by Donis Casey
The women arranged themselves comfortably around the table before Cindy asked, “Has something happened?”
Elizabeth held out the scrap of paper without a word. Cindy’s eyebrows drew together as she took it from Elizabeth’s hand and looked down at it. She paled as she read it. “Where did you get this?”
“It was stuck down into my leaf barrel under the trash from your yard, wrapped in a pink ribbon and all. One of the Carrizals’ goats knocked over the barrel and made a good job of eating on it before Blanche managed to retrieve it. This little scrap is all we could decipher. It looks like one of your love letters, Cindy, but I promise you I still have all the ones I got out of your flour bin. Did you keep some of them back?”
“No, I didn’t. You have them all. I’ve never seen this one.”
“You didn’t put this in Elizabeth’s leaf barrel?” Alafair asked. “Elizabeth burned off the barrel since Bernie died, so someone put this note in there within the past few days.”
“Well, it wasn’t me! Gracious, it does look like one of his love notes. Whenever he left a personal note for me he used always this ivory-colored paper and a ribbon and wrote by hand. The messages for my contact in the barrio were always in a brown envelope and written on a typing machine.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but the question died on her lips. Something about Cindy’s statement gave her pause. She glanced at Alafair for illumination, unable to put her finger on it, but Alafair was staring at Cindy with a puzzled expression.
Cindy did not notice. “Oh, mercy, he must have sent Bernie to put another note under my flower pot that night. Perhaps someone killed Bernie while he was in my yard on that errand! What if his killer took this and just recently tried to dispose of it? ‘Meet me,’ it says.” She was suddenly on the verge of tears. “He never suggested an assignation before. What could he have had in mind? I may never know.”
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Sent Bernie? Bernie didn’t write this?”
“Bernie? No, he just delivered messages, and rarely, at that. Bernie was mighty smart with numbers, but he couldn’t hardly read, much less write such a fine hand.” Cindy hesitated as the implications of Elizabeth’s question dawned on her. “Oh, surely you haven’t been thinking all this time that Bernie wrote those love notes to me. How could you get that idea? I never said so, did I?”
Elizabeth was blinking rapidly in astonishment, trying hard to remember exactly what Cindy had said to her about the love notes but unable to process the information she needed. “But Bernie was a flirt and a seducer!”
“A flirt, yes,” Cindy agreed. “But I made it clear from the beginning that he should keep his place. Besides, he knew Matty had feelings for me. He respected Matty.”
Alafair slowly sat back in her chair, enlightened. “Matt…”
Elizabeth was stunned into silence for a long moment. Her expression slowly changed from amazement to realization to bitter understanding. At last she smiled. “Well, don’t I feel foolish?”
Good Figurers
Since Levi had trimmed the hedge down to waist height, Blanche had no problem seeing that Alafair and Elizabeth were next door, sitting with Mrs. Stewart at the table on her back porch. She skipped through the gate and up the porch steps and flopped herself down in the unoccupied chair between her mother and aunt.
She was supposed to have taken her medicine by now. But Alafair never did come in the house to give it to her, so Shaw had sent her to fetch her mama home. But the women were talking about something interesting, Blanche could tell. They all smiled and greeted her absently before continuing their discussion as though she weren’t there. She decided the message could wait a few minutes. Blanche took Artie’s baseball out of her pocket and began spinning it around on the table, apparently paying no attention to her elders’ conversation. All the better to absorb every word.
Alafair was still concerned with the paper remnant and did not note either Elizabeth’s consternation or Blanche’s feigned disinterest. “Well, it’s pretty clear that somebody found your stash of letters, Cindy, and kept one until after Bernie’s death. Then he decided he’d better get rid of it. But why now?”
“It looks to me like it had to have been Geoff,” Elizabeth declared. “He’d be the most likely one to come across Cindy’s letter-hiding place in the flour bin. I can see him carrying one around with him and stewing on it. And if he was just here…”
“But why toss it now?” Alafair repeated.
“Because he decided it looks suspicious, him toting around it around, so he decided he’d better get shet of it before the marshal finds it on him and decides it’s a motive for murder!” Elizabeth looked proud of her reasoning.
Cindy shook her head. “But like I said, this is not from my collection of love notes. I’ve never seen this one before!”
The women paused to consider for a moment. Elizabeth was the first to come up with a theory. “It’s more likely that Bernie’s attacker found this note after he killed him. Either on Bernie’s body or under the pot. And he’s been carrying it around ever since. But who? It had to have been tossed into the leaf barrel by someone we wouldn’t raise an eyebrow to see around our houses, someone who is here regular.”
Alafair’s gaze wandered off into space. She was visualizing Geoff Stewart with his arms full of hedge trimmings, heading toward Elizabeth’s yard, as well as Chase and Blanche laughing as they sledded the tarp and its mound of leaves and branches through the Stewarts’ gate. She remembered Cindy telling her, “The leaf litter under the bushes has not been raked for a long time. They raked the chicken yard, too, and under the porch here.”
“Tossed into the leaf barrel perhaps this very morning,” she ventured. “I was saying earlier that it could be Levi raked up the note when he cleaned out the rubbish under the porch. That’s where Bernie’s hat was found, after all.”
Cindy thought about this. “Maybe, maybe not. If the killer could sneak around here on the night of the murder, he could just as well sneak back here in the dead of some other night and dispose of that note. Then the trash got dumped on top of it later. Who would notice a scrap of paper at the bottom of that deep barrel?”
“Or maybe it wasn’t the killer who did any of them things.”
The women started at the unexpected sound of a man’s voice. They all twisted around in their chairs to see Levi Gillander standing in the back door. He stepped out onto the porch and lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the late morning sun.
“Levi, how long have you been standing there!” Cindy exclaimed.
“I’ve been standing here for a good while. Sounds like you girls are pretty good figurers. But I think it’s more likely that somebody found the letter and tossed it out without knowing what it was. Or it may be that somebody aimed to get rid of that letter because he’s trying to protect someone else.”
Cindy’s eyebrows knit. “Protect someone? You mean whoever put the letter in the barrel has kept it hidden in order to protect a killer?”
Alafair was tiring of this game. “Levi, was it you who put the letter in the barrel? Where did you find it?”
Levi blinked, but did not avoid the question. “Under the flower pot.”
Cindy gasped, but Alafair continued, “Do you know who wrote the note?”
Now that his secret was out, Levi was eager to tell it all. “Matt Carrizal, who else? Yes, it was me put that letter in the leaf barrel this morning, before I went to the Carrizals’, Cindy. I been carrying it around for a week trying to decide whether to give it to the marshal. I didn’t want to incriminate you, but it was attempted murder, for the love of Jesus. But then this morning Elena told us that Matt may live, and if he wakes up and tells who slit his throat, then the jig is up. But if he don’t, well, that letter was the best evidence against you, and if it hadn’t been for the damn goat nobody would have been the wiser.”
Cindy was agog. “You think it was me who cut Matty’s throat? Why in the name of sweet Jesus wou
ld I hurt Matt Carrizal!”
“Ah, yes, our dear friend Matt.” Levi’s voice was charged with sarcasm. “I wondered why you didn’t want to pay your respects to Matt’s family before now. Until you found out Matt is like to live and tell on you, that is. Who’d be suspicious if you asked to sit with him alone for a spell? Just five minutes and a pillow and you’d be in the clear. Even you could do that. It’s a good thing I got there before you had the chance.”
“Do you really believe Cindy attacked Matt at the restaurant?” Elizabeth’s tone was incredulous.
Levi’s answer was directed at his sister. “How easy it would have been for you! He’d never suspect ill of you. You could have got right up to him and one quick slash is all it’d take.”
“But why? How could you think I would do such a thing?”
Levi looked at her as though she was being deliberately obtuse. “Because he knew that it had to have been you who murdered Bernie Arruda.”
Speculation
Levi explained his thinking to his stunned audience. “Listening to y’all has give me an idea of how it happened. See what you think of this. The party is just about over and a bunch of folks volunteer to help clean up—stack chairs and tables, pick up trash, gather bats and balls, that sort of thing. Then some innocent citizen walks back here into the yard intending to return something of yours, Cindy, and lo and behold he’s just in time to see two people here on the porch. But before the hapless bystander can decide whether to spit or say howdy, one of them bashes the other in the back of the head a couple of times with a bat. It’s getting dark, but the witness can see well enough to know that the head-basher is someone he would not care to see get hanged for murder. It’s somebody he knows well. Somebody he cares about.”
“Are you telling us that is what happened? That you saw what happened?” Elizabeth’s voice was shaky. “Why on earth haven’t you told the marshal?”
Levi lowered the hand shading his eyes and squinted at her. “I didn’t say that. I said that listening to y’all speculate gave me the idea.”
Alafair was not having it. “Quit playing with us. What did you see?”
Levi smiled a twisted smile, caught. “All right, yes, I did see the whole thing. Arruda putting the letter under that pot right there…” He pointed to a large clay flower pot rife with cheery red petunias. “I couldn’t tell who it was. Just a Mexican in a big hat. When he got hit I was so flabbergasted that I stood there like a fool when Cindy threw down the bat and ran off. But when I finally got my wits about me, I rolled Arruda’s carcass under the porch, along with the murder weapon. Then come midnight I snuck back here, pulled the body out and lugged it to the ditch. I threw the bat in the incinerator and set it alight. I fetched the note and read it, Cindy. Him saying he loved you and wanted you to leave Geoff for him. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
Elizabeth was aghast. “Why did you dump him over in front of my house?”
“It didn’t even cross my mind that it was your house. I was just trying to get him away from my sister’s yard.”
Alafair was suddenly very aware of the young girl sitting on the other side of the table, gazing up at her with wide eyes. “Blanche, go fetch Daddy.” Her voice was strained.
Blanche had sunk down in her chair, making herself as inconspicuous as possible to the agitated man behind her. But when she made a move to stand, Levi put his hand on Blanche’s shoulder and pushed her back down. “No, let her hear this.” He leaned forward until he was practically nose to nose with Cindy. “I was trying to protect you, Cindy. You made me into a liar. It was you killed him. You killed him and near to killed Matt, too, you whore.”
Still as a fawn in the forest, Blanche gazed up at her mother white-faced, awaiting instructions. All three women were on their feet.
Alafair’s tone was soothing. “You’re telling us that you saw Cindy hit Bernie with a bat that night?”
“I did.” Levi’s face was red.
Cindy’s eyes darted left and right as she sought a quick exit, but Elizabeth stepped in front of her, cutting off her escape.
“Cindy, is any of this true?”
Cindy blinked at her, befuddled. “Of course not…”
“Then stand up for yourself and don’t let him say so.”
Elizabeth’s imperious tone stiffened Cindy’s spine. Her cheeks flushed and she turned to her brother. “Levi, what are you doing?”
“If you really suspect that it was your sister who tried to kill Matt, I can set your mind at ease, Levi,” Elizabeth said. “She spent that night at my house, and was still here when my sister found Matt at the restaurant. There are a bunch of witnesses who can attest to that.”
Levi blinked at her, taken aback. He stuttered when he finally managed to respond. “I didn’t know that. Still, she might have sneaked out and back in without any of you hearing her.”
The full import of her brother’s accusation was just sinking in and Cindy’s voice was filled with hurt mixed with incandescent anger. “You know I didn’t hurt Matt, nor Bernie, either. How could you sell me up the river? Who did kill Bernie? Was It Geoff? Was it Matt? It was Father, wasn’t it? He’s the only one I can think you’d sacrifice me for.”
There was an instant of silence as the women awaited Levi’s response. His expression had changed. He was reconsidering his story.
Alafair tried to keep her eyes on Levi’s face and off of his hand resting on Blanche’s shoulder. “Whoever it was, you don’t need to be protecting them anymore, Levi. You said it yourself. When Matt wakes up he’ll tell who tried to cut his throat. And that person either murdered Bernie too, or knows who did.”
Levi’s gaze skittered off to the left. “It doesn’t matter who it was,” he said. “If that letter had come to light, Cindy’s reputation would be ruined forever. Our family’s reputation. She’d have never been able to show her face in polite society again.”
Alafair knew that he spoke the truth about that, at least. If the contents of the letter became public, Cindy would become an outcast whether she had actually done anything wrong or not. She would suffer more than the killer, in all probability. He had killed a Yaqui man who he thought was making improper advances to a white woman. Alafair had no illusions. In this year of our Lord nineteen and sixteen, no jury of white men in America would hang him for that, or maybe not even send him to jail. But then there was the matter of the attempted murder of Matt Carrizal. Carrizal was a Spanish name, but compared to Bernie Arruda, Matt was another order of being as far as the law was concerned.
Alafair looked Levi directly in the eyes, intent on keeping his attention off of Blanche. “Did Matt confront Bernie’s murderer or just confide in someone who was bent on protecting the killer? But Matt didn’t die, and now he’s like to wake up and tell what he knows. You were right when you said that a pillow over his face would have taken care of that. But if I remember right, you didn’t follow Cindy to the Carrizals’ house this morning. You were already gone before Cindy decided she was going to go over there. It wasn’t her who aimed to silence Matt once and for all, was it? It was you.”
Cindy staggered as though she had been struck. “Brother, you went over there this morning to finish off Matt?”
He shook his head, but no one took the gesture as a denial. “If I’d had the grit to smother him when I had the chance, what he knows would have died with him and we wouldn’t be standing here talking like this. But I couldn’t do it. Not so cold-blooded as that, with him unconscious and helpless.”
Alafair was acutely aware of her daughter scrunching further and further down in her chair. Blanche was planning to make a break for it. “Matt will live to tell the tale because you’re no natural killer, Levi. But he will tell, so you might as well come clean. You didn’t set out to kill Bernie, did you, son?”
I Hope You Die
An instant of weary defeat flashed over Levi’s features and was gone, but Alafair saw it and knew that she was right. The realization gave her no pleasure.
Levi sighed. “I didn’t even know who he was at first. I was aiming to take Geoff’s bat back into the house. It was dark by then and I only saw a shadow of somebody in a big Mexican hat rummaging around on the porch. I seen him fool around with something under the flower pot. I figured he was robbing the house. I had the bat in my hand and knocked him cold. I meant to fetch the law to arrest him, but I got curious about what he was doing with that pot. So I found the letter and read it. I thought it was him trying to seduce my sister.”
Suddenly he was purple with rage. “It’s your fault, Cindy! Greasers! How could you? Father will disown you. You’re ruined. You’ve ruined both of us. I hope you die!”
Alafair reached out to calm him. “Levi…”
“I put the letter in my pocket.” He was barely understandable. “He started moving around, moaning. I went down off the porch and picked up the bat again and let him have it. I meant him to die that time. I dragged him under the porch. Went home then and came back here after midnight to get rid of the evidence.”
“Your sister wasn’t having an affair with Bernie Arruda or anybody else. You know that.” Elizabeth sounded stern. “Bernie didn’t know what was in that note because he couldn’t even read. It was Matt who desired a liaison with Cindy. Is that why you swung a knife at him?”
The rage had burned out as suddenly as it flared. “I didn’t go to the restaurant of a purpose to kill him. He asked me to meet with him. He told me that on the night of the party, he saw me come over here with the bat in my hand not long after he sent Bernie to hide the note on Cindy’s porch. He called me a murderer, and so I was. But what was done couldn’t be undone. The look on his face…I could not stand his judgment. That big knife was just lying there on the counter and I grabbed it up.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was clear and full of wonder. “I never knew killing was so easy.”
