Free William W. Johnstone by Massacre Mountain

maybe Ralston first. I wanted to get the story. When did these death threats show up? And who did he think was doing it?
    I carried the chamber pot down to the parlor where Belle was entertaining the Doubtful Chamber of Commerce, and handed it to her.
    “Got it filled right up,” I said.
    “Oh, crap,” she said, and accepted my gift.
    I staggered into the daylight, en route to the opera house, hoping I’d survive the vapors. I made a mental note of all the outhouses in town as I headed for the opera house with the death threats in hand.

C HAPTER N INE
     
    Once I got out in the sunlight and the warmth of a summer’s day, I felt worse. Them vapors sure had me looser than a calf with scours. I hoped Doc Harrison would catch the vapors himself; serve him right.
    I stood in front of Belle’s deciding whether I could walk or not. I decided I couldn’t but had to, so I began bobbing and weaving my way to the sheriff’s office, intending to startle my lazy deputies. Actually it was good to get some sweet air in my lungs. I was feeling pretty fit above the waist, but south of there I was still in trouble. The air in my room was just short of lethal.
    I wobbled down Main Street and finally climbed the steps and into the office, where Rusty and Burtell had their feet on the desks while eating marshmallows. They eased their boots off the county furniture as I entered.
    “You look like you’re seeing a ghost,” I said.
    “You’re supposed to be dead,” Rusty said.
    “My ma always said a gossip dies a thousand times before his death,” I said.
    “We haven’t got anywhere with the murder,” Rusty said. “We were just thinking what to try next.”
    “What have you done about it?”
    “Talked to saloon men.”
    I pulled the death notices from my pocket and handed them to the deputies. “You fellers got any idea about these? They got put under the doors of the variety company.”
    Burtell eyed his upside down and handed it to Rusty. “My eyes are no good,” he said.
    That wasn’t exactly right. I could read better than Burtell. He didn’t make it past fourth grade.
    “It just says for them to git out of town or end up shorthanded,” Rusty said.
    “That’s supposed to be a death threat?” Burtell asked. “Maybe it’s a threat to chop off some hands.”
    Rusty rolled his eyes. I stepped outside into the sunlight for a moment, to pass some more gas. Someone told me that if you touched a match to that gas it’d blow up. I mean to try that some day. When I stepped back in, Rusty eyed me.
    “You’re pretty pale,” he said.
    “It’s the vapors.”
    “You better go back to Belle’s.”
    “I’ve got a murder to solve and death threats, and all you do is sit here eating marshmallows.”
    “The supervisors were here looking for you. I think they were planning to fire you for being sick.”
    “Well, if I’m fired I’m still going to solve this murder if I can.”
    I abandoned them to their marshmallows and wandered toward the opera house. I had one more card to play. I found the door unlocked and Cyrus Ralston in his cubbyhole backstage, waxing his moustache. He had a small revolver on his desk and was ready to grab it when I wobbled in.
    “Oh, it’s you, Sheriff. Doc Harrison says you have the vapors.”
    “I’m fit as a fiddle,” I said.
    He was amused.
    “Ralston, we got an unidentified male over at Maxwell’s Funeral Home. He’s not local. He’s too well-dressed. No one in Doubtful dresses like that. None of the barkeeps had ever seen him. Maybe he’s with a show. I’m wondering if you’d mind having a look.”
    “I enjoy bodies,” he said. He tucked the revolver into the breast pocket of his black worsted suit, and we headed out the door for Maxwell’s a block away.
    “Your show doing well?” I asked, mostly to keep him from getting ahead of me.
    “Sold out every night, Sheriff.”
    “That cancan does it,” I said.
    “That’s what’s causing the death threats.”
    “How long