Foxy Statehood Hens and Murder Most Fowl

by Jackie King, Gui

  “I apologize that there was no champagne, but drinking any liquor is against the law here in Guthrie.”

  “I didn’t mind, your lemonade was delicious. I’m so glad everything was perfect for you. Your dress was magnificent, one of the loveliest I’ve ever seen, and your husband most handsome.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet said. But Charlotte’s words began to haunt her and to trouble her heart. All day she thought about them. It was true. Zachariah was handsome. Just looking at him made her pulse quicken, but what must he think of her? She was a plain woman, she had never denied that fact. Did Zachariah secretly regret not having a pretty wife? Did he long for one who looked more like Charlotte or Radine? The thought almost broke Harriet’s heart.

  * * *

  Zachariah came home that evening after the dinner rush in the hotel had ended. He walked into their small sitting room and his masculine presence filled the room. Harriet breathed in the smell of him: fresh lumber and leather and something else. Something exciting and wonderful and special to Zachariah. She forced herself to meet his gaze, to smile. His brown eyes searched hers and memories of last night filled Harriet’s head. Her knees grew weak. She felt color rise to her cheeks and she suddenly felt the need to study the toes of her shoes as if she were searching for a tiny bit of dust on their well-polished surface. Her usual poise disappeared and her tongue turned dumb.

  The idea of being alone with Zachariah caused her heart to race in a disturbing manner. Stage fright was nothing compared to what she now felt. Even though married, they were strangers. Whatever would they talk about?

  “Supper looks good.” Zachariah’s voice turned husky. He wasn’t looking at the food, he was looking at her. “Smells good, too.”

  Flustered and unable to speak a word, Harriet busied herself with rearranging their food.

  “Sit down and eat while it’s hot,” she said briskly. It wasn’t what she wanted to say. Harriet’s thoughts were much different. Do you fear you made a bad bargain? she wanted to ask. Do you feel cheated because of my homeliness?

  For awhile they ate in silence. Harriet knew that she should play the role of hostess, but somehow she couldn’t. Finally Zachariah began speaking of the day’s business, and Harriet felt grateful. What was wrong with her? she wondered.

  “How did your ladies’ meeting go?” Zachariah asked as he reached for another biscuit.

  “Quite well, thank you,” Harriet answered primly, and then passed him the cut-glass butter dish without making eye contact. Finally she lifted her gaze and read the confusion reflected in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Harriet? Are you regretting your own contract? Last night you seemed happy, but today you’ve hardly spoken to me. You’re acting like a stranger.”

  “We are strangers,” Harriet said, hating her own words and feeling miserable and shy and unable to explain herself.

  Zachariah worked harder than necessary at buttering his biscuit.

  “I suppose that’s true,” he said.

  Harriet knew that her own insecurities were ruining their evening, but felt powerless to repair the damage. She wasn’t surprised when Zachariah excused himself after dinner to go back and check inventory. Both brothers often worked late into the night, but she suspected he had meant to stay with her until her coolness had discouraged him.

  To escape her own company she sought out Radine in the kitchen.

  “Zachariah had to return to the lumberyard so I thought we might talk more about Ida Mae.” She settled at the rough worktable. “Let’s make a list of anyone who might have killed her. Do you know the names of any of her… er… clients?”

  Chapter 6

  For the first time in her life, Radine bit her tongue to stifle a blunt question. Why might Harriet be studying on Ida Mae’s murder and it just one evening after her wedding? And what was so all-fired important that Zachariah would work late tonight? It was true there was never an end to duties for the busy Guthrie merchants, but it still didn’t seem natural. Had there been a lover’s quarrel already?

  It was true that Harriet had a finer brain-box than most women, and was interested in all sorts of oddities. But the eager way her friend tackled the problem of a stranger’s murder seemed wrong, as if she were relieved to have something to busy her mind. But contrary to her natural inclinations, Radine decided to stay out of her friend’s private affairs, at least for now. She took a deep breath and then answered Harriet’s question.

  “I think making a list of murder suspects is a right fine idea.” She was rewarded with a relieved smile from Harriet who began talking immediately.

  “Let’s write the name of any man who had even a slight possibility of being her killer.” Harriet spoke in a crisp, business-like manner, as if to reassure herself that all was well. “Perhaps together we can come up with a complete list of suspects. Then beside each name we’ll write what his reason might have been for killing Ida Mae.”

  Radine nodded and scooted to the edge of her chair. “I’ve already spent considerable time pondering this. The villain could have been some saddle tramp just passing through. Ida Mae used the passageway to… er… visit a hotel guest on… er… business. The sleeping fellow wakes up, sees the chance and grabs her. The butt of a rifle or a pistol could have been used to keep her from screaming for help.”

  Radine watched Harriet write the words ‘Saddle Tramp’ on a sheet of paper lying on the kitchen table and next to it add: ‘Unplanned Crime of Passion.’

  “If that’s what happened and the man has left Guthrie, we’ll never know the truth.” Harriet sighed and gazed at Radine like a disappointed child.

  “We can’t let that trouble us. The murderer could also have been any of the men who usually paid for Ida Mae’s favors. Maybe the fella didn’t have money to settle up. When Ida Mae objected, he clubbed her and took what he wanted. The doctor said she was hit hard with a blunt weapon of some kind, but the only thing found in the tunnel was a tea towel with blood on it.”

  “She could have been killed in her own room.” Harriet frowned. “But why move her body? Why not just flee?”

  “I don’t know. She could have been dragged down to the tunnel from some man’s hotel room. But that still wouldn’t explain the towel.”

  “Did you see much blood on the floor of the tunnel? I know it was dark, but if there was a profusion of blood it might tell us whether or not Ida Mae had been injured there or moved from another place.” Harriet leaned forward, her keen intelligence reflected in her rapt expression.

  “It was too dark that night to see much, but the next morning I took a lamp down and looked,” Radine said. “I didn’t see any blood, but by then so many men folk had tramped through, any blood could have been carried away on the bottom of a boot. I wondered if Deputy Daniels went back that night with a lantern to check on what’s what, so I asked him. Course he wouldn’t tell me nothing.”

  “Anything. Not and nothing are both negatives. You should only use one negative in a sentence.” The correction popped out absentmindedly before Harriet continued speaking. “It couldn’t hurt for me to ask the same question again in my role as hotel owner. I’ll speak to the deputy tomorrow.”

  “And I’ll visit with some of the girls from the dance hall and see if I can find out who Ida Mae’s main customers were. Then we can add them to the list,” Radine said.

  A sudden and unwanted thought flashed into Radine’s mind: What if I find a name I don’t want to see? As a frontier girl she knew how the harshness of the West could cause even a decent man to sin. Her stomach roiled. She had seen Uncle Richard go into the dance hall more than once, along with other respectable men. But she was relieved when Harriet’s thoughts went in another direction.

  “We also need to consider if one of the other soiled doves could have killed Ida Mae,” Harriet said.

  “That’s a true fact. Her and Felicity had a screaming ruckus that very afternoon. Sounded like a couple of stray cats fighting over a fish head. They wouldn’t tell m
e what it was about. Soon as I pulled the two of them apart they both sulled up and wouldn’t say one word.” Radine made another note.

  “Perhaps you could ask Felicity about the fight again tomorrow? With Ida Mae dead she may tell you something.”

  “I’ll do just that. Did you notice the pretty woman with yeller hair who came to Ida Mae’s funeral? She wore a bright red dress to the cemetery, not somber colors like the others. Folks call her Felicity, although I don’t think it’s her real name.” A yawn escaped and Radine was no longer able to hide her exhaustion.

  “I’ve kept you up way past your bedtime, and I’m sorry.” Harriet patted Radine’s work-worn hand.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m a’ doing just fine.” And then Radine yawned again.

  Harriet smiled and folded her paper. “We both need sleep. We can meet tomorrow before supper rush and discuss our progress. I can tell you what I’ve learned from Deputy Daniels and you can give me names of Ida Mae’s… er… clients.”

  “I already know one you can write down. Delmar Bassett hung around after Ida Mae like a fly around a barn in August. I know that for sure.” So Delmar’s name was added to the list. But Radine decided not to tell Harriet that Delmar was the first owner of Esther, because she feared that her gentle friend might not want to know that her pet was once payment for a prostitute’s services.

  * * *

  Dance hall girls always slept late and it was about two o’clock the next afternoon before Radine was able to slip through the tunnel and into the White Elephant Dancehall. She didn’t tell Harriet she was using the underground passage, which everyone knew was dangerous even for men. But Radine didn’t want to risk her newfound place in society by being seen entering such an establishment. She knocked on Felicity’s door and then slipped inside. Felicity was awake and lying in a tumble of bedding. Bright sunshine glowed warmly though the drawn red curtains and cast an eerie light across the room.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Felicity asked with a yawn. Radine guessed her to be in her early twenties.

  “I want to ask you about Ida Mae.”

  “I ain’t talking about that,” Felicity said.

  Radine had learned the lesson of importunity at her mother’s knee and understood that you sometimes had to wear folks down. After 20 minutes of non-stop talking, Felicity agreed to answer questions, and Radine knew it was mostly from exhaustion.

  “Tell me the names of Ida Mae’s customers, especially anyone she might have seen on the night she was murdered.”

  It was awhile before Felicity answered. Radine waited while the woman fiddled with her counterpane. “I’m waiting,” she finally said.

  “You ain’t going to like what I tell you.”

  It was all Radine could do not to correct Felicity’s grammar, but she bit her tongue. “I figured I might not.”

  “Ida Mae was real popular and had several regulars. Delmar Bassett was one.”

  “I already got that varmint’s name down.”

  “Well, that ‘varmint’ claims that I’m better for beddin’ with than Ida Mae ever was,” Felicity said.

  Radine bit her lip to keep from taking the woman down a peg or two. It’s more important to gain information, she told herself. “Give me more names. I said I already had Delmar down.”

  “And Luther Bingham, even though he was trying to court Miss Harriet before she was married! Ain’t that funny?” Felicity giggled. “He comes to me now, along with most of the others.”

  “That ain’t what I need to know,” Radine said, forgetting all about proper grammar. She was glad when Felicity scowled. “Give me the other names, and do it right now!”

  “Well, there’s Doctor Johnson and Richard Lauren,” Felicity said. “They’re my new favorites. Doc Johnson is quick and Mr. Lauren always gives me an extra quarter.”

  Uncle Richard? Radine almost gasped but managed to keep a straight face. The thoughts of Dr. Johnson engaged in such nefarious deeds was bad enough, but Uncle Richard?

  “I reckon you’ll tell his niece, won’t you?” Felicity smirked.

  Radine narrowed her eyes but kept silent. If she found out that Uncle Richard was the killer she’d shut her mouth and never say another word about Ida Mae’s killing. Even if the guilt of her silence haunted her to her grave. But she wasn’t about to say this to anyone, least of all to Felicity. She listened to a long list of other names. Finally the woman rolled her eyes and pointed at the door.

  “I need you to tell me one more thing before I leave you in peace. What were you and Ida Mae fighting about? The one what happened on the day Ida Mae was killed?”

  A crafty look spread over Felicity’s face. “I’m not telling you, at least not yet. Not even if you hit me.”

  * * *

  Radine stepped out about sundown to throw scraps to Esther and was surprised and delighted to find Micah Garrett hunkered down by the pen. “What brings you here?” she asked.

  Micah stood and tipped the broad brim of his felt hat. “Evening, Miss Radine. I just thought I’d stop by and see how Esther was faring. She’s one fine pig and growing every day.”

  “That she is. Harriet asked the owner of the Guthrie Saddle Company to make this here pig a leather collar with the animal’s name carved on it. ‘What on earth for?’ the fella said, and Harriet claimed she was going to attach a lead and have Esther available for the Fourth of July parade. Don’t that beat all you’ve ever heard?”

  Micah threw his head back and laughed, causing Radine’s heart to soar. She liked a man with a sense of humor as well as a brain.

  “That will be a sight to see. I wonder if my brother will walk down the main street of Guthrie along with Harriet and Esther in the parade.”

  “I believe that I’d pay a whole nickel to see Mr. and Mrs. Zachariah Garrett, dressed in their Sunday best, walking a red pig down the main street of Guthrie.” Radine smiled.

  A comfortable silence settled over the pair. After a few moments Micah cleared his throat.

  “Zachariah and Harriet are having a picnic down at Cottonwood Creek on Sunday afternoon. I was wondering if you might allow me to escort you?”

  Radine’s heart sang. She couldn’t believe that this fine businessman was interested in her company.

  “Why I reckon I’d like that a lot, Micah,” she said and felt her face glow with the warmth of pure pleasure.

  Chapter 7

  It was almost midnight when Zachariah slipped into their suite. Harriet studied him as he undressed in the dark. It was a warm night and the window was open. Moonlight filtered through the curtains and fell on Zachariah’s face, which Harriet thought looked strained and tired. Her conscience smote her. Because of her own insecurities, she had made his life harder, not easier. That was wrong and she knew it. But what could be done?

  “Are there problems at the lumber yard?” she asked to break the silence.

  Zachariah started and then glanced down at her in surprise. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet.”

  “No. I haven’t been asleep.”

  Zachariah slipped into bed wearing his longhandles. “I suppose you’re very tired,” he said formally.

  Harriet forced herself to roll on her side to face him. Things had gone wrong because of her actions, and it was up to her to repair the damage. She swallowed and forced herself to speak. “I acted badly last night,” she said, “But I didn’t mean to.”

  Zachariah didn’t speak for a minute.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Harriet considered how to explain and decided upon the truth.

  “I’ve been tormented that you might think you’d made a bad bargain. By marrying me, I mean. Perhaps it was wrong of me to propose to you. Unfair perhaps. You’re a good man and I’m worried that you wed me out of pity. I fear that you’re now regretting that decision.” Tears filled her eyes and she was grateful for the dark.

  “Harriet.” Zachariah’s voice turned gentle and he pulled her close to
him. “I’m a grown man and not likely to marry a woman I don’t want.” He kissed her hair and when he spoke again she could hear a smile in his voice. “And only a fool would pity you.” He found her lips and kissed her gently. “Let’s make a new bargain, you and me.”

  “All right,” Harriet whispered back. Her heart beat wildly against the solid chest of the man she loved. Heat from his body flowed into her own and filled her with a delicious happiness.

  “Let’s always tell one another the truth, whatever it might be.” Then he kissed her again, only longer and more deeply.

  “Yes,” Harriet agreed. “Oh, yes.”

  * * *

  Sunday was the day that most of Guthrie gathered by the shores of Cottonwood Creek and celebrated their hard work with a day of fun. Felicity had sent a note to Radine on Saturday evening that she might have some information to share. So the friends planned a picnic as a way to accomplish this encounter. Then Harriet decided to kill two birds with one stone and invited a couple of men from the suspect list in order to observe them in a social setting. It was the very tactic Papa had used when sizing up a business rival. She didn’t dare invite any of the soiled doves, but knew those women would be at Cottonwood Creek along with all of the other citizens of Guthrie.

  Harriet invited both Luther Bingham and Delmar Bassett, the most likely suspects, and later added the Hightowers because she liked the banker’s wife. Since Deputy Daniels would be patrolling as usual, she also asked him to stop by for dinner as most Guthrians called the noon meal—and finally Dr. Johnson, even though she hated to place the good healer on a list of possible killers.

  Harriet expected the picnic to be trying at best so she had Cook provide a feast. Hampers of fried chicken, baked ham, roasted venison, potato salad, coleslaw, deviled eggs, apple pie, and other delicious fare were piled into a wagon and driven to the creek along with large crocks of icy lemonade and ginger tea.