Free The Law of a Fast Gun by Robert Vaughan Page B

church was filled to capacity for Cindy Carey’s funeral. As people continued to file in, Tamara McCall, the parson’s wife, was standing just inside the pastor’s study, looking through the crack in the barely opened door at the crowd gathering in the sanctuary.
    “I had no idea so many people would be here,” she said.
    “The newspaper article attracted a lot of attention,” Gideon said. He was tying and retying his tie. “I can’t get this thing tied,” he said in frustration.
    “Here, let me do that,” Tamara said, stepping up to tie it for him.
    “I don’t deserve you,” Gideon said.
    Tamara smiled. “No, you don’t,” she agreed. “But you’ve got me.”
    “And Lucy,” Gideon added. “Is she out there, by the way?”
    “Oh, yes. She’s sitting in the front row, right next to Mrs. Rittenhouse.”
    Gideon chuckled. “There is no accounting for that child’s choice of friends. I don’t know how she can stand that woman.”
    “Gideon,” Tamara scolded. “Please remember that you are a man of the cloth. I’ll admit that Mrs. Rittenhouse can be cantankerous from time to time.”
    “Can be? Tamara, that woman’s normal disposition is cantankerous. What you mean is, she can be normal from time to time.” He sighed. “But somehow, Lucy seems to bring that out of her.”
    “Lucy is a sweet child who brings out the best in everyone,” Tamara said with pride.
    There was a small knock on the back door of the study, and Tamara walked over to open it. The visitor was Mason Hawke.
    “Mr. Hawke,” Tamara said, smiling pleasantly. “How wonderful of you to agree to play for the funeral.”
    “Well, Cindy…that is, Miss Carey…was a friend of mine,” Hawke said. “I’m very pleased to be able to play for her, and honored that you would ask.”
    “Do you play by music, or by ear?” Tamara asked. “The reason I ask is, so many saloon piano players play by ear. But I’m told by those who have heard you that you are quite good.”
    Hawke smiled. “I play by music…or by memory,” he said. “And by ear,” he added.
    “Well, I have some sheet music if you would care to use it. It’s from the hymnal.”
    “Thank you,” Hawke said. “I will play the songs you have picked out for me. But I also brought some sheet music that I would like to play as well. That is, with your permission.” He showed the music to her.
    “‘Joseph Haydn’s Mass in G,’” Tamara said, reading the title. “Oh, my, that sounds quite…ambitious.”
    “I thought it might make an appropriate prelude,” Hawke said. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll just go get started.”
    “Please, by all means,” Tamara said, leading him to the door that opened onto the sanctuary. “Be my guest.”
     
    Hawke walked out to the piano and looked down at it. It was a Haynes Square piano, rosewood, with octagon curved legs and mother-of-pearl inlay on the name board. He had been told that it was a good piano, but had no idea it was this good. He was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the instrument, and when he depressed a few of the keys, he was rewarded with a rich, resonant tone.
    Hawke sat on the bench, put his music on the ornately carved lyre before him, then looked out over the congregation. Every seat in the church was full, and a long line of mourners stretched along one side of the church as the men and women filed silently by to view the open coffin that sat just below the sacristy.
    Hawke couldn’t see Cindy’s body from where he sat and was just as glad. He preferred to remember the young woman the way she was the last time he’d seen her, when she was drinking coffee with him, laughing and flirtatious.
    Then he began to play.
    Many in the congregation had heard him in the saloon, but most never had. They thought that, at best, it would be little more than a saloon piano player, selected for the service only because the decedent was one of his own. They were totally unprepared for what they were about to