The Naked Truth

Housty left early again this morning. Well, I sat up in bed and swore another day wouldn’t pass without me finding out what’s going on. I felt a little sneaky going through her clothes but I had to know if any of her slinky stuff was missing. If she was working at The Parlor I figured I had a right to know but it was all there, right down to the silky drawers she had on the first time we… well, the first time.

After riding into town I made a beeline for The Parlor. 

‘I hear she sings at The Lonesome Duck some nights,’ Cordelia said. ‘But what she’s doing by day, I couldn’t say. She ain’t been here, that’s for sure. I’ll tell you something though; whatever that sweet thing’s doing, she ain’t doing it for herself. Take care of her, she’s a good one.’ 

Though it relieved me some to learn Housty hadn’t been at The Parlor, I was flummoxed. The barkeep at the Lonesome Duck confirmed Housty had been there a couple of times but that’s as much he could, or would, say. I got the feeling he was holding out on me and I don’t think he was the only one. I was going round in circles like a one legged spider and about ready to give up when I ran into Sheriff Berry. 

‘It’s not for me to say, but if you haven’t been to Miss Sweet’s place yet, maybe you should,’ he said.

So I hurried up the main street to Miss Sweet’s saloon, at the far end of town.

With just a handful of customers sprinkled around, nobody gave me a second glance as I sidled up to the bar and ordered a drink. I was still wondering why the sheriff had pointed me that way when I took a swig of whiskey…

…and almost choked on it. 

‘Holy shinbones!’ I said, when I’d done coughing whiskey over the bar.

‘Like it?’ asked the barkeep. ‘We just put it up this morning. The paint’s still wet.’