ma, I sure wish you’d be a little more specific about your warning earlier.”
    She stopped and glanced cautiously around the room. A few more people had come in and were eating and conversing, raising a low hum, but none appeared to have overheard what Longarm said. She turned back to him, her gaunt, powdery cheeks flushing slightly, blinking her eyes slowly, portentously. “I said all you need to hear, Marshal, and that advice stands. Would you like to pay for the meal now, or shall I add it to your bill?”
    A quick glance toward Butter’s side of