by Alice Duncan
Therefore, I took a knife with me. It wasn’t much of a knife, being of the kitchen variety, which meant I had to pad it with an old rag and stick it through a loop I made on my belt. I also took Minnie’s flashlight, filled one of Libby’s Kerr canning jars with water, made sure I carried an extra handkerchief for sweat-wiping purposes, and went to the stable to fetch Horace, Aunt Minnie’s burro. Back then, herds of burros roamed around loose up near Capitan and Ruidoso, and almost everyone who wanted one had a burro. Horace was a nice guy, brown, with velvety eyes and a sweet disposition.
“Let’s go for a walk, Horace,” I said, stroking his nose as he nuzzled my trouser’s pocket looking for treats. Naturally, I’d brought him something. Since Libby didn’t use the cores of the cabbages she cut up for pickling, I’d grabbed a few for my pal Horace. On my way out, I also grabbed a handful of dried apples. Horace appreciated cabbages and apples both.
And then I climbed aboard and took off, back toward Black Water Draw, where there was not only an archeological expedition going forward, but also some pretty nifty caves. My older brother George and a couple of his buddies had taken me out there when I was a kid, both to explore and to look for Pecos Valley diamonds, a type of quartz crystal that was abundant in our neck of the woods.
The fact that the so-called diamonds could only be found along the banks of the Pecos River didn’t deter us. We were young and optimistic. And we had a grand time in those caves. Except for the bats. I wasn’t fond of bats, although George said they were good for eating bad insects and we should respect them. I’d told him I respected them just fine. That didn’t mean I wanted them in my hair. The mess they left behind didn’t smell very good, either.
Riding a burro takes less energy than walking, but it’s not much faster. Old Horace ambled along under the searing sun, and I darned near gave up and turned back twice, thinking it might be wiser to wait until the next morning and head out to the caves when it was cooler.
Then I remembered Libby’s cabbages and decided I was better off baking in the sun than steaming in the kitchen. I was very glad to have Uncle Joe’s hat.
We got to Black Water Draw eventually, and I guided Horace in the other direction from Dr. MacTeague’s crew, westward towards the caves. We hadn’t been moseying long before I began seeing signs that people had been visiting or working in the area, although I couldn’t tell what they’d been doing.
Since Horace was the only living being around besides me, I talked to him. “Look at those tracks, Horace! It looks as though some heavy wagons have been driven through the Draw.” Twisting around on the burro’s back, I tried to determine where the track led. They hadn’t come directly from Pine Lodge Road, or I’d have seen where the wagons had turned off. Unless . . .
“Keep going, boy. Maybe they came from the other direction.” If you kept going west on Pine Lodge Road, eventually you begin climbing the Sacramento Mountains and end up in Capitan. There was a turn-off south, however, that led to El Paso and, if you kept going on that road, you’d eventually get to Juarez, Mexico. Hmm. Could something illegal be coming up to Rosedale from Mexico? It was a thought.
“Oh, boy, Horace, maybe we’ve discovered something really important. Maybe somebody’s using the caves to store drugs or something.” All right, so maybe I’d been reading a few too many murder mysteries, but breaking an opium-smuggling operation did hold some appeal. I would be labeled a heroine. Even Libby couldn’t gripe at me then. Well, she could, but the whole rest of the world, the part of it that acclaimed me as a heroine, would know she was being merely petty and unreasonable.
Horace didn’t respond, although I sensed he appreciated my theory. He kept walking. And walking. And walking. Eventually, he got to the place where I could tell the wagons had crossed Pine Lodge Road. After going a little farther along the route they must have traveled, I realized that they’d been driven quite a way around Minnie’s house, making a huge semicircle in the desert–in order to avoid being spotted, one presumes, by Minnie or Libby. Or me, recently.
“Well,” said I, pondering this interesting discovery. “This might well explain the sudden interest everyone has in buying Minnie’s house. It would sure be easier to access the caves if they could drive straight through Minnie’s property.”
Since Horace had done such a good job so far, I offered him a couple of dried apples, which he gobbled appreciatively. Then, since he seemed to enjoy them, I nibbled on one myself, to help me think.
“But who, among the potential buyers, is the villain, Horace?” Another moment’s cogitation made me add, “Or are any of them villains? Maybe Mr. O’Dell is working for somebody else and doesn’t know about this . . . this . . . whatever it is. And Mr. Copeland and Dr. Longstreet, too. Anyhow, what’s the connection? It’s all very bizarre.”
Because I really wanted to know the answers to the questions I’d posed to the burro, I guided old Horace around and walked him back to the cave around which it had appeared most of the activity centered. I had just dismounted and was approaching the cave’s entrance when I got an eerie, prickling sensation between my shoulder blades. I whirled around, and my heart shot into my throat and lodged there.
“A gal like you shouldn’t ought t’be poking around out here on the desert, Miss Blue,” Olin Burgess said. He sat hunkered on a rock several feet away from me, his shotgun resting across his lap.
After swallowing my heart, I struggled to speak. My blood was racing, my ears were ringing, my mouth was dry, and my tongue was stuck to its roof. “I . . . I . . . hello, Mr. Burgess.”
He nodded.
“Um . . . I was just exploring the cave.”
He nodded again.
“It’s fun to explore these caves, isn’t it? My brother George used to bring me out here.”
This time he didn’t even bother to nod. He only spat and said, “Gal shouldn’t ought to come out here alone. There’s lots of dangerous things out here.”
Primary among which, I decided on the spot, was Mr. Olin Burgess. I gave a nervous giggle. Mr. Burgess continued to stare. The shotgun across his knee really bothered me.
Perceiving no other choice in the matter, I said, “Huh. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t go into the cave.”
He only stared at me some more.
All righty, then, I guess I wouldn’t be exploring that cave today. I remounted Horace and barely restrained myself from kicking the poor old burro in the sides with my heavy-heeled shoes. Doing so would not only have been unkind, but it would probably have made him bolt, and then I’d have fallen off and be left to Mr. Burgess’s mercy. And I didn’t think he had any.
Waving good-bye to Mr. Burgess, who didn’t wave back, I urged Horace to retrace our tracks back to Aunt Minnie’s house. Any second, I expected to hear the sound of a round being ratcheted into a chamber.
I wondered who’d find my body–or if anyone would before the coyotes and buzzards got to me and picked the flesh from my bones. No one would know where I was. They’d search, but they’d never find me. There was too much nothing out here on the desert. They’d have a funeral, but there would be no body in the casket because they wouldn’t ever find my body. Years later, perhaps someone would find a few scattered bones, bleached white by the relentless sun.
Phil would feel just terrible. It would serve him right. He’d think it was his fault I was dead, because he’d refused to accompany me to the caves. He might even do something stupid, like start drinking, although I didn’t know where he’d get any alcohol, since Prohibition was in effect. Of course, if they found the drugs hidden in the cave, I suppose he could start using drugs.
Ma would probably pine away, and Minnie would feel guilty. Worse, she might believe I’d joined forces with Julia Gilbert to haunt her. Would she actually be telling people my spirit was evil? Crazy old coot.
Then there was Libby. She’d undoubtedly tell everybody I’d been a lazy so-and-so and stupid, to boot, to go gallivanting off looking at caves when I should have stayed
home and helped her pickle cabbages.
As I pictured my bare bones scattered among the scrub and cacti, forlorn and abandoned, being crawled over by ants and millipedes and perched on by vultures, I actually shed a few tears before I realized I was still alive. Not only was I still alive, but Horace and I had gone far enough by that time to be out of range of Mr. Burgess’s shotgun unless he’d hobbled after us. Although I hadn’t dared do so before, I turned my head and peered back the way we’d come. I could no longer see Mr. Burgess or the cave, but I didn’t begin to breathe easily until we were within sight of Minnie’s house.
My relief when I dismounted from Horace’s back, rubbed him down, and let him go back to his stable, suffered an abrupt death as soon as I set foot in the house.
“Annabelle! Oh, I’m so glad you’re home!” Minnie rushed up to me and grabbed me by the arms. Clearly perturbed, she clung like a limpet.
“What’s the matter, Minnie?” An awful thought struck me. “Don’t tell me something’s wrong with Libby!” Guilt surged through me, and I instantly asked God to forgive me if I’d wronged the woman.
“Libby? What would be wrong with Libby?”
I rescinded my prayer. “I don’t know. But you’re upset. What’s the matter?”
“It’s Mr. Copeland.”
“What’s Mr. Copeland?” I couldn’t feature her being this discombobulated if he’d only come back to make another offer on the house.
“He’s dead!”
I gasped. “Dead?”
Minnie’s head bobbed up and down like the pump handle in the kitchen when Libby was giving it a good work-out. “Dead.” Her voice fell to a thrilling whisper. “Murdered!”
“Good heavens!”
More vigorous nodding on Minnie’s part.
“But . . . for heaven’s sake, Mr. Copeland owns a shoe store!” I don’t know why, but the notion of a shoe-store owner being murdered seemed completely incongruous to me.
“I know. They think somebody tried to rob him.”
“Ah.” That made some sense, albeit not much.
“And Annabelle, he was killed with a shotgun blast. Right in the middle of his chest.”
My nose wrinkled up as I pictured the mess that would have made–not unlike the mess I had expected to be made of me, come to think of it, less than an hour earlier. “Ew. How awful. Who found him?”
“Mrs. Butler went to his shop this afternoon to get some new church shoes for her little Becky, and she found him, sprawled out like a rug. She fainted and Doc Hanks had to see to her before he could inspect the body.”
“I’m really sorry to hear this.”
“We all are.”
“It’s . . . it’s horrifying.”
I got no argument from Minnie.
“How’d you find out?”
“Mrs. Hanks telephoned Mrs. Johnson, who telephoned Maudie Clark, and she told Clara Morales, who works for Mrs. Gunderson, and she called me.”
I’m surprised the story got that far before Minnie heard about it, given Olive Mercer’s penchant for listening in on telephone conversations. I’d have expected her to call Minnie at once, since Minnie lives out of town and all.
“Do they know who did it?”
“No. Nobody saw a thing. They say it probably happened early in the morning before many people were at work in town yet.”
“Gee, this is really too bad. Two murders in a matter of days. We might as well be living in the old wild west with Billy the Kid and his cronies shooting everybody in sight.”
Minnie altered her trajectory and shook her head. “It’s terrible. Just terrible. Poor Addie.” Addie was Mr. Copeland’s wife.
“She must be terribly distraught.”
“Libby’s making a hot dish to take to her. You can drive us to town in the buggy as soon as it’s ready.”
“I’ll be glad to, but I’d better spruce up a little bit first.” By that time I was sadly sweat-soaked and dusty. I clattered up the stairs, the shocking news of Mr. Copeland’s murder having completely driven thoughts of Olin Burgess and my own near-demise out of my head. I have to admit that the notion of going to town again made me happy, even if it was for such a sad purpose.
Who in the world could have killed Mr. Copeland? With a shotgun, no less?
Naturally, my mind eventually reverted to Olin Burgess. Could he have gone to town, blown Mr. Copeland away with a blast from his shotgun, then come back to the cave to threaten me?
As much as I’d like to have pinned the dastardly deed on him, that scenario seemed kind of unlikely. Not only would people have noticed him, but Mr. Burgess didn’t move awfully fast. It would have taken time to get from town out to the caves. Anyhow, how’d he know I’d be at the caves in the first place unless he’d been hanging around Minnie’s place and watched me go? And if he’d been hanging around Minnie’s place, he couldn’t have been in town shooting Mr. Copeland.
Nuts. I was only confusing myself. It sure was creepy, however, contemplating the fact that the denizens of Minnie’s house seemed to be under surveillance by Mr. Burgess. No matter how one looked at it, Mr. Burgess was an odd duck and definitely suspect. Of exactly what, I wasn’t sure yet.
Thanks primarily to Libby’s fussing, we didn’t stay in town as long as I wanted to. Poor Mrs. Copeland seemed to be shattered, and no wonder. Her friend, Maudie Clark, was the one who met us at the door and took Libby’s hot dish.
“You’re both saints to do this,” Mrs. Clarke said. She looked as if she had been weeping. “Poor Addis is lying down now. Dr. Hanks gave her a powder.” She shook her head sadly.
So did Minnie and Libby. So did I. Head-shaking under sad circumstances was kind of like a ritual ordained by society. “Tell her we stopped by,” said Minnie. “And tell her if there’s anything we can do, just ring us up.”
“I sure will.”
“Do you know when the funeral will be?”
Again, there was a general and mournful shaking of heads. “Poor Addie hasn’t been able to think that far ahead yet.” In a confidential tone of voice, Mrs. Clarke added, “I’ll be sure to call you first thing when I know anything.”
“Thank you, Maudie. You’re a good friend to us all.”
“As are you two. And you, too, Annabelle. Your sweet mama brought over a pie and another hot dish. Good thing Addie has a Frigidaire.”
Boy, I wish Minnie had one of those! Libby wouldn’t have to pickle everything in sight if she could preserve fresh food better. Of course, then she wouldn’t have as much to complain about, so she probably wouldn’t appreciate the convenience. Anyhow, the electric company hadn’t gotten out as far as Minnie’s place yet.
At that moment, Mrs. Copeland herself emerged from the back of the house. Never a robust woman, that day she looked as if a strong wind might blow her away. She’d pulled her hair back from her face, which was as white as flour, and her eyes were red and swollen. She saw Minnie and rushed over, both hands extended.
“Minnie! How kind of you to call.”
Minnie grabbed and squeezed and let go. “We came as soon as we heard the news, Addie. I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Copeland hauled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It was a blow, Minnie. A cruel blow.”
My own eyes got a little misty, even though I barely knew the Copelands. We’d bought shoes from the mister a time or two, and I think Ma knew Mrs. Copeland from when she shopped at our store, but they weren’t best friends or anything.
“The police will find whoever did it,” Minnie assured her.
Mrs. Copeland sobbed.
Libby said, “That there hot dish is a meal in itself, Addie, so you don’t even have to think about cooking for a while.”
Turning her sniffling countenance upon Libby, Mrs. Copeland whispered, “Thank you so much, Libby. You’re both so kind. So kind.”
And exactly what was I? I was there, darn it, even if I hadn’t contributed to the food supply. Selfish of me, no doubt, but I felt left out anyway.
Until Mrs. Copeland spotted me. “And Annabelle! You poor child!” And she flung her arms around me. I have to admit that, while I appreciated her attention and her admission that I’d had a hard time of it lately, the hug embarrassed me.
“Nonsense,” I mumbled. “You’re the one who’s suffered the terrible loss.”
Naturally, that turned out to have been the wrong thing to say. Libby huffed. Minnie shuffled. I felt stupid. Fortunately for me, Mrs. Copeland didn’t take my comment amiss.
“Oh, but you’re so young to have experienced such an awful thing, dear.”
Yes, darn it, I was. Before I could burst into tears, Mrs. Copeland let me go, much to my relief. “You’re all simply so kind to visit me in my grief. Thank you so much.”
It sounded like a dismissal to me, and I guess Minnie and Libby thought so, too, because we took our leave shortly thereafter. I was feeling mighty low when the Copelands’ door shut behind us.
“Poor thing,” Minnie whispered.
“It’s a crime,” said Libby. I don’t think she meant that literally, although it was the truth.
I only sighed heavily.
Thank God for my aunt (boy, I never thought I’d ever say that). But Minnie made Libby stop crabbing at me long enough for me to say hey to my parents and Jack. I was surprised to find Mrs. Longstreet perusing a couple of new bolts of percale that Ma had set out in the section of the store reserved for sewing needs and notions.
Today the doctor’s wife wore a sober blue suit and a blouse with a high collar and ruffles that must have been hotter than anything. I wondered where she’d come from. Somewhere with weather a good deal cooler than ours, I guess. Nobody in Rosedale wore long-sleeved suit jackets in navy blue during the summertime unless they were nuts. Or, I surmise, a rich doctor’s wife. Or pretending to be a rich doctor’s wife. For all I knew, Dr. Longstreet was a total fake.
“Hello, Mrs. Longstreet,” I said to be polite. I didn’t want to be. When I first noticed her, she was peering scornfully at the fabric as if she’d never seen anything so shoddy.
