—Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens, Justified “Son of a—ugh!” Ellie slapped the letter from the Motor Vehicle Branch on the table and took a long sip of her wine. Poncherello must have thought he was soooo funny yesterday, telling her that a list of instructors would be included in the letter, yet conveniently neglecting to mention that he was the only one in the area. “What’s the matter?” Gail’s question hung unanswered as she made her way into the kitchen. “Ellie?” “Nothing. Want some wine?” “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” “Not according to my watch. See? Wine o’clock.” Ellie’s chuckle died in her throat when Gail didn’t so much as crack a smile. Gail Palmer never drank before six P.M. and rarely had more than one glass. Last night, of course, had been an exception to the rule; she’d downed her first glass and half of another before reining herself in. “I finally got hold of Gabbie. She asked if I wanted her to drive out here, but she’s leaving for Calgary in a few days, so I told her I’d go see her when she gets back next week.”
