Page 33 of Barely a Woman
“This is not about the Temperance job.”
“About the ‘bag of feral cats’ incident, then?”
“Not that either. I escaped unscathed, no thanks to you.”
She cocked her head and frowned. “To what does this pertain, then?”
He leaned forward and placed a palm on the table. “The extortion of wheat from local farmers for a criminally low price. And as you are acquainted with every scoundrel in the area, I assume you are either involved or know who is.”
Prudence donned her innocent Sunday-go-to-church smile and waved a hand. “Oh, I have left that life behind. I know nothing of scoundrels or dastardly incidents. I have become a God-fearing woman.”
“That’s not what I heard at the tavern.” Morgan’s remark came no sooner than Prudence had closed her mouth. Steadman eyed Morgan and then found Prudence doing the same. The older woman’s features constricted with concern.
“At the tavern, you say? Was it Mulroy? Or that wastrel Stokes?”
With practiced ease, Morgan retrieved a piece of paper and graphite pencil from the voluminous confines of her suit. “How do you spell ‘Mulroy’?”
Prudence’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, a gesture which Steadman recognized as unease. He suppressed a smile. While Prudence was familiar enough with him to spin falsehoods with no conscience, Morgan was an unknown quantity who had set the woman on edge.
“I know of no Mulroy. Or of Stokes.” Prudence crossed her arms to make her point and to mask her disquiet. He jumped into the small breach opened by Morgan.
“But Stokes knows of you. How would he know of you if you had left your criminal life behind?”
“I don’t know. I’m just an old woman with rheumatoid knees. And Stokes talks too much. How did you meet him anyway?
He smiled. “I had never heard of Stokes until you mentioned him just now.”
Prudence blinked. “Pardon me. I’m old and my mind doesn’t always work right. I don’t know any Stokes.”
Morgan leaned toward Prudence, her eyes bright with the hunt. “But let us speak of Mulroy. What if I said we expected him any minute? What do you think he would say?”
Prudence let her eyes flit toward the door. “Who knows? But Mulroy is a liar. You cannot believe a word he says. What did he say about me?
“How am I to know, Mrs. Lightboddy? I had never heard of Mulroy until you mentioned him just now. So, what would he say about you?”
Prudence fanned her face with a diffident hand. “Oh, he would say that I’ve turned over a new leaf and now live the life of a poor, harmless, elderly saint.”
“But as Mulroy is a liar,” Steadman interjected, “And cannot be believed, then we would interpret such a response to mean the opposite—that you still participate in criminal activity.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken about Mulroy.”
“About him calling you a saint or about him being a liar?”
“Uh, the latter.”
“So, when Mulroy told me that you know very well who is behind this, he was telling the truth?”
Prudence straightened, her eyes going wider. “I thought you said you never heard of Mulroy until just now?”
Morgan slapped the table. “I saidIhave never heard of Mulroy until just now. I do not speak for Steadman, and as youare aware, he knows everybody. And you failed to answer his question. Was Mulroy telling the truth?”
“Mulroy would have said nothing, no matter the coercion.”
Morgan leaned back into her chair with a show of confidence that threatened to make Steadman proud. “Because of the way you’ve blackmailed him?”
Prudence stared at her and blinked with surprise. The toughest of nuts was cracking. “How did you know about that? I told no one.”
Morgan smiled and examined the nails of her left hand. “I did not know. I simply guessed.”
