The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

by Donis Casey

  “Miz Tucker,” Mrs. Day introduced, “this here is Harley’s sister, Zorah Millar, and her husband, J.D. Zorah and J.D., meet Miz Tucker and her daughter Phoebe, my neighbors from over across the road.”

  J.D. muttered a greeting, and Zorah half stood and offered her hand to Alafair from across the table. “Yes, we’ve heard how your family has been so helpful since my brother met his end,” she said. She looked at Phoebe with interest. “You must be John Lee’s friend, Phoebe,” she added.

  Phoebe blushed charmingly, but responded with dignity. “Yes, ma’am. I hope I’m a friend to all John Lee’s family.”

  Alafair studied the woman who was studying Phoebe. Zorah Millar may have been Harley’s sister, but she resembled Mrs. Day in her size and features, except for the fact that she looked twenty years younger and thirty pounds plumper. It’s a wonder, Alafair thought, what a useful husband and regular meals will do for a body.

  Alafair knew of the Millars, but had never actually met any of them. The husband was a small cotton farmer who worked part-time at the brick factory. There were a few young children. They didn’t go to her church, nor were any of their children particular friends of any of Alafair’s. Alafair was not even sure that she had known that Zorah Millar was Harley Day’s sister.

  They settled themselves around the groaning kitchen table. Mrs. Day sat herself down with them to act as the official hostess, while the dignified Naomi took on the position of dogsbody, serving the guests.

  “Y’all have a farm up north of town, I believe,” Alafair said to the Millars. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize you were Harley’s sister, Miz Millar.”

  Zorah and her husband exchanged a glance before she replied. “I don’t wonder that you didn’t know, Miz Tucker. Me and Harley wasn’t exactly close. Nobody in my family has been out here to Harley’s farm in years.”

  “I fear Zorah and Harley didn’t get along,” Mrs. Day added.

  “It’s more like we had us a feud going,” J.D. acknowledged.

  Alafair shook her head. Was there no one in the world who could abide Harley Day? “Well, then, it’s good of you to call on his folks in this time of loss,” she said, at length.

  “Oh, we never had no quarrel with the family here,” Zorah hastened to assure her. She cast a sympathetic glance at Mrs. Day, who responded with a weak smile. “Why, we’d have done anything we could have to help these kids. They’re all good kids, Miz Tucker, considering what they’ve had to put up with.”

  “That boy John Lee is the only reason this farm is making it at all,” J.D. interjected. “Him and the older girls.” He nodded toward Naomi, who was passing slices of cake on chipped saucers around the table.

  “My sister-in-law has her hands full with all these young’un,” Zorah said. “It’s a wonder they’ve done as well as they have. How I wish we could have been more help!” She leaned forward, apparently anxious that Alafair understand their dilemma. “But it got so bad that we feared Harley would do us an injury if me or J.D. came out here.”

  “He threatened to,” J.D. said.

  Alafair looked over at Mrs. Day, who was listening to the conversation with an expression of polite interest. Nothing that anyone said about her husband seemed to cause her any consternation, Alafair observed to herself. Probably because she had been helpless to change anything for so long. Her gaze returned to Zorah and she smiled. Perhaps things would be different, now, she hoped.

  “We’ll be around more, now,” Zorah said, answering Alafair’s unspoken thought.

  “Why, whatever could have happened to cause such a falling out between you and your brother, Miz Millar?” Alafair asked.

  Zorah sighed. “Oh, it’s a long story, Miz Tucker. I don’t want to plague you with it.”

  “No, I’d like to hear it, if you don’t mind,” Alafair assured her, “and if it don’t fret you to hear it, Miz Day. I’d be interested to try and understand something about Mr. Day. I don’t believe I ever knew of anyone with so many enemies. What was it about him that would make somebody want to kill him in such a cold way?”

  There was a moment of silence as the Millars and Mrs. Day stared at their laps and pondered Alafair’s question. Alafair took a bite of her cake and cast a glance at Phoebe, who was watching the adults avidly. Naomi appeared at Alafair’s side and refilled her coffee cup.

  Zorah came to a decision and looked up. “Well,” she said, “I kind of hate to talk ill of the dead, especially with Harley laid out in the next room and all. But the sheriff has already asked us about all this, so I suppose you’ll hear the whole thing by and by.” She looked at J.D. for support, and he nodded at her.

  “Harley was always a rakehell,” she began, “and irresponsible, but he didn’t used to be as bad as he got. Nobody could be, I reckon. But he was a disappointment to our father. For years, Daddy kept trying to help him, don’t you know. Kept giving him money, getting him jobs. Why, Daddy bought this piece of property here and let Harley live on it for just a little rent. Thought that maybe if he couldn’t do nothing else, he could be a farmer. But Harley had big ideas. He didn’t want to work on an oil rig, or at the brick plant, or raise crops. He was always looking for some way to make a lot of money fast.”

  “All he ever found was ways to lose his money fast,” J.D. put in.

  “That’s the truth,” Zorah agreed. “Before John Lee got old enough to take over, Harley pretty much squandered any money he made on a crop. Gambled most of it away, I think. He reached a point where he couldn’t afford to buy seed, and had to go begging to Daddy for another loan. Well, Daddy give it to him. What could he do? Harley had a passel of kids to feed, and a new one every year. But he told Harley that that was the last money he was ever getting from him, and he better get to cracking.”

  “You can guess what happened, Miz Tucker,” J.D. took up the story. “Harley lost every dime of that money on a Choctaw horse race over in Okmulgee. That was the last straw for old Mr. Day. I don’t expect he wanted his grandkids to starve, but he figured that if he cut Harley off, he’d have to straighten up.”

  “Then Harley blamed Daddy for making him poor,” Zorah added.

  “Nothing was ever Harley’s fault, as far as he was concerned,” J.D. said. The silent Mrs. Day was solemnly nodding her agreement.

  “Well, I blame Harley for busting Daddy’s heart,” Zorah said heatedly. Her gaze flicked guiltily toward the parlor, where the said Harley lay in state, unable to defend himself. Zorah sat up straight, stiffening her resolve. “Daddy died just a few weeks after that. His heart give out, Doc Addison said. Harley was his only son, and expected to inherit most of Daddy’s estate. He actually gloated to me at Daddy’s funeral. Can you imagine that, Miz Tucker?” Two spots of color rose in her cheeks. “I wanted to poke him in the face right then and there. But Daddy had the last word in the matter. He left everything to me, except for this pitiful farm. I don’t think he would have left Harley that if it weren’t for the kids.”

  “Well, Harley was fit to bust,” J.D. went on. “He accused Zorah of turning their dad against him. He got him a lawyer and contested the will, but he lost, and then on top of everything, he was in debt to the lawyer. He threatened Zorah, said he’d hurt us somehow if she didn’t give him some of that money, but I absolutely forbade her to do it.”

  “I didn’t have no desire to, anyway,” Zorah said. “But I did want to help my sister-in-law and these kids. I’d come out here for a while after that, bring food and clothes, but finally Harley said I’d stole everything from him but this farm, and if I set foot on it again, he’d be in his rights to shoot me.”

  “I declare!” Alafair breathed.

  “Harley discovered moonshining after that,” J.D. informed her. “Then there was just no hope for him at all.”

  “He grew to like his product too much,” Zorah said bitterly. “Anyway, we saw John Lee every once in a while, and Maggie Ellen, when they come to town. Maggie Ellen had her a nice boyfriend in town, you remember that?” she ask
ed Mrs. Day. “That Dan Lang who works over at Dasher’s blacksmith shop.”

  “Is he any kin to the Mr. Lang the grain merchant?” Alafair asked.

  “Yes, his second boy. I expected she’d marry up with him, but then I heard she’d found her somebody else. What ever happened to that Lang boy?”

  For the first time, Mrs. Day looked uncomfortable. “Oh, he stopped coming around. Harley didn’t approve.”

  Zorah snorted. “That figures, don’t it? Harley couldn’t stand anybody better than him. Which was just about everybody. Well, I’m glad Maggie Ellen up and took matters into her own hands.”

  “Why, that’s quite a tale,” Alafair acknowledged. “No wonder you’ve kept your distance.”

  “It’s a sad tale,” J.D. said.

  “One that the sheriff knew all about,” Zorah added. “I swear, after John Lee come to tell us Harley was dead, the sheriff was at our place with a thousand questions not more than an hour later.”

  “What kind of questions?” Alafair wondered.

  Zorah shrugged. “He was real interested in what time John Lee showed up, what he said, when he left, which way he went. He asked where I was on Wednesday night. I told him I was home with the kids, and J.D. was out of town. He wanted to know all about where J.D. had gone and when he got back.”

  “I went to Tulsa earlier that week,” J.D. explained, “on some business for Mr. Francis. I was supposed to be back Thursday morning, but the train was delayed by the snow. I had to spend the night on a bench at the station in Muskogee, and didn’t get in ’til Friday afternoon.”

  “How is Sheriff Tucker’s investigation progressing, have you heard?” Alafair asked Mrs. Day.

  “I haven’t heard nothing new from the sheriff,” Mrs. Day told her. “I was kind of hoping maybe you know something, being kin and all.”

  Alafair smiled. “My husband’s cousin Scott may be a funny old bear in private life, but when he’s about an investigation, he’s the most conscientious, single-minded creature that ever sat in a chair. He’ll not go blabbing about, that’s for sure. And you can rest easy that if Scott Tucker has anything to say about it, justice will be done.”

  Mrs. Day didn’t reply, but the look on her face told Alafair that she thought justice had already been served, and she feared that any more justice would just lead to tragedy.

  “Has John Lee showed up, yet?” Alafair wondered.

  “No,” Mrs. Day answered tersely. “But he will, and this foolishness will be cleared right up.”

  Naomi, who had just finished gathering up the dishes, shooed some stray children out the kitchen door and disappeared into the parlor behind them.

  Unexpectedly, Phoebe stood up. “Mama, I’m going to help Naomi with the kids,” she announced.

  Alafair looked up at her, surprised, then nodded. She and the other adults took up their conversation after Phoebe had gone.

  “Why do you think John Lee run off, Miz Day?” Alafair asked.

  “I don’t think he did,” she assured Alafair. “I expect he went off on his own. Sometimes he does that. His timing is just bad this time, that’s all.”

  “Well, who do you think put a bullet in your husband’s head?”

  Mrs. Day straightened, and her eyes showed an unaccustomed spirit as she prepared to defend her offspring. “I don’t know, Miz Tucker,” she said. “But it weren’t John Lee, or anybody in this house. Doctor Addison said it was a .22 slug he dug out of Harley’s head, probably from a derringer. Well, we ain’t got a derringer, or any pistol of such small caliber on this farm. We just got Harley’s daddy’s old .45 Colt and a Winchester ’86 and an aught-twelve shotgun. I don’t think I ever even seen a lady’s gun.”

  “Did you tell all this to Sheriff Tucker?” Zorah asked her.

  “I did. He didn’t seem much impressed.”

  “Well, I sure think John Lee is an unlikely killer,” J.D. stated, “even though nobody had as much grievance against Harley as him. I don’t think that boy has a mean bone in his body.”

  “Is there anybody you suspect?” Alafair asked Mrs. Day.

  “Lord Almighty, Miz Tucker, it could have been anybody,” the woman declared. “Harley had more enemies than you could shake a stick at. He was always getting into beefs with them lowlife scum he sold his home-brew to. Why, just a couple of weeks ago, Mr. Lang that we just mentioned was out here complaining that Harley hadn’t paid him for that last fifty bushels of corn that he bought. I never seen him so mad. He said Harley wasn’t getting another ear of corn from him if he didn’t pay for the last batch that was delivered. John Lee made a deal to meet with him and arrange a way to pay.”

  “Harley bought the corn for his brew?”

  A tiny smile, shy but defiant, appeared. “Didn’t used to. Used to use the corn we growed ourselves. But three years ago John Lee wouldn’t let him have none, and sold every bit of it before Harley could get his hands on it. He has done that ever since, and now Harley has to use the money from his moonshining to buy his corn.”

  “I expect he had plenty,” J.D. commented. “I hear bootlegging is a going concern.”

  Mrs. Day shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “We always figured that Harley has a cache of money hid around here somewhere, but none of us ever could find it, if he does.”

  Alafair noticed that Mrs. Day was still using the present tense when referring to her husband, but didn’t correct her. “So John Lee really ran things around here.”

  “He did and he does,” Zorah assured her. “Harley never bothered with the farm. So you see there wasn’t no reason for John Lee to kill him.”

  No reason but rage, Alafair thought.

  ***

  When Alafair was ready to leave, she realized that Phoebe had been gone for quite a while. She stood on the porch with Mrs. Day and the Millars, saying her good-byes in a vague quandary, when Phoebe came around the house with Naomi. Naomi walked up the porch steps to stand beside her mother, and Phoebe climbed into the shay. The girls did not take their leave of one another. They didn’t even look at one another. Naomi wished Alafair a solemn good day, and that was all.

  Alafair didn’t speak to Phoebe until they were out the gate and back on the road toward home. “Where did you and Naomi get yourselves off to?” she finally asked.

  Phoebe skewed her a glance. “She was showing me around the farm,” she said.

  “That little old girl must be five years younger than you,” Alafair observed. “I wouldn’t think you’d have much to say to one another.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “I wanted to ask her what she thought about John Lee,” she told Alafair. “Besides, Ma, you may have noticed that Naomi is older than her age.”

  “I did notice that,” Alafair admitted. “Sometimes that happens, when the parents aren’t very mature. The kids become older than their folks. Fortunately, you kids don’t have to worry about that,” she added dryly.

  Phoebe’s mouth twisted up in the corner with the little ironic quirk of a smile that all of Shaw Tucker’s children had inherited. “I reckon not,” she replied in a toneless voice that implied that maybe she reckoned so.

  Alafair stifled a chuckle. “Have you ever met John Lee’s aunt and uncle before?”

  “No, I never met them, but John Lee did tell me not long ago that his uncle had come over and took his dad to task in an awful way for something Mr. Day did over at their farm. I guess Mr. Millar is the uncle he was talking about.”

  “Really? Do you know what Harley did to the Millars that called for such a dressing down?”

  “John Lee didn’t tell me. Maybe he didn’t know himself.”

  “When did this happen?”

  There was a pause while Phoebe figured. “Well, John Lee told me about it a couple of weeks ago.”

  “It’s interesting that Mr. Millar didn’t get home when he was supposed to,” Alafair mused. She glanced at Phoebe, who was staring thoughtfully at the road. “So what did Naomi think about John Lee?”

  “She
thinks he didn’t do it,” Phoebe said, without looking at her.

  “Does she have any thoughts on who did do it?”

  “Not that she told me. And I certainly asked.”

  They were practically home already. Alafair pulled up in front of their outer gate and Phoebe jumped down to pull it open. Alafair drove through, then stopped while Phoebe closed the gate. She climbed back up beside Alafair and they drove to the barn. Not another word was exchanged between them on the subject of John Lee Day.

  Something was up. Alafair’s mother-sense was all aquiver. Phoebe was not acting strangely. She had not said anything suspicious or unusual under the circumstances. But something had changed in the ether that surrounded her daughter. Phoebe had found out something while they were at the Day place. Alafair considered how to proceed while she and Phoebe unhitched the horse from the shay. She was going to have to be careful. She decided to say nothing for the moment. Phoebe was preoccupied, and didn’t notice the increased intensity of her mother’s gaze.

  The evening proceeded as usual; housework, animals, supper, cleanup, the ritual of going to bed. Phoebe made her pallet in the kitchen for another night.

  “Aren’t you getting tired of sleeping out here in the middle of everything?” her mother asked her.

  “I kind of like it, Ma, having the bed all to myself.”

  “Suit yourself. But you’re feeling better, now?”

  “Not quite tiptop, but a lot better.”

  “Sleep well, then, honey.”

  Chapter Six

  There was no possibility that Alafair was going to fall asleep. She lay on her back next to Shaw, listening to his even breathing, and staring at the ceiling for close to an hour. She was practically in a state of super consciousness, her ears as sharp as any cat’s, hearing and classifying every sound in the house, and dismissing most as unimportant. The clock in the parlor ticked evenly. Charlie, full of little boy energy, even in his dreams, flopped on his cot in the parlor a few times before sinking into the catatonic sleep of the innocent. Blanche sighed in her sleep. One of the older girls in the next room shifted.