Hornswoggled - An Alafair Tucker Mystery

by Donis Casey

  “I do know it,” Peggy agreed, “but I don’t reckon that my good word is enough for the sheriff. The sheriff says that Billy threatened to kill Mr. Kelley. I don’t see how that means he killed Miz Kelley.”

  “Maybe he wanted to hurt Mr. Kelley, Peggy,” Alafair said. She hesitated, feeling bad, but plunged ahead anyway. She didn’t expect she’d have another chance. “I saw you at Miz Kelley’s funeral, hanging back outside the fence, watching the barber. Do you suppose Billy was jealous?”

  Peggy reddened and lowered her eyes. She lifted Grace off her lap and back onto the table before she answered. “Yes, ma’am, I know he was jealous of Mr. Kelley. Turns out he didn’t have no reason to be, though. Besides, I don’t care how jealous Billy was or what he said, he surely ain’t the murdering kind. He was trying to help her that awful night, that’s what he told me, and I believe him. Billy’s a good boy, a faithful boy, even when I didn’t deserve for him to be.”

  Alafair unconsciously shook her head, suddenly feeling protective of this trusting girl. Peggy seemed to take it for granted that this strange woman who had picked her up on the street and was plying her with ice cream and questions not only knew her whole story but only had her best interest at heart. If she were my daughter, Alafair thought, I’d be tempted to never let her out of my sight.

  “Could it be that Mr. Kelley hired somebody to kill his wife, honey?” she asked gingerly.

  Peggy turned redder and ducked her head even lower. She kissed the baby’s hand, then shook her head. “No, ma’am,” she said, finally. “Not over me, he sure didn’t. He’s a good man, with sweet ways, and not a killer any more than Billy.”

  “Did you love him, sweetheart?”

  She smiled. “I thought so. He was so nice to me, and talked with such pretty words that I reckoned he loved me, too.”

  “Did you take it upon yourself to tell Miz Kelley about it?”

  Peggy looked ashamed. “Yes, ma’am. I wisht I hadn’t done that. I thought she didn’t love him, so I expected she’d like to know she didn’t have to stay with him anymore. But when I told her, she turned so white she like to fainted. I knew right then that she still cared mightily for him. Then I felt bad.

  “When I told Walter what happened, he was riled. But then he explained it to me real kind, how we wasn’t right for one another. He was right, I reckon. Him and me, we just made a mistake, and I was sad for awhile, but that’s all over now. Billy’s the one who loves me.” The baby’s flailing fist struck Peggy in the cheek, and she gently pushed Grace’s arm down and glanced at Alafair from under her lashes.

  Alafair reached over and squeezed the girl’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “Have some of your soda now and try not to worry. There ain’t any of this your fault, and I’m sure everything will work out fine.”

  Peggy smiled and sucked on her soda straw, apparently comforted by Alafair’s pronouncement.

  Alafair, however, wasn’t feeling very happy at all. Peggy had not said anything to enhance Alafair’s opinion of Walter, though she had to admit that she no longer suspected that he was behind the murder. Not long ago, she had told Billy Bond that she would try to help him, but she hadn’t. Billy, she feared, was going to pay the price for Louise’s death. The only thing she felt sure of now was that Peggy Crocker may have been the catalyst for a murder, but she certainly had nothing to do with it herself.

  Alafair absently spooned some ice cream into her mouth. Blanche and Sophronia had finished their cones and were skipping over. Alafair sighed. She had done everything she could think of to find out what had happened to Louise, but it was out of her hands, now. It seemed like everybody involved could have done it, but nobody did do it. No, there would be no more surreptitious jailhouse talks with Billy Bond. She resigned herself to the fact that she might never be sure she knew the truth about the tragic end of Louise Kelley.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On the Sunday of the second full week of May, Alafair and Shaw packed part of their brood into the buckboard as they left church for a trip to the pastor’s house for dinner. Mary and Ruth had decided to go home with Phoebe and John Lee for dinner at their little house, and Grandma and Grandpapa took the boys and the baby home with them, leaving only Martha, Alice, Blanche, and Sophronia to accompany their parents. As Shaw was about to climb up into the driver’s seat, Alice changed her mind and decided to go to Phoebe’s as well, and hurried away to catch John Lee before he pulled his rickety wagon out of the yard. Alafair watched her as she disappeared around the Masonic Hall. Walter Kelley had not been to the Christian Church for the past couple of weeks. Alafair had heard that he was attending the Methodist service lately.

  The Bellowses lived in a two-story clapboard house just outside of town on the road to Okmulgee, directly across from Calvin Ross’ dairy farm. It was a big house for just the two of them, but the last pastor who lived there had had a large family, and Mrs. Bellows liked to entertain. Mrs. Bellows met them in the yard as they drove up. Mr. Bellows was still at the Masonic Hall, where the Christian Church met, for a while, until all the flock had been sent on its way.

  She had just had time to show them around her carefully decorated and meticulously kept house when the pastor rode up on his little roan mare. Shaw went with Mr. Bellows to stable the horse while Alafair and Martha helped Sister Norma Bellows with the final touches on the dinner, most of which had been cooked by the efficient Sugar Welsh while Sister Norma was in church, and was now warming in the oven. The little girls were given the task of sitting in starchy discomfort in the parlor, trying all the while not to make noise or a mess.

  All was in readiness when the men returned to the house, and the group arranged themselves around the table with the host at the head and the hostess at the foot. Alafair was at the middle of the north side of the table with Sophronia to her right and Blanche to her left. Shaw and Martha faced her on the south side of the table. The meal began with a lengthy and rambling prayer from Mr. Bellows, who Alafair had not realized was so aptly named until that moment. Sophronia became squirmier by the minute as the prayer went on, but the preacher simply raised his volume and continued undisturbed until the end. As Mr. Bellows intoned the “amen,” the weary listeners stirred and stretched, except for Blanche, whose forehead remained pressed into the white tablecloth as she napped. Alafair gave the child a nudge, and she started up guiltily and busied herself with her cutlery.

  “We’re so glad to have you here at last,” Sister Norma began, as she started the mashed potatoes around. “My husband and I have been here for over a year now, and we still haven’t finished with our plan to invite every member of our flock to our home for dinner. Ulises thinks it’s important that the pastor of a flock knows the spiritual needs of every one of his sheep.”

  Alafair caught Shaw’s eye across the table and smiled. Neither one of them enjoyed the biblical sheep analogy very much. “I admire what you’ve done to the house,” she said to Sister Norma. “Miz Blackwell, the wife of the minister who was here before you, had too many little ones to be able to keep it up so nice.”

  Sister Norma was pleased by the compliment. “Thank you. We’ve just finished repapering the parlor. It’s so much brighter now, don’t you agree? And I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I busted loose and bought me a new settee a few months ago. That old one we had before had seen better days.”

  “Norma’s mother left her a goodly inheritance, but she never spends money on herself,” the pastor said. “I flat out had to insist she do one nice thing for herself. After all, God says ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ That don’t mean much if you don’t love yourself a little, and do yourself a kindness now and then, don’t you think, Brother Shaw?”

  “I know that y’all came here to this church from over near Oklahoma City,” Shaw countered. “Edmond, wasn’t it?”

  “Edmond, in the old Oklahoma Territory, yes,” Brother Ulises acknowledged. “My wife and I were there for five years or so, and loved it. Had us a lit
tle farm that did pretty well, and the church there is very strong, very active. But we felt that we had fought the good fight there in Edmond. Many sinners were saved, praise the Lord. I believe you were serving on the board that recommended offering the pulpit to us, Brother Shaw.”

  Shaw nodded. “Yes, sir. The board liked your enthusiasm and thought you’d fit into this growing community,” he said. Alafair had no comment. She knew that Shaw himself had favored another candidate.

  “We’re overjoyed to be here,” Brother Ulises assured him. “So many people moving into this area, so many lost and troubled souls. So much good work we can do.”

  “Amen,” Sister Norma added, and all the Tuckers contributed a raggedy “amen.”

  Sugar Welsh had provided Sister Norma with quite a feast to serve her guests. The table was covered with dishes of potatoes, mashed and fried, fresh sliced tomatoes and onions, boiled peas with baby onions, applesauce, green beans with bacon, canned tomatoes with macaroni, brown beans with ham hock, a platter of white bread, biscuits and cornbread, and two roast chickens with cornbread stuffing and giblet gravy. Alafair found herself wondering how the Bellowses could afford such a spread, especially if they entertained a different church family every week. The church supplied the house and a small salary, but hardly enough to keep body and soul together. Most ministers took their Sunday meals with members of their congregations, and not the other way around. Alafair knew that the Bellowses owned some property near town, enough to raise a few calves. Their little farm in Edmond must have done very well indeed.

  “I don’t believe your entire family is with you today,” Sister Norma said, interrupting Alafair’s thought.

  Shaw explained while Alafair wiped applesauce off of Sophronia’s pinafore. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Our boys and the baby are with my mother. Mary, Alice, and Ruth are taking dinner with our newly married daughter Phoebe and her husband John Lee Day. Phoebe loves playing the hostess, and we didn’t want to spring the whole bunch on you all at once.”

  Mr. Bellows laughed. “Are any other of your children married or soon to be?”

  “No,” Alafair told him. “She’s the only one. All the others of marriageable age are too particular as of yet.” She smiled at Martha, who responded with an ironic smirk.

  “I understand you work at the bank,” Sister Norma said to Martha.

  Martha blinked at her, surprised at being included in the conversation. “I do,” she said.

  “I’m surprised such a gentle young lady such as yourself would expose herself to the indelicate world of business,” Sister Norma commented. Her tone was perfectly pleasant, but Alafair inferred a slur on her parenting, and bristled. Shaw shot her a warning look, so she plastered a smile on her face and said nothing.

  Martha, more used to criticism about her job, was just opening her mouth for some innocuous reply, when she was interrupted by the minister.

  “Now, Norma,” he chided, “I would think that young Sister Martha here has discovered the perfect place to find herself a husband of means.”

  Martha snapped her mouth shut. She flipped her napkin out with a crack and laid it across her lap.

  “Why, of course, Ulis,” Sister Norma agreed. “More peas, Sister Alafair?”

  ***

  Shaw did most of the visiting with the Bellowses after that. They discussed the state of the world and the prospects for the new president, Mr. Wilson, as well as local news, which was pretty much dominated these days by the shocking charges of tampering with the dead and interfering with an investigation which had just been brought against poor Mr. Grant. Alafair had no opinion that she wished to share about any of it. She did admire the dinner, though. She made a mental note to pass on her compliments to Sugar Welsh. And, howsoever thoughtless with her comments Norma Bellows was, she was a very good hostess and set a beautiful table. After they had eaten and the men and children had retired, Alafair and Martha stayed behind to help Sister Norma clear the table.

  “You have some lovely things,” Alafair admitted, as she picked up the china plates to take them into the kitchen.

  “Why, thank you,” Sister Norma said. “I received many of them from my mother. She had so many wonderful things, such good taste. She gave us this silverware on the day we were married over twenty-five years ago.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Alafair said. “So is this wonderful china. It looks to be old, I think.”

  Sister Norma expanded with pleasure. “It is. I’m told it’s near to one hundred years old. It was left to us in her will by a member of our congregation when we were pastoring up in Wichita ten, twelve years ago, before we went to Edmond. It was her thank-you to Ulis for helping her to find Jesus.”

  “I’m honored you’d use it for us,” Alafair said, “what with our little ruffians.”

  Sister Norma laughed as she dumped scraps into the slop bucket. “Oh, we’ve fed many a child who was not nearly as well-behaved as yours. Never lost a plate.”

  Sister Norma stepped out to draw wash water from the spigot by the back door, leaving Alafair and Martha in the kitchen, stacking dishes beside the sink. Looking for something to dry dishes with, Alafair opened the bottom drawer under the counter, which was where she kept dish towels in her own kitchen. Instead of towels, she found a fine wooden cutlery box. The box’s sliding lid was slightly open. She started to close the drawer and move on to the next, when it suddenly registered on her what she had seen. She jerked the drawer out further and pushed the lid of the box all the way open. Lying neatly in the felt-lined wooden cutlery case was a beautiful set of bone-handled carving knives, all incised with seascapes, lined up side by side in order of size. Except for a conspicuous space on the left, where the largest knife of all was missing.

  “Martha!” Alafair hissed.

  Martha appeared at her mother’s shoulder, alarmed at her tone. The two women stared into the drawer for a second, then looked up at each other.

  “What does it mean?” Martha whispered.

  “I don’t know, honey,” Alafair admitted. “I didn’t actually see the bone-handled knife that killed Louise. Does this look like the same set?”

  “It’s exactly the same, Ma. I wasn’t close enough to see the engraving very well, but the way the handle curves up into that little knob on the end is exactly the same. How did Louise Kelley get ahold of it from the preacher’s house?”

  “I don’t know,” Alafair repeated. “Walter told us that the preacher and his wife were over to their house a lot. I’m guessing Louise was over here a lot as well.”

  “You think she stole it from Miz Bellows’ kitchen?”

  “I don’t know,” Alafair said for a third time. She closed the drawer and glanced toward the open back door. “I do think we ought to tell the sheriff, though.”

  Martha’s brown eyes widened. “You don’t think the Bellowses had anything to do with it?”

  “Oh, surely not. I expect Louise stole it, like you thought.”

  “Do you think we should ask Miz Bellows how long she’s been missing the knife?” Martha’s cheeks were turning red from excitement. “She may not even know it’s gone!”

  “I think we’d better let Scott do the asking,” she told Martha.

  “Scott never did let Billy Bond out of jail,” Martha observed. “He does think Louise killed herself, doesn’t he?”

  “That’s the story Nellie Tolland tells,” Alafair said. “But I expect it’s not official.”

  Sister Norma returned with two pails of water and the speculation ceased immediately. Alafair chatted amiably as she and Martha washed and dried the dishes and the unsuspecting Norma Bellows put everything away. Martha flitted about like a nervous bird and said nothing, so obviously worked up that Alafair feared Sister Norma would become curious and start asking questions. However, the preacher’s wife was so intent on singing her husband’s praises to her guests that Alafair finally came to the conclusion that Martha could faint dead away from excitement and Sister Norma would hardly n
otice.

  As soon as she could, Alafair dismissed Martha to the parlor. Sister Norma hauled out the rinse water to throw on the flowers by the back door, and Alafair wiped down the cabinets with a wet cloth. It was silly to get too excited over finding a new little bit of information about the death of poor Louise. Maybe Louise really had killed herself, after all, and someone—perhaps Billy Bond—had found her dead and returned her home. Perhaps Louise had stolen the knife from Sister Norma’s kitchen instead of using one of her own to do herself in.

  Alafair hung the dishcloth on the bar over the sink. If she killed herself somewhere other than her own front room, Louise must have planned the deed in advance. Did she mean to implicate the preacher?

  This was all just idle guesswork, Alafair scolded herself. Best leave it to Scott. She lifted the borrowed apron over her head, and instantly her nostrils were assailed with the acrid smell of ammonia. Her heart took a bounce. No, it can’t be, she told herself firmly. She hung the apron on its hook and walked smartly out of the kitchen, through the dining area and into the parlor. Martha looked up at her from her seat in the corner, a question on her face that Alafair ignored resolutely. Shaw was on the settee facing Mr. Bellows in a wingback armchair, discussing scripture.

  “Where’s the girls?” Alafair asked.

  “They’re playing in the front yard,” Shaw informed her. “I done told them that you’d be mad if they dirtied up their Sunday frocks.” He smiled at her and patted the settee beside him, inviting her to sit down.

  “Join us, Sister Alafair,” the pastor said. “We were just discussing the sixth chapter of Galatians. Verse two says that we should bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ, and yet, as Brother Shaw points out, verse five says that every man shall bear his own burden.”

  Alafair sat down and smoothed her skirt. “My father often spoke on that scripture,” she said. “He likes verse six—let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.”