Shawn O'Brien Manslaughter by William W. Johnstone Page B

said.
    â€œWell, looks like she is now,” the man said. He stepped back inside, muttering.
    Shawn picked up the kitten. “She’s purring,” he said.
    â€œMaybe it’s a he,” Sedley said.
    â€œNo, calicoes are nearly always female. We always had a few of them at Dromore. Good mousers.”
    Shawn made cooing noises that Sedley thought him incapable of producing, tipped back his hat, and rubbed foreheads with the kitten.
    â€œPretty kittlin’ that,” Sedley said.
    â€œDo you want her?” Shawn said.
    â€œHell no. Cats make me sneeze.”
    â€œOw!” Shawn said. “She scratched me.”
    Suddenly the purring bundle of fur was transformed into a roll of barbed wire, and he looked for a way to put her down without being mauled.
    â€œWhat are you doing to my Annabelle?”
    Sunny Swanson, in a pink silk dress and large, shady hat, snapped shut her parasol and used it to thwack Shawn across the shoulder.
    â€œGive me my kitten!” she yelled, her face furious. “You . . . you animal abuser.”
    â€œTake her!” Shawn said. “She’s scratching the hell out of me.”
    â€œCome here, Annabelle,” Sunny said. She took the calico and cradled her in her arm. “What did the bad man do to you, snookums?” she cooed. “Did he hurt you?”
    The cat snuggled into the woman’s arm and purred.
    Shawn was outraged at Sunny’s accusation. “Madam, I assure you—”
    â€œDon’t sorry me, Shawn O’Brien,” the woman said. “Maybe you can bully poor Burt Becker, but you can’t bully me or my cat.”
    Sunny swung her parasol like a club.
    â€œAnd don’t”— thwack —“try”— thwack —“to”— thwack —“kidnap”— thwack —“my”— thwack —“kitty cat”— thwack —“again!”
    The woman lifted her head, sniffed, and stalked away in a snowy flurry of laced petticoats and the drum of high-heeled ankle boots.
    Shawn looked after Sunny as he rubbed his tormented left arm and shoulder. “I bullied poor Burt Becker?” he asked.
    â€œI told you not to touch the lady’s cat,” Sedley said, looking smug.
    Irritated, Shawn said, “You didn’t tell me that.”
    â€œBut if I’d known it was hers, I would have.”
    Before Shawn could utter the sharp retort at the tip of his tongue, a plump matron bustled between him and Sedley.
    â€œI saw what happened, Mr. O’Brien,” the woman said. She had a large head, a plump body, and the alabaster fingers she laid on Shawn’s shoulder were adorned with marcasite rings. “I have a good mind to slap that hussy’s face.”
    â€œIt’s quite all right, dear lady,” Shawn said. “It was all an unfortunate misunderstanding. I’m really quite fond of kittens.”
    â€œTo be assaulted like that and after what you’ve done for this town,” the matron said as though she hadn’t heard. She leaned closer to Shawn and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Now see what you can do about those infernal drums.”
    â€œI certainly will,” Shawn said. “I’ll study on it right away.”
    â€œAnd the Chinese over at the rail depot. Born troublemakers the lot of them.”
    â€œI’ll talk to them, too,” Shawn said.
    â€œGive them harsh words, Mr. O’Brien, harsh words. Show them heathens what it means to be a Christian white man around here.”
    â€œDepend on it, ma’am,” Shawn said.
    â€œYou got a laundry list of stuff to do, huh, Shawn?” Sedley said.
    And Shawn angled him a look.
    â€œWell, it’s been nice talking with you, Mr. O’Brien,” the woman said. “And don’t forget, harsh words, a white man’s words.”
    Shawn touched his hat. “I’ll heed your advice, ma’am,” he said.
    After