Hornswoggled - An Alafair Tucker Mystery

by Donis Casey

  Shaw turned the buggy in a wide circle in the road and headed back for town. “You’re the one saw this stain,” he said. “The girls know how to take care of Grace if she gets fussy.”

  ***

  “I don’t smell no ammonia,” Sheriff Scott Tucker said. He was on one knee in front of Walter Kelley’s settee, leaning down toward the rug.

  Alafair, Shaw, and a concerned and puzzled-looking Walter were ranged in an arc on the other side of the tea table. “Look under the rug,” Alafair instructed.

  Scott stood and placed his hands on his hips, eyeing the long yellow, brown, and cream rug for a minute. Then he squatted down, pushing the table aside and turning the rug completely over. The underside looked almost as if it had been dyed a rusty brown color, with only one corner largely free of stain. Scott’s forehead wrinkled as he examined the rug. He scraped at the stain with his thumbnail, sniffed it a bit, then pulled up one edge so he could examine the front and back sides together.

  “I was wondering why, if this is blood, and a lot of it, too,” he observed in a conversational tone, “that it didn’t soak through to the other side, or stain the floor. But I see now that it did seep through the seams, at least. See here how these rusty streaks on the other side look like they’re part of the pattern? Still don’t see none on the floor, though.”

  “Rug might have been moved,” Shaw offered.

  “Might have,” Scott ceded. He stood up. “Walter, did you know these stains were on this here rug?”

  “No!” Kelley assured him, still looking stunned.

  “Have you moved this rug since you got home from Kansas City last summer?”

  Walter sat down heavily in the armchair. “I never moved it, Sheriff,” he said. “I never even noticed that rug was under the table there until just recently. Louise was always buying things for the house and moving things around. It must have been somewhere else in the house before. Since Louise died, I pay Miss Grant next door to come in once a week and clean. She must have put it there. She could move anything in the house and I’d hardly pay any attention to it.”

  “You mean to tell me that this rug could have been laying around this house all covered in bloodstains since last summer and you wouldn’t have known nothing about it?”

  Walter shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Somebody tried to clean it, if Miz Tucker smelled ammonia.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Kelley assured him.

  Scott stood for a moment mildly observing Walter’s demeanor. “Miss Grant, you say,” he said at last. “Anybody else come to the house regular?”

  Walter looked up at him, resigned. “Nellie Tolland, Louise’s sister, used to come a lot, and so did Nellie’s husband Ned, but not since Louise died, of course. Several ladies from town have been to see me since Louise died. Sugar Welsh, the colored woman from over east of town, does the laundry for me. Folks from the church been here so many times I can’t count, both before and after Louise died. They was always on to Louise, trying to save her soul, I guess,” Walter rattled on nervously. “It was all right for Louise, I figure. Now they’re trying to do the same with me, but I like my religion a little quieter. Can’t think of anybody else right now, but I’ll tell you if I do think of anybody else.”

  Scott grunted an acknowledgment. “Make a list for me. I’ll go around and talk to all of them, whether I already did or not. It seems strange to me that somebody didn’t come across this bloody rug last summer when we were investigating your wife’s murder.”

  “Maybe it ain’t blood,” Walter said hopefully.

  “Maybe,” Scott begrudged. “Now, step on over to the Grants’ for me, Walter, and ask Susan to come talk to me for a minute.”

  Walter obliged. Scott crossed his arms over his chest while they waited and looked at Alafair with an expression she might describe as amused. “Alafair, how is it you manage to get yourself tangled up in my murder investigations?”

  Alafair felt her cheeks flush, but it was Shaw who answered. “She does have a rare talent, don’t she?”

  “It’s not like I aim to get myself into these things,” she protested, affronted. “Have you heard any more about the fellow that was seen with Louise at the roadhouse?” she asked, to change the subject.

  “I think there’s been some progress on that front,” Scott began, but before he could continue, Walter returned with all three Grants in tow, Susan and her parents.

  After introductions all around, Mr. Grant turned to Scott, slightly put out. “We were just sitting down to supper, Sheriff. What has happened that you’re so all fired eager to see us?”

  “It’s Susan I have a question for, Mr. Grant. Susan, I understand that you’ve been keeping Mr. Kelley’s house for the past few months.”

  The Grants looked at each other in confusion. “Sheriff, what…” Mrs. Grant began, but Scott cut her off.

  “I reckon Susan can answer the question without any help, Miz Grant. Can’t you, honey?”

  Susan blinked, but answered straightforwardly. “Yes, sir. I’ve been doing Mr. Kelley’s housekeeping since August or so, if I remember right.”

  Scott unfurled the rug that he had been holding under his arm and held it out for her inspection. “Have you ever seen this?”

  “Yes, sir. A couple of weeks ago, when I was cleaning the floor, I moved the sideboard and found that rug stuck up under it. I expect it got kicked up under there somehow and lost. I took it home and tried to wash it, but that big old stain it has on one side there is set, and I couldn’t get it out. It still looks pretty on the other side, though, and I thought it kind of matches the settee, so I put it under the table.”

  “Did you use ammonia to try and get that stain out?”

  “No, sir. Just soap and water.”

  Susan’s answer surprised Alafair. Why did she smell ammonia if it hadn’t been used to clean the rug?

  Scott was watching Susan’s reactions closely, but if his questions distressed her, she didn’t show it. “Do you know what this stain is?” he asked.

  “I figured it was chocolate, or gravy, or something like that.”

  Mrs. Grant understood Scott’s implication at once. “Sheriff, does this have something to do with Louise Kelley’s murder?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “You think that stain is blood?” Susan asked, horrified.

  “Maybe, young lady,” Scott said. “Have you ever seen anything else unusual around this house that you’d like to tell me about?”

  Mrs. Grant made an indignant sound. “Sheriff, this house was in disarray when Susan started keeping it, like any house without a woman in it. I’m sorry, Walter, but it’s true. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

  Scott ignored her. “Susan, have you ever seen other stains like this anywhere in the house, on the floor or walls, rugs or sheets, maybe?”

  “No, sir, Sheriff. I’d have noticed.”

  “Sheriff, you’ve already questioned us about this more than once,” Mrs. Grant insisted.

  “If you think of anything, you come tell me right quick,” Scott said to Susan.

  Alafair was watching Mr. Grant during this exchange, thinking it odd that he wasn’t coming to his daughter’s defense. He was standing back, by the door, looking uncomfortable. He was a traveling tool salesman, Alafair remembered. She also remembered that his wife had told her he had been at home the night Louise died.

  When Scott told them they could go, Mr. Grant murmured something and herded his family out the door, leaving Scott to gaze thoughtfully at the space they had vacated.

  “Walter, what is your opinion of the Grants?”

  Walter was wearing an expression that said he wanted to sink through the floor. He started when Scott spoke to him, and rallied. “Susan is a nice girl. Modest and friendly. I’ve never had no complaints about her cleaning. Her mother is overmuch, though. Miz Grant always treated me fine, but her and Louise didn’t get on at all.”

  “Do you know why?
”

  “Wasn’t nothing much. They just rubbed one another the wrong way, is all. Louise complained about how she put on airs, things like that.”

  “What about Mr. Grant?” Alafair interjected, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. “Did him and your wife get along?”

  Walter blinked at her. “I don’t know as they were much acquainted, Miz Tucker.”

  Scott had other things on his mind. “Now, Walter, is there anything else you’ve noticed since your wife died, or anything strange that you’ve remembered, or maybe something you just didn’t mention that you should mention now?”

  “Well…” Walter said.

  “Well, what?” Scott urged.

  “I never mentioned it at the time, because it didn’t seem like it had to do with anything, but there was a couple odd things went missing after Louise died. One of my best razors, and…” He hesitated, then continued. “…and a good pair of my shoes.”

  “Shoes!” all three listeners said at once, Scott in disbelief, and Alafair and Shaw in enlightenment.

  “I knew it!” Alafair exclaimed. “I knew the shoes had something to do with the murder.”

  “We found them shoes on the day of the funeral, Scott,” Shaw told him. “Don’t you remember? We had Hattie post a notice in the store.”

  “We found them on the way home,” Alafair added, “right outside of town. We ran over one in the middle of the road. Looked like an animal had chewed it and dragged it into the road. Charlie-boy tried to get the hounds to track it, but they couldn’t pick up a trail. I just thought about that yesterday, because I saw Ned Tolland at the cemetery visiting Louise’s grave, and Crook seemed mighty interested in his feet.”

  “Ned was visiting Louise’s grave?” Walter asked.

  “Wasn’t the first time, either, seemed to me. Looked like he had left some flowers.”

  “Why does that surprise you, Walter?” Scott interjected. “Is there some reason Ned wouldn’t be interested in paying his respects to his late sister-in-law?”

  “Well, no, I reckon not. Ned and Louise got to be friends in a way, a while back, when him and Nellie had a falling out. Louise took his side in that dust-up, for some reason or another.”

  “I doubt if Crook being interested in Ned’s feet meant anything, either, Alafair,” Shaw added. “Crook is interested in just about everybody’s feet.”

  Alafair shrugged, not totally convinced that all these coincidences meant nothing. Her eyes narrowed and she peered at Walter, who was staring at the wall, looking as though he wished he were invisible.

  Scott pondered the new information. “My, my,” he mused. “So maybe the murderer stabs Louise right in this house, so quiet that the neighbors don’t hear a thing. Then he cleans up the mess, steals Walter’s shoes and razor, and dumps Louise’s body in Cane Creek. Ain’t this a poser?” He rolled up the rug and stuck it under his arm. “We’ll see what Doc Addison says about this stain.”

  ***

  After Scott left, the three people stood gazing at one another in an uncertain silence for a few moments.

  “Do you suppose Louise was killed in this room?” Walter wondered. His habitual cocksure expression had been wiped right off his face. He looked horrified. Neither Alafair nor Shaw answered his rhetorical question, and Walter continued. “I don’t believe I want to sleep here tonight, not until I hear what the sheriff has to say.”

  “Where are you going to stay?” Shaw asked him.

  Walter’s discomfiture was so genuine that Alafair felt sorry for him, but not so sorry that she wouldn’t have objected had Shaw asked him to stay out at the farm with them.

  “I got a cot in the back room of the barber shop,” Walter said, to Alafair’s relief. “I reckon I’ll sleep there a night or two.” He shook his head. “Mercy, this is bad business!”

  “Then you understand why we don’t want you seeing Alice right now,” Alafair interjected. She didn’t want anyone to lose sight of the main objective of this visit.

  Walter looked at her with an expression of sorrow and maybe even remorse in his black eyes. “Miz Tucker,” he said, “I wish you didn’t feel so bad about me. Louise and I both made some mistakes in that marriage, but I promise you that I never meant to hurt her. I always wanted to be a good husband, but Louise and I just weren’t cut from the same cloth. I got nothing but the highest regard for Alice. I’ll do whatever you want to set your mind at ease.”

  “We know you will, Walter,” Shaw replied, but Alafair said nothing. She knew very well that Walter Kelley never set out to be a bad husband. He just was. He was the kind of man who gleefully went off and lived his life without a single thought for his wife, and then was truly surprised that she was unhappy about it. Alafair knew that he might even love Alice, but it would take a miracle to change his nature. And all she could do about it was pray with all her might that this break that she and Shaw had imposed on them would be long enough to cool their ardor.

  As she walked down the porch steps with Shaw and Walter coming up behind her, she caught another whiff of ammonia, almost as though it were on the night breeze. “Y’all smell that?” she asked.

  “What?” Walter asked.

  “I don’t smell nothing, sugar,” Shaw told her.

  Alafair nodded, but didn’t pursue it. For the first time, she wondered if what she was smelling was an earthly odor at all. “All right, Louise, you’ve got my attention,” she murmured under her breath.

  ***

  On Monday morning, Alafair’s mind was still trying to untangle Walter and Louise Kelley’s complicated relationships with their neighbors and relatives. She couldn’t make sense of the rat’s nest of bitterness, jealousy, cheating and lies that she had uncovered, nor decide if any of it had anything to do with Louise’s murder. She had to admit that the more she found out about Louise, the less she liked the unfortunate woman. Sadly, none of it made her like Walter any more, either.

  Martha and Mary were working and Alice was baby-sitting and making dinner, so Alafair’s only assistant with the family wash on this bright, windy morning was her occasional helper, Georgie Welsh, wife of their colored tenant farmer. Georgie’s sister-in-law was Sugar Welsh, and Sugar, Alafair remembered, did laundry for Walter.

  The two women finished the huge wash in good time, and between them lugged the baskets of wet clothes over to the lines. Georgie started at one end and Alafair at the other as they ran damp rags over the lines to remove the dust, then they gauged the wind direction before deciding on which corner of clothesline to begin hanging. If they started hanging clothes to windward in the stiff spring breeze that was blowing, they would be flogged to death by snapping shirttails before they could finish.

  The work of washing was too labor intensive for much conversation, but clothes hanging was a more companionable task, suited to catching up on each other’s lives. However, Alafair’s mind was running in only one direction these days, and she plunged right in.

  “Georgie, do you see much of Sugar, these days?”

  “All the time, Miz Tucker. She stays with us quite a bit, especially when she’s got a job of work in Boynton.”

  “She must be a good worker. I hear she cooks and cleans and washes for a bunch of folks in town.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Georgie agreed proudly. “Sugar works hard. She’s been helping Miz Ross quite a bit lately, since the poor lady took sick. She cooks up Sunday dinner for Miz Bellows regular, whenever she has folks over after church.”

  “We’re going over to have dinner with the Bellows’ in a couple of weeks,” Alafair noted.

  “Yes’m. Sugar will have dinner all ready when Miz Bellows gets in from service, and be gone by the time you folks get there.”

  “Yes, so Miz Bellows told me. I reckon Miz Bellows couldn’t possibly manage such a feed all by herself.”

  Georgie laughed. “Well, Sugar admires Miz Bellows a heap. Say’s she’s a good Christian woman, but cooking and housekeeping ain’t her greatest strength.”

&nb
sp; “She does the washing for Mr. Kelley, the barber, I hear.”

  “She does.”

  “Does she like working for him?”

  “She likes working for Mr. Kelley. He’s right kind, she says.”

  “How long has she worked for the barber?”

  Suddenly aware that she was being pumped for information, Georgie looked at her askance. She liked Alafair well enough, but voicing opinions on white folks to other white folks could be a risky business. “Since right after his poor wife was killed,” she said warily.

  Alafair sensed the subtle change in the atmosphere between them, but it didn’t deter her. “Does she ever cross paths with Miss Grant? I hear she’s doing his cleaning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, once in a while. Sugar helps out over at the Grant place, too, sometimes.”

  “Does she?” Alafair sounded casual. “I reckon the Grants were mighty shocked when their neighbor woman was killed so cruelly like that.”

  Georgie shrugged and kept her eyes on the wet skirt in her hands. “I reckon. Sugar don’t talk much about the folks she works for.”

  Alafair nodded, feeling guilty for putting Georgie on the spot. She knew that Georgie wouldn’t like for word to get around that Sugar was indiscreet. She tossed out one last crumb. “Shocking, though…”

  A fleeting smile passed over Georgie’s face as she pinned a work shirt to the line. All right, just this final morsel. “Yes, ma’am. Sugar allowed as how Mr. Grant was right broken up about Miz Kelley’s death. Said he was mighty low about it for a long spell.”

  Alafair perked up. She flipped out a pillowcase with an authoritative crack. “Really? I wouldn’t think him and Miz Kelley was that well acquainted.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Miz Tucker. Maybe he’s just got a tender heart. It was a sad thing, after all.”

  Alafair took mercy on Georgie at last. “How’s that big boy of yours, Georgie? You haven’t brought him over in ages.”

  Chapter Ten

  Martha Tucker kept lifting her head from her typing to gaze out the window of the First National Bank of Boynton. The two-story, red brick bank building was situated catty-whompus on the corner of Main and First Street, and from her desk in the reception area in front of Mr. Bushyhead’s office, Martha had a fine view of both streets. There seemed to be a lot of activity on Main Street today. Boynton was a busy little town by virtue of its location in the midst of a fertile farming area, exactly half way between the county seats of Okmulgee and Muskogee. The five-and-a-half-year-old state of Oklahoma was one of the fastest growing in the nation in 1913, and the First National Bank of Boynton was flush with business from a continual influx of new settlers, as well as from a number of established families, mostly Indian and part-Indian, like the Tuckers, who had been in the area since before statehood.