Whispered Sweet Nothings
Careful who you tell...or threaten to tell
Marshal Sam Taylor watched Lauralee Plunk sashay across the plank floor of the Bellstone jailhouse. She stopped at the door and peaked over her shoulder, giving him a wink. He shuffled his feet and gripped the pie pan tighter in his hands as his face blushed.
“Sure is a pretty lady you got there,” a gruff voice said from behind Sam. He turned to face Grady Lomas, the jail’s only inmate.
“That’s not my lady, Grady,” Sam said. “You know I’ve been married to Mervis for more than twenty years now.”
Grady shrugged. “That might be, but that hasn’t stopped you from cozying up to Ms. Plunk lately.”
Sam looked over his shoulder to see if they were alone. They were. He stomped toward the cell and glared at Grady.
“Now looky here, Grady,” Sam said. “You can’t be saying things like that. You’ll start rumors that could break up my marriage! Not to mention ruin Ms. Plunk’s reputation.”
Grady wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Well, I know what I heard the other night when you two thought I was asleep. What was it, Thursday night? After the summer parade? Wasn’t the first time, either.
Sam felt his blush ratchet up another few degrees, and he twisted his face into a scowl.
Grady chuckled. “Now, don’t you worry, Marshal. I’m not going to tell anyone what I know…provided you pull some strings with Judge Bell. Get me out of here by, say, next Monday.”
Judge Mordecai Bell was the son of the late U.S. Justice, Montgomery Bell, whose father founded Bellstone. Grady had been a thorn in Mordecai’s side since well before Sam knew either one of them. When Sam rounded up Grady as the head of a cattle rustling ring in the northwest part of Saltlick County the month before, the judge threw the book at him.
There was no way Bell was going to let Grady walk free a month into his sentence.
“Can’t do that, Grady. You’re where you belong.”
Grady shrugged again. “Well, I’ll just have to start spreading the word, then. I’m not going anywhere, of course, but plenty of people walk through that door in the course of a day.” He nodded toward the front of the jailhouse. “I reckon some of them will be interested in my story.”
Sam’s heart skipped a beat, and his stomach roiled. “Come on, now, Grady. You don’t mean that.”
Grady stopped smiling, grabbed the jail cell bars, and leveled a steely gaze at Sam.
“Try me,” the inmate said. The men stared at each other for a few seconds, until Grady broke into a grin again. “So what’s it gonna be, Marshal?”
Sam sighed and looked at the pie in his hands. Lauralee was right all along. She knew Grady was going to be trouble.
“Did you know that Ms. Plunk made this pie special for you?” Sam asked, tilting the pie for Grady to see. “She had some apricot pieces left over after making some pies for the festival and thought of you.”
“Me?” Grady gave Sam a sidewise look.
“Yep. Like you said, she’s been in here a few times and noticed that you’ve taken up residence here. Felt sorry for you stuck in that cell, especially when I told her you were going to be in there a while.”
“Hmmm.” Grady was suspicious.
“That’s OK,” Sam said, turning toward his desk. “You don’t want it, I’ll be happy to eat it for you.”
“Now don’t be hasty, Marshal,” Grady said. “No harm in me sampling the sweets, especially from such a sweet lady.”
Sam nodded and walked back to the cell. He angled the pie enough to slip it between the bars and then fished a fork out of his shirt pocket. “Don’t get any ideas with this fork, Grady,” he said.
“You know I’m not the violent type,” Grady said. He latched onto the pie with one hand and stuck the other through the bars, wiggling his fingers at Sam.
“Alright then,” Sam said. He handed the fork to Grady and watched as the inmate plopped down on his bunk and stabbed a hunk of apricot pie.
It was the pits that would do the trick, Lauralee said. She ground them up and sprinkled them into the filling. Grady wouldn’t even taste the poison, and he’d be gone in a few seconds. Guilt washed over Sam, and he opened his mouth to speak.
“Of course, just because I’m eating this pie, that doesn’t mean I forgot about our deal,” Grady said. “Get the judge to drop the charges against me, pronto, or I’ll tell everyone your secrets.” He winked at the marshal and held up his fork as if making a toast.
Sam grunted and nodded but said nothing. He just watched as Grady took his first big bite of apricot pit pie. The inmate smiled big and looked quite pleased with himself.
For a few seconds, at least.
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