by Dallis Adams
Heart in his throat, Jack just hoped everything worked out.
Eighteen
Still pinching herself over the surprise of Doc Elroy’s will, Uma sat in the nicely-stuffed, comfortable high-back Georgian styled chair in her jail cell and shook her head. Why had Doc Elroy given her the bulk of his worldly goods? Guilt tightened like a noose around her throat.
She didn’t deserve the money, the caravan or Loki, Doc’s old paint. She’d said some harsh words to Doc shortly before his death. And she just realized something. He had changed his will the day she’d dressed him down in public. Embarrassed him. Now who was the shamed one? Herself. Why had she been so judgmental of him? Nobody was perfect. Especially her. She knew that.
More than ever, she wanted to discover the identity of the real killer. Good grief! That killer had robbed her of her chance to make amends with Doc. Once she’d repaired their relationship, she could have heard some wonderful stories — and maybe some not so wonderful, but insightful — about her mother, if Doc Elroy had still been alive. Who would have wanted to kill him? Yes, he tended to be pompous. He’d made mistakes. But she now knew he’d had a generous heart, that his heart had been in the right place even if he had made mistakes over his care of his patients. She owed the man to find his killer.
Because whoever killed him wanted to kill her, too, by framing her — making it look as if she was the murderer. Too, whoever it was knew her background — knew that she was good at self-defense. Which was one of the reasons Marshal Spivey believed she was guilty. He knew she could hold down a man twice her size. She understood all the pressure points and ways to cause a man to become unbalanced. Size didn’t matter.
But most people didn’t know about her unusual abilities. Only a few from Cryptic Cove — Orchilo, Luther, Lala, Gildie … maybe others from town had heard. And of course, Jack. Nobody that she would consider as murderers.
The names she had on her woefully short list were the ones she discussed with Jack. Orlando Cruz. Motive? Jealousy. Angela and Cyril because of the discussion Jack had overheard when they thought Angela would inherit all of Doc’s will. But since the reading of the will and discovering neither Angela or Cyril were the main beneficiaries, did that change things? She decided no, since neither one knew Doc had changed his will. Speaking of wills … there was one person who resented her since she’d moved to Cryptic Cove.
Her step-uncle, Chuck Egan Kincaid.
He and his mother, Celeste, had thought they were the only Kincaids left. When she’d arrived and introduced herself, Celeste had, amazingly, greeted her with open arms. Celeste was dear to her. On the other hand, Chuck had tried to court Uma because he hadn’t wanted to give her part of the inheritance from her grandfather, namely as part owner to the Kincaid Copper Mill and Foundry. The thought of a courtship with Chuck still brought her chills and made her want to gag. Uma had told Chuck she didn’t want her part of the inheritance, but Chuck didn’t act as if he believed her.
She sighed. She would keep tearing up the checks that Celeste gave her for Uma’s part of her monthly profits. Would Chuck kill Doc and then try to make it look like she’d done the foul deed? Why not just kill her? It seemed like a roundabout way to get rid of her. And, as far as she could tell, Chuck had no motive to kill Doc.
She glanced over at Marshal Spivey, who was muttering to himself as he started going over the so-called confessions. He held up the one on top. Over his shoulder she saw the name Harvey Wild Hog Harper, which had been dictated by Harvey, written by Rush.
Something niggled in the back of her mind. She couldn’t remember what it was.
Spivey wadded up the paper and threw it toward the wastebasket. He missed. “Idiots. All of them. Especially that fortuneteller who bangs her stick on the ground and pretends to call forth bad weather.”
“Orchilo and the rest of them are good friends,” she murmured. “It’s a wonder you don’t have more friends, what with your winning personality.”
“Spare me your mouth and weird camaraderie.”
Uma shook her head, amazed at what a crotchety man the Marshal was. “Were you born with a pickle in your mouth? Did your mother drop you on your head? How did you get the job of Marshal, anyway?”
He leaned back in his newly-acquired wooden chair, and puffed out his chest. “I earned it, Missy. Like my father before me. And I’ll have you know that I’m good with The Crackshot.”
The Crackshot was a .22 caliber, single-shot rifle. Uma leaned back in her high-back chair and considered him. What a miserable person he was. “Fester and rot is what’s happening to you. You’re just jealous. Even if I hang at the end of a rope by the neck, I’ll count myself lucky to have been a part of this wonderful town.”
The door suddenly opened and in walked Uma’s step-grandmother, Celeste Kincaid. “Uma,” she cried out, wringing her hands, a sheen of moisture glistening in her sky-blue eyes. “I didn’t know you’d been arrested for Doc Elroy’s murder. I’m so sorry.” She reached through the bars and patted Uma’s knee before Uma could stand and meet the older woman halfway. “It’s all my fault and I’m going to fix it right now.”
Uma stood and gripped the bars after Celeste had already moved away. “What do you mean?”
Her step-grandmother ignored the question. Instead she turned to address Marshal Spivey, who watched her from his sitting position behind his newly-acquired desk. “Where is Sheriff Jack?” she asked in an imperious tone, posture straight, chin raised high.
“Not here. I’m in charge now as decreed by the Marshal’s office of the United States.”
“And they allow you to represent our nation? You? Who doesn’t have the proper manners to stand when a lady walks into the room?”
Flustered, the Marshal stood. He straightened his waistcoat, then smoothed down his narrow moustache and short, pointy beard. He gave her a stiff, shallow bow. “Madam. Excuse my manners, please. I’m Marshal Van Spivey. And you are…?”
“Celeste Kincaid, matriarch of the Kincaid Copper Mill and Foundry and representative of The Business Guild of San Francisco. So?” Celeste said, her tone laced with impatience. “Where is the Sheriff?”
Spivey buffed his Marshal’s badge with his cuff. “Like I said, I’m in charge now, since Sheriff MacKissick is the prime suspect’s husband. He cannot be impartial.”
Celeste’s eyes widened and then narrowed as she stared at the Marshal. “If you believe that Jack can’t be objective, then you don’t know him. He is the most upstanding lawman I have ever come across.”
“Nevertheless, I am in charge now.”
It was like he was trying to convince himself of his authority since this was the third time he announced his authority, at least in Uma’s estimation.
“If you are, then you must release Uma. Now.” Celeste banged her parasol against the Marshal’s precious desk.
Spivey yelped and then scowled at Celeste. “And why is that? I have no evidence that she is innocent.”
“Don’t you have that backward?” her step-grandmother asked. “Innocent until proven guilty?”
“What do you want, ma’am?”
“I want to confess.” Celeste stiffened her already straight stance. “I killed Doc Elroy.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” the Marshal grumbled.
“Now you know,” Celeste told him, waving her hand in the air like she was the Queen of England. “I tell the truth. So. Release Uma.”
Uma stared at her step-grandmother. Celeste appeared calm on the outside. But Uma knew her. The manner in which Celeste fisted her gloved hands and the way the muscle in her jaw flicked when she gritted her teeth told her that the older woman wasn’t as serene as she appeared to be.
“And how did you manage to kill the doc?” Marshal Spivey asked in a snide tone.
“With my derringer.”
“You can go.” The Marshal made a shooing motion with his hand and leaned over his desk to shuffle papers in a pretense of being busy. “And Mrs. MacK
issick will stay. Doc Elroy didn’t die from a bullet.”
“He didn’t?”
“No, Ma’am. So if you would just carry on about your business, that would be best. This is no place for a fine lady such as yourself.”
“Are you saying Uma isn’t a fine lady? You do realize she is my granddaughter.”
“She is?” Spivey shook his head, his expression disbelieving. Then he shrugged. “Well, this apple fell far from the tree. She must have picked up a bad seed somewhere in your husband’s line.”
“Excuse me?” Celeste blinked at him, shocked.
The Marshal waved his hand. “Well, that is, she obviously didn’t inherit her poor breeding from you.”
“Well,” Celeste huffed. “I’ve never met such an ill-mannered Marshal. Sirrah, I’m going to report you to my good friend, York Brock.”
Spivey blinked and his lower jaw dropped open. “The Deputy Director?”
With a lift of her chin, Uma’s grandmother stared him down. “The one and only.”
He scratched at a rash of poison ivy on the side of his neck, one that still lingered, and that he’d obviously treated with pink smear of calamine lotion. “Please don’t do that, Madam Kincaid. I apologize for any disrespect I may have inadvertently displayed. I’m only doing my job, as directed by Deputy Director Brock. He is in full approval of my authority here.”
“We’ll see about that,” Celeste retorted. “For today I will abide by your wishes and not telegraph York of your ill-mannered attitude as long as you leave for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Leave?” he retorted, stiffening his spine. “To do what?”
“I don’t care,” Celeste replied as she waved her hand in a regal fashion. “Oh, wait. Here’s a novel idea. Your job?”
“My job is to watch over Mrs. MacKissick until the district judge is here, which will be in five days.”
“What are you? A voyeur? A stalker? Uma is locked in a cage, for goodness sake. She’s reading … what?” Celeste said, bending down to see the book.
Uma closed the book, marking the page she was reading with her index finger.
“A book called Anatomical Procedures by Charles Singer,” Celeste said as she read the title. Uma opened the book again, and Celeste studied the pages. “The picture is … oh, my word, what is that?” she asked, staring at the drawing.
“A frog,” Uma replied with a shrug. She stared at the illustration that showed a frog with its legs pinned to a cork board and an incision down the center of its body. “It’s for my science class with the children. I want to have the students dissect frogs to see how organs in the amphibians work.”
Celeste looked horrified. “For Pete’s sake, why?”
Uma smiled. Somehow she knew her step-grandmother would react this way. “So the children can understand how organs might work in their own bodies.”
“See?” Marshal Spivey said, with a smug look. He pounded his fist on the desk. “The woman is ghoulish. She is a murderer at heart. Others could be in danger.”
“Only if you’re a frog … which I’m beginning to think you are,” Uma muttered.
Celeste straightened her already straight back and held her chin high. “There are other matters that need your attention, Marshal. That is, if you want to retain what’s left of whatever clout you had when you rode into Cryptic Cove.”
“What do you mean? I have prestige as a United States Marshal.”
But Celeste was shaking her head. “Not according to the painted messages I’ve seen.”
“What painted messages?”
“Oh, let’s see. There were several and I can’t remember them all. Here’s one: ‘Spivey is a blockhead, Spivey is a cheat. Spivey can’t solve a crime since his brains are in his seat.’ Oh! And a couple of boys painted a message directed at you on the side of this building. It was shorter but to the point.” She tapped her chin and looked up at the rafters as if thinking. “Something about Spivey being born in a privy? Anyway, you might want to start looking around.”
With a curse, the Marshal took ground-eating strides toward the door.
“Oh! And you might want to take a bucket of whitewash with you.” Celeste watched him leave with a grim smile.
Nineteen
Uma sighed as the tightness she didn’t know existed in her chest, loosened. Reprieve from Marshal Spivey was all she needed, if only for a while. She was sick to death of the man. “You handled that well. Thanks, Celeste. That man is wearing on me.”
“You’re welcome, Uma dearest.” Her brows curved up in worry.
“Celeste. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m glad you didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t want you in this cell any more than me.”
“But I went there to do just that. I … I shot him and then stumbled out of his caravan.” She turned to look at Uma. “I heard your threat when he was gushing about his medicinal goods. I’m guessing that was the manner in which he died?”
“Yes, but I didn’t to it,” Uma said.
“Somebody else did, then, to make the deed look as if you were the culprit.” Celeste paced. “And it must have happened shortly after I ran out the door.”
“After you ran out, did you see anybody?” Jack asked.
“I saw Tawni and Thora by their vardo. Tawni was practicing her act … bending and stretching. And Thora was instructing her.”
Yes, that had been established the other day. Uma supposed it was nice to get verification, although it didn’t help solve the mystery. “Why did you shoot Doc Elroy?”
The fine wrinkle lines around Celeste’s mouth seemed to deepen as darkness shadowed her eyes. She took in a trembling breath. “Because I held him responsible for George’s death.”
George Kincaid, Uma’s grandfather on her father’s side. He’d died eight years ago, before her arrival to Cryptic Cove. Sorrow that she’d never met him, swept through her. Celeste was thirty years her grandfather’s junior, but she had loved him fiercely. Although men tried to court her since she’d become a widow, Celeste still mourned her husband’s passing and wouldn’t have anything to do with her admirers.
“Wait. Doc Elroy was here eight years ago?” Uma tapped her lower lip, thinking about the sequence of events. “Madam Wigg and I ran him out of New York City close to eleven years ago. Doc Elroy should have been in England by then.”
But Celeste was shaking her head. “He didn’t go overseas immediately. He came here … started his own medicine show.” Her lips tightened into a grim line. “That was when he medicated your grandfather with cyanide for his heart problems, which killed my dear George.”
“Oh, no.” Good grief. Was Doc Elroy all talk? When she’d spoken with him at his caravan, she had been certain that he was true blue, that he felt bad about Tiffany and her death that he’d perpetrated. So bad that he immediately traveled to England to begin his studies as a genuine physician. Not to continue his shady practice. But obviously it had been all a lie. “Why would he use cyanide? Cyanide is more apt to stop a heart from beating, rather than to heal it,” Uma muttered, thinking of all the medieval poisonings with cyanide.
Celeste shrugged. “It’s a common practice. I’ve visited with other physicians who told me that Doc Elroy’s dosage of cyanide in the mixture was too high,” she replied, her tone bitter. Her eyes became unfocused as she obviously recalled the past. “Shortly after he gave George the so-called cure, he withdrew his medicine show from the area in the dead of night, without telling anyone.” She moved toward Spivey’s desk, weaving slightly, and sat in the Marshal’s chair, as if her legs were about to give out. “I thought Doc Elroy had gone south, toward San Francisco and Sacramento, which was what he’d advertised on his billboard. So I petitioned our governor about Doc Elroy’s shady business and Governor Haight agreed to look into his practice. But he couldn’t do anything about it because Doc had already left California.” She looked down at her gloved hands, which she’d made into fists. Her fingers loosened, and she flexed them. “So. I hired Macy Gable, a Pinke
rton Detective. I wanted her to see if there were any other suspicious deaths that could be tied to Doc Elroy’s ministrations. Macy discovered his medicine show had traveled to Montana. Detective Gable then followed the medicine show across to Iowa, Illinois, Kentucky, then clear to the east coast, to North Carolina. There were four cases that were very suspicious — one in Iowa, two in Kentucky and one in North Carolina. But she couldn’t get any of the governors to press charges against Doc Elroy because the cyanide proportion he used was within the realm of acceptability,” Celeste said, using her fingers to draw quotations in the air.
“Wait. Back up a minute. So, after he was booted out of New York City, he started his own medicine show?”
“Yes. Well, along with Harvey.”
“What?” Uma exclaimed. “You mean Harvey Wild Hog Harper? The town drunk?”
“The one and only.” Celeste shook her head and gave Uma a wry grimace. “Back then he went simply by Hog. They were partners in a business called Wild Hog and The Doc.”
“I should have known. Because Harvey does like to brag about his adroitness with horses.” Although she didn’t think he could ride like that now. Age and booze would make him clumsy.
“Yes.” Celeste twirled her parasol and cocked her head. “Harvey was the trick rider. You should have seen him in his prime.” A faraway look swept over Celeste’s features. “And that horse. Midnightbolt. A beautiful tobiano paint horse. Black with white lightning-like markings on her body. Harvey trained the mare to do marvelous tricks, with Harvey spinning all around the animal while it was at a full gallop. Back then, Harvey knew how to attract a crowd. The show was always packed. I don’t know what went wrong with the partnership because Harvey would never talk about it. But Harvey isn’t the man he used to be. He’s a hollow shell compared to his days as a trick rider.”
Uma frowned. She was missing something.
Before she could think more about it, Jack opened the front door and strolled over the threshold.
