Rooster chuckled. “There’s a better chance you’ll learn something from them than me. They’ve been known to visit the Fry house. Can’t keep young’uns away from the place.”
Call raised an eyebrow. “Does Mrs. Booker know?”
“Don’t know how she couldn’t. Dillon and Hank aren’t exactly what you’d call discreet. Words kinda spill out of them, especially when she’s giving them that gimlet eye.”
Laughing, Call finished brushing the mare Laurel had named Sylvia. He was beginning to think the name suited the animal. Leastways, she responded to it. He set aside the brush. “Where are the boys this morning?”
“Dillon’s tending the garden. He might have roped his brother into helping him.”
“All right. You need me to do anything right now?”
“I’m good. You go on. Send Hank here when you’re done with him.”
Call nodded. “Thanks.”
The brothers were indeed in the garden. Dillon was bent over, pulling weeds as he moved slowly down a row. Hank was leaning on a rake, content to watch Dillon work.
Call stood at the perimeter of the garden and waited to be noticed. Hank saw him first and suddenly stood at attention, though Call couldn’t imagine why he did. Dillon stopped weeding, brushed off his hands, but stayed hunkered down.
“You two mind answering some questions?” When they shook their heads in unison, Call started right in. He didn’t vary his questions much from what he had asked Rooster, but he lobbed the questions at the brothers separately. Dillon took one. Hank took the next. The only time the boys hedged or hesitated was when Call asked about Mrs. Fry’s place.
Hank finally said, “Yeah, I guess we’ve been there some.”
“Did you know Josey went there?”
Dillon said, “Saw him once. You gotta understand that me and Josey Pye having the same time to get away didn’t happen often.”
“What about you, Hank? Did you see him?”
“Never saw him, but I knew he’d been there.”
“Because Dillon told you?”
“Dillon never said a word about Pye, but I heard hisname mentioned while I was there so I asked after him. Mainly I wanted to know who he was bedding because it bothered me some to ask for the same girl. Not sure why. I know they’re whores and all, but it just made me—I don’t know—kinda unsettled. Same with Dillon. He goes with Marie. I usually ask for Alice Mae.” He shrugged. “Sometimes Liz if Alice Mae’s busy.”
Call took this all in, primarily because he couldn’t figure out how to stop Hank once he got started. “Do you know if Josey Pye had a favorite?”
“Not sure she was his favorite,” said Hank, “but I heard he mostly went upstairs with Desi. Desiree.”
Dillon said, “That’s who was draped all over him the night I saw him there.”
“Is she still there?” asked Call.
Hank shrugged. “Couldn’t say. I ain’t been there in a while.”
Dillon nodded. “Same here. You can ask Miss Laurel, but I’m pretty sure Desi’s never bought a ticket to leave town. We’d have seen if she took a coach, and it’s hard for me to imagine her leaving on horseback or taking off on foot. Maybe she’d take Mrs. Fry’s carriage, but that’d be stealing and I don’t see Desi being good for that. She’s a decent sort.”
“For a whore,” said Hank.
“For anyone,” Dillon said, objecting. His eyes narrowed as he studied Call. “You keep things to yourself?”
“I can.”
Dillon took his time taking Call’s measure before he spoke. “I never even told Hank this.” Here, he looked sharply at his brother with a clear threat of violence if a word of what he was about to say was repeated. “I never figured it out exactly but Desi sometimes puts me in mind of Miss Laurel.”
Hank’s jaw slid sideways as it fell open. “Me, too!”
“Huh,” was Call’s only comment.
