A Little Sin

by Sionnach Wintergreen

  “It is.” But at the moment, his heart was heavy with his own woes.

  “You look awful.” Lucinda patted his arm. “Go lie down for a while. I’ll the ring the bell if I need you.”

  ***

  Sheriff’s Office

  Wakeforest County Courthouse

  Timberland, Texas

  Avery sorted through the notes the clerk had left him, making calls when appropriate, saving some, and throwing some away. Most were left by people concerned about the ‘Timberland Ripper.’ He felt certain that he had the right man, but the description Billy Jenkins had given him rattled him. If Billy’s friend or lover or whatever she was exactly to him was just a pregnant farm girl selling eggs, what would Obadiah Clark have had to do with her?

  He rested his elbows on his desk and sank his thumbs into his eye sockets. His head pounded. It wasn’t even midday, and he had a headache. His case, which he had wrapped up with a bow, was trying to not make sense. And every bone in his body wanted to see Garland, as if that would somehow make things better.

  With a sigh, he began filling out the paperwork on Burrell Dawson’s shooting of the prostitute when they had apprehended Obadiah Clark. Avery intended to pin it on Obadiah. Burrell and his itchy trigger finger wouldn’t have been there if they hadn’t been trying to arrest that filthy bastard.

  He looked up when the door hinges creaked. Standing before him was a stout man in his forties with carrot-orange, whitening hair and a fat face full of freckles. Alvis Harmon, who owned Harmon’s Groceries. Sweat beaded his broad forehead. He daubed it with a handkerchief. “I need to talk to you, Sheriff.”

  Avery pointed to one of the two wooden chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Harmon.”

  He sat in the nearest chair, hooking his flat cap over one knee and blotting his forehead with his handkerchief. “I heard you have Obadiah Clark here for murdering the doctor and some girl.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Myra said you think he killed the doctor and stole his car.”

  “Myra’s that redhead at the cathouse?”

  “Dogwood Farm. That’s her.”

  Avery cursed himself for not taking in all of the whores, too. He had left them alone for another day, content with getting Obadiah. “So, you’ve been talking to the whores. Is that all you’ve been doing?”

  Alvis tugged at his shirt collar with one sausage-like finger. “I’ll admit to having a few vices, Sheriff.”

  “Everyone has a few.” Avery sat back in his chair and flicked one of the notes across the desk. “I don’t care to make any arrests right now. You can say your piece.”

  Alvis didn’t look relieved. “I was gambling with Obadiah and a few others up at Dogwood Farm last week. Doc Watkins came in—he had a regular girl up there—”

  Avery snapped forward. “A girl with long, light brown hair and a hawk nose?”

  “No. Um, the doctor liked the dark meat, if you catch my meaning.”

  Avery sighed. “I do. So, you saw the doctor and?”

  “The doctor wanted in the game, but Obadiah said he already owed him money.”

  “Right. I heard he was in debt to Obadiah for a tidy sum.”

  “That’s the thing, Sheriff, he gave Obadiah his car.”

  “He did what?”

  “He up and gave him his car. I saw it. Right there. I had to give him a ride home that night.”

  “When was this?”

  “Last Monday. I don’t know what else might have happened between Obadiah and the doctor, but Obadiah didn’t kill the doc for his car.”

  Avery wanted to beat his fist against his desk. He had just lost his motive for killing the doctor. And the farm girl didn’t make sense, either. In a matter of hours, he had gone from a nice, neat closed case to nothing making any sense. “Thank you for your information, Alvis.”

  Alvis stood and Avery shook his sweaty hand. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Now, get out of here. And stay away from Dogwood Farm.”

  He saw Alvis to the door, then wilted into his chair. He wondered what Garland and Lucinda would say. He started to call Garland. The events of last night played through his head again. He wanted to cuddle in bed with Garland and let the foolish world work itself out.

  After allowing himself a few minutes of wishful thinking, he decided to interview the prostitutes at Dogwood Farm. He hadn’t bothered the last time he had been there. He always talked to the white men. Women, black folk—he didn’t ask them many questions. It seemed like he should start. They saw things. They knew things. He needed to open his eyes.

  ***

  Sands’ Farm

  Garland woke to a bell tinkling. He pushed himself off the couch and smiled at Lucinda. “Is the farrier here?”

  “He should be here soon.” She frowned at him. “Your hair’s wet. You’ve been sweating up a storm.”

  “It’s August.”

  “Come have some iced tea with me.”

  Feeling stiff and sore, he stretched and followed her to the kitchen. She poured him a glass of tea and sat down. “You poor thing. You look like something the cat drug up.”

  “Nah. Katydid has more sense than that.”

  “They ganged up on you?”

  “A couple of them held me and the others took turns punching me in the gut.”

  Lucinda reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “They’re a bunch of cowards.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. Lucinda swirled the ice in her glass. “Have you named the kittens yet?”

  “I was thinking Anthony and Cleopatra.”

  Lucinda laughed. “So your father names his cat Katydid and his horse Britches, but you give animals names like Apollo and Anthony and Cleopatra.”

  Garland grinned, shrugging. “I like the classics. I think Katydid’s a fine name, actually, but I would never name a horse Britches. It’s too late to change it, though. She knows her name. She’ll be Britches ‘til she dies.” He tried to laugh, but couldn’t keep up the charade. Laughing physically hurt and he felt too miserable. “I guess all of the animals in Timberland are well today. No one called?”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “Lucinda….”

  “It wasn’t an emergency. I would have woken you up if it had been an emergency—no matter what shape you were in. No. It was Mr. Miller wanting you to castrate his young hogs. I told him you were feeling poorly—”

  “I’m not—”

  “Are, too. I told him you’d be there Tuesday. That’s not so bad, is it?”

  “I suppose I don’t feel up to castrating hogs today.” He sighed. “Let’s both take the rest of the day off. After the farrier sees Apollo, I’ll take you home. How does that sound?”

  “It is a pretty day.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “I’ll get it,” he told Lucinda. “It’s probably Shorty.”

  When he opened the door, however, he found a gaggle of smiling women on his doorstep. “Hello,” said one he recognized as the wife of his church’s pastor. “We heard you weren’t feeling well and thought we’d stop by with some food.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Dorthy. Thank you! Please come in.”

  The women, five of them, three young and single and one he recognized as Mrs. Miller—the wife of the farmer whose hog castrations Lucinda had postponed, filed into his house, each carrying a pot or platter. Lucinda met them inside and helped them set up their feast on the kitchen table.

  “Oh,” said Dorthy, a gloved hand on Lucinda’s arm. “I know you from the paper. You’re Garland’s secretary! Why, you’re doing a wonderful job. You must be the first colored secretary in Timberland!”

  Lucinda stared at her for a few awkward seconds, then said, “Thank you, m’am.”

  “She’s a terrific secretary,” said Garland. “She keeps everything organized and even looks after me.”

  Dorthy grinned at Garland. “I’m sure that’s a chore.”

  One of the younger women beamed up at Garland. “Not a
bad one, if you ask me.” Another one elbowed her. “Oh, we brought you chicken and dumplings, fresh rolls, fried okra, snap beans—and I baked you a blackberry pie!”

  “I made syrup cookies,” said another.

  “I love all of those things. Thank you! You’re all so generous and kind.” He wanted to run and hide.

  “We had to do it,” said Dorthy. “As soon as we heard you weren’t feeling well, we had to do something.”

  “I know,” said one of the younger women. “We couldn’t stand the idea of you feeling bad, all alone with no one to take care of you.”

  “I’m feeling better after some rest,” he assured them.

  “Would you like one of us to stay with you for a while and look after you?” asked one of the younger women with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

  “That won’t be necessary.” He felt bad when she and the other two single women sort of deflated. “I’m going to be fine. I do so appreciate all of the wonderful food. It smells delicious! You ladies must be extraordinary cooks.” He was surrounded by titters and smiles. “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t visit long. I have the farrier coming round to see about a horse I rescued.”

  “You rescued a horse?” said the one who had baked the pie. “You’re such a good, good man.”

  He laughed. “I try.”

  “We’re so glad you’re feeling better,” said Dorthy. “Let us know if you need anything. We’re always here for you.” She patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll get out of your way now.” She led the women to the door. Garland let them out.

  “Do let us know if you need anything,” said one of the younger women, pausing at the door to gaze into his eyes.

  “Absolutely. Thank you again. It was lovely seeing all of you.” Finally, he closed the door and heaved a sigh.

  Lucinda grinned. “That was awful nice.”

  “They’re from my church.”

  “Those young ones are kind of sweet on you.”

  “I suppose.” He picked up one of the cookies and nibbled it.

  “I imagine even the married ones enjoy looking.”

  “That’s not nice, Lucinda. I told you, they’re from my church.”

  “You’re right. I suppose they were just being Christian.” She peeked at the rolls. “Those look good.”

  “Fix yourself a plate. Please. There’s enough here for an army.”

  Lucinda helped herself. In the midst of dishing out snap beans, she glanced at him. “You don’t seem too happy.”

  “It’s just,” he hesitated, wondering if she would understand. “If they knew me, this would be full of rat poison.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say. I don’t believe that.”

  “Maybe they wouldn’t poison me, but they’d ostracize me. They wouldn’t want me near their animals—or their children.”

  “That’s possible.” She shook her head. “Try not to think about it. There’s no point. They like what they do know. That means something. Maybe someday things will change. For now, it’s just the way it is.”

  A knock at the door took Garland away from the conversation. He found Shorty McGee, the farrier, on his doorstep. He greeted him and went outside. They walked toward the stalls on the side of the barn. Garland opened the gate. They amiably chatted their way to the stall where Garland kept Apollo.

  Shorty greeted the horse with a pat on the neck. “This horse! Of course, I remember this horse. He lifted his hoof right up for me, like a lady wanting you to kiss her hand. It’s a terrible shame to see him in this condition.”

  “He’s actually healing up quite nicely.”

  “He’ll have scars. I doubt the widow will be able to sell him for a fair price—and I know she won’t want to keep him.”

  “Widow?”

  “This here horse belonged to Doc Watkins.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sands’ Farm

  The August night felt damp and close. Avery paused before knocking on Garland’s door, but he still knocked. Garland cracked the door open. “It’s late.”

  “I could see light in your window.”

  “I’m reading.”

  “Can I come in? I need to ask you some questions.”

  “About the murders?”

  “Yes.”

  Garland opened the screen door. He was dressed in nothing but his drawers. “Come in.”

  Avery hesitated. “Can I stable my horse?”

  Garland stared at him for a minute. “Are you staying the night?”

  Avery looked at his boots. They were still on his feet. Garland’s face had been all ice, but his voice had a wounded quality to it. Avery looked at him sideways. “I reckon I will if you’ll let me.”

  Garland was not appeased. “You know where it is. Help yourself.”

  Avery had hoped Garland would come with him. He shrugged and went about his business, leaving Garland to shut the door and read or sulk or whatever he was doing. He led Bluebird to the stable, unsaddled him, and put him in the stall next to the sorrel that Garland called Apollo. As he closed the gate, he gave the paint mare, Britches, a parting pat. Unlike the two geldings, she was loose in the pasture, free to graze.

  When he got to the house, he let himself in. Garland stood by the hat rack, waiting for him. “Britches is living the good life,” Avery told him. “She’s grazing all night while Bluebird and Apollo sit inside.”

  The candlelight from the wall sconce shone in Garland’s glassy eyes. His face remained drawn, as if he hadn’t heard Avery. “I’m not made of stone. I have feelings. Don’t think, just because my prospects are few, that you can treat me however it suits you.”

  Avery sighed. Garland didn’t beat around the bush. He made himself look him square in the eye. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I wanted to talk to you, but I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to say you’re sorry.”

  “The county comes first. If you don’t like that, I can leave.”

  “Don’t hide behind the county.” Garland looked on the verge of tears. “You were embarrassed and you couldn’t deal with it. Lucinda knows your secret, and you couldn’t deal with it. You just ran away like some fool kid and you kept yourself from me all day.”

  Avery’s hackles raised, but he hadn’t come there to fight. “I’m not running now.” They stared at each other in silence. He threw his arms around Garland. Garland made a small, pained noise. Avery put some space between them. “Did I hurt your bruises? I’m sorry.”

  Garland kissed Avery’s head and neck. “I’m sore all over.”

  “You smell funny.”

  “Horse liniment. I use it for muscle aches. My arms, chest, and neck hurt today.”

  “They were holding you and you were fighting against them. Makes sense you’d be sore there, too.” Avery massaged the back of Garland’s neck. Garland melted against him. “Listen, I need to talk to you about this murder investigation, but first things first—”

  “I thought the county came first,” Garland mumbled into his hair.

  “Don’t use my words against me.” He pressed his lips against Garland’s. “You’ve bathed already, haven’t you?”

  Garland nodded.

  “I thought so, your cowlick’s kicking up. It does that after you wash your hair.” He rubbed Garland’s arm. “Come watch me bathe for you, and we’ll talk. Then I’ll give you a good rubdown with that liniment. If you feel like it, maybe we can do a few more things. How does that strike you?”

  “We took things too fast,” Garland whispered plaintively.

  Avery took Garland’s face between his hands. “Hold your horses. I didn’t say nothing last night that I didn’t mean.” He didn’t know how to make Garland understand. He looked deep into those beautiful, glassy eyes. “I love you. But I’ve never loved anyone before, and I’ve never trusted anyone like Lucinda to keep my secret, and I have a killer loose in my county, and my case has come all undone. I have a bur under my blanket the size of a tree. Don’t cuss me for bein’ ornery.”


  Garland sniffed. “That is a pretty big bur.”

  “It is. And it’s digging into my side something awful.”

  Garland’s fingers played down his left side. But he said, “I’ll still cuss you if you’re ornery to me. I love you. Be gentle with me.”

  Avery held Garland’s other hand and rubbed one of his knotted biceps. “You are like a horse, aren’t you? You’re big and strong, but so sensitive.”

  Garland pulled away. “It’s not about being sensitive. It’s about treating each other with respect.”

  Avery put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. I agree. You understand, Garland? I agree completely. We’re on the same side.”

  Garland chewed one side of his bottom lip, studying Avery. He snorted in a very horselike manner. “Let’s get you clean. We have making up to do.”

  ***

  Sands’ Farm

  With his legs spread and his elbows on his knees, Garland sucked a cigarette in one of the two rocking chairs on the back porch and watched Avery pour another pot of hot water into the washtub. “So he wasn’t driving his car the night he was killed.”

  “No.” Avery came over and took a puff off Garland’s cigarette. “Mrs. Watkins mentioned the car, so I’ve just been assuming this whole time that he was in that blasted car.”

  “But he was riding his horse. Apollo.”

  “What did he call it?”

  “Grover.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to do to a horse.”

  “His wife had other terrible things in mind for him, but she gave him to me. So he’s Apollo now.” He forgot the horse as Avery unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his finely muscled torso to the candlelight. The sheriff had a wiry strength to him—and it showed in his lean, ropey muscles.

  “I’m glad you got the horse.” He held his fingers out for another puff. “Can we think about this murder investigation, maybe?”

  Garland held the cigarette up. “Lean over.” He stroked Avery’s dark hair as he sucked on the cigarette. Avery exhaled a curl of smoke and kissed Garland’s lips, taking his head between his hands. They kissed for a long, slow moment as the crickets and frogs sang around them in a cacophony of night noises.