Johanna was no longer surprised by the things Irene knew. It was her own failure that she hadn’t paid more attention to the older woman and monitored her activities.
One of many failures that were coming back to haunt her.
“I don’t believe it!” Mrs. Daugherty said.
“They do,” Harper said, pointing his chin toward the kitchen door. Everyone glanced at him in surprise. He, along with Johanna’s father, was the only one who showed no outward sign of concern. “Is Quentin all right?”
“Yes.” She looked at him more carefully, remembering Quentin’s advice. “Harper, please give Mrs. Daugherty any assistance she needs.”
“I reckon you’re the one who’ll need help,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”
“As you wish. The rest of you stay inside.” She strode for the door and stepped out, Harper at her heels.
The people stirred when they saw her, setting off a ripple of low, hostile voices. She recognized several respectable townsfolk she’d spoken to or dealt with at one time or another, including the blacksmith and the butcher, but most of them were idlers who commonly hung about in the street, drinking and gossiping.
She thought of the gun she’d left on the desk in her office. Foolish; she should have hidden it, or at least brought it along.
And would you use it, Johanna ?
“Gentlemen,” Johanna said. “How may I help you?”
They obviously hadn’t expected such a moderate response to their fearsome presence. The blacksmith looked about uneasily. Others shuffled their feet.
One of the men, a burly giant with a scar across his chin, stepped in front of the rest. She didn’t know him, but it was clear that he relished his role as ringleader.
“You know why we’re here!” he shouted. “You got all them loonies holed up in this place, and one of ’em killed Ketchum!”
Raised voices supported his accusation. Fists, some wielding farm tools, waved in the air.
“And you are Mr.—” She inclined her head in invitation.
“Mungo,” he said with a belligerent sneer.
“I just heard of Mr. Ketchum’s unfortunate death,” she said. “I’m sorry that you have felt the need to visit the Haven under such circumstances.”
Mungo scowled. “Don’t try to protect ‘im! We know who did it.”
Johanna didn’t allow her voice to waver in the least. “If you believe one of my patients committed this act, why have you not summoned the constable? I would certainly be glad to cooperate with the proper authorities.”
“Don’t think you can put us off with your high-and-mighty airs, woman,” he taunted. “We al’ays knew something like this would happen, with crazies living near us. This man Forster caused trouble in town b’fore, an’ Quigley saw ‘im right near where Ketchum was kil’t!”
“Nevertheless, until you bring a representative of the law, I will not permit you to bother my patients.”
Harper stepped up to her side. “You heard the lady. Go on home, before you regret what you’re doing.”
“Loony!” Mungo spat at his feet. “We know all about you. We know about every crazy in this place. We c’n run you out and no one’ll stop us. If you don’t bring Forster to us, we’ll go in and get ‘im!”
He started toward Johanna. Men followed in straggling twos and threes. Harper moved ahead of Johanna, readying for attack.
A streak of russet plunged between Harper and Mungo, striking the ringleader on the legs so that he staggered and fell. Johanna got a single good look at the wolf—bristling, fangs bared, eyes blazing with demonic fury—before it fell on the leaders of the mob.
Muttered imprecations became screams. Men ran every which way, seeking escape as hell snapped at their heels.
Mungo found himself gazing up into the open maw of a beast long thought to be extinct in California—except that no such creature had ever existed except in the darkest imaginings of men more clever than he. He shrieked and covered his face with his arms.
Johanna didn’t dare cry out for fear of giving Quentin away. Harper dashed in front of her, seized Mungo’s arm, and yanked him to his feet. The man didn’t linger. He stumbled over his own legs in his haste to follow the others.