by Donis Casey
Elizabeth looked surprised when a deputy finally knocked on her door. The searchers had spent less time at the Stewart house than they had at the Kemps’. “Here’s the inventory of what they took, Cindy.” She waved the paper at her. “It isn’t a long list. He told me to let you know that the warrants are good for several days more, and they might be back. He did ask me if I knew when was the last time y’all burned your trash. I said I didn’t rightly know and he should ask you, but he said he’d rather put it to Geoff.”
Cindy blinked. “Burned our trash? Why would he…? Geoff usually takes care of that. Not since before the open house, I think.”
Elizabeth put her cup down. “No, it was the day after, Cindy. I didn’t notice till the afternoon because of all the hubbub with finding Bernie’s body and all, but your incinerator was still smoking when I went out to feed the hens after dinner. The wind carried the smoke over and it stung my eyes.”
“I never noticed! Geoff must have done it before he left to go back to the office. Do you expect they found something in the ashes?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, honey,” Elizabeth soothed. “They likely came up with something they can’t identify and want Geoff to tell them what it is. He’ll clear it all up when they talk to him.”
Esmeralda
Mrs. Carrizal sat in a bright yellow cane-bottomed kitchen chair with a carved back and legs, holding a dozing Chase in her lap. This was the first time Alafair had been inside the Carrizal house. She was almost as impressed by the decor as she was by the decorator. This is more like it, Alafair thought. The large, homey kitchen was filled with light and color. In fact all that Alafair had seen of the house was rife with eye-popping color, from the walls to the painted wood furniture to the upholstery, rugs, and cushions. The surfaces were covered with weird succulents and blooming cactuses and the walls were covered with family portraits and religious icons, including a crucifix that Alafair could barely keep her eyes off of. Elizabeth had told her that the Carrizals were Catholic, and apparently it was true. She felt strangely excited to be sitting inside the home of an actual Roman Catholic.
Mrs. Carrizal had sat them down with steaming mugs of milky tea and a plate of sugary donut-like pastries she called buñuelos and listened in silence as Elizabeth related Dillon’s interview.
“He’ll probably be around to talk to y’all before long, Miz Carrizal.” Elizabeth paused long enough to dip her pastry into her tea and take a bite.“I declare, I never had occasion to meet the marshal before, but I must say I did not much cotton to him. He asked us all sorts of questions about Matt and Bernie and how they got along. I expect he has already figured out in his head what must have happened and he is going to bend and twist the facts around to make them fit his theory.”
Alafair felt she had to add a note of caution. “Now, Elizabeth, to be fair he has just started asking around. He’s likely to hear all kinds of tales about what went on the other night. I’m sure he’ll pick out the wheat from the chaff.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Mrs. Carrizal smiled and shifted the sleeping boy in her lap. It crossed Alafair’s mind that this was the quietest and most content she had ever seen Chase Kemp. “Alejandro and I have been expecting that the marshal would want to speak to us. There is no reason to worry about us. There is no reason to worry about Matt, either,” Mrs. Carrizal added. “He is a friendly young man, as anyone will tell you, and it is no surprise that he spoke to the musicians. After all, all the Arrudas have worked in Matt’s restaurant at one time or another. This is more than likely why Dillon is interested. Besides, none of us will have any trouble explaining where we were during the night when the poor Arruda boy was killed.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I hope so. I do fear that Dillon may have his suspicions up about Geoff Stewart and Mr. Gillander, too!”
Oh, dear!” Mrs. Carrizal’s eyes widened. “Such a worry for Cindy. That poor child does not need more grief. I will make a point of visiting her this evening.”
“Excellent notion,” Elizabeth approved. “Take some of these buñuelos with you, Miz Carrizal. These would cheer up anybody.”
Alafair had not noticed it earlier, but today she was detecting a slight lilt when Mrs. Carrizal spoke. A bit of a Mexican accent? Alafair was not familiar enough to know.
“How long have you lived in Arizona, Miz Carrizal?” She thought that was as discreet a way to ask about the woman’s background as any.
Mrs. Carrizal surprised her. “Oh, I was born right here in Arizona. My papa Elian Ruvio owned a cattle ranch outside of Tubac. The King of Spain granted parts of that land to the first Elian Ruvio in 1701. My nephew owns it now.” She smiled. “It was part of the United States by the time I was born. Alejandro grew up in Tucson. His father was quite a successful businessman down there.”
Blanche, who had been playing with the goats behind the house, wandered into the kitchen and helped herself to a sweet bun before climbing into her mother’s lap. At nearly eleven years old and long limbed, Blanche was almost too big to be sitting on anyone’s lap, so Alafair absently adjusted the girl on her knee as she spoke to Mrs. Carrizal. “What did you say your husband’s name is? Alejandro? How beautiful that is! May I know your Christian name, Miz Carrizal?”
“I am called Esmeralda. In English, it means ‘emerald’.”
“Oh, that is just lovely. Mexican names are way prettier than our English names.”
“Your name is ‘Alafair’, yes? That is quite as lovely as any Mexican name. What does it mean?”
Alafair shot a glance at Elizabeth, who seemed as interested in hearing the answer as Mrs. Carrizal was. “I must admit that I don’t know. I was named after my great-grandmother Alafair Napier. She lived a good long life and died when I was eight. To me she seemed like a big, laughing woman who ordered everybody around. She had a snow white braid down her back. That made a big impression on me.”
Mrs. Carrizal shifted the napping Chase on her lap so she could lean forward and take Blanche’s hand. “‘Blanche’ is a wonderful thing to be called, carita. We have the same name in Spanish, but we say Blanca.”
A delighted smile turned up the corners of Blanche’s mouth.“I like that!”
“And you have such beautiful green eyes! Perhaps your mama should have called you ‘Esmeralda’ as well.” An odd expression came over Mrs. Carrizal’s face as she looked into Blanche’s eyes. “How have you been feeling, honey?”
Something in her tone caused Alafair to catch her breath, but Blanche rather expected adults to make incongruent shifts in topic when they spoke to her and she answered readily. “Way much better since I been here, ma’am. I don’t hardly cough much at all any more, nor does it hurt so much when I do.”
Mrs. Carrizal looked up at Alafair, her black eyes pools of concern. “Did Doctor Moeur have a look at her?”
“He did. He said the same thing as our doctor back home, that her lungs got inflamed over the wet winter and a spell of drying out would do her good.”
Mrs. Carrizal nodded absently. “Doctor Moeur is very good with problems of the chest. Some inflammation of the lungs, yes. But something more, I think.”
“What makes you think so?” Alafair was alarmed.
The older woman made a pass with two fingers in front of her face. “Something in the eyes.”
She looked back down at Blanche, who had sunk back against her mother’s shoulder and was gazing at her with her familiar wary expression. Mrs. Carrizal’s smile returned. “I am sorry, Blanche. I should not talk about you as though you are not here. Tell me, did it happen a while back that you were in some dirty water? Perhaps you went swimming in a pond last summer, or fell into the river?”
Blanche’s eyebrows knit. How would Mrs. Carrizal know to ask her such a thing?
Bathtub Boating
For Blanche the winter of 1915 and 1916 had already been like no other in her short life. To begin with she had never seen so much rain. Christmas had almost been ruined by it. At
first it was kind of fun running around the house inspecting for drips. And when you found one you got to put one of Mama’s old pots or a worn dishpan under it. It got so it was hard to sleep, what with the sound of all that plinking and plopping and clinking. Her next-to-youngest sister Sophronia said it did not bother her so much because it was kind of like music. But then Fronie was odd that way.
All the gullies had run deep and swift for days on end, and it had been lots of fun to take the old rusty tin bathtub out of the storage shed and a couple of sawed-off brooms and go boating. Of course there was that time that she decided to stand up in the tub and row like one of those fellows in Italy whose picture she had seen in her geography book. She supposed she got to rocking too much because she fell over into the muddy water. It was cold, too, and she was so shocked that she took a big gasp and gulped that dirty stuff before she knew what was what. She was a pretty good swimmer but that had got her all discombobulated. She hadn’t known which way was up and flailed around for a spell until her brother Charlie grabbed her by the collar, hauled her out on the bank, and pounded on her back until she had spewed out about a gallon of ick. They had contemplated not telling Mama, but Blanche had looked too much like a drowned rat to walk into the house saucy as you please and pretend nothing had happened. Mama had just laughed, but then she had made Blanche take a warm bath and go right to bed with some hot flannel-wrapped bricks at her feet.
The coughing had started pretty soon after that.
Curandera
“I don’t remember that!” Alafair was incredulous. She briefly closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead as she tried to recollect the incident Blanche had just related. She supposed it was no wonder that particular event was lost among all the other hundreds of mishaps and mischiefs a mother of ten dealt with every day. She could not count the number of times over the past winter each and every one of the children had come into the house soaked to the skin. Or how many days in a row her screened back porch had been webbed with lines of dripping clothing. How many hundreds of gallons of water she had heated for hot baths, soups, teas, water bottles, throat balms, steam pots?
And that old washtub boat! Every year since Martha was old enough to drag a tub along by herself some child or another went boating in whatever likely body of water was handy. The older ones had taught the skill to the younger ones, just as she had taught her younger siblings and her older cousins had taught her.
She opened her eyes and looked at Mrs. Carrizal, but it was Elizabeth who asked the question. “Do you think there was something in the ditchwater that got into Blanche’s lungs, Miz Cee?”
Blanche’s eyes widened. “Ma?”
Alafair gave Elizabeth a withering glance before wrapping an arm around Blanche’s middle. “Sugar, there is no reason for you to be scared. We can fix whatever ails you. Why don’t you take Chase back outside while we study on this. I will tell you all about it later and not keep any secrets from you. Would that be all right?”
Chase heard his name spoken and was awake instantly. He hopped down from Mrs. Carrizal’s lap and hurled himself toward the back door. “Come on, Blanche!” His imperious summons hung in the air as the door slammed behind him.
Blanche looked Alafair in the eye. “Promise? I’m not a baby anymore.”
“I know you’re not. I promise.”
Blanche had never had reason to doubt her mother’s promises. She stood and smoothed her skirt with dignity before following Chase outdoors.
Elizabeth spoke first. “I am sorry I was thoughtless with my remark, Alafair. I would not scare that child for the world.”
“Don’t fret about it, Elizabeth. Now, Miz Carrizal?” Alafair let the question hang.
Mrs. Carrizal bit her bottom lip as she considered how to explain her diagnosis. “I think Dr. Moeur and your doctor at home were right. The cold and damp Blanche endured made it hard for her to get better. But do you know how sometimes after a long period of wet weather mold will grow in places that cannot dry out…” The look on Alafair’s face gave her pause. “I will say to you what you said to Blanche, sweetheart. Do not worry. I have seen this before, and there are many things that can be done.”
Elizabeth gave Alafair’s arm a shake. “Listen to Miz Carrizal, sister. I have had many occasions over these past years to take advantage of her skills, and I swear, no doctor knows more of the healing arts.”
Alafair did not quite know how to feel as she listened to Mrs. Carrizal’s diagnosis. Terrified? Hopeful? Doctor Moeur himself had told her that Mrs. Carrizal was a talented curandera. A vision of the white lady she had seen that first night in Tempe arose unbidden in Alafair’s mind. Nothing happens by chance, she thought, and was flooded with gratitude that she had been led to come here.
“I will come over tonight with a healing tea that I will brew for the child,” Mrs. Carrizal said, “if that is convenient, Elizabeth. With the help of our Blessed Lady, I believe we can drive the evil out of Blanche’s lungs once and for all.”
Out of the Ashes
After she and Elizabeth left Mrs. Carrizal’s house, it took Alafair a few minutes to locate Blanche in order to tell her everything that was said in her absence. Chase was still playing with the goats in their pen, and he told them that Blanche had said she was going to wait for her mother in her bedroom.
“I expect she’s anxious,” Alafair said to Elizabeth, as they walked back toward the Kemps’ house.
Elizabeth colored. “I apologize once again, sister. Blanche seems older to me than she is, I reckon. Yet I didn’t consider my words when I speculated on Miz Carrizal’s meaning.”
Alafair came within a hair’s breadth of telling Elizabeth she agreed with that assessment, but stopped herself before the words left her mouth. Her sister realized her error, and it was not going to help anything to make her feel worse than she did. Instead Alafair said,“Children are aware of a lot more than we give them credit for,” and let it go at that. “I’ll go in and tell her about how Miz Carrizal is going to make her a curing tea. Truth is that I am feeling right good about Blanche’s prospects after hearing what Miz Carrizal had to say. Blanche is already so improved as to be almost well. And now I hold out hope for a total cure.”
Elizabeth looked relieved. “She is likely to feel a heap better after you tell her that.”
Alafair paused when she noticed Artie Carrizal in a corner of the yard. He was alone, engaged with his own thoughts, languidly swinging back and forth on the inner tube that Web had suspended from a eucalyptus limb. He looked their way when they passed through the gate into the Kemp property, then disentangled himself and came over when Alafair beckoned.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Alafair put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Son, were you watching the deputies when they searched through Mr. Stewart’s outbuildings and property?”
“Yes, ma’am. Me and Blanche watched them from over by the gate. Was that wrong?”
“No, y’all didn’t do wrong to watch the deputies search. I want to ask if you saw them find anything that caused a stir. Anything in the back yard incinerator in particular?”
“Yes, ma’am, the fellow who was raking out the ashes come up with something and called over Mr. Dillon to look at it. They put it in a cloth bag and took it away.”
“Could you tell what it was?” Elizabeth asked.
Artie held his hands about a foot apart. “It was a hunk of wood, yea big. It was mostly burned and black, but it had a turned knob on the end. It looked to me like the grip end of a baseball bat.”
Alafair and Elizabeth locked eyes, shocked, but in order not to alarm the boy, neither said anything. Even after Alafair thanked Artie and sent him on his way, the women were silent. This revelation demanded thought.
Beautiful Girl
Alafair and Elizabeth parted on the veranda. The north-facing bedroom that the Tuckers shared was already beginning to grow dim in the afternoon light, so it took an instant for Alafair to see Blanche lying on the double bed. She was
curled up on her side, facing her mother, asleep. Alafair crossed the room and put her hand on Blanche’s forehead. Her cheeks had a rosy flush but her skin felt cool. No fever. Sleep had smoothed all anxiety from her features. In the shadowed room, her hair seemed to be no more than a cloud of darkness falling in waves down her back and over her shoulder. Long, black eyelashes and arches of black brows stood out against her creamy skin.
Suddenly Alafair perceived with crystal clarity what her sister had meant when she said Blanche was destined to make all the boys cry. Her darling little girl was beautiful. But rather than give her pleasure, the realization caused her a stab of fear. All of her children were attractive, but her third daughter Alice, tall and witty with pale blue eyes and hair the color of ripe wheat, was generally acknowledged to be stunning. Alice knew it, too, and had always used her looks as well as her intellect to get what she wanted. She had gotten herself a handsome, successful husband who, Alafair suspected, was going to break her heart.
Since the day Alice had married, Alafair lived in fear of her downfall. She had no desire to live in fear for Blanche as well. Not for her health or for her happiness. Not her darling Blanche. No, Alafair had to admit that of all her beloved children, any one of whom she would die for a thousand times, it could be that Blanche was her favorite, her sweet, pouty, work-brittle little girl who was always so eager for affection and ready with hugs.
She stood over the sleeping child for some minutes, considering whether to wake her. She decided not to disturb her healing sleep just yet. She could fulfill her promise later.
Observations on a Killing
Alafair found Elizabeth on the front porch, sitting in a rocker with her hands clasped in her lap, staring thoughtfully into middle space. “You look rapt,” Alafair observed.
