The open-mouthed gargoyle with his obscene tongue thrust out, stared at Adam. Gargoyles were employed to chase off evil—used for protection which is why Adam had seen so many on European cathedrals, but most people had simple brass rings for a doorknocker or perhaps an elegant lady's hand which was a popular motif, but Adam had never seen one like this before on a simple home. But then this house was located near the creek where Satan allegedly danced. He knocked twice and waited for Evangeline to open the door, anticipating her lovely, welcoming smile.

For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, Adam was anxious, filled with a sense of foreboding, and wished Hoss was standing beside him but Hoss had elected to stay behind.

"I've never seen you turn down a good meal," Adam said as he bent down to see his reflection in the mirror standing on the small chest. The silver was peeled off in spots and the glass was of poor quality—wavy like a mirror in a funhouse at the carnival-but Adam could at least make sure he looked decent. Earlier he had bought a white shirt, tie and a pair of trousers and then had a bath for 50 cents. All in all, he paid over five dollars to look presentable for the Rigbys, for Evangeline. The only issue he had was polishing his boots. The saloon had a shoe shine stand but he found out that it had long been abandoned so Adam gave the bartender a nickel and using the boot black that was still there, polished his own boots.

"Well, now Joe, he's mighty lonely and down so I promised I'd play a game of checkers or cards—whatever the sheriff's got. Hell, I'll even pretend I don't see him cheat."

Adam chuckled and then picked up his hat. He hit it against his thigh a few times to knock off any dust, ran his fingers around the inside band and then settled it on his head.

"Lookin' mighty pretty there," Hoss said as he lay on the bed, "kinda like a preacher."

"Go to hell," Adam replied and Hoss chuckled good-naturedly.

On his solitary ride to the Rigby's, Adam mulled over the earlier conversation between him and the sheriff. Adam had brought up that the killer was still in Mules' Pass—had to be—and that if the pattern kept, four more women would be killed.

"I agree," the sheriff had said. "That is, if the killer were free but I've got him locked up in the back."

"You can't actually believe it was my brother."

"And why's that?"

"Because he's not a killer or an idiot." The sheriff had said nothing, just pursed his lips, so Adam continued. "He courted Melora Rigby—was open and honest about the relationship. What about the other two women killed? Was Joe ever seen with them? Hell, he wasn't even here. Send a rider to Rancho Verde and found out the truth.

"I have."

"And?"

"He's not back yet."

"Look, Sheriff," Adam said, crossing his arms across his broad chest, "this number seven means something to the killer. There are always seven women killed and then the killer moves on. A long time goes between these 'bouts.' Anyway, he kills one a month for seven months and from the dates I saw, the killings are almost always exactly a month to the day; some vary but only by a day or two. But we all know that seven and three are special numbers—magical numbers like being the seventh son of the seven son. Or religious. The number seven in this case is symptomatic of an obsession."

"What do you mean?" The sheriff squinted, waiting.

"Look, there are the seven days of creation, Pharoah saw seven cattle, Samson's hair was in seven plaits, there are the Seven Seals, God rested on the seventh day and there were seven spirits of God. But I think it has to do with destruction as related in Revelations. 'But in the days of the voice of the seventh angel, when he shall begin to sound, the mystery of God should be finished.' And then there's 'And I saw another sign in heaven, great and marvelous, seven angels having the seven last plagues; because in them is filled up the wrath of God.' I think someone believes they're doing God's work."

"Wait a minute," the sheriff said, throwing up his hands. "You mean someone believes that by assaulting and strangling those women that they're doing something holy?"

"Yes."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"It does to me—and it sure as hell does to them."

The two men were silent and then the sheriff spoke. "I'm just gonna wait until my deputy comes back from Rancho Verde. I'm not sayin' it'll clear your brother of Melora Rigby's murder but it's a least a start."

Adam wasn't satisfied but he knew he had given the sheriff something to think about, something to consider.

And now Adam stood alone at the Rigby door and instead of being greeted by the lovely Evangeline, it was Mr. Rigby who answered. Adam decided the gargoyle had the more pleasant expression.

"Good evening," Adam said. Rigby said nothing, just stared at him. "Evangeline invited me to dinner…" and then Adam heard Evangeline's sweet voice come from inside the house.

"Invite Mr. Cartwright in, Father."

Rigby stepped aside—begrudgingly—and Adam stepped into the house. His anxiety receded a bit when he saw Evangeline. She smiled and reached out to take his hands. He took them and raised one to his lips, softly kissing it.

"So good to see you, Adam, I'm glad you could make it. Where's your brother?" Evangeline looked around Adam.

"He decided to stay in town and spend the evening visiting with our brother, Joe. They have a checker game planned. I think Hoss plans to even the score between them although they'd have to play a marathon; the score is something like 4,000 to zero—Joe's favor." Adam realized he was making awkward small talk, something he detested—useless, meaningless chatter but his anxiety had suddenly come back even stronger and he talked to conceal it.

As they ate, Adam complimented Evangeline on her cooking. The beef roast was perfectly cooked, the outside crisp, the inside still red and moist. The yams were delicious, he said. They were slathered in fresh butter and a sprinkling of brown sugar. And the biscuits, he said, were as light and fluffy as clouds.

Evangeline dismissed the compliments but she was delighted that he noticed; her efforts to please Adam had succeeded. Evangeline's mother had always impressed upon her daughters the importance of food to a hard-working man—basic fare would serve but it must be special—the man must feel that his wife has tried to please him and serve him not only nourishing but extraordinary fare. And as she was cooking that day, preparing the food, Evangeline wondered if Adam Cartwright would consider her as a wife. She said a silent prayer asking God to forgive her for her mutinous thoughts. After all, Dr. Branson, a good and righteous man loved her, had been courting her for over two years and had assumed—as everyone else in town who saw them together so many times did—that she would soon be Mrs. Frank Branson. But life had changed, Evangeline realized as she scrubbed yams for dinner. Adam Cartwright had appeared and Evangeline felt a glimmer of excitement and a warmth in her belly whenever she thought of the dark-haired man.

They were sitting in the parlor having coffee and the vanilla cream cake that Evangeline had made with Hoss in mind, when the knocker sounded heavily.

"Now I wonder who that could be?" Evangeline said, rising.

"Maybe Hoss changed his mind," Adam added. "He probably smelled your roast and this cake from town." He rose from his seat. Rigby retrieved his rifle that he had left standing in the corner.

"Father, don't point that in anyone's face until we know who it is. It may be Hoss; I've made enough in anticipation of his appetite so I hope it's him." Evangeline opened the front door, her father behind her, and Adam heard her voice in strained greeting. He turned to the door and stood, unhooking the trigger loop on his holster.

"Frank. I didn't expect you this evening."

Then Adam heard the voice of Dr. Branson. "Evangeline, I had thought that we could spend a few hours together this evening—my father's taken to his bed early-but I see I've come at a bad time; I see a strange horse out front. How do you do this evening, Mr. Rigby?"

And then Adam inwardly groaned when he heard Mr. Rigby invite the doctor in for dessert.

"Frank," Evangeline said as she led the doctor into the parlor. "This is Adam Cartwright…"

Adam nodded to Branson and started to put out his hand but Frank Branson stood still, his face stiff and made no effort to be responsive. "I know Mr. Cartwright already but I didn't expect to find him here."

"I invited him, Frank. Please sit down and join us for coffee and cake."

"Yes," Mr. Rigby said. "Sit down, Frank. How's your father? Is his back causing him pain again?"

Frank didn't answer—it was as if he hadn't heard.

Rigby already seated himself but Evangeline and Adam still stood for a moment longer and then, Evangeline sat down. Adam followed suit but Frank still stood casting his shadow across the group.

"Frank, please," Evangeline said. "If you're not hungry, at least sit and have coffee with us. I'll get you a cup." Evangeline went to the sideboard.

"I won't sit and keep company with him," Frank said, indicating Adam.

"Frank, please…" Evangeline was embarrassed and distressed. "You're both guests in our home—you and Mr. Cartwright. I had invited both Adam and his brother…" She wanted Adam to stay and be comfortable but it was obvious to all that Frank Branson was outraged at finding Adam at their table.

"His brother murdered your sister…and your daughter," Frank said to Mr. Rigby. "How can you even invite him into your home? He's not good enough for you and I'm shocked you can't see it!"

"It's just dinner, Frank," Evangeline explained. "Mr. Cartwright and I…"

"You and him what? Do you think he has any honor, Melora, despite his honeyed words? That he'll…"

Evangeline froze and both Adam and Mr. Rigby were stunned into silence as well. Frank looked at them and then his face changed; he pulled himself up straighter and composed himself.

"I apologize," Frank said, his voice rough, shaky. "I don't know why I called you by her name. We've all been through much lately and I suppose that since her death has been on my mind, that I…" No one said anything and so Frank said, "I take my leave of you, Evangeline, Mr. Rigby…Mr. Cartwright. I'll let myself out."

~ 0 ~

"Goodnight, Father," Evangeline said.

"Goodnight," he replied. "And don't stay up late. Good night, Mr. Cartwright."

"Goodnight," Adam replied. And then they were alone—he and Evangeline.

"I should be taking my leave. I'm sorry about, well, about upsetting Dr. Branson. I can't say that I blame him…I would have behaved worse, I'm sure, if I had walked in on my fiancée entertaining another man."

"We haven't said anything about the obvious—me, for the sake of my father but…hearing my sister's name…that's what upset my father. And as for me, his called me my sister's name as if he was used to saying it…that's what's upsetting. I'm sorry, Adam, that your evening, our evening was ruined. It was like a darkness falling over us all. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I was a bit surprised hearing the confusion names but my father called my brothers and me by each other's names every so often when we were younger. Sometimes he would just say, "You there."

Evangeline smiled but then looked sad again. "It wasn't just the name, Adam. It was what he said. It was as if he was talking about my sister and your brother."

Adam reached out and softly touched her cheek. "Don't worry so," Adam said. "It was just a simple slip of the tongue." Adam didn't believe his own words as the chill of hearing Melora's name, that he spoke to Evangeline using Melora's name, was still with him. Evangeline, he noticed, had blanched and Mr. Rigby had a look of horror on his face when the confusion if names occurred. "Now," Adam said, taking Evangeline's arm, "Walk me out. It looks like a lovely evening."

Evangeline smiled gently and together they walked out into the yard where Adam's horse was secured.

"It is a lovely evening." They stood together looking up at the sky. "I know during the day people can deduce the time by the position of the sun. Can it be done at night?"

"Well, the moon rises in the east and sets in the west like the sun, so on the nights when we have a moon, like tonight with the full moon hanging right there, yes—a person can approximate but I know a better way."

"Oh? How's that?"

Adam pulled out his pocket watch and flipped open the cover. "It's 9:13."

Evangeline laughed delightedly. "You're quite the logical man, aren't you, Adam?"

"About certain things but when it comes to a beautiful woman, well, I'm not quite so level-headed."

Evangeline looked down modestly and then back up to Adam. "Let's walk a bit, shall we? Some nights when my father has retired I come out here and sit on the porch and think about all that's out in the world, all the things I've never seen but then I consider how beautiful it is out here."

The couple began to slowly walk out into the evening. "This landscape is similar to the southern end of the Ponderosa—small trees, brush, a few cactus, wildflowers, rocks and the view of the mountains."

"Really? I've never been anywhere else. I wonder what the rest of the country looks like, the rest of the world. I've seen pictures of the Swiss Alps—all that snow. And glaciers. Have you been to Switzerland?"

"No," Adam said. "Never had any reason."

"But you don't have to have a reason," Evangeline said eagerly. "I'd like to travel just to travel. I mean to see what the ocean on both sides of the country look like and to see…anything else but this all my life. Have you traveled much, Adam?"

"Compared to some people, I suppose I have."

"Where was your favorite place?" Evangeline hung on his arm as they meandered slowly. Adam noticed that Evangeline was only looking at him and had no idea where they were going. He looked around though as they walked, noticing their direction by glancing at the moon; it wouldn't do to become lost.

"Well, let me think…New Orleans was the most intriguing place, I suppose, but a fever runs rampant in the heat of their summers so the best time to visit is in the spring; the flowers are blossoming then and the scarlet bougainvillea blooms on the balconies. And it's not as hot as just two months later."

"Oh, it sounds lovely. Tell me about it." And Evangeline hung on Adam's every word as he described the mixture of people, that Arcadians, the West Indians and the French. But he lingered over his descriptions of the elegant restaurants as well as the street vendors and their steaming pots of gumbo. He described the taste of the city's savory dishes such as jambalaya, shrimp creole, and crawfish étouffée. "Now the étouffée is hot, has peppers in it and will burn your mouth if you're not used to it—I usually wash it down with a cool beer, or a sazerac, but the best of all are beignets—a crispy fried pastry that's dusted with sugar."

"Oh, it sounds wonderful. Maybe one day I'll go to New Orleans. Is it far from here?"

"Oh, not so far that it would take longer than a few weeks but it's not a comfortable trip. Most of the trip is by coach." Adam stopped and listened. It was water, roiling, angry water.

"What is it, Adam? What's wrong?"

It sounded to Adam as if he was a great distance away, as if hearing Evangeline's voice from under water. His throat threatened to close up on him and he took a shaky breath. And there was that odor again—the dizzying, sickly-sweet odor that had imbued the fortune-teller's tent so many years ago. And his head and throat filled with smoke while he saw the world though a haze.