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decanter of the Dalmore single malt?”
    Trahern’s expression transformed from sullen to bright. A smile replaced his pout of self-pity; his shoulders squared, and he straightened his short, lean frame. Rubbing his hands together, he wet his lips, smacking them in anticipation of the fine Scotch. “Cerise, old girl, y’ always knew how t’ treat a guest.”
    Cerise shook her head. “And you always knew how to stick your foot in it, Judge. Regardless of her age no man should ever call a woman old girl . Especially when that woman provides him with some of the best Scotch whisky ever made and is about to make him a very lucrative offer.”
    At the mention of lucrative, Judge Trahern perked up even more. “How lucrative? And what is it I’ll be doing for you?”
    “Nothing you wouldn’t do for the cronies in Sacramento who bought you your bench seat, but we’ll get to that in a moment. Sit down.” She gestured to a slipper chair then took the chair opposite. “While we wait for Ames to bring the whisky, why don’t you tell me how your sons are?”
    The judge sat, but his expression soured. “Why’d you wanna go and bring them up for? You know I avoid Dutch as much as he avoids me, and he’s poisoning Trey’s mind against me. I swear my oldest boy is an unnatural child. Last time I saw him he swore he’d shoot me if I came near Trey again. Said his brother didn’t need a father who abandoned the two of them. You’ve known me longer than those boys have been alive, Cerise. I never abandoned them, did I? I left them and their ma with you when those vigilantes ran me out of town in ’51 on trumped up pandering charges. My sons were always cared for. Not that their whore of a mother did much for them. Why I remember … ”
    Cerise listened with half an ear to the man’s whining. His twisted, defensive, and conveniently inaccurate view of reality wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard dozens of times before. She often wondered how this man so small in stature and mind could have fathered two magnificent specimens like Dutch and Trey. She wouldn’t complain. The senior Trahern’s neglect had given her the pleasure of Dutch’s young services for a number of years. It was the loss of those services that galled her. The judge was largely to blame for the loss, though often as not he chose to forget that detail, especially when he wanted something.
    Jeremiah Trahern owed her for a lot more than the silence she kept about the murder that would always link her with him and Dutch, and she fully intended to collect on those debts as often as possible. It didn’t hurt that the judge was so addicted to drink that he would do nearly anything for alcohol or the money to purchase more. Betraying his oldest son was a minor act in the litany of crimes and sins that she knew lay at Judge Trahern’s door.
    The butler’s knock silenced Trahern.
    “Come in,” called Cerise. “Put the tray on the table and leave us.”
    The butler complied.
    “Help yourself,” she indicated that the judge should pour.
    His hands trembled slightly as he tilted the decanter above a pair of crystal tumblers on the silver tray and filled one to the top.
    He downed the entire glass in a single gulp then poured a second. This he sipped.
    Cerise tipped a finger of whisky into the other tumbler and brought the glass to the edge of the table but didn’t drink. She’d wait until the deal was firm and she knew the judge understood the consequences of failure to perform his part.
    “So what’s this offer you have for me?”
    “I’ll pay you twenty-five dollars if you get Dutch here tomorrow night by eight o’clock and another twenty-five if you get him to bid on a virgin I’m putting up for auction then.”
    The judge snorted and nearly spilled his drink. “You’re kidding. Dutch hates whores almost as much as he hates you and me. Don’t know what I could say that he’d listen to.”
    “Tell him you have information about how kidnapped