The Wrong Hill to Die On: An Alafair Tucker Mystery #6 (Alafair Tucker Mysteries)

by Donis Casey

  “Oh, Geoff had no idea. He couldn’t have. He’d of never kept his mouth shut about it. He would have divorced her for adultery faster than you could spit, and probably got her thrown in jail for it, too, if he knew. “

  “Elizabeth, are those notes dated?”

  “No, not these two, anyway. Why?”

  “Well, maybe she’s had them a long time. Maybe he moved on to yet another lonely woman a while ago and left her grieving over him.”

  “Are you thinking Cindy might have discovered he had him a new lover and got jealous enough to swing a bat at him? She ain’t got it in her, believe me.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Elizabeth mulled the idea over, absently tapping the corner of one of the notes on the cabinet surface. “What do you think would be the best thing to do, sister? I don’t want to turn these over to the law and ruin Cindy’s good name, not without a real good reason. If everybody Bernie wooed was a suspect, half the ladies in town would be in jail. And their husbands, too.” Her expression changed. “Maybe Geoff does aim to divorce Cindy and that’s why he has cleared out. Maybe he has known about Cindy’s indiscretion for some time and been fretting about it. What if he saw Bernie coming out of his house that night and gave him a clomp out of sheer wounded pride?” The idea seemed to appeal to her. “Why, that makes all kinds of sense! Maybe Geoff did do it after all!”

  Alafair did not care for her sister’s eagerness to embrace this theory. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions just because you don’t care for Geoff, now. Two hours ago we were convinced that Bernie was murdered because he smuggled displaced Mexicans into Arizona. I’ve found things are seldom as they seem to be, and besides you don’t want to be tossing off accusations willy-nilly without a lick of proof. Have a private word with Cindy, Elizabeth. Give her a chance to explain. You’re her friend. I’m guessing you’ll be able to tell from her reaction whether we ought to take this any further.”

  Letters

  Alafair left out the back door, sorry not to hear firsthand what Cindy would do when Elizabeth confronted her, but eager to find out what the constable had said to the men. As soon as she was gone, Elizabeth went back into the parlor and found Cindy still asleep on the sofa, lying on her back with the blanket drawn up to her chin.

  Elizabeth stood over her for a moment, considering the peaceful expression on her face. “Cindy… “

  The blue eyes opened slowly. Cindy looked puzzled as without a word Elizabeth tossed the slightly floury bundle of love notes onto her stomach.

  Cindy gazed at them for a long moment, her brows knit, before comprehension hit her and the blood drained from her face.

  “I found your letters,” Elizabeth said. “Fool girl, what were you thinking to keep them? It’s a miracle that the marshal’s men didn’t find them when they searched your house.”

  “My letters.” Cindy’s voice was a bare whisper.

  Elizabeth plunked herself down in an armchair. “Well, at least you didn’t faint away or bawl like an infant. That’s something. I know who wrote them, Cindy. I recognize the hand.”

  Cindy sat up and lifted her hands in a gesture like surrender, unwilling to touch the offending documents in her lap. Her eyes were bulging with alarm. “Don’t tell anyone, Elizabeth. Please, for the love of God!”

  “I don’t want to, but it depends, Cindy. Could these letters in any way help uncover who it was that murdered Bernie?”

  “Oh, no, no, how could they? They have nothing to do with anything. Nothing ever happened between us, I swear on my life. He was just kind to me. He could see how sad I was and he just wanted to make me feel better.”

  “From the little bit I read, I reckon he did!”

  The color rushed back into Cindy’s cheeks, turning her face from ivory pale to feverish red. “You don’t understand. I should have burned those, I know. But sometimes, when Geoff and I are…not close, I like to take one out and read it again. It makes me feel like someone still cares for me. I knew they looked suspicious. That’s why I took them out of the bin after the marshall threatened to get a warrant and carried them on me until after the house was searched.”

  Elizabeth nodded. So that was why Cindy was moved to make cookies the day after the murder. “Tell me the truth now. What do you know about the hat under your porch?”

  “I swear up and down that after I left the party I never saw Bernie again that night, Elizabeth! I have no idea how that hat got there.”

  “What do you reckon I should do with these billets doux now?”

  Tears quivered on Cindy’s lower lids. “Burn them, I guess, like I should have done in the first place. I’d never want them to come to light.” She sounded regretful.

  Elizabeth picked up the beribboned bundle and eyed it thoughtfully. She did not look at Cindy when she replied. “Well, don’t worry about it right now. I’ll take care of it.”

  Disaster for Somebody

  Alafair found Web and Shaw in the parlor and the children already fed and in bed. The men were absorbed in their own activities. Web was at his desk in the back corner of the room, working over a law book by gaslight. Shaw was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the stove in the fireplace nook, reading Dane Coolidge’s book.

  Constable Nettles had already come and gone, taking the sombrero with him, much to Chase’s displeasure. Shaw told Alafair that after leaving the Kemp house, Nettles left to try and locate Geoff at the law office downtown.

  Alafair gave Shaw and Webster a brief overview of her afternoon outing with Elizabeth without going into too much detail. She considered asking Web if he was aware that his law partner had left his wife, but changed her mind. Better to wait until she knew more about the situation.

  Web returned to his work and Alafair sat down next to Shaw in the adjacent armchair. He scolded her gently for intruding on Bernie’s family in their time of grief, and to please him Alafair expressed remorse, even though she was so perfunctory that Shaw bit his lip to keep from chuckling. Alafair did not notice. She was more interested in finding out what Shaw had discovered about the progress of the murder investigation.

  Shaw told her that Nettles had complained that he was being sent hither and yon on fact, gathering errands, but he was not privy to inside information. The constable had sounded bitter when he speculated that if Dillon was telling anyone what he was thinking, it was Maricopa County Sheriff Adams and not the small-fry officialdom of the town of Tempe.

  Shaw closed his book and lowered it into his lap before continuing the tale. “Nettles did say that the marshal found out Bernie was a captain in Villa’s army back a few years ago, and now he spends a lot of time chewing on the fact. Dillon’s gone out to talk to the other Arruda brothers a second time, and even hauled Tony in for questioning. Had no reason to keep him, though, and let him go after about an hour.”

  Alafair was surprised. “Dillon can’t possibly think that Tony killed his own brother.”

  “I don’t know what Dillon had on his mind, but Nettles reckons he’s more interested in the idea that there may be a revolutionary spy cell here in the area than he is in finding out who killed Bernie. He’s got an idea in his head that Bernie was into something nefarious, and he aims to find out who else was involved.”

  The Yaqui railroad. Alafair was struck with a pang of fear for Matt Carrizal. She leaned forward, ready to recap for Shaw everything she had learned about Matt’s secret society, when she heard Elizabeth and Cindy come into the house and reconsidered. Best to hear what Elizabeth had discovered first.

  ***

  After depositing Cindy in the upstairs guest bedroom, Elizabeth came down to the parlor and walked past Web without a glance. She greeted Shaw before leaning over and murmuring in Alafair’s ear. “Come out into the kitchen with me, sister.”

  Shaw opened his book again and made no comment, but Alafair could feel the frisson of his curiosity in the air. She followed Elizabeth into the kitchen, and they sat down across from one another at the l
ittle table. It was an indication of Elizabeth’s state of mind that she made no move to ply Alafair with food or drink.

  Alafair propped her elbows on the table. “Well, what did she say about the letters?”

  “She says that nothing ever happened between her and Bernie. He just sent her them letters to cheer her up because he could see how sad she is.”

  “Well, I never! You believe that?”

  “Cindy is a bad liar, and if anybody is innocent enough to believe that lover-boy’s intentions were honorable, it would be her.”

  “What is she going to do with the letters now that you’ve given them back to her?”

  Elizabeth looked smug. “I didn’t give them back to her. I told her I’d take care of them so nobody else could see them.”

  “Elizabeth! Do you think that’s a good idea? I know you don’t want to make Cindy an object of scorn, but those letters may end up being evidence.”

  “I know it. I figured I’d keep them hidden until we see how things fall out. Once we’re sure that Cindy’s little dalliance did not lead to murder, I’ll burn them.”

  “What if Dillon comes back with another search warrant?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, sister.” Elizabeth gave the air a breezy flick with her fingers. “I know a place where nobody’ll ever look.”

  Alafair’s expression was ironic. “Confident, ain’t you? I hope you don’t end up in jail for withholding evidence.”

  “I won’t withhold the evidence if there’s a need for it. Cindy told me that she hadn’t gotten a note for a long time before Bernie met his end, so she doesn’t think one has anything to do with the other. However, it could be that we’re not the only ones who discovered those notes in her flour bin, you know.” Elizabeth did not say Geoff Stewart’s name, but the quirk of her mouth was suggestive.

  “Maybe Bernie really did have feelings for the sad creature,” Alafair speculated.

  Elizabeth’s expression indicated that she thought Alafair too generous. “Bernie had a nose for a vulnerable woman, is all. He’d of ended up breaking her heart.”

  ***

  Alafair and Shaw were sitting side by side on the double bed in the veranda room as she gave him the details of everything that had happened to her during that eventful day. The room was dim, lit only by a small kerosene lamp on the bedside table, and they were speaking in quiet undertones to keep from disturbing Blanche in her little cot in the corner.

  Alafair had begun her tale with the trip to Guadalupe and taken him through the visit with Matt Carrizal and the discovery of the stash of love notes in Cindy Stewart’s flour bin. “I agree with Elizabeth when she says we oughtn’t turn those letters of Cindy’s over to the marshal just yet, though. They may cast suspicion on Geoff, but they’ll surely ruin Cindy. Even if nothing actually happened between her and Bernie like she says, folks will believe that it did.”

  “Still, if Geoff did kill Bernie he can’t be let off the hook just to spare Cindy’s reputation.”

  Alafair looked unhappy. “I know it. I don’t know if Bernie was murdered for being a debaucher of white women, a turncoat Villista, or a smuggler of escaped Mexicans, but when the answer comes to light, it looks like it’s going to spell disaster for somebody.”

  “When you talked to Matt Carrizal, you think he had an idea about Bernie’s murder?”

  “I felt like he got an idea of somebody to talk to about it. When you told me that Nettles said the marshal is trying to root out Mexican spies, I got concerned that he’s going to find out about Matt’s Yaqui railroad and get the wrong idea. I swear, Shaw, that boy and his pals are just trying to help those poor folks who have nowhere else to go.”

  Shaw knew her too well. “What are you aiming to do about it?”

  “I might run over there first thing in the morning and put a flea in Matt’s ear. Maybe the Yaqui railroad would do well to shut down for a spell. Will you come with me? He’d be more like to listen to a man.”

  “You couldn’t stop me from coming, sugar.”

  Something Ain’t Right

  The sun had not properly arisen when Shaw and Alafair set out to walk the six blocks from Elizabeth’s house to Matt Carrizal’s restaurant. Elizabeth and Webster were up and about, but Cindy and the children were still abed, so they had made the excuse that they just wanted a bit of a walk around before breakfast. Their plan was that they would be back at the Kemp house within half an hour. But fate has its own way with plans.

  They walked in the pale, chilly light of morning past the campus of the Normal School. It was too early for classes, but the animals in the school’s agricultural farm, the small herd of Holstein cows, the sheep and pigs, the doves and pigeons in their long rows of cages, were all stirring, creating a pleasant and familiar chorus they could hear from a block away. They walked through the athletic field on the northwest side of campus, where they saw Cap Irish drilling his newly-armed squad of the home guard and stopped for a moment to watch.

  As they turned on Fifth Street and the restaurant came into view, they saw two men in business suits pause at the front door and then walk away.

  “Guess they decided they didn’t want breakfast after all,” Alafair speculated.

  When they reached the front door, Alafair and Shaw were surprised to see that the restaurant was still dark and the “closed” sign still in the window. Shaw put his hand on the knob and the door swung open at his touch.

  “Well, somebody’s here,” he observed. He opened the screen and leaned in.“Anybody here?” he called, and was met by silence. He turned and gave Alafair a speculative look.

  “Go on in,” she urged.

  Shaw pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened dining room with Alafair close behind. The restaurant should have been busy with breakfast customers at this time of day. Shaw put a restraining hand on Alafair’s shoulder. “You stay here, honey. Something sure ain’t right.”

  Her surprise at the turn of events made her uncharacteristically compliant. She stood where she was as Shaw crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen.

  As his vision slowly adjusted to the dimness, Shaw surveyed the unlit kitchen by the light coming through the open back door. Everything was clean, neat, and undisturbed. Except for an odd blotch of something on the floor by the cutting table. He hesitated before stepping over to investigate. It looked like…

  He bent down to get a better look, unable to credit his own eyes.

  “Esta muerte!”

  Shaw yelped in alarm as a dark shape popped up from behind the table like some sort of demon jack-in-the-box. “Esta muerte!” it repeated. The tone of horror was unmistakable.

  Alafair appeared in the kitchen door, her eyes wide with alarm. “Shaw, what is it?” She halted in her tracks. “Tony! Whatever is going on?”

  When Alafair said the name, the shadowy demon resolved itself into the shock-stiff form of Tony Arruda. Shaw blinked. “Great day in the morning, man! You like to scared the liver out of me. What are you doing?”

  Even in the dim light, they could see that Tony’s normally stolid expression had dissolved into a mask of alarm. He pointed, unable to speak, and Shaw squatted to get a better look at the grisly sight. When he stood to face Alafair, the color had drained out of his face.

  “It’s Matt, honey. Looks like he’s dead.” He stooped down behind the cutting table to examine the body, disappearing from sight.

  Alafair’s heart leaped into her throat, stopping her breath. She looked at Tony.

  He answered the question in her eyes.“Stabbed. I came in only a few minutes ago and found him just as you see.” He began to tremble as his recounting of events slid into Spanish, then Yaqui.

  Alafair put out a hand to calm him. “Tony, I can’t understand you. We have to get the marshal. Tony, Tony, you have to tell him what happened.”

  A change came over Tony’s face. “No, I cannot talk to the marshal. I did not kill Matt. I did not do it.”

  Tony’s panic forced Alafair to o
vercome her own distress. “Tony, no one thinks…”

  She was cut off by Shaw’s disembodied voice rising from behind the counter. “He’s not dead! I don’t know how but he ain’t quite dead yet.” His head materialized over the table top. “Alafair, hand me them towels, quick. Tony, run get Doc Moeur, run, run!”

  This time Tony didn’t argue.

  A Particular Talent

  Moeur came out of the kitchen and sat down next to the marshal, opposite Alafair and Shaw at one of the dining room tables. His pale eyes were as sharp as shards of ice. “Well, he’s still alive. The boys are loading him into the ambulance now. I’ve done the best I can. Somebody slashed him across the neck with a butcher knife, which there are plenty to choose from around here. Looks like the blade nicked the jugular.” He turned his disconcerting gaze on Alafair and Shaw. “He’d of died within minutes if you hadn’t applied pressure when you did. I’m sorry to say that I think he will die yet. I’ve staunched the wound but he’s lost so much blood that I don’t see how he can survive. I think the best thing we can do for him now is to take him to his mother’s house and leave him in the loving arms of his family to live or die as God sees fit.” His tone was grim. “I’m going with him in the ambulance and will stay at the Carrizals’ as long as I think I can do any good. Marshal, I’ll talk to you later.”

  Moeur left Shaw and Alafair facing a speculative marshal across the table. There was a long moment of silence before Dillon leaned back in his chair. “How is it, Miz Tucker, that you’ve only been in town for a little more than a week and yet you’re the one who keeps making these grisly discoveries?”

  Shaw discreetly grasped Alafair’s shaking hand under the table. “She’s got a particular talent for it, Marshal.”

  “It does seem strange that y’all come to town and suddenly Mexicans start to getting killed left and right.”

  “Are you suggesting that we had something to do with the attacks on these poor fellows?” Shaw’s tone was cool.