“You need to shut up and mind your own business,” he replied.
“How can I cook when the stench of the place is enough to chase animals away,” she said, glancing around at the clutter, the dirty dishes piled by a sink. “Do you even have clean dishes?”
“No,” he said. “Probably not.”
“Good grief,” she said, walking inside farther. “I don’t think Ellis killed your son or daughter, but your housekeeper...”
The man threw her basket at her and she ducked.
“You’re being rude,” he said.
Did he think she cared?
“If you’re going to kill me or Ellis, what makes you think I’m going to be nice to you? You’re not the first man who thought he could run over me and wouldn’t you like to know what I did to him.”
The man’s eyes widened. For the first time, she could see a little fear reflected in his gaze.
“That’s right, you should be afraid. Very afraid. You called me a whore and calling a decent woman that name just infuriates me. I might just poison you when I cook your last meal.”
She watched the man’s Adam’s apple move up and down.
“My daughter took care of the house and she’s been dead for many years.”
Feeling the anger draining out of her, she glanced at the man as his shoulders seemed to sag.
“My son has been dead longer. He died in the mining accident,” he said, going to his chair and sinking down.
“I’m sorry, but Ellis wasn’t in town when the mine collapsed,” she said.
“No, but he’s still a Sanders. A damn Sanders,” he said.
“You’re not being fair. He lost his mother and father in that collapse. He lost just as much as you did.”
The man’s face turned red and he screamed at her. “Get in the fucking kitchen and make me a steak dinner. Do not come out until it’s done. We’re finished here.”
Shaking her head, she couldn’t resist. “You just want someone to blame, and Ellis is the convenient target. How did he kill Arianna?”
“She had a miscarriage,” he screamed and dragged a whiskey bottle from the side of his chair and took a swig.
A miscarriage? Unless Ellis was the father, this could not be his fault.
“Go. Get in the kitchen, now, or I’m going to shoot you,” he said and pulled a gun from the same place he’d found the whiskey.
She knew the gun was loaded because it appeared he kept it right next to him, and she wondered how many times he’d tried to kill himself with the weapon.
Could she sneak out after he became inebriated? Going into the kitchen, the first thing she saw were boards nailed across the kitchen door. No getting out without him hearing her.
She looked at the mess, the pile of dishes, the old food. A rat scurried away in the corner of the kitchen and she shivered. Maybe she should serve him the rat for dinner, but that would mean touching it. Another shiver went through her and she knew she could not touch the rodent.
With a sigh, she glanced out the window and hoped her men would see her trail of things she’d left behind. Hopefully, they would be here before she finished cooking his steak dinner.
How could a day that had been so wonderful, suddenly become so deadly? Looking around, she found a knife and an iron skillet. She’d let him drink a little more liquor and then she was going to take him on once again.
This time, the skillet would make a fine weapon.
After Charleston, she refused to be a victim any longer. By golly, she would take the man down herself if she had to.