American Ghoul by Michelle McGill-Vargas

Author:Michelle McGill-Vargas [McGill-Vargas, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing

Chapter

Nineteen

Martin stands at the door of the jailhouse with a woman who isn’t his wife. I’ve seen his wife lots of times before—she and Mrs. Wiltshire did their quilting together—and this ain’t her. This woman, a curvy young thing around Simone’s age, hands him a tan-colored picnic basket. Dinner, I assume. The sun is still out, but not shining as brightly as it was when Martin and I started chatting about the whole Simone affair. Lots of folks have a servant girl working for them. I think nothing of this, until I see the girl’s shy smile, the way she leans in with her chest packed into a too-small bodice, the light giggle as he whispers something in her ear.

The girl bites at her bottom lip and tilts her head toward me. “Is that her?”

Like I said, the jail ain’t that big. I’m right here, feet away from her.

Martin smiles at her. “Yeah. She’s been in here weaving a yarn about vampires.”

“Vampires?” She giggles again. “What is that?”

“According to her, they’re dead people who drink blood from living people, like this,” and he starts nibbling at the girl’s neck.

She squeals and slips outta his grasp. They chase each other around the desk making all sorts of racket until Martin catches her and they start moaning and pawing at each other. If this is what I gotta deal with all night, the posse can come hang me right now.

“How long will you be?” she asks as he herds her back to the door.

Martin leans against the doorframe. His free hand strokes her cheek. “She’ll be here until the train to Hammond comes through. Gotta make sure no one tries to get a head start.”

“But if somebody did,” she says, “you wouldn’t have to stay here all that time.”

Martin shakes his head and looks down at his boots. He softens his voice. “Can’t have a repeat of last time. You know what folks have been saying, Charlotte.”

The lady friend runs her hand down his arm. “This one’s different. Besides, you’re not drunk now, are you?”

I chuckle. This girl must not know there ain’t a ceiling to this man’s tolerance. Been drinking with him all day and even I’m surprised we’re still awake.

“And I’m gonna keep it that way. Constable’s not gonna make a fool outta me this time.”

“But,” Charlotte draws out, “if you let the town take care of this little problem, you and I can . . .” She bites her bottom lip and starts fingering a button on his shirt.

They giggle-talk among themselves like I’m not here. I’m used to it. Saw lots of it back at Miss Tillie’s. Her husband would cat around the slave shacks every week like it wasn’t nothing. Miss Tillie didn’t even seem to care about that, or the fact that five of the boys working in the big house were all brown versions of her husband while she was with not one baby of her own. But her catching him with a local widow? That’s what sent her over the edge and put him on the cooling board.

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