“Nah, sir. I seen people drive their cars past here, probably going to the river. I didn’t see anything yesterday, but I wasn’t looking, neither.”
“Horses are better,” said Avery.
The man laughed. “If you say so.”
“What was your name again? I know I’ve seen you before….”
“I’m Lucas Mitchell. This is Mitchell’s Farm. Keep meaning to make a sign. Make it proper like.”
Avery shook his outstretched hand. “If you see anything, ring up the sheriff’s office.”
“Will do.”
“Congratulations on the new baby.”
“Thank you kindly.”
Avery turned and trudged away. He climbed back on his horse and trotted past the little graves. He hoped the family had better luck this time.
The sun was getting high now. He decided to ride back to Garland’s to see if he had found anything new. As he clucked Bluebird into a ground-devouring lope, he wondered who the doctor had been going to see that night. And where the hell was his car?
Chapter Three
Sands’ Farm
Lucinda screamed. Garland snapped fully awake. He was sitting on the couch in his living room. Lucinda picked herself off the floor. He felt horrible. “Did I hurt you?”
“You just shoved me. It scared me. It was like you weren’t there.”
“I’m so sorry.” He felt so embarrassed that he couldn’t look at her. “I remember taking a nap on the couch….I don’t know what happened.”
“I woke you up to see if you wanted something to eat, and you yelled and shoved me.” She smoothed her hands down her dress. “It’s all right. My little brother….” She stopped, staring at him. “I’m sorry.”
Garland squeezed his hands together. “Please, don’t be. He was in the war, wasn’t he?”
She nodded.
“And he came back broken.”
“I didn’t mean that you’re br—”
“It’s all right, Lucinda.” He sighed. “A lot of us did.”
“They say it’s shellshock. He has nightmares. He jumps like a cat if you startle him. He lives in Port Arthur, now. They tried to treat him there.”
Garland’s stomach clenched. ‘Treatment’ for shellshock, especially in the States, was something akin to torture. “Did they help?” he asked, hoping her brother had been fortunate enough to find the type of care he had received in France.
“He doesn’t seem better. He wrote to me that they gave him electric shocks and called him a coward. My little brother can be a handful, but that boy doesn’t have a cowardly bone in his body.”
“If you like, I can write down some of the things that helped me. Obviously, I’m not cured. I don’t think there is a cure. But I’m functional. I wasn’t for a while.”
Lucinda gave him a soft smile. “Thank you. You’re a good man.”
“And you’re a patient soul. If you need to wake me up again, use a bell. And stand away from me.” He tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t entirely. He could have hurt her.
“It’s nearly noon. You told me you didn’t want me cooking, but would you like me to make us some lunch?”
“I made cornbread last night, and there’s buttermilk in the icebox.”
She grinned. “You’re very self-sufficient.”
The bell hanging outside the front door tinkled. Lucinda ran to get the door. Garland closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. He tried to ease the tension in his chest, imagining smoothing his hand over a bed of red clay.
“It’s the sheriff,” Lucinda called from the kitchen.
Garland stood and put on his smile. “Sheriff Avery!” he boomed, striding into the kitchen. “You’re just in time for lunch!”
***
A thrill of desire tickled through Avery’s belly as he looked at Garland. He wore a gray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up that looked just like the work shirts practically every man in East Texas had in his wardrobe, but on Garland the thing looked like the vestments of a king. Covered in dirt and wearing baggy overalls, he had been a handsome devil, but he was quite a sight cleaned up. Avery had to tell himself to stop gawping.
He looked at the round kitchen table with its blue-checked table cloth and four wooden chairs, at the two big windows, the wooden ice box, and the wood-burning cast iron stove. It looked like a typical country kitchen. A nice one. Some people in East Texas lived in hovels that could barely be called houses.
Avery sat where Lucinda placed him, then watched with some amusement as she stared at the chair Garland pulled out for her. “I was going to fix our plates,” she said.
“It’s my house. I’m the host. I’ll fix the plates.” Garland gestured over the chair invitingly.
“He used to live in France,” Avery told her as she sat down. “He’s full of notions.”
Lucinda eyed him coolly. “Maybe I would like to go to France.”
“It’s beautiful.” Garland set a plate of cornbread and a tomato slice in front of her.
Avery leaned back as Garland set another plate in front of him. “Much obliged.”
One side of Garland’s mouth crooked up. He sat down with his own plate and poured a thick glass of buttermilk from a pitcher into his glass. Lucinda stopped him from pouring one for her. “I’m drinking tea,” she said.
“I’ll have some.” Avery took the pitcher and poured himself a tall glass.
“It’s a terrible thing about Doc Watkins,” said Lucinda.
“How much did you tell her?”
“I—a few things.” Garland shrugged his brawny shoulders. “That he was murdered. That I can guess the time of death from the depth of his rigor mortis.”
Avery shook his head. He addressed Lucinda. “That kind of talk doesn’t bother you?”
“I’m not a fainting belle, Sheriff O’Rourke. I’m Dr. Sands’ secretary, and it’s my job to help him. I try to understand what he’s doing, so I can do a better job.”
Garland, smiling ear to ear, said, “She’s a peach!”
Avery ignored him and looked her in the eye. “Don’t tell anyone else what we say here. Anyone. Not your family. Not even your husband.”
Katydid jumped on the table beside Garland’s plate. Garland scooped her into his lap and slicked back her ears with a swipe of his big hand. The cat purred loudly. She was pretty, for a cat. She had a big, broad head and round yellow eyes that reminded him of an owl.
“I won’t.” Lucinda stared at him with wide eyes, but her face was calm. “Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet,” said Avery. “It could be anyone.”
Garland, the cat still in his lap, cleared his throat. “A man. It has to be a man.”
Avery took a big swallow of buttermilk. “Why do you say that?” He figured he knew, but he wondered if Garland thought so for the same reason he did.
“Someone had to hoist him up in the tree.” He turned to Lucinda. “You’re sure you’re all right hearing us talk about this?”
She nodded. Avery felt a flush of admiration for her; she was tougher than she looked. His sentiment embarrassed him. “Cat seems good with it, too.”
Lucinda laughed. “Didn’t you know—Katydid runs the farm?”
Garland had turned sour. He stroked the cat with his lips pressed together. “We have a murderer loose in our town.”
Avery had no deputies. There were no other law officers besides himself. Normally, he didn’t mind. Hell, normally, he didn’t even notice. But Garland was right. This was big. And he needed—with every fiber of his being—to talk all of this over with someone. He had tapped Garland as that someone, but now, apparently his housekeep—secretary and cat seemed to be included.
Until today, he had never broken bread with a black person. Black folk and white folk stayed separate in East Texas. They lived on different sides of town. Black people worked for white people, and that was as much as they mingled.
He had only known two homosexuals besides Garland. He’d had relations w
ith both of them, but he had never been friendly with them. He kept his desires on a short leash and didn’t permit himself the luxury of friendship. Friendship was a hard thing when everything you wanted was a sin and your life was a secret.
Now, here he was, eating with a queer and a black woman and feeling like they were the only people he could trust. Even the stinkin’ cat gave him a warm feeling inside. He gave himself over to it all. They were his own little tribe now.
“Did you find anything new when you examined him?” he asked Garland.
“Not much. He sustained a blow to the back of the head. I believe that’s how he was subdued. The hanging killed him; there were broken blood vessels in his eyes consistent with strangulation.” He heaved a sigh. “He was brutally murdered. That much is certain.”
Avery sighed. “His wife said he went out on a call last night. She didn’t know what time he left. She thinks he took his car. I don’t know. I didn’t see a car anywhere. I checked for tracks, but there were several.”
“You don’t know where he was going?” asked Garland.
“No. She had no idea.”
Lucinda sat forward. “Did you ask Myrtle?”
Avery squinted at her. “Who’s Myrtle?”
Lucinda held his stare. “She’s the maid.”
Avery shook his head at the table. “I didn’t think to.”
She rubbed her arms. “I think…” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think she and the doctor had…relations. She told me once that he took her out sometimes in his car.”
“It was consensual?” Garland’s brows knitted.
Lucinda nodded. “Far as I know.” She looked at Avery. “She was awful sweet on him.”
Avery stared at Garland and felt a shock, as if they were thinking the same thing. “A secret,” said Garland, one brow raised.
Avery stuffed the rest of his cornbread in his mouth, stood mid chew, and grabbed his hat. He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Lucinda. You’ve been a big help.” He marched out of the house.
***
Garland washed the plates. Lucinda dried them. After they cleaned up, they played gin, passing the time until someone called. Garland lost two hands. He couldn’t stop thinking of Avery. He could tell the man hadn’t been easy with their lunch at first, but he could see Avery relax as if adjusting to the cool water of a swimming hole. He had been swimming by the time he left, Garland was certain of it.
He wanted Avery. But he wanted so much more. After being in a real relationship, he knew he could never be content with a casual fling. He wanted to be in love. And love meant being able to be yourself with someone—your true self. When he had first met Avery, the man seemed almost too tight-assed to admit to himself that he was queer. Now, Garland wondered.
He was about to lose again when the phone rang. Lucinda answered it pertly. Garland stood and stretched while she took notes. As soon as she was off the phone, she handed him the paper. “It’s a horse. Here’s the address. They’re concerned about payment because they don’t know whose horse it is, but the animal is in bad shape and Mr. Henry says it’s too fine an animal just to shoot.”
Garland couldn’t hold back a wince. “I’m glad Pa taught them to call before shooting.”
“I don’t know that you’re even going to get chickens this time.”
Garland shrugged. “Maybe I get to save a horse. That’s enough.”
***
Home of Dr. Watkins
This time, when Myrtle answered the door, her eyes were red-rimmed. “Hello, Sheriff. Are you here to speak to Mrs. Watkins again?”
Avery put a hand on the door. “No, m’am. I’m here to speak to you. What’s your full name?”
“We’re letting flies in. Mrs. Watkins will wring my neck. I’ll come out on the porch to talk to you.”
Avery nodded, so she stepped out and shut the door behind her. He wondered if she was truly worried about the flies. “Now, your name, please?”
“Myrtle Johnson. Myrtle Louise Johnson.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.
“Is that Mrs. Johnson?”
“Yes, sir. My husband’s name is Delton.”
“Does he know you were having an affair with Dr. Watkins?”
“He would never hurt anyone!” she sobbed. “He never would!”
“So, he knew. When did he find out?”
She froze up, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and gazed past his shoulder.
“Mrs. Johnson? When did he find out?”
“I told you, he didn’t do it.”
“Who did?”
“He was home all night last night. I swear it.” Fear shone on her tense face. “He’s a good man, Sheriff. He would never kill no one.”
“I need to talk to him. Where does he work?”
She looked down at her hands, knitted in her frilly white apron. “Harmon’s Grocery. In the back.”
“When I ask him when he found out about you and the doctor, what’s he going to say?”
She stared at her hands. “The day before yesterday.” She looked up at him, despair rampant on her face. “I’m with child.” She shivered. “Delton hasn’t been able to perform his duties since the war. Hiram—” She shook her head. “Hiram said it wouldn’t happen. We were careful.”
He handed Myrtle a handkerchief. “Dry your tears and go inside.” He wondered then. “Does Mrs. Watkins know—about the baby—about any of it?”
Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t think so. They lived here like brother and sister. They barely spoke.”
Avery thanked her for her time and took off on Bluebird.
Chapter Four
Henry Ranch
“It’s in some bad shape,” said Clyde Henry, a short, spare man with a sweat-stained straw cowboy hat. “Looks like it got run through some barbed wire.” His long gray mustaches swayed as he spoke. “We have it in the back pen.”
Garland couldn’t give up on the horse without seeing it. He kept his mind open, kept his spirits up. He followed the cattleman to a large paddock behind the big barn. He had always liked Henry. The man kept a well-maintained ranch and looked after his horses and his cattle.
His heart sank when he saw the horse. It was a beautiful sorrel with four white socks and a diamond-shaped star on its forehead. Stripes of blood and twisted flesh laced the white socks and the horse’s chest and sides. Something had chased it or scared it through a barbed-wire fence. That cheap type of fencing was ubiquitous in East Texas. Garland hated it for this very reason. It was so easy for a spooked animal to tear himself to shreds on it.
“Hello, beautiful,” he told the horse in his most soothing voice. “Let me get a look at you.” The horse’s sleek, fawn-brown hide twitched when he touched it, but it allowed him to examine it. None of the wounds seemed especially deep, but they were numerous and could easily get infected. Infections were deadly. The horse was a gelding. Judging from his teeth, he was about seven years old.
“It was wearing a bridle when I found it on the side of the road. I took it off.”
“He has the sweat pattern of a saddle, too. Maybe he threw his rider?”
“Maybe.” Clyde spit tobacco juice. “I didn’t see anyone around when I found him. Seems like someone would come looking for him. He’s a mighty fine horse.”
Garland stood up from examining the horse’s legs. “He’s a mighty hurt horse at the moment.” He scratched the horse’s blond mane at the root. The horse leaned against him. “Doesn’t Crooked Creek run through the back of your property?”
“It does.”
“Do you mind if I lead the horse out there? I’d like to soak his legs in the creek for a bit before taking him home. See if I can’t get that swelling down.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll take you there.”
Garland slipped a rope around the sorrel’s neck. “I don’t know what your name is, beautiful, but I’m going to call you Apollo, because you’re golden like the sun.” He led the horse after Clyde, who walked in front of them with
a bowlegged gait.
They walked slowly through the pasture toward a cluster of dogwoods and longleaf pines. As they neared the trees, Garland could hear the creek burbling. Creeks always sounded so happy. Like water playing.
Garland led Apollo into the shallow water. He waded in deeper, glad for his rubber Wellingtons, and encouraged the horse to follow him.
Clyde wandered around the bank. Garland rubbed Apollo between his eyes, causing white hairs from the star to come off on his hand. Apollo sighed in contentment. “You’re a good horse, aren’t you? You’re a good, smart horse.” Garland breathed in and out slowly, trying not to think of the horse’s likely fate. They would fight the probable infection with iodine. He would fight the inflammation with ice—sacrificing what he could from the morning delivery. Maybe they would win. He only wished they had something more powerful.
A loud shout made Apollo shy sideways, splashing. Garland had him in hand in a moment. He looked to where Clyde, now bent over vomiting, stood a ways from them. Garland led the horse toward Clyde. “Lord, have mercy,” he whispered when he saw the bundle that had so disturbed Clyde. A body was caught in the fence where it crossed the creek. A naked woman with long brown hair. Two bloody patches showed where her breasts should have been.
***
Harmon’s Grocery
Avery confronted Delton Johnson in the back of Harmon’s Grocery amid a bunch of boxes. Delton was as tall as Garland and twice as wide. His big arms hung at his sides as Avery questioned him. His dark, bloodshot eyes blazed with anger and contempt.
“I was at home with my wife all night long. We had beans with bacon and some cornbread. Then we went to bed.”
“When did she tell you she was with child?”
Delton sighed. “Before dinner.”
“It’s not your child.”
He looked at his work boots. “I know that. She cried—a lot. She begged for forgiveness.” He shrugged. “I forgave her. She’s mine. The baby’s mine. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Praise Jesus.”
A Little Sin Page 3
