Molly approached the desk, fighting the urge to swim through the shaft of lit dust with her hands. She glanced at the group of men playing cards, their faces slowly turning to follow her movement across the room. She noticed the walls were papered with election posters, rather than wanted posters. The only giveaway was the smiles; otherwise, even the actors would probably have been the same.
“I, um, have a problem with some men, Sheriff . . .” she bent forward and tried to read the name on his star.
“Browne,” he said for her, looking down at the star as if he needed to be reminded. “And I ain’t much help on marital disputes. Unless you need a lesson on starting a few.”
One of the card players chuckled at this, and the Sheriff shot him a look, as if prisoners could have fun, but not at his expense.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just pulled in today, and some people claiming to be friends with my father—”
“Scottie?” Sheriff Browne interrupted. “You come in on Parsona?”
Molly swallowed. “That’s right. And I—”
“Can’t help you,” the Sheriff said. His newspaper flapped back up in front of his face, and his hat sank down a few inches.
“Can’t, or—”
“No pets, ma’am. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“But I—”
“No pets!”
The Wadi’s head recoiled from the outburst. Molly reached up and rubbed its back, trying to soothe it. “Could you at least tell me where I might find someone?” she asked. “I’m looking for . . .”
“Ain’t no tourguide, neither.”
“. . . a woman, a Callite that goes by the name of Cat.”
The newspaper came down, just low enough to expose Browne’s eyes.
“Cripple Cat?” he asked.
Molly looked to the card players. The other lawman gave her a huge smile. She turned back at Sheriff Browne. “Uh, I guess. I just know her as Cat. Or Catherine. Do you know where I can find her?”
The Sheriff pulled his feet off the desk and shot forward as his boots fell heavily. Molly took a quick step back.
“You’re lucky to know her as Cat. Most people don’t.” Browne shuff-led some papers around on his desk and came up with a few stubs. He handed them out to Molly. “Twenty each.”
“What are they?”
“Tickets to see Cat.”
One of the card players chuckled again and got another visual blasting from the sheriff. Molly reached into her pocket for some change from the cantina and held it out. Sheriff Browne looked at the two coins.
“Just one ticket?”
“Just one,” Molly said.
Her heartbeat quickened as she took the stub.
She was getting close, she could feel it.