Page 93 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Sneed signaled one of the saloon girls, who brought a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. While she poured, Seth didn’t miss the fear in her eyes before she walked away. When the older man slid a glass in front of him, he drained it in one go, waving off another.
“I’ve been told your brother was an excellent gambler. You must have taught him well.”
As an opening salvo, it was effective because he got to watch Quentin Sneed squirm. He also poured himself another shot. Liquid courage, perhaps? The man’s smug demeanor was starting to crack, revealing a nervousness Seth found satisfying.
“So, you’re from New Orleans? I’ve spent some time there. What part are you from?”
“I, uh, we, um, moved around a lot. We’re from all over the South.”
“But your brother visited you there last month. Where was the poker game that brought you this unexpected windfall? The French Quarter? A riverboat. Or was it a private game at your home?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But I always enjoyed visiting the Crescent City and had several favorite haunts in my youth. The Mississippi Queen was known for a challenging game of cards and roulette. Then there was Sazerac House. Do you know it?”
“Sazerac, you say?”
“Yes. They serve the finest cognac a man will find, unlike the coffin varnish your brother served. Surely, you know of it. On the corner of Canal and Chartres Street. They’ve been there for years.”
Quentin shifted in his seat, avoiding Seth’s gaze. “Yes, yes. Fenton and I dropped by when he was in town. He imbibed deeply, which probably contributed to me winning big that night.”
“You know what’s funny about that? Sazerac is on the other end of the Quarter at the Merchants’ Exchange on Royal, not Canal.”
“I, uh, must have misheard you. Of course, I know it’s on Royal.”
“It was, you mean,” Seth challenged.
“Excuse me?”
“There were financial troubles, and the owner sold last winter. The first thing the buyer did was tear down the crumbling old building. The new Sazerac House is still under construction, so you and Fenton couldn’t have dropped by before your poker game, could you?” Seth asked, his voice cold and accusing.
“I, uh, well,” he sputtered. “I must have been mistaken. There are so many coffeehouses and clubs. I-I just got the details mixed up.”
“That seems to happen a lot with you.” Seth leaned in, his jaw clenched. “And what about Fenton signing over the saloon to you? That doesn’t seem like something he would do willingly.”
Quentin’s eyes darted around the room, his anxiety palpable. “He was in a tight spot. I offered him a way out, and he took it.”
“A way out…” Seth echoed, not buying Quentin’s excuses for a second. “Charlotte says he had a thriving business and was content here. Why would a man, not a young man, mind you, risk the source of his livelihood?”
“Because he was a gambler and couldn’t help himself,” he snapped, red-faced and agitated. “Exactly what are you accusing me of, Sheriff?”
“Did you hire Emmett Thorn to kill Fenton?”
Quentin’s face paled, and Seth could see the flash of fear in his eyes before he surged to his feet. “That’s preposterous! I would never harm my brother.”
“The brother who never mentioned your existence in the thirteen years Charlotte knew him?” Seth asked as he leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t know Judge Simpson, but I hear he issues harsh penalties. Folks in Laramie call him a hanging judge.”
Seth had heard nothing of the kind, but he paused for effect, and Sneed grew even paler.
“Rumor has it, he’s most astute. He should find the inconsistencies in your story interesting at the very least. Especially with you showing up only a few days after Fenton’s death, new deed in hand.”
Quentin swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “The judge will decide in my favor because everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
Seth’s gaze hardened as he stared at him for a moment. Then he slapped the table, making Quentin jump. If the man were a cat, he’d be clinging to the ceiling.
“I’m heading out to find Charlotte.” He started to leave but stopped in front of the lying worm, gripped him by his puke-colored vest, and raised him onto his toes. “You better hope nothing bad has happened to her, or I’m holding you responsible.”
When he released him, he stumbled backward, arms flailing, before he crashed into the table.
