“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.”
The hairs stood on Westie’s arm. “You’ve been talking to Cain Fairfield?”
Isabelle smiled the devilish smile she wore when talking about boys. “A little. Though I have to say, it’s difficult to focus on Cain when James is around, wouldn’t you agree?”
Westie looked at James, who was about four feet away, still in front of the apothecary. Their eyes met and his lit up. She scratched the back of her neck and brought her attention back to Isabelle. She wanted to tell her to avoid the Fairfields at all costs, but wasn’t sure how to do it without revealing her secret about them being murderers. Isabelle loved secrets. She had a trumpet for a mouth, and gossip was her favorite tune.
“He’s all right, I suppose,” Westie said.
“Well, I’d best get back to the apothecary. I’m sure the doctor will need alcohol and medicines to patch the woman up,” Isabelle said, though Westie was sure Isabelle was less concerned about the doctor’s needs than she was about being present in case any of those sordid details the sheriff seemed so concerned about just happened to slip from Nadia’s groggy lips.
After Isabelle left, Westie realized she’d forgotten to grab the extra set of clothes she’d brought for Alistair. On her way back to the wagon, she noticed someone strolling down the center of the road and froze.
Lavina wore a bright-yellow gown with lace trim and held a parasol shading her from the sun. Her hips swayed ever so slightly. So casual compared to Nadia’s screaming and fumbling as she ran down the same path.
As Westie watched Lavina join the Fairfield men, she remembered briefly wondering, while she’d been drinking in the Tight Ship, if the Fairfields were still cannibals. Most who had turned to cannibalism on the wagon trail did it only to survive and stopped once they were rescued. But for some, it became a craving, or maybe it was just madness. Either way, they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—stop.