Longarm #396 : Longarm and the Castle of the Damned (9781101545249) (10 page)

“And the girl. Justine. Tell me about her, please.”

“Sweetest kid you ever seen,” Dolan said. “Prettiest too. Big eyes. Always had herself fixed like she was dressed for an Easter parade, even in the middle of the week. But not stuck-up. No, sir, not a bit of it. Any sort of favor you'd need, Justine would be there ready to help. Didn't matter how she was dressed or if it meant getting herself dirty, the girl just wanted to be helpful.”

“How old is she?” Longarm asked.

“Oh, twenty, I'd say, give or take a couple years. Carl and his missus wasn't living around here when Justine was born, so I couldn't tell you for sure. If you want to know more about Justine, about the whole Crowne family, or for that matter about anyone around here, you go see Lady Howard.”

“Lady?”

Dolan chuckled. “That isn't what it sounds like. We don't have any English royals around here. Lady is her real first name. Howard is her married name. Was a Spencer originally. Now she's widowed, of course.”

Longarm did not ask how this Lady person came to be widowed. He really did not give a damn. But he would be pleased if the woman could tell him something about the Crownes and in particular about Justine Crowne. “Where can I find her?”

Dolan beckoned Longarm to follow. He stepped out the back of the smithy, to the small corral where he put horses waiting to be shod. There was a mule standing there now, hipshot and content beside a water trough.

“It isn't far,” he said, pointing. “You just go . . .”

The Howard house was a square, upright two-story affair of the sort that Longarm imagined would be more appropriate in a seaside Massachusetts town than sitting by itself on the outskirts of Baggs, Wyoming. There was ornate gingerbread trim above the porch overhang and even at the eaves of the roofline.

A swing was conveniently placed on the porch where a person could sit and from afar watch the comings and the goings of the town. The yard was enclosed by a white picket fence with roses flourishing inside the tiny space.

Longarm let himself in through the gate and mounted the steps to the porch. He removed his hat and slicked his hair back with a swipe of his hand before he rapped on the screen door.

After a brief delay he heard footsteps approach and a young woman responded. She wore an apron and had a smudge of something white, flour perhaps, on the bridge of her nose. Apart from that, however, she was rather pretty. Longarm guessed her age to be somewhere in her early to mid thirties. She stepped to the door but did not open it. “Yes?” she said.

“Afternoon, miss. I'm lookin' for Miz Howard.”

“And you would be . . . ?”

“Deputy United States marshal, miss. Here on official business. Now, are you gonna let me see Miz Howard or not?”

“Official business, you say. Oh, my. Yes, do come in.” She unlatched the door and pushed it open for Longarm's entry. “In here, please,” she said, guiding him through the foyer to a small parlor. “Have a seat, Deputy. One moment, please.”

“Thank you. Now would you please tell Miz Howard that she has a visitor.”

The girl gave him an odd look, then turned and disappeared into the rear of the house. Longarm shrugged and chose a seat in a plush armchair upholstered in a shiny blue sateen. The chair looked more comfortable than it felt, but then this was a room decorated to a woman's taste and not for a man's comfort. Longarm thought the now dead Mr. Howard, whoever he may have been, might well have been pleased to escape.

He heard some clatter from the back of the place and then silence for a minute or so, before the maid once again put in an appearance, this time carrying a silver tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of freshly baked scones on it. She first offered Longarm one of the cups then set the tray down on a serving table. While she was in the kitchen, she'd shed the apron and removed the smudge of flour from her nose.

Longarm was taken somewhat aback when the serving girl settled onto a chair with a cup and a scone. She tucked her feet up underneath her and took a sip of the coffee. “Now, what is this official business of yours, Deputy?”

“You, uh, you are Mrs. Howard.”

She giggled. “I am,” she said. “Lady Spencer Howard.” It was obvious that having been mistaken for a maidservant amused her. Damn good thing it did too, Longarm thought. Lady Howard could well have been pissed off by his erroneous assumptions.

“I'm sorry, Miz Howard,” he said, standing and half bowing toward her before resuming his seat. In the process he slopped some coffee into his saucer, so he carefully poured it back into the cup, shrugged, and took a sip. The brew was hot and stout and tasty. “Reckon I should introduce myself. I'm Deputy Custis Long, ridin' out of the Denver office. I'm here 'cause I'm told you are a woman as knows the folks around here.”

Lady Howard laughed. It was a hearty sound without reserve. When she laughed, her nose wrinkled and crow's-feet appeared at the corners of her eyes. Which were, he noticed now, bright blue. “You mean because I am the town busybody, is that it?”

“Oh, I don't know as I woulda put it exactly that way,” he said, “but, well, yes.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Long. What is it that you need to know?”

He explained but not in detail. He had no desire to shock the pretty widow.

“And you want to know about Henry and Henrietta, is that it?”

“Actually it's their granddaughter Justine I wanna ask about. She seems to be missing, and I can't help but wonder if the murders of her grandparents . . . her other grandfather, Moses Arthur, was also murdered recently, that was over in Cheyenne . . . I can't help but wonder if her disappearance isn't somehow connected with those killings. So anything you might could tell me about Justine just might be a help to me.”

“Then I think you have come to the right place, Deputy. I know Justine fairly well. But can I ask you, do you have plans for dinner? We could talk about Justine over a roast chicken that I happen to have in the oven and really need to tend to before it dries out.”

“That's nice of you, ma'am, if it'd be no bother.”

“Bother? It would be a pleasure. I so seldom have company when I dine. It will be nice to have someone to talk with over dessert.”

“Is this the, um, dessert?” Longarm murmured.

Lady giggled agreement that indeed it was, arching her back and guiding his head across the flat of her belly to the nest of curly blond pubic hair below.

Longarm's tongue probed, found the smooth, wet valley of her slit, then began to flicker back and forth across the tiny bump of her clitoris.

Lady responded with wild gyrations of her hips, thrusting herself harder onto his lips and trying to stifle a sound that came out somewhere between a squeal and a scream.

Longarm lifted his head out of her crotch, his mustache tickling her pussy as he did so, and laughed. “You do come mighty easy, don't you, girl.”

“Are you complaining, sir?”

“I am not.”

“Then why don't you go back to what you were doing, because, darling man, I am just getting warmed up.”

Longarm smiled. And did as the lady bid.

The supper they'd shared late that afternoon had been light and not all that good. But Lady's charms were more than enough to improve the meal, and it turned out that she was as direct as she was pretty.

At the end of the meal, she gave him a long, calm look then casually asked, “Do you like to fuck?”

“More than passing well,” he said as he struggled to hide his surprise.

“So do I,” Lady told him, “but I have to be careful what my neighbors think.” She laughed. “They like to gossip almost as much as I do.”

“There's times,” he said, “when bein' a stranger in town has its advantages. After all, who would I tell about things? Leastways not till I get back to Denver.”

“My point exactly,” Lady declared. “And you are an uncommonly handsome man.”

Longarm laughed. “Handsome? Not hardly.”

“Virile, then? Will you grant me ‘virile'?”

“If you think so, sure.”

“Exciting certainly. And you say you like to fuck. Are you good at it?”

“Lordy,” he said, “I can't recall ever bein' asked that before. I'm not real sure how to answer it.”

“Well if you can't
tell
me, perhaps you can
show
me,” Lady declared.

Longarm chuckled. “Reckon we can talk business later.” He reached for her. Lady stood and came willingly into his arms.

She was taller than he had realized and thin, but once she got her clothes off—which she did in very short order—she proved to be attractively slender, with firm breasts and pale nipples.

She took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom, which was small and tidy and smelled of a delicate perfume, the same scent he discovered on her body as soon as they were horizontal.

Longarm buried his face between her breasts and was content for a moment to simply breathe in Lady's delicious scent. But there was more to her than that. Much, much more.

She started to take the lead, but he took her by the arm and pulled her back, making it clear that he would be in charge.

Lady acquiesced willingly, giving herself to him readily, her taut body practically vibrating with pent-up desire as she licked his nipples and fondled his balls before working her way down to his cock and taking it deep into her mouth.

“I want you to come in my mouth the first time,” Lady told him. “It will take the edge off so you have more staying power after that.” She giggled. “Besides, I like it. I like the feel of it and the taste of it and just about everything there is between a man and a woman.”

“You can take it in your mouth for a spell,” he consented, “but when I get to wanting the feel of your pussy, I'll put it there or wherever I damn well please.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

And so it had been, Lady compliant to his wishes and quick to climax, coming time and time again to the touch of his hands, his tongue, and to the pounding of his cock driving deep inside her.

The two of them lay locked on her bed until well after dark. Finally Longarm rolled off of her and sat up on the edge of the bed while Lady found matches and lighted a bedside lamp.

“D'you still have some o' that good coffee?” he asked.

“It probably tastes old by now.”

“I don't care. Pour me some.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then we can talk a little about Justine Crowne.”

“There isn't much I can tell you about her,” Lady said. “She became involved with a gambler,” she shuddered, “a genuinely evil man. I know she was head over heels for him. She trusted me, you should understand. She came to me several times to talk about things she couldn't take to her grandparents.”

“I can understand that sorta thing,” Longarm said.

“Of course. I advised her against Edgar.”

“Who is this Edgar?”

“Like I said, a gambler. A local man, Edgar Spurlock. Justine was crazy about him. I know for a fact that she gave her virginity to him, because we talked about that both before she did it and again afterward. I know she intended to be with him. Marriage, I mean. The son of a bitch is the kind to use a girl then dump her, although she wouldn't believe me when I told her that. I know he was with her one afternoon. That was in a shack down close to the hog ranch where he works a card table. Then she disappeared. She simply disappeared. I never heard from her again, even though she promised faithfully that she would write to me from wherever they went. As it turned out, though, Justine left but that bastard Edgar did not. He still deals poker at a place south of town, across the line into Colorado, so our law has no say over him.”

“But Justine told you she would be with this Spurlock?”

Lady nodded and playfully licked Longarm's shoulder.

“Careful or you'll get me started again,” Longarm warned her.

Lady's answer was an impish grin and another lick. “What about that coffee you wanted?”

Longarm pushed her flat onto the bed. “The coffee can wait, woman. Now lay quiet an' open them legs to me.”

Which she willingly did.

It would have been easier to take the stagecoach south, particularly so since he had gotten practically no sleep the night he spent with Lady, but he wanted the freedom of movement that a saddle horse gave him, so he kept the dun horse he'd hired in Rawlins.

There was no need for directions to the hog ranch where Edgar Spurlock was a house dealer. Any place like that would thrive on trade passing by and so would have to be located on or very close to the public road that ran from Baggs down to Craig, Colorado, and beyond. All Longarm had to do was point the dun south and look for the surveyor's monument that marked the dividing line between Wyoming Territory and the state of Colorado.

He would find the slop joint not too far south of that line. Likely he would find Spurlock there. And—he hadn't wanted to tell Lady Howard what he expected—he'd probably find Justine Crowne there as well.

When a man like Spurlock courted an exceptionally pretty girl like Justine was said to be, there usually was more than one reason, and getting a piece of ass was normally the least of it. Turning her out as a whore was probably the rest of that equation. Longarm fully expected to find Justine turning tricks in some shack adjacent to the saloon, close to Baggs but too ashamed of her fall from decency to come home again.