by Donis Casey
“Near as I can tell.”
“There’s a transom up there.”
Alafair blinked at her. “What?”
“A transom,” Sally repeated. “Looks like it’s open, too, just a little. Those bars on the inside of the window, see, keep it from opening more than a few inches, but I expect it gives them in the cells some air. They probably can hear what’s going on out here in the alley, too. In fact, they may be listening to us right now.”
Now that Sally had pointed it out to her, Alafair could see the small transom capping the window some four or five feet above their heads. It did, in fact, seem to be open. “Well, then, I hope Trent isn’t standing in there listening to us and making plans for our arrest,” she said, dropping her voice.
“I expect he would have appeared at the window before now if he was,” Sally assured her. “I think that what we have to do now is figure out a way to get up there and see what’s going on inside.”
But Alafair was ahead of her. She strode toward the far end of the alley and peeked around the wall into the lane behind Spradling’s. Empty wooden furniture crates of all sizes sat piled against the wall next to Spradling’s service entry. She gestured to Sally to join her, and the two women maneuvered a couple of manageable-sized wooden crates around into the alley and positioned them, smaller upon larger, with a small box on the ground for a step, under the jailhouse window.
They gazed at their handiwork, and then looked at one another in anticipation. There was no question about which of them would do the climbing. Alafair may have been middle-aged and middle-sized at best, but Sally was twenty-five years older and half a head shorter.
“Is this as ridiculous a scheme as I think it is?” Alafair wondered.
“I would say yes,” Sally answered.
“Even if them boys can hear us, there’s no knowing whether they’ll tell us anything, is there?”
“No, there ain’t.”
“They don’t know us from a dog with one eye.”
“They don’t.”
“They’d hardly tell us if they did kill the woman.”
“No, they would not.”
“Why would they trust me?”
“Why, indeed?”
“So would you give me a hand up, here?” Alafair asked, and Sally moved forward to take her hand and give her a boost as she stepped up on the boxes.
Her perch on top of the sturdy furniture crates was surprisingly firm, but she was up higher than she had anticipated. Most of her body from crown to knees was exposed to whoever on the inside might look her way. She planted her feet apart and steadied herself with her hands on either side of the window frame and pressed her nose to the glass to peer into the interior. It was too late for stealth.
Through the window, Alafair looked down onto the narrow corridor in front of the two cells. She could barely see one booted foot hanging off the end of a cot in the far cell. In the near cell, a tall, unshaven youth stood close to the bars and gazed up at her with an expression of extreme puzzlement. For the space of a breath, the two gazed at one another in mutual astonishment.
“You see them?” Sally asked her.
“I do,” Alafair replied. “And one of them sees me, too.” She glanced up. The open transom was inches above her head. “Can you hear me?” she asked the prisoner, just a little louder than before.
“I can,” he called.
“Keep your voice down,” she instructed. “I can hear you fine, and I don’t want to alert Trent.”
“Who are you?” the youth managed.
“Are you Billy Bond?” she asked.
“I am. What are you doing, ma’am?”
Alafair took a second to scrutinize the captive before she answered. He had obviously been living rough for the past few months. His clothes were a mess, his blond hair stuck out every which way, and he was sporting a scruffy beard. But for all his uncouth appearance, Billy Bond was a good looking young man. He was tall and slender, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. The dark blue eyes that gazed up at her in wonderment had a sad cast to them.
In the far cell, Alafair could see the foot swing off the bunk onto the floor, followed by another foot, then Billy’s cousin and jailmate, Jeff Stubblefield, appeared at the bars. He was darker, and quite a bit smaller, but otherwise resembled Billy very much. The look on his face was entirely as perplexed as his cousin’s.
Against her will, Alafair was moved to pity by the young men’s dishevelment. Why couldn’t Scott let them clean up and put on some decent clothes? She sighed and steeled herself to her purpose.
“My name is Miz Tucker,” she said. “I want to ask y’all some questions about Louise Kelley.”
Billy’s expression hardened. “I got nothing to say about that,” he said.
“Besides,” Jeff added, “why should you care, lady? Who are you?”
“It’s a long story,” Alafair told them, “and I reckon we don’t have much time. You don’t know me, it’s true, but somebody I care about is involved in this business. I ain’t convinced you fellows killed her. Maybe you can tell me something that I can use to help y’all boys get out of there.” Even as she spoke the words, Alafair prayed to be forgiven for lying. She had no idea whether Billy had killed Louise or not, but she didn’t have time to get the men to trust her through long acquaintance. Self-interest would have to do.
“Who do you think is involved,” Jeff insisted, “and why should we help him? We got troubles of our own.”
“Shut up, Jeff,” Billy said offhandedly. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Miz Tucker,” he said to Alafair, “but I don’t even know no Tuckers to speak to, so I doubt if we can help you. I will tell you this, though. I never killed Louise Kelley, my hand on fifty Bibles.”
“Why did you hide out, then?”
“I heard the next day that Louise got found dead. I knew sure as I’m standing here that the Sheriff would come looking for me, and I was right. They got nobody else to blame. I’d never kill Louise for anything. She was the only person standing between that husband of hers and my girl. If I was going to kill anybody, it would have been him, not her. In fact…” He hesitated, peering up at her suspiciously. “Will you really try to help us?” he asked.
“I will if I think you’re innocent,” Alafair assured him.
Jeff snorted, unconvinced. Billy looked resigned to an unhappy fate, but continued. “It wasn’t me looking to kill somebody that night,” he said. “It was her. She knew the situation between the barber and my Peggy. She said it wasn’t the first time, and she’d had enough of his shenanigans. She drew me aside and tried to give me a hundred dollars to kill her husband for her.”
Alafair was so startled by this pronouncement that she nearly fell backwards off the boxes. She felt Sally’s hand come up and grab her leg to steady her. She swallowed and leaned back in. “Did you take it?” she wondered.
“No, I did not. I told her I didn’t want nothing to do with that. A lot of good it did me.”
“Did you tell this to the sheriff?”
“Of course I did, but he don’t believe me. I got no witnesses, either.”
“What happened after that?”
He shrugged. “I know there’s some folks say we got drunk and rode off together. Neither of us was exactly stone cold sober, it’s true, but I had my wits about me enough to remember that I took her home on my horse and left her standing on the walk in front of her house, just kind of talking to herself under her breath. I didn’t even go inside. She was crying and generally acting crazy the whole way home. She’d holler for God to forgive her and then in the next breath beg me to shoot the barber in the head. I just wanted to get out of there. I met up with Jeff here outside of town later and we camped by Cloud Creek that night. Next morning we started riding toward home and heard in Council Hill that Louise had been found dead.”
“Who told you?”
“My ma heard it at the General Store that afternoon.”
“Who do you think killed L
ouise, then?” Alafair asked him.
“I don’t have an idea one,” he assured her. “I suspect that after I left her, she tried to find somebody else to kill the barber.”
Alafair shook her head. “Well, I don’t know what I can do for you, young fellow, but I’ll try to do something. Maybe one of her neighbors heard you leave that night after you brought her home.”
“Anything you can do would be mighty welcome,” Billy assured her.
“Don’t tell Trent I was here.”
“Don’t aim to.”
Alafair prepared to dismount her perch, but a question occurred to her and she turned back to the window. “Jeff Stubblefield,” she called, “why did you go to ground with your cousin? You weren’t even there.”
Jeff shrugged. “Somebody might have seen me with Billy after he left Miz Kelley. Besides, he’s kin.” He made this statement as though it explained everything. And to Alafair, it did.
***
“Do you suppose it was Peggy?” Alafair asked Sally, as she snapped the reins over the horse’s back and guided the buggy down the road out of town.
Sally pondered a moment. “I can’t think of anybody else with a better reason to get rid of Louise.”
“Aside from Walter,” Alafair said.
“What about the Grants?”
“Miz Grant may not have liked Louise, but that seems like a mighty weak reason for murder. Now, if we were looking for people with a motive to kill Walter, I’d have a bunch of suspects.”
“Who knows?” Sally replied. “Peggy looked to me like too little of a slip to have drove a big old knife into somebody’s chest. Nothing surprises me any more, though. Too bad you can’t ask Scott what he knows about Billy’s story that Louise wanted him to kill her husband for her.”
Alafair smiled. “No, I wouldn’t like to tell him how I found out about it. As soon as I leave you to home, Ma, I’ve got to be getting back to the house. I expect I’ve got one hungry baby waiting for me. Then me and the girls are picking early snap beans and getting them ready to can. I’m going to be overrun with them this year.”
As they passed the Boynton Cemetery, Alafair had her eyes on the road, and was startled when Sally grabbed her arm and exclaimed, “Alafair!”
She automatically tugged on the reins and came to a halt. “What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
“Look yonder at who is just coming out.”
Alafair blinked at the sloping figure standing alone on the path beside the cemetery gate. “I declare. Ned Tolland,” she managed.
Sally scrambled out of the buggy and walked across the road to meet Ned. She was deep in conversation with him by the time Alafair had maneuvered the horse and rig over to their side of the road and stepped down.
Sally took Alafair’s arm as she walked up and drew her into the conversation. “Alafair, Ned tells me he was just here paying his respects to his late sister-in-law.”
“Yes, I happened upon Ned doing just that a while back. You’re a faithful visitor, Ned.”
“I like to come regular.”
“I suppose you heard that they got the two men they think did it,” Alafair told him. “It was Billy Bond and his cousin Jeff Stubblefield. You know, Billy is engaged to that Peggy Crocker girl that you and Nell saw outside the fence at Louise’s funeral.”
Ned nodded, morose as ever. “Yes, I heard about Billy Bond. I just came by to let Louise know. I got to go home now and tell Nellie. She’ll know what to do.”
“Do?” Sally repeated. “What should Nellie do?”
“I don’t know,” Ned told her. “I never expected the sheriff might arrest Billy Bond, him being the betrothed of the gal who was the cause of all this trouble. I reckon Nellie will be as surprised as me. She might have something to say about it.”
“What could she say?” Alafair prodded.
A look passed over his face that gave Alafair pause. Was it amusement? Or could it have been irony, or even irritation?
“Nellie usually has something to say about everything,” Ned answered.
It occurred to Alafair that perhaps Ned was not as slow-witted as she had thought.
Chapter Fourteen
Alafair’s garden was overflowing with spring vegetables this May Day, the day after her escapade at the jailhouse. The lettuce and radishes were just getting past their prime, but the green beans had begun bearing prolifically, as had the carrots, pintos, and butter beans. The tomatoes, melons, and okra plants were growing tall, as well. Alafair and the girls had spent the day before picking, washing, and snapping the first crop of green beans. Now, after breakfast was cleaned up and the menfolk and children away, Alafair, Mary and Martha were in the midst of one of Alafair’s least favorite tasks—canning. The jars had already been sterilized in boiling water, and all of last year’s rubber sealing rings inspected and replaced if need be. The women had blanched an enormous batch of beans and filled the glass, one-quart jars as full as possible, then loosely screwed on the rubber-sealed lids. Mary placed a layer of cloth on the bottom of a wash boiler, and then they placed in a layer of jars, covered them with another cloth, then another layer of jars.
Alafair filled the boiler with cold water to cover the jars well, then she placed the boiler on the stove and brought the water to a rolling boil. Leaving the girls to clean up and watch the jars and make sure they boiled steadily for the next three hours, Alafair walked back into her bedroom. She paused at the door, wiping her flushed face with the tail of her apron, and stood for a moment watching Alice sew.
The sewing machine was placed under the bedroom window for the best light, so Alice had her back to the door and sewed happily on, unaware of her mother watching her. Her long blond hair, braided with blue-flowered ribbon, was twisted up into a knot at the back of her head. She was singing to herself in time to the pumping of the treadle, engrossed in and enthralled by her task.
“I’ll entwine and I’ll mingle my raven black hair,
With the roses so red and the lilies so fair.
And my eyes will outshine even stars in the blue…”
She hummed the last line to herself, but Alafair finished it for her in her mind.
Said I, knowing not that my love was untrue.
Sweet Alice, ten years old, full of fun and palaver, running roughshod over her long suffering twin Phoebe, injecting herself uninvited into the affairs of her older sisters, lording it over her younger siblings. Bewitching her father, charming her mother, shamelessly avoiding her just deserts when she misbehaved with a combination of innocence, brass, and wit. Look at her now, eighteen years old, so beautiful, with eyes blue as cornflowers, just as brash, just as witty, just as innocent of the world as she was at ten.
“What’re you making, honey?” Alafair asked, and Alice raised her head and swiveled around in her chair to face her mother with a smile.
“Y’all done with the green beans?” Alice countered.
“For now. Just started boiling.” Alafair sat down on the bed and smoothed back her unruly hair with both hands. “We got nine quarts with this batch, and there’ll be another batch just as big ready to can in a few days.”
“I expect I’d better think me up another project I can be working on by then,” Alice said brightly.
Alafair blew an unwilling laugh, amused and mildly annoyed at once. “You like to eat green beans well enough,” she observed.
“Now, Mama,” Alice chided, “you know I’d help you if you didn’t already have all the help you need. Now look here what I’m making.” She turned back to the machine, cut her thread with her sewing scissors, and lifted her new garment off the table to show Alafair.
Alafair took the skirt into her lap and inspected it with interest. Alice was a gifted seamstress, Alafair acknowledged to herself. Her seams were solid and straight as a ruler. The skirt was inside-out as Alice sewed on it, and Alafair ran her hand over the pearl-colored lining. “This feels like silk!” she exclaimed.
“It is,” Alice affirmed. “A real si
lk lining under a fine worsted.”
“Who are you making this for?”
“For myself, this time.”
“Mercy, Alice, how did you get enough money for such nice materials?” Alafair asked, dreading to hear the answer.
“I been saving it up for months, Ma. Word of my tailoring skills is getting around,” she said proudly. “I’ve had several jobs sewing dress-up clothes for folks in town ever since I fixed Aunt Josie’s wool suit for her. Guess she’s been bragging on me.”
“I declare,” Alafair managed. “If I’d have known that sewing paid so much, I’d have give up being a housewife a long time ago.” She turned the skirt right side out. The wool was fine and silky smooth, dove gray with a subtle darker gray vertical stripe. The skirt was narrow and form fitting. It would make the tall Alice look statuesque. Alafair held the skirt out in front of her by the waistband. The diameter of the hem was barely bigger than the waist. “Gracious, Alice, what kind of skirt is this?”
Alice laughed. “It’s called a ‘hobble skirt,’ Ma. It’s been all the rage back east for the last couple of years, according to the Ladies’ Home Journal. I’ve been wanting to make myself one for ages. Look how the hemline rises here in front, and this false seam goes all the way up to the waist. Looks like a wrap-around, but it isn’t.”
“’Hobble’ is right,” Alafair observed. “How do you walk in it?”
“It ain’t for walking, Mama, it’s for standing around looking pretty,” Alice told her with a wink.
The long skirt nearly reached the ankles in the back, but Alafair eyed the way the hem rose into a little ‘v’ in the front. It would expose part of the wearer’s stockinged shins with every mincing step. Alafair hoped that Alice’s Grandpa Gunn never saw the girl in it. He would fall over dead of shock. Alafair wasn’t too sure about Shaw’s reaction, either, come to think on it. But all she said was, “I hope you never have to run away from hungry lions while you’re wearing this.”
“Wait ’til you see the jacket I’m going to make with it, Ma,” Alice told her, excited. “It’s short, with three pearl buttons, nipped in at the waist, and has a peplum.”
