The Masquerade

Millard went to the grange that first warm Saturday of spring with murder on his mind. Calvin, a fellow ranch hand, had kissed Millard’s girl, and he was going to hell. Disguise was the key. Tingling in ecstasy as he rummaged his mother’s steamer, Millard imagined the blood splattering on her striped cotton pajama pants. Her swim cap, which lent her elegance that his father’s meager salary denied them all, would make a nice kufi. Beetle-shaped silver earrings – where did these come from? No...