“In the mail?”
Her head wobbled up and down in a frantic nod of affirmation. “Yes. In that envelope.” It was lying on the table beside his cup of coffee.
“Why did you hide it from your husband, to whom you are supposed to be submissive, according to holy scripture?”
“I,” she began, then stopped to wet her lips, “I was saving it to give you as a surprise.”
His eyes smoldered with suspicion. “Who sent it?”
Wanda raised her head and looked at him stupidly. “I don’t know.”
He closed his eyes and swayed as though entranced. “Satan, I command you to release her from your evil power. You have control of her lying tongue. Give it back, in the name—”
“No!” Wanda shouted. “I’m not lying. I thought it probably came from one of those folks you’ve been talking to on the phone about what you did out at the Minton ranch.”
He was out of his chair like a shot. Rounding the table, he bore down on her. “How dare you mention that? Didn’t I tell you never, never to utter a word about that?”
“I forgot,” she said, cowering. “I thought maybe the money came from somebody who appreciated what you did.”
“I know who it came from,” he hissed.
“Who?”
“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door that connected the kitchen to the garage.
“Where are we going, Fergus?”
“Wait and see. I want the sinners to meet face-to-face.”
“The kids are—”
“God will watch over them until we get back.”
With Wanda sitting shivering in the front seat beside him, Plummet drove through the sleeping streets of town. At the highway, he headed west. He seemed unaware of the cold, warmed by his coat of righteousness. When he took the turn-off, Wanda stared at him in total disbelief, but he shot her a look of such condemnation that she wisely refrained from uttering a peep.
He pulled up in front of the large house and or
dered his wife to get out of the car. His footsteps landed hard on the hollow steps and his knock rang out loudly in the stillness of early morning. No one answered his first knock, so he pounded harder on the door. When still no one came, he emphatically banged on the window nearest him.
Nora Gail herself pulled open the door and aimed the barrel of a small handgun directly at his forehead. “Mister, you’d better have damned good reason for beating down my door and getting me out of bed at this ungodly hour.”
Fergus raised his hands above his bowed head and called upon God and a host of angels to cleanse the sinner of her wrongdoing.
Nora Gail pushed him aside and moved toward her sister. They faced each other. Nora Gail, her platinum hair radiant, looked marvelous for someone who had just gotten out of bed. The constant use of expensive night creams guaranteed her a glowing complexion. She was resplendent in a rose satin robe trimmed with seed pearls. By contrast, Wanda looked like an overweight brown wren.
“It’s cold out here,” Nora Gail remarked, as though they’d seen each other only yesterday. “Let’s go inside.” She led her gawking sister across the threshold of the whorehouse. Nudging Fergus in his skinny ribs as she went past, she said, “Preacher, if you don’t shut up that noisy praying, I’m going to shoot your balls off, you hear?”
“Ah-men!” he cried, suddenly ending his prayer.
“Thank you,” Nora Gail said with amusement. “I’m sure I can use the prayers. Come on in. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
Several minutes later, they were collected around the table in her kitchen, which looked very ordinary and not the least bit sinful. Coffee had been brewed and poured into fine china cups. Fergus commanded Wanda to avoid it, as though it was a poisonous concoction.
“You can’t defeat us,” Fergus said heatedly. “God is on our side, and He’s sorely provoked at you, a whore who leads weaker brothers astray.”
“Save it,” Nora Gail said with a casual wave of her hand. “I fear God, all right, but what’s between Him and me is personal, and no business of yours. The only thing that scares me about you, preacher, is your stupidity.”
He took umbrage. His face puffed up like an adder. “Did you send my wife some of your ill-gotten money?”