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heavily onto the couch. “You remembered that after two years?”
    â€œNaah.” Virgil made a typing gesture with his fingers. “Database in the bar’s computer.”
    â€œOf course.” Dan raised his glass in a toast. “Good hunting.”
    â€œStraight shooting,” Virgil replied and took a swig out of his beer glass.
    After they finished their drinks, they made their way to the dining room. Its walls were manzanita and glowed deeply with rubbed beeswax, and from the ceiling hung a chandelier made of deer antlers. The two men sat at one end of the antique vestry table with ancient silver conchas nailed around its perimeter. Mary arrived a moment later, carrying a plate and followed by two assistants, one with two more plates and the other carrying a silver lidded casserole.
    Mary set the plate in front of Dan.
    â€œIs this what I think it is?” he asked, leaning forward to savor the smell of the meat.
    â€œYep,” said Mary. “Saddle of elk in morel and juniper berry sauce. Plus local wild rice, marinated Brussels sprouts, and white truffle mashed potatoes.”
    â€œYou spoil me.”
    Mary slid into her chair. “I had to. I felt guilty. I know what this night means to you and Annabelle.”
    â€œHow could you possibly know that?”
    â€œShe called this afternoon. Asked me to do something special for you, with her love. I sure hope you appreciate that wife of yours.”
    â€œOh, I do,” said Dan. “I do.”
    It was a pleasant dinner. Dan had always enjoyed the Masons. They reminded him of the Iowa wing of his family: good, reliable, happy people who worked hard, enjoyed a good laugh, and weren’t impressed by all of the extravagance that surrounded them. Over dessert, a thoroughly stuffed Dan asked about the new Mrs. Validator. Mary frowned. “Breeding tells,” she said. “And when you give your child a stripper name like Amber, you’ve got to know what you’re going to get.”
    â€œThat’s pretty harsh,” Dan said. “I take it that you’re not a big fan.”
    â€œFigured that out, did you?” She forced a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Actually, it’s not too bad. At first, when she was wandering around this big ol’ house acting all air-fairy like she had just won the lottery…”
    â€œWhich she did,” interjected Virgil.
    â€œâ€¦ she was a pain in the ass. I even thought about quitting. I’m mean, a week before he proposed she’s—excuse my French—a fucking cocktail waitress with her big fake knockers being drooled over by drunks, and now she thinks she’s the Duchess of Validator Ranch? That was too much for me.”
    â€œAt least it was kinda funny,” said Virgil.
    Mary’s grimace grew grimmer, “Washing your feet in the bidet and saying ‘filay mig-non’ doesn’t make up for being a class A, gold-plated bitch.”
    â€œWow,” said Dan. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before.”
    â€œNever needed to. But truth be told, it’s not so bad now. She settled down after awhile. Mostly, she was just scared. And now, she’s got ambition —which is good for the rest of us because she’s out of the house most days before lunch and not home until late evening. And when she is around, I just tell myself that she won’t be around any longer than the other ones.”
    â€œIs she home now?”
    Mary smiled conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be talking like this if she was. But you should see her soon. Don’t worry about being sociable; she won’t. I guarantee she’ll clear out as fast as she can. She doesn’t like Mr. Validator’s guests because she’s intimidated by them—and she’ll intercom me to bring her dinner in her room.”
    As Dan was helping Mary and Virgil carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen, he turned a