Revenge and the Wild(30)

“Like the kind of dumb shits who forget their gun belts in jails?” she said.

The sheriff’s mustache covered his mouth, but the gathering of skin on his forehead suggested a frown. He tilted his tan Stetson, pointed a finger at her, said, “Watch yourself,” and focused on the woman once more.

“She was right behind me,” the woman said. “Please, you have to do something!” She clawed at the sheriff’s shirt, nearly climbing up the front of him in her frenzy.

“She?” Westie said.

“Whoever it was is gone now,” Nigel assured her. He leaned over, massaging his bad leg.

Westie persisted. “What do you mean, she?”

“A woman,” she said through weeping hiccups. “She paid for my services and then she . . . she bit me.”

Westie noticed for the first time the woman’s rouged cheeks and red lips. Black paint melted from her lashes down her cheeks. She was older than most of the prostitutes Westie had seen at the blood brothel. Her scant clothing showed off a plump body, round in all the places men liked.

When most of the gawkers saw she was a prostitute, they lost interest and went back indoors. Only a curious few remained.

“Go on, then, you vultures,” Isabelle said to them as they muttered their insults about the woman’s profession.

“What’s your name?” Westie asked the woman.

The sheriff glared at Westie. “I’m conducting this interview.” His voice was so deep it sounded like he was growling when he talked.

“What’s your name?” the sheriff said.

Westie bit her words back and pressed her lips shut, afraid if she pushed him too far he’d make her leave.

“Nadia.”

“Did you say a woman bit you?” the sheriff said, as if women couldn’t possibly be capable of such derangement.

Nadia pushed the loose hair from her shoulder, revealing a deep oval wound gouged out of the curve of her neck. The sheriff paled and brought his handkerchief to his mouth. Nigel used his pocket square to dab away the blood, but as soon as he stopped, the deep crater filled up again.

“You’re sure it was just a woman and not an entire family?” Westie said.

Nigel shot her a look full of daggers.

The sheriff seemed too ill to reprimand her.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Hubbard, Cain, James, and the mayor stepped out of the apothecary, each with a stack of pamphlets in his hands.

“No, just a woman.”

So it wasn’t the Fairfield men, but what of Lavina? She was nowhere around.

“What did the woman look like?” Westie asked, desperate for any detail that might link Lavina to the attack.

She could tell by the distant look in Nadia’s eyes that she was going into shock. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her. She whispered to me in the shadows, handed me a bag of coins, and told me to—”

“I don’t think we need all the sordid details with ladies around,” the sheriff said, cutting her off. He glanced at Westie. “And I use that word loosely.” He put his handkerchief back in his pocket. The color had seeped back into his lips and he stood straighter. “Let’s get you to the doctor for patching. I’ll take your statement when you’re through.”

Westie kicked at the dirt, knowing justice was unlikely, given Nadia’s employment.

When the sheriff was gone, Westie said to Nigel, “This is a cannibal’s doing.” There was no need to say names. Nigel knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Cannibals?” With the excitement of the event, Westie had failed to notice Isabelle behind her. “You really think so? There hasn’t been a cannibal attack in these parts for years.”

Isabelle was right; there hadn’t been cannibals near Rogue City for some time. Cannibals used to be a problem back when Westie’s parents and others like them were still traveling the wagon trail, but by the next year, after the creature war officially ended and air travel became more affordable, there had been very few attacks. The only ones Westie heard of were in the valley where she’d been hunting them.

“Rubbish,” Nigel said. “It wasn’t a cannibal. The woman was working. You see, sometimes when two people are in the throes of passion—when they are . . . let’s see, how do I put this?”

Isabelle giggled into her hand. Westie made a gagging sound.

“Copulating,” Westie said. “Yes, I know what two people do when they’re alone.”

The column of Nigel’s throat moved when he swallowed. He put a hand on his shoulder, massaging a knot. “Right, anyway, sometimes when two people are intimate, they can get carried away.”

“I’m telling you, Nigel, that wasn’t a love bite,” Westie said.

Nigel ran a hand down the front of his face, stretching his skin. “I need to go see if the doctor needs help with the stitching,” he said, hurrying to escape the conversation.

As soon as he was gone, Westie asked Isabelle, “What were the mayor and the Fairfield men doing in the apothecary?”

“Well, the mayor came in to complain about the Wintu, creatures, and pretty much everything else in Rogue City. I think that ridiculous little man just likes to hear himself talk. As for the Fairfields, they talked mostly about Emma. Cain told me they’re spending a fortune on Nigel’s invention, so they want to spread the word about its capabilities.”